Book I, Chapter 1, a Tacitean opening
paragraph par excellence!
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
I begin my work with the
time when Servius Galba was consul for the second time with Titus Vinius for
his colleague. Of the former period, the 820 years dating from the founding of
the city, many authors have treated; and while they had to record the
transactions of the Roman people, they wrote with equal eloquence and freedom.
After the conflict at Actium, and when it became essential to peace, that all
power should be centered in one man, these great intellects passed away. Then
too the truthfulness of history was impaired in many ways; at first, through
men’s ignorance of public affairs, which were now wholly strange to them, then,
through their passion for flattery, or,
on the other hand, their hatred of their masters. And so between the enmity of
the one and the servility of the other, neither had any regard for posterity.
But while we instinctively shrink from a writer’s adulation, we lend a ready
ear to detraction and spite, because flattery involves the shameful imputation
of servility, whereas malignity wears the false appearance of honesty. I myself
knew nothing of Galba, of Otho, or of Vitellius, either from benefits or from
injuries. I would not deny that my elevation was begun by Vespasian, augmented
by Titus, and still further advanced by Domitian; but those who profess
inviolable truthfulness must speak of all without partiality and without
hatred. I have reserved as an employment for my old age, should my life be long
enough, a subject at once more fruitful and less anxious in the reign of the
Divine Nerva and the empire of Trajan, enjoying the rare happiness of times,
when we may think what we please, and express what we think.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
I begin my work with the
second consulship of Servius Galba, when Titus Vinius was his colleague. Many
historians have treated of the earlier period of eight hundred and twenty years
from the founding of Rome, and while dealing with the Republic they have
written with equal eloquence and freedom. But after the battle of Actium, when
the interests of peace required that all power should be concentrated in the
hands of one man, writers of like ability disappeared; and at the same time
historical truth was impaired in many ways: first, because men were ignorant of
politics as being not any concern of theirs; later, because of their passionate
desire to flatter; or again, because of their hatred of their masters. So
between the hostility of the one class and the servility of the other,
posterity was disregarded. But while men quickly turn from a historian who
curries favour, they listen with ready ears to calumny and spite; for flattery
is subject to the shameful charge of servility, but malignity makes a false
show of independence. In my own case I had no acquaintance with Galba, Otho, or
Vitellius, through either kindness or injury at their hands. I cannot deny that
my political career owed its beginning to Vespasian; that Titus advanced it;
and that Domitian carried it further; but those who profess inviolable
fidelity to truth must write of no man with affection or with hatred. Yet if my
life but last, I have reserved for my old age the history of the deified Nerva’s
reign and of Trajan’s rule, a richer and less perilous subject, because of the
rare good fortune of an age in which we may feel what we wish and may say what
we feel.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
I shall begin my work with
the year in which Servius Galba and Titus Vinius were consuls, the former for
the second time. My choice of starting-point is determined by the fact that the
preceding period of 820 years dating from the foundation of Rome has found many
historians. So long as republican history was their theme, they wrote with
equal eloquence of style and independence of outlook. But when the Battle of
Actium had been fought and the interests of peace demanded the concentration of
power in the hands of one man, this great line of classical historians came to
an end. Truth, too, suffered in more ways than one. To an understandable
ignorance of policy, which now lay outside public control, was in due course
added a passion for flattery, or else a hatred of autocrats. Thus neither school
bothered about posterity, for the one was bitterly alienated and the other
deeply committed. But whereas the reader can easily discount the bias of the
time-serving historian, detraction and spite find a ready audience. Adulation
bears the ugly taint of subservience, but malice gives the false impression of
being independent. As for myself, Galba, Otho and Vitellius were known to me
neither as benefactors nor as enemies. My official career owed its beginning to
Vespasian, its progress to Titus and its further advancement to Domitian. I
have no wish to deny this. But partiality and hatred towards any man are
equally inappropriate in a writer who claims to be honest and reliable. If I
live, I propose to deal with the reign of the deified Nerva and the imperial
career of Trajan. This is a more fruitful and less thorny field, and I have
reserved it for my declining years. Modern times are indeed happy as few others
have been, for we can think as we please, and speak as we think.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
I propose to begin my work
with the year when Servius Galba was consul for the second time and Titus
Vinius was his colleague. Many historians have dealt with the 820 years of the
earlier period beginning with the foundation of Rome, and the story of the
Roman Republic has been told with equal eloquence and independence. After the
Battle of Actium, when the interests of peace were served by the centralization
of all authority in the hands of one man, that literary genius fell idle. At
the same time truth was shattered under a variety of blows. Initially it was
ignorance of politics, which were no longer a citizen’s concern; later came the
taste for flattery or, conversely, hatred of the ruling class. So between
malice on one side and servility on the other the interests of posterity were
neglected. But historians find that flattery soon incurs the stigma of
slavishness and earns for them the contempt of their readers, whereas people
readily open their ears for slander and envy, since malice gives the false
impression of independence. From Galba, Otho, and Vitellius, I have experienced
nothing either to my advantage or my hurt. I cannot deny that I owe the
launching of my career to Vespasian, or that I was advanced by Titus and still
further promoted by Domitian; but those who lay claim to unbiased accuracy must
speak of no man with either hatred or affection. I have reserved for my old
age, if life is spared to me, the reigns of the deified Nerva and of Emperor
Trajan, which afford a richer and a safer theme: for it is the rare fortune of
these days that you may think what you like and say what you think.
Book I, Chapter 2, interesting times.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
I am entering on the
history of a period rich in disasters, frightened in its wars, torn by civil
strife, and even in peace full of horrors. Four emperors perished by the sword.
There were three civil wars; there were more with foreign enemies; there were
often wars that had both characters at once. There was success in the East, and
disaster in the West. There were disturbances in Illyricum; Gaul wavered in its
allegiance; Britain was thoroughly subdued and immediately abandoned; the
tribes of the Suevi and the Sarmatae rose in concert against us; the Dacians
had the glory of inflicting as well as suffering defeat; the armies of Parthia
were all but set in motion by the cheat of a counterfeit Nero. Now too Italy
was prostrated by disasters either entirely novel, or that recurred only after
a long succession of ages; cities in Campania’s richest plains were swallowed
up and overwhelmed; Rome was wasted by conflagrations, its oldest temples
consumed, and the Capitol itself fired by the hands of citizens. Sacred rites
were profaned; there was profligacy in the highest ranks; the sea was crowded
with exiles, and its rocks polluted with bloody deeds. In the capital there
were yet worse horrors. Nobility, wealth, the refusal or the acceptance of
office, were grounds for accusation, and virtue ensured destruction. The
rewards of the informers were no less odious than their crimes; for while some
seized on consulships and priestly offices, as their share of the spoil, others
on procuratorships, and posts of more confidential authority, they robbed and
ruined in every direction amid universal hatred and terror. Slaves were bribed
to turn against their masters, and freedmen to betray their patrons; and those
who had not an enemy were destroyed by friends.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
The history on which I am
entering is that of a period rich in disasters, terrible with battles, torn by
civil struggles, horrible even in peace. Four emperors fell by the sword;
there were three civil wars, more foreign wars, and often both at the same
time. There was success in the East, misfortune in the West. Illyricum was
disturbed, the Gallic provinces wavering, Britain subdued and immediately let
go. The Sarmatae and Suebi rose against us; the Dacians won fame by defeats
inflicted and suffered; even the Parthians were almost roused to arms through
the trickery of a pretended Nero. Moreover, Italy was distressed by disasters
unknown before or returning after the lapse of ages. Cities on the rich fertile
shores of Campania were swallowed up or overwhelmed; Rome was devastated by
conflagrations, in which her most ancient shrines were consumed and the very
Capitol fired by citizens’ hands. Sacred rites were defiled; there were
adulteries in high places. The sea was filled with exiles, its cliffs made foul
with the bodies of the dead. In Rome there was more awful cruelty. High birth,
wealth, the refusal or acceptance of office – all gave ground for accusations,
and virtues caused the surest ruin. The rewards of the informers were no less
hateful than their crimes; for some, gaining priesthoods and consulships as
spoils, others, obtaining positions as imperial agents and secret influence at
court, made havoc and turmoil everywhere, inspiring hatred and terror. Slaves
were corrupted against their masters, freedmen against their patrons; and those
who had no enemy were crushed by their friends.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
The story upon which I
embark is one full of incident, marked by bitter fighting, rent by treason, and
even in peace sinister. Four emperors perished violently. There were three
civil wars, still more campaigns fought against the foreigner, and often
conflicts which combined element of both. Success in the East was balanced by
failure in the West. The Balkans were in turmoil, the Gallic provinces wavered
in their allegiance, and Britain was left to fend for itself no sooner than its
conquest had been completed. The Sarmatian and Suebian peoples rose upon us,
the Dacian distinguished himself in desperate battles won and lost, and thanks
to the activities of a charlatan masquerading as Nero, even Parthia was on the
brink of declaring war. Finally, Italy itself fell victim to disasters which
were quite unprecedented or had not occurred for many centuries. Whole towns
were burnt down or buried throughout the richest part of the coast of Campania,
and Rome suffered severely from fires that destroyed its most venerable
temples, the very Capitol being set alight by Roman hands. Things holy were
desecrated, there was adultery in high places, The Mediterranean swarmed with
exiles and its rocky islets ran with blood. The reign of terror was
particularly ruthless at Rome. Rank, wealth and office, whether surrendered or
retained, provided grounds for accusation, and the reward for virtue was
inevitable death. The profits made by the prosecutors were no less odious than
their crimes. Some helped themselves to priesthoods and consulships as the
prize of victory. Others acquired official posts and backstairs influence, creating
a universal pandemonium of hatred and terror. Slaves were suborned to speak
against their masters, freedmen against their patrons, while those who had not
an enemy in the world were ruined by their friends.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
The story I now commence is
rich in vicissitudes, grim with warfare, torn by civil strife, a tale of horror
even during times of peace. Four emperors slain by the sword. Three civil wars:
often entwined with these, an even larger number of foreign wars. Successes in
the East, disaster in the West, disturbance in Illyricum, disaffection in Gaul.
The conquest of Britain, immediately given up; the rising of the Sarmatian and
Suebic tribes. Dacia had the privilege of inflicting and receiving defeat at
our hands, and a pretender claiming to be Nero almost deluded the Parthians
into declaring war. Now too Italy was smitten with new disasters, or disasters
it had not witnessed for a long period of years. Towns along the rich coast of
Campania were swallowed by earth or buried from above. The city was devastated
by fires, her most ancient temples were destroyed, and the Capitol itself was
fired by Roman hands. Sacred rites were grossly profaned, and there was
adultery among the great. The sea swarmed with exiles, and cliffs were red with
blood. Worse horrors reigned in the city. To be rich or well born, to hold an office
or refuse it, was a crime: merit of any kind meant certain ruin. Nor were the
informers more hated for their crimes than for their prizes: some carried off a
priesthood or the consulship as their spoil, others won administrative office
and a place at the heart of power: the hatred and fear they inspired worked
universal havoc. Slaves were bribed against their masters, freedmen against
their patrons, and, if a man had no enemies, he was ruined by his friends.
Book I, Chapter 10, Mucianus.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
Syria and its four legions
were under the command of Licinius Mucianus, a man whose good and bad fortune
were equally famous. In his youth he had cultivated with many intrigues the
friendship of the great. His resources soon failed, and his position became
precarious, and as he also suspected that Claudius had taken some offence, he
withdrew into a retired part of Asia, and was as like an exile, as he was
afterwards like an emperor. He was a compound of dissipation and energy, of arrogance
and courtesy, of good and bad qualities. His self-indulgence was excessive,
when he had leisure, yet whenever he had served, he had shown great qualities.
In his public capacity he might be praised; his private life was in bad repute.
Yet over subjects, friends, and colleagues, he exercised the influence of many
fascinations. He was a man who would find it easier to transfer the imperial
power to another, than to hold it for himself.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
Syria and its four legions
were held by Licinius Mucianus, a man notorious in prosperity and adversity
alike.24 When a young man he had cultivated friendships with the nobility for
his own ends; later, when his wealth was exhausted, his position insecure, and
he also suspected that Claudius was angry with him, he withdrew to retirement
in Asia and was as near to exile then as afterwards he was to the throne. He
displayed a mixture of luxury and industry, of affability and insolence, of
good and wicked arts. His pleasures were extravagant if he was at leisure;
whenever he took the field, he showed great virtues. You would have praised his
public life; but his private life bore ill repute. Yet by diverse attractions
he gained power with his subordinates, with those close to him, and with his
associates in office; and he was a man who found it easier to bestow the
imperial power than to hold it himself.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
Syria, with four legions,
was governed by Licinius Mucianus. He was a man much talked of, in fair days
and foul alike. In his youth, he had courted the great with an eye to his own
advancement. Then he ran through a fortune and his standing became precarious,
for even Claudius was thought to disapprove of him. Removed to an isolated
corner of Asia, he came as near to being an exile as later to being emperor. Mucianus’
character was a compound of self-indulgence and energy, courtesy and arrogance,
good and evil. A libertine in idle moments, he yet showed remarkable qualities
once he had set his hand to a thing. To the world, his activities might seem
laudable; but there were ugly rumours about his private life. Yet by a supple
gift for intrigue he exercised great influence on his subordinates, associates
and colleagues, and found it more congenial to make an emperor than be one.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
Licinius Mucianus held
Syria with four legions. He was a man who was equally talked about in good
fortune as in bad. As a youth he was ambitious and cultivated the friendship of
the great. Later he found himself in straightened circumstances and a slippery
position; moreover, Claudius’ displeasure was suspected. He was relegated to
the remoteness of Asia, where he came as near to being an exile as afterwards
to being an emperor. He was a strange mixture of luxury and industry, courtesy
and arrogance, of good and bad. In leisure he was self-indulgent, but he
revealed considerable flair when on service. His outward behaviour was
praiseworthy, though ill was spoken of his private life. However, with those
who were under him or near him, and with his colleagues, he gained great
influence by various devices: the sort of man who more readily make an emperor
than be one.
Book I, Chapter 46, on the economic
foundation of civil war.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
A demand was then made,
that the fees for furloughs usually paid to the centurions should be abolished.
These the common soldiers paid as a kind of annual tribute. A fourth part of
every company might be scattered on furlough, or even loiter about the camp,
provided that they paid the fees to the centurions. No one cared about the
amount of the tax, or the way in which it was raised. It was by robbery,
plunder, or the most servile occupations that the soldiers' holiday was purchased.
The man with the fullest purse was worn out with toil and cruel usage till he
bought his furlough. His means exhausted by this outlay, and his energies
utterly relaxed by idleness, the once rich and vigorous soldier returned to his
company a poor and spiritless man. One after another was ruined by the same
poverty and license, and rushed into mutiny and dissension, and finally into
civil war. Otho, however, not to alienate the affections of the centurions by
an act of bounty to the ranks, promised that his own purse should pay these
annual sums. It was undoubtedly a salutary reform, and was afterwards under
good emperors established as a permanent rule of the service.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
The troops also demanded
that the payments usually made to centurions to secure furloughs should be
abolished, since they amounted to an annual tax on the common soldiers. A
quarter of each company would be away on furlough or loafing about the camp
itself, provided the soldiers paid the centurion his price, and no one cared
how the burden pressed on the soldiers or how they got their money; in reality
it was through highway robbery, petty thieving, and by menial occupations that
the soldiers purchased rest from military service. Moreover the richest
soldiers would be cruelly assigned to the most fatiguing labour until they
bought relief. Then, impoverished and demoralized by idleness, the soldier
would return to his company poor instead of well-to‑do and lazy instead of
energetic; so ruined one after another by the same poverty and lack of
discipline, they were ready to rush into mutiny and dissension, and finally
into civil war. But Otho wished to avoid alienating the centurions by
generosity to the rank and file, and so he promised that the imperial treasury
should pay for the annual furloughs, a procedure which was undoubtedly useful
and which later was established by good emperors as a fixed rule of the
service.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
There was a demand for the
remission of the payments traditionally made to centurions to secure exemption
from duty. This was a kind of annual tax payable by the other ranks. As much as
a quarter of a company’s strength would be scattered high and low on leave or
loitering in the actual barracks, so long as they squared the company
commander. The extent of these exactions and the methods employed to meet them
were nobody’s business. Highway robbery, theft or taking on jobs as servants
were the means by which they paid for their time off. Besides this, the richer
a soldier was, the more he was subjected to fatigues and ill-treatment until he
agreed to purchase exemption. Finally, when his money had given out and he had
got into an idle and unhealthy state, he would return to his unit, reduced from
affluence to poverty and from vigour to sloth. This process was repeated
interminably; and the same destitution and indiscipline ruined man after man,
driving them herd-like down the slope that leads to mutiny, dissension and, in
the last resort, civil war. However, Otho had no wish to alienate his
centurions by bribing their men. So he promised that the annual leave should be
paid for by the imperial exchequer. There is no doubt that this was a
beneficial reform, and in the course of time the practice hardened into a
recognized part of the military system under the good emperors who succeeded.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
An urgent demand arose that
the customary fees to centurions for granting exemptions from duties should be abolished,
for they constituted a sort of annual tax upon the common soldier. The result
had been that a quarter of each company could be scattered on leave, or else
lounge idly about the barracks, so long as they paid the centurion his fee. Nor
was there anyone to care about either the amount of this impost or the means by
which the soldiers raised the money: they purchased leisure by highway robbery
or menial service. Then, again, a soldier who had money was savagely burdened
with work until he should buy exemption. Thus he became impoverished, and
moreover enervated by idleness, and returned to his company no longer a man of
means and energy but penniless and lazy. So the process went on. One after
another they became debased by the same poverty and lax discipline, rushing
blindly into quarrels and mutiny, and, as a last resource, into civil war. Otho
was afraid that bribing the rank and file would alienate the centurions, and
promised to pay the annual exemption-fees out of his imperial exchequer. This was
indubitably a sound reform, which good emperors have since established as a
regular institution in the army.
Book I, Chapter 49, Galba’s obituary.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
Such was the end of Servius
Galba, who in his seventy-three years had lived prosperously through the reigns
of five Emperors, and had been more fortunate under the rule of others than he
was in his own. His family could boast an ancient nobility, his wealth was
great. His character was of an average kind, rather free from vices, than distinguished
by virtues. He was not regardless of fame, nor yet vainly fond of it. Other men’s
money he did not covet, with his own he was parsimonious, with that of the
State avaricious. To his freedmen and friends he shewed a forbearance, which,
when he had fallen into worthy hands, could not be blamed; when, however, these
persons were worthless, he was even culpably blind. The nobility of his birth
and the perils of the times made what was really indolence pass for wisdom.
While in the vigour of life, he enjoyed a high military reputation in Germany;
as proconsul he ruled Africa with moderation, and when advanced in years shewed
the same integrity in Eastern Spain. He seemed greater than a subject while he
was yet in a subject’s rank, and by common consent would have been pronounced
equal to empire, had he never been emperor.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
This was the end of Servius
Galba. He had lived seventy-three years, through the reigns of five emperors,
with good fortune, and he was happier under the rule of others than in his own.
His family was of the ancient nobility and possessed great wealth. Galba
himself was of mediocre genius, being rather free from faults than possessing
virtues. He was neither careless of reputation nor one who cared to boast of
it. He was not greedy for another's property; he was frugal with his own,
stingy with the state’s. Kindly and complacent toward friends and freedmen, if
he found them honest; if they were dishonest, he was blind even to a fault. But
his high birth and the terror which the times inspired masked the truth, so
that men called wisdom what was really indolence. While he was vigorous
physically, he enjoyed a reputation for his military service in the German
provinces. As proconsul he governed Africa with moderation and, when he was
already an old man, ruled Hither Spain with the same uprightness. He seemed too
great to be a subject so long as he was subject, and all would have agreed that
he was equal to the imperial office if he had never held it.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
Such was the fate of Servius Galba. In the course of seventy-three years he had lived a successful life spanning the reigns of the five emperors – reigns which proved luckier for him than his own. He came from a family that could boast ancient nobility and great wealth. His own personality was something of a compromise: while free from serious faults, it scarcely achieved real virtues. Having won a reputation, he neither despised nor exploited it. He harboured no designs upon other people’s property, was thrifty with his own, and where the state was involved showed himself a positive miser. A tolerant attitude towards courtiers and officials attracted no censure when they happened to be honest; but his lack of perception when they were not was quite inexcusable. However, distinguished birth and the alarms of the time disguised his lack of enterprise and caused it to be described as wisdom. In the prime of life he attained military distinction in the Rhineland; as proconsul, he administered Africa with moderation, and his control of Nearer Spain in his latter years showed a similar sense of fair-play. Indeed, so long as he was a subject, he seemed too great a man to be one, and by common consent possessed the makings of a ruler – had he never ruled.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
Such was the end of Servius
Galba, who for seventy-three years had enjoyed prosperity under five different
emperors, happier in their reign than his own. He came of an old and noble
family and possessed great wealth. His own character was mediocre, rather free
from vices than rich in virtues. Though not indifferent to fame, he did not
flaunt it. Not greedy of other people’s money, he was careful of his own, and a
miser with public funds. Towards friends and freedmen, if they happened to be
honest, he was irreproachably tolerant; when they were not, he was culpably blind.
But his distinguished origin and the perils of the time disguised his apathy,
which passed as prudence. In the flower of his youth he served with distinction
in Germany. As pro-consuls he governed Africa wisely, and in later years showed
the same fairness in Nearer Spain. When he was a commoner he seemed too big for
his station: the universal view was that he had the qualifications to be a
ruler – if only he had not ruled.
Book II, Chapter 12, Otho’s troops at home.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
One would not have thought
that it was Italy, the fields, and the habitations of their native country,
that they were passing through. They burnt, spoiled, and plundered, as if they
were among the lands of the foreigner and the cities of a hostile people, and
all with the more frightful effect as nowhere had there been made any provision
against the danger. The fields were full of rural wealth, the houses stood with
open doors; and the owners, as with their wives and children they came forth to
meet the army, found themselves surrounded, in the midst of the security of
peace, with all the horrors of war.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
It did not seem as if it
were Italy and the haunts and homes of their native land that Otho’s troops
were approaching. They burned, devastated, and looted, as if they were on
foreign shores and in an enemy's cities; and their action was the more
horrible, for no provision had been made anywhere to oppose their terrifying
advance. The fields were filled with workers, the houses open. The owners of
estates who hurried to meet them with their wives and children, in the security
which peace warrants, were overwhelmed by the horrors of war.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
One would never have
guessed that it was against Italy or the towns and homes of the mother country
that the invasion was directed: it looked as if these were foreign shores and
cities of the enemy. For they proceeded to burn, devastate and plunder them
with a savagery rendered more frightful by the total lack of precautions everywhere
against such an emergency. The men were in the fields, the farmhouses open and
defenceless. As owners ran out with wives and children, they met their end,
victims of war in what they thought was peace.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
No one could have imagined
they were in Italy, on the soil of their native land. As though on foreign
shores and among an enemy’s towns, they burnt, ravaged, plundered, with results
all the more horrible since no precaution had been taken against danger. The
fields were full, the houses open. The inhabitants run to meet them with their
wives and children, and were lured by the security of peace into the horrors of
war.
Book II, Chapter 30-31, the rivalry between the Vitellian
generals.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
The result was a jealousy
between the two generals. Caecina ridiculed his colleague as a man of foul and
infamous character; Valens retorted with charges of emptiness and vanity. But
concealing their enmity, they devoted themselves to their common interest, and
in frequent letters, without any thought of pardon, heaped all manner of
charges upon Otho, while the Othonianist generals, though they had the most
abundant materials for invective against Vitellius, refrained from employing
them.
In fact, before the death
of these two men (and it was by his death that Otho gained high renown, as
Vitellius incurred by his the foulest infamy), Vitellius with his indolent
luxury was less dreaded than Otho with his ardent passions. The murder of Galba
had made the one terrible and odious, while no one reckoned against the other
the guilt of having begun the war. Vitellius with his sensuality and gluttony
was his own enemy; Otho, with his profligacy, his cruelty, and his recklessness,
was held to be more dangerous to the Commonwealth.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
This caused rivalry between
the generals. Caecina made sport of Valens as a shameful and disgraceful
character; Valens ridiculed Caecina as a conceited and vain person. Yet they
laid aside their hatred and devoted themselves to the common interest; in many
communications, sacrificing all hope of pardon, they heaped insults on Otho,
while the generals of Otho’s party refrained from using the abundant material
they had at hand for attacking Vitellius.
In fact, before these two
met their deaths, in which Otho won a glorious reputation while Vitellius
gained infamy, the indolent pleasures of Vitellius were less feared than the
fiery passions of Otho. Moreover the murder of Galba had made men stand in
terror of Otho and hate him; but no one blamed Vitellius for beginning the war.
The sensuality and gluttony of Vitellius were regarded as disgracing him
alone; Otho’s luxury, cruelty and daring seemed more dangerous to the state.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
This was why the generals
were jealous of each other. Caecina dismissed his rival as a disreputable
money-grubber, and Valens responded by deriding the other as a pompous ass. But
they concealed their enmity for the time being and pursued their common
advantage, writing a stream of insulting letters to Otho. In so doing, they
burnt their boats behind them, whereas the leaders of the Othonian faction
abstained from abusing Vitellius, though the field for invective was an
exceedingly rich one. Admittedly, until the hour of death, in which Otho won
glory and Vitellius infamy, the idle pleasures of Vitellius seemed less
dangerous than Otho’s complete lack of self-control.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics, 30:]
So there was rivalry
between the generals. Caecina mocked at Valens for his dirty and dishonest
ways, Valens at Caecina’s pompous vanity. But they smothered their dislike and
worked together for a common end, writing frequent letters in which they
sacrificed all hope of pardon and heaped abuse on Otho. Otho’s generals
refrained from retaliating upon Vitellius, though his character offered richer
scope. Certainly before their respective deaths, in which Otho earned a noble name
and Vitellius a most infamous one, people were more afraid of Otho’s burning
passions than of Vitellius’ listless luxury. Moreover, the murder of Galba had
made Otho feared and hated, while no one attributed to Vitellius the outbreak
of the war. It was felt that Vitellius’ gluttony was a personal disgrace:
Otho’s self-indulgence, cruelty, and recklessness spelt more danger to the
country.
Book II, Chapters 37-38, on the pacifist
inclinations of armies.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
I find it stated by some
authors that either the dread of war or the disgust felt for both Emperors,
whose wickedness and infamy were coming out every day into more open notoriety,
made the two armies hesitate whether they should not cease their strife, and
either themselves consult together, or allow the Senate to choose an Emperor;
and that, for this reason, Otho's generals recommended a certain measure of
delay, Paullinus especially entertaining hopes for himself, on the ground that
he was the senior among the men of consular rank, that he was well known as a
soldier, and had attained great distinction and fame by his campaigns in
Britain. Though I would allow that there were some few who in their secret
wishes prayed for peace in the stead of disorder, for a worthy and blameless
Emperor in the room of men utterly worthless and wicked, yet I cannot suppose
that Paullinus, wise as he was, could have hoped in an age thoroughly depraved
to find such moderation in the common herd, as that men, who in their passion
for war had trampled peace under foot, should now in their affection for peace
renounce the charms of war; nor can I think that armies differing in language
and in character, could have united in such an agreement; or that lieutenants
and generals, who were for the most part burdened by the consciousness of
profligacy, of poverty, and of crime, could have endured any Emperor who was
not himself stained by vice, as well as bound by obligation to themselves.
That old passion for power
which has been ever innate in man increased and broke out as the Empire grew in
greatness. In a state of moderate dimensions equality was easily preserved; but
when the world had been subdued, when all rival kings and cities had been
destroyed, and men had leisure to covet wealth which they might enjoy in
security, the early conflicts between the patricians and the people were
kindled into flame. At one time the tribunes were factious, at another the
consuls had unconstitutional power; it was in the capital and the forum that we
first essayed civil wars. Then rose Gaius Marius, sprung from the very dregs of
the populace, and Lucius Sulla, the most ruthless of the patricians, who
perverted into absolute dominion the liberty which had yielded to their arms.
After them came Gnaeus Pompeius, with a character more disguised but no way
better. Henceforth men's sole object was supreme power. Legions formed of Roman
citizens did not lay down their arms at Pharsalia and Philippi, much less were
the armies of Otho and Vitellius likely of their own accord to abandon their
strife. They were driven into civil war by the same wrath from heaven, the same
madness among men, the same incentives to crime. That these wars were
terminated by what we may call single blows, was owing to want of energy in the
chiefs. But these reflections on the character of ancient and modern times have
carried me too far from my subject. I now return to the course of events.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
In certain authorities I
find it stated that, prompted by their fear of war or by their disgust with
both emperors, whose shameful wickedness was becoming better known and more
notorious every day, the armies debated whether they should not give up
fighting and either consult together themselves or allow the senate to choose
an emperor. This, it is urged, was the reason why the generals on Otho's side
advised delay, and it is said that Paulinus had great hope of being chosen,
since he was the senior ex-consul and by his distinguished service had won fame
and reputation in his British campaigns. Now while I can grant that there were
a few who silently prayed for peace instead of civil strife, and who wished a
good and upright emperor instead of the worst rascals alive, still I do not
believe that Paulinus, with his practical good sense, ever hoped for such
moderation on the part of the people in that most corrupt age that the very men
whose passion for war had destroyed peace would now abandon war from love of
peace. Nor can I think that the two armies, whose habits and speech were so
different, could ever have come to such an agreement or that the lieutenants
and generals, most of whom were well aware of their own extravagance, poverty,
and crimes, would ever have endured an emperor unless he was foul with vice and
under obligations to them.
The old greed for power,
long ingrained in mankind, came to full growth and broke bounds as the empire
became great. When resources were moderate, equality was easily maintained; but
when the world had been subjugated and rival states or kings destroyed, so that
men were free to covet wealth without anxiety, then the first quarrels between
patricians and plebeians broke out. Now the tribunes made trouble, again the consuls
usurped too much power; in the city and forum the first essays at civil war
were made. Later Gaius Marius, who had sprung from the dregs of the people, and
that most cruel of nobles, Lucius Sulla, defeated liberty with arms and turned
it into tyranny. After them came Gnaeus Pompey, no better man than they, but
one who concealed his purpose more cleverly; and thenceforth there was never
any aim but supreme power. The legions made up of Roman citizens did not lay
down their arms at Pharsalia or Philippi; much less were the armies of Otho and
Vitellius likely to abandon war voluntarily. The same divine wrath, the same
human madness, the same motives to crime drove them on to strife. The fact that
these wars were ended by a single blow, so to speak, was due to the
worthlessness of the emperors. However, my reflections on the character of
antiquity and of modern times have taken me too far afield; now I return to my
narrative.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
I find it stated by certain
writers that in their dread of war or contempt for both emperors – whose
wickedness and degradation became in fact daily more notorious – the two armies
wondered whether they should not conclude an armistice under which they could
either negotiate on their own or leave the choice of an emperor to the senate. According
to these authorities, this was why the Othonian leaders suggested waiting for a
while: Paulinus, it is alleged, was particularly keen on this because he was
the senior officer of consular rank and had made a name for himself by service
in the British campaigns. For myself, I am quite prepared to grant that in
their heart of hearts a few men may have prayed for peace in preference to
strife and for a good and honest ruler instead of two worthless and infamous
scoundrels. Yet in an age and society so degenerate, I do not believe that the
prudent Paulinus expected the ordinary soldier to exercise such self-control as
to lay his arms down from an attachment to peace after disturbing the peace
from love of war. Nor do I think that armies so different in tongue and habit
were capable of a union of this kind, or that officers and generals whose
consciences were in most cases burdened with the recollections of a life of
pleasure, bankruptcy and crime would have tolerated as emperor any other than a
disreputable character from whom they could demand payment for the services
they had rendered.
From time immemorial, man
has had an instinctive love for power. With the growth of our empire, this
instinct has become a dominant and uncontrollable force. It was easy to
maintain equality when Rome was weak. World-wide conquest and the destruction
of all rival communities or potentates opened the way to the secure enjoyment
of wealth and an overriding appetite for it. This was how the smouldering
rivalry between senate and people was first fanned into a blaze. Unruly tribunes
alternated with powerful consuls. Rome and the Roman forum had a foretaste of
what civil war means. Then Gaius Marius, whose origin was of the humblest, and
Lucius Sulla, who outdid his fellow nobles in ruthlessness, destroyed the
republican constitution by force of arms. In its place they put despotism.
After them came Gnaeus Pompey, who, though more secretive, was no better, and
from the on the one and only aim was autocracy. Roman legions did not shrink
from civil war at Pharsalia or Philippi, and there is even less likelihood that
the armies of Otho and Vitellius would have made peace voluntarily. Now, as in
the past, it was the same divine wrath, the same human infatuation and the same
background of evil deeds that drove them to conflict. That each round of the
contest was decided by a knock-out blow was merely the consequence of the
feebleness of these rulers. But my reflections on the characteristics of
ancient and modern times have made me digress too far. I now return to the
chronological sequence of events.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
In some of my authorities I
find a statement that either fear of war or scorn for the two emperors, whose
scandalous misconduct grew daily more notorious, led the armies to wonder
whether they should not give up the struggle and either negotiate jointly among
themselves or refer the choice of an emperor to the Senate. This, it is
suggested, was the motive of Otho’s generals in advising delay, and Paulinus in
particular had high hopes, since he was the senior ex-consuls, and a
distinguished general who had earned a brilliant reputation by his operations
in Britain. For my own part, while I am ready to admit that a few people may
have tacitly wished for peace instead of civil war, or for a good and virtuous
emperor instead of two who were the worst of criminals, yet I imagine Paulinus
was much too wise to hope that in a time of universal corruption the mob would
show such moderation. Those who had sacrificed peace in a passion for war were
not likely to stop the war from any affection for peace. Nor was it possible
that armies whose language and characteristics differed so widely should ever
come to such an agreement. As for the officers and generals, hedonism,
bankruptcy, and crimes had left nearly all of them with guilty consciences:
they would not put up with any emperor who was not corrupt and under an
obligation for their services
The old ingrained human
passion for power has matured and burst into prominence with the growth of the
empire. With straiter resources equality was easily preserved. But when once we
had brought the world to our feet and exterminated every rival state or king,
we were left free to covet wealth without fear. It was then that strife first
flared up between patricians and plebeians: at one time arose seditious
tribunes, at another over-mighty consuls: in the Forum at Rome they had trial
runs for civil war. Before long, Gaius Marius, rising from the lowest ranks of
the people, and Lucius Sulla, the most cruel of all the nobles, crushed our
liberty by force of arms and substituted a despotism. Then came Gnaeus Pompey,
whose aims, though less patent, were no better. From that time onwards the one
end sought was autocracy. Even at Pharsalia and Philippi the citizen armies did
not lay down their arms. How then can we suppose that the troops of Otho and
Vitellius would have willingly stopped the war? The same anger of heaven, the
same human frenzy, the same criminal motives drove them into discord. True,
these wars were each settled by a single blow, but that was due to the
generals’ lack of spirit. However, my reflections on the ancient and the modern
character have carried me too far: I must now resume the thread of the
narrative.
Book II, Chapter 86, Antonius Primus.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
This man, though an
offender against the law, and convicted of fraud in the reign of Nero, had,
among the other calamities of war, recovered his rank as a Senator. Having been
appointed by Galba to command the 7th legion, he was commonly believed to have
often written to Otho, offering the party his services as a general. Being
slighted, however, by that Prince, he found no employment during the war. When
the fortunes of Vitellius began to totter, he attached himself to Vespasian,
and brought a vast accession of strength to his party. He was brave in battle,
ready of speech, dexterous in bringing odium upon other men, powerful amidst
civil strife and rebellion, rapacious, prodigal, the worst of citizens in
peace, but in war no contemptible ally.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
He had been found guilty
and condemned for fraud in Nero's reign, but, as one of the evil effects of the
war, he had recovered his senatorial rank. Although Galba had put him in
command of the Seventh legion, it was believed that he had written to Otho,
offering his services as a leader of his cause. Since Otho paid no attention to
him, he rendered no service in the war. Now that the fortunes of Vitellius
began to totter, Primus followed Vespasian and gave his cause a great impulse;
for he was vigorous in action, ready of speech, skilful in sowing differences
among his enemies, powerful in stirring up discord and strife, ever ready to
rob or to bribe – in short, he was the worst of mortals in peace, but in war a
man not to be despised.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
This man had a criminal
record, and in Nero’s reign had been sentenced for forgery. It was one of the
unfortunate results of civil war that he had managed to get back his rank as
senator. By Galba he was given command of the Seventh Legion. It was believed
that he had written more than once to Otho volunteering his assistance as a
party leader, but the offer was disregarded, and he rendered no service in the
Othonian campaign. Switching his allegiance to Vespasian as Vitellius’ star
waned, he gave a powerful impetus to the Flavian movement. A man of drive and
eloquence, a skilful propagandist who came into his own in a period of
dissension and revolt, light-fingered and open-handed, he was at once a vicious
influence in peacetime and a general to be reckoned with in war.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
This man was a criminal who
had been convicted of fraud during Nero’s reign. Among the many evils of the
war had been his recovery of senatorial rank. Galba gave him command of the
Seventh Legion, and he was believed to have written repeatedly to Otho offering
his services as general to the party. But, as Otho took no notice of him, he
played no part in the war. When Vitellius’ cause began to decline, he joined
Vespasian and proved a significant acquisition. He was a man of great physical
energy and a ready tongue; an artist in calumny, invaluable in riots and
sedition. Light-fingered and free-handed, he was intolerable in peace, but by
no means contemptible in war.
Book III, Chapter 32-34, the sack of Cremona.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
Meanwhile the population of
Cremona was roughly handled by the soldiers, who were just beginning a
massacre, when their fury was mitigated by the entreaties of the generals.
Antonius summoned them to an assembly, extolled the conquerors, spoke kindly to
the conquered, but said nothing either way of Cremona. Over and above the
innate love of plunder, there was an old feud which made the army bent on the
destruction of the inhabitants. It was generally believed that in the war with
Otho, as well as in the present, they had supported the cause of Vitellius.
Afterwards, when the 13th legion had been left to build an amphitheatre, with
the characteristic insolence of a city population, they had wantonly provoked
and insulted them. The ill-feeling had been aggravated by the gladiatorial show
exhibited there by Cæcina, by the circumstance that their city was now for the
second time the seat of war, and by the fact that they had supplied the
Vitellianists with provisions in the field, and that some of their women, taken
by party-zeal into the battle, had there been slain. The occurrence of the fair
filled the colony, rich as it always was, with an appearance of still greater
wealth. The other generals were unnoticed; Antonius from his success and high
reputation was observed of all. He had hastened to the baths to wash off the
blood; and when he found fault with the temperature of the water, an answer was
heard, “that it would soon be warm enough.” Thus the words of a slave brought
on him the whole odium of having given the signal for firing the town, which
was indeed already in flames.
Forty thousand armed men
burst into Cremona, and with them a body of sutlers and camp-followers, yet
more numerous and yet more abandoned to lust and cruelty. Neither age nor rank
were any protection from indiscriminate slaughter and violation. Aged men and
women past their prime, worthless as booty, were dragged about in wanton
insult. Did a grown up maiden or youth of marked beauty fall in their way, they
were torn in pieces by the violent hands of ravishers; and in the end the
destroyers themselves were provoked into mutual slaughter. Men, as they carried
off for themselves coin or temple-offerings of massive gold, were cut down by
others of superior strength. Some, scorning what met the eye, searched for
hidden wealth, and dug up buried treasures, applying the scourge and the
torture to the owners. In their hands were flaming torches, which, as soon as
they had carried out the spoil, they wantonly hurled into the gutted houses and
plundered temples. In an army which included such varieties of language and
character, an army comprising Roman citizens, allies, and foreigners, there was
every kind of lust, each man had a law of his own, and nothing was forbidden.
For four [p. 558] days Cremona satisfied the plunderers. When all things else,
sacred and profane, were settling down into the flames, the temple of Mephitis
outside the walls alone remained standing, saved by its situation or by divine
interposition.
Such was the end of
Cremona, 286 years after its foundation. It was built in the consulship of
Tiberius Sempronius and Cornelius Scipio, when Hannibal was threatening Italy,
as a protection against the Gauls from beyond the Padus, or against any other
sudden invader from the Alps. From the number of settlers, the conveniences
afforded by the rivers, the fertility of the soil, and the many connexions and
intermarriages formed with neighbouring nations, it grew and flourished,
unharmed by foreign enemies, though most unfortunate in civil wars. Ashamed of
the atrocious deed, and aware of the detestation which it was inspiring,
Antonius issued a proclamation, that no one should detain in captivity a
citizen of Cremona. The spoil indeed had been rendered valueless to the
soldiers by a general agreement throughout Italy, which rejected with loathing
the purchase of such slaves. A massacre then began; when this was known, the
prisoners were secretly ransomed by their friends and relatives. The remaining
inhabitants soon returned to Cremona; the temples and squares were restored by
the munificence of the burghers, and Vespasian gave his exhortations.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
In the meantime the people
of Cremona were buffeted about among the troops, and there came near being a
massacre, when the commanders by their appeals succeeded in calming the
soldiers. Then Antonius called them together and spoke in warmest eulogy of the
victors; the conquered he addressed in kindly terms; but he said nothing for or
against Cremona. The troops, prompted not only by their ingrained desire for
plunder, but also by their old hatred, were bent on destroying the people of
the town. They believed that they had helped the party of Vitellius in the war
with Otho as well; and later the common people of the town (for the mob always
has an insolent nature) had insulted and taunted the soldiers of the Thirteenth
legion who had been left behind to finish the amphitheatre. The troops’ anger
was increased by other causes as well: Caecina had given an exhibition of
gladiators there; the town had twice been the seat of war; the townspeople had
provided food for the Vitellians when they were actually in battle-line; and
some women had been killed who had been carried by their zeal for Vitellius’s
side into the very battle; besides this the market season had filled the
colony, always rich, with a greater show of wealth. Now the other commanders
were little noticed; but fame and fortune had made Antonius conspicuous to the
eyes of all. He hurried to some baths to wash away the blood with which he was
covered. When he complained of the temperature, a voice was heard saying that
they would soon be hot enough. This answer of some slave turned all the odium
of what followed on Antonius, as if he had given the signal to burn Cremona,
which was indeed at that moment in flames.
Forty thousand armed men
burst into the town; the number of camp-followers and servants was even
greater; and they were more ready to indulge in lust and cruelty. Neither rank
nor years protected anyone; their assailants debauched and killed without
distinction. Aged men and women near the end of life, though despised as booty,
were dragged off to be the soldiers' sport. Whenever a young woman or a
handsome youth fell into their hands, they were torn to pieces by the violent
struggles of those who tried to secure them, and this in the end drove the
despoilers to kill one another. Individuals tried to carry off for themselves
money or the masses of gold dedicated in the temples, but they were assailed
and slain by others stronger than themselves. Some, scorning the booty before
their eyes, flogged and tortured the owners to discover hidden wealth and dug
up buried treasure. They carried firebrands in their hands, and when they had
secured their loot, in utter wantonness they threw these into the vacant houses
and empty temples. In this army there were many passions corresponding to the
variety of speech and customs, for it was made up of citizens, allies, and
foreigners; no two held the same thing sacred and there was no crime which was
held unlawful. For four days did Cremona supply food for destruction. When
everything sacred and profane sank into the flames, there stood solitary outside
the walls the temple of Mefitis, protected by either its position or its
deity.
Such was the fate of
Cremona in the two hundred and eighty-sixth year after its foundation. It was
established in the consulship of Tiberius Sempronius and Publius Cornelius,8
at the time when Hannibal was threatening Italy, to be a bulwark of defence
against the Transpadane Gauls and to prevent any possible invasion over the
Alps. The large number of colonists sent there, the advantages given by its
navigable streams, the fertility of its land, as well as the connections
established with other peoples by intermarriage and alliance, all combined to
make the colony increase and prosper; untouched in foreign wars, it found
misfortune in civil strife. Antonius, ashamed of his atrocious crime, as public
indignation grew, issued a proclamation forbidding anyone to keep a citizen of
Cremona captive. In fact, the common feeling of all Italy had already made the
soldiers' booty valueless, for all Italians loathed the idea of buying slaves
like these. The soldiers then began to kill their captives; when this became
known, they were secretly ransomed by their relatives and kin. Later the
remnant of the people returned to Cremona; the fora and the temples were
restored by the munificence of its citizens; and Vespasian encouraged such
action.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
Meanwhile scuffles were
developing between the Cremonese populace and the armed troops, and it was only
when a massacre was imminent that the appeals of their leaders succeeded in
pacifying their men. Moreover Antonius held a parade, addressing the victors
proudly, and the vanquished with clemency, without referring to Cremona either
way. Quite apart from its natural taste for plunder, the army had old scores to
settle, and was bent on wiping out the Cremonese. It was held that they had
once before supported the Vitellian side, in the war against Otho; and later
the men of the Thirteenth, left there to build an amphitheatre, had been the
target of their mockery and insults, this behaviour being typical of the
impudent attitude of city mobs. The feeling against them was aggravated by a
gladiatorial show Caecina had given at Cremona, its renewed employment as a
base, and the way in which they offered the Vitellians food in the fighting
line. This had involved the death of certain women whose enthusiasm for the
cause was such that they made their way out to the scene of battle. Moreover it
was the season of the fair, and this filled a city which was in any case
opulent with an even greater display of wealth. The other generals were shadowy
figures, but Antonius’ success and status had placed him full in the public
gaze. He hurried off to the baths to wash away the stains of battle, and there,
as he criticized the temperature, he was overheard to say: ‘Luke-warm! We’ll be
in hot water soon, though.’ This cheap criticism fastened in him the whole
odium of the affair, for the people thought that he had given the word to fire
Cremona, which was in fact already burning.
Forty thousand armed men
forced their way into the city, with batmen and sutlers in greater numbers and
even more viciously addicted to lust and violence. Neither rank nor years saved
the victims from an indiscriminate orgy in which rape alternated with murder
and murder with rape. Greybeards and frail old women, who had no value as loot,
were dragged off to raise a laugh. But any full-grown girl or good-looking lad who
crossed their path was pulled this way and that in a violent tug-of-war between
the would-be captors, and finally drove them to destroy each other. A single
looter trailing a hoard of money or temple-offerings of massive gold was often
cut to pieces by others who were stronger. Some few turned up their noses at
the obvious finds, and inflicted flogging and torture on the owners in order to
rummage after their hidden valuables and dig for buried treasure. In their
hands they held firebrands, which, once they had got their spoil away, they
wantonly flung into the empty houses and rifled temples. It is not surprising
that, in an army of varied tongues and conventions, including Romans, allies
and foreigners, there was a diversity of wild desires, differing conceptions of
what was lawful, and nothing barred. Cremona lasted them four days. While all
its buildings, sacred and secular, collapsed in flames, only the temple of
Mefitis outside the walls remained standing, defended by its position or the
power of the divinity.
This, then, was the fate of
Cremona, 286 years after its foundation. It had been planted in the consulship
of Tiberius Sempronius and Publius Cornelius at the time when Hannibal was
menacing Italy, to serve as a bulwark against the Gauls living north of the Po
or any other violent irruption by way of the Alps. As it turned out, the abundance
of settlers, the convenient presence of rivers, and the fertility of its
territory, as well as kinship and intermarriage with the local tribes, conspired
to favour the growth and prosperity of a city immune from foreign invasion and
unlucky one in civil wars.
Antonius, thoroughly
ashamed of the dreadful deed and worried by the mounting scandal which it
caused, issued a proclamation that no one should keep prisoner a citizen of
Cremona. Indeed, the troops had already found their booty useless to them owing
to a concerted refusal throughout Italy to buy slaves of this sort, and they
began to murder them. When this leaked out, the unfortunate men were stealthily
ransomed by those who were their relatives by blood or marriage. In due course,
the surviving inhabitants returned to Cremona. The squares and temples were
restored thanks to the generosity of other Italian towns; and Vespasian gave
the work his blessing.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
Meanwhile the citizens of
Cremona suffered solely from the violence of the troops, and it was only when
the soldiers were on the point of a general massacre that the entreaties of
their generals calmed them down. Antonius summoned a mass meeting where he
eulogized his victorious army, promised mercy to the vanquished, but spoke
non-committally of Cremona. Besides the troops’ natural passion for plunder,
there was an old grudge which urged them to annihilate the Cremonese. The town
was believed to have given assistance to the Vitellian cause before this in the
war with Otho; and again, when the Thirteenth had been left behind to build an
amphitheatre, the populace had shown its town-bred impertinence by assailing
them with insolent ridicule. Other causes increased this bad feeling: it was
here that Caecina had given his show of gladiators; the town had become for a
second time the theatre of the war; the citizens had conveyed food to the
Vitellians during the battle; some women had been killed, whose enthusiasm for
the cause had led them to the battlefield. Besides all this, the fair had
filled the rich city with an even greater display of wealth than usual.
All eyes were now centred
on Antonius, whose fame and good fortune overshadowed all other generals. He
hurried off to the baths to wash off the stains of blood. Finding fault with
the temperature of the water, he was heard to quip, ‘It will not be long before
it is hot.’ This vulgar joke brought on him all the odium, as it was taken to
be his signal to set fire to Cremona, which was already in flames.
Forty thousand soldiers
burst into the town, with a yet larger crowd of servants and sutlers even more
depraved in their readiness for cruelty and lust. Without any respect for age
or for authority they added rape to murder and murder to rape. Aged men and
decrepit old women, who were worthless as booty, were hustled off to make sport
for them. Any grown girl or handsome youth who fell into their clutches was
torn to pieces by the violence of rival rapists, leaving the plunderers
themselves to cut each other’s throats. Whoever carried off money or the solid
gold offerings in the temples was cut to pieces, if he met others stronger than
himself. Some, disdaining easy finds, hunted for hidden hoards, and dug out
buried treasure, flogging and torturing the householders. They held torches in
their hands and, having once secured their prize, would fling them wantonly
into the empty houses and bare temples. Composed as the army was of citizens,
allies, and foreign troops, differing widely in language and customs, the
objects of the soldiers’ greed differed also. But while their views of what was
right might vary, they all agreed in thinking nothing wrong. Cremona lasted
them four days. While all other buildings sacred and secular sank in the
flames, only the Temple of Mefitis outside the walls was left standing, saved
either by its position or by the power of the deity.
Such was the end of
Cremona, 286 years after its foundation. It had been originally built in the
consulship of Tiberius Sempronius and Publius Cornelius, while Hannibal was
threatening Italy, to serve as a bulwark against the Gauls beyond the Po, and
to resist any other power that might break in over the Alps. And so it grew and
flourished, aided by its large number of settlers, its conveniently situated
rivers, the fertility of its territory, and its connections through
intermarriage with local tribes. Foreign invasions had left it untouched only
to become the victim of civil war.
Antonius, ashamed of his
crime, and realizing the growing odium against him, proclaimed that no citizen
of Cremona was to be kept prisoner; and, indeed, the unanimous feeling in Italy
against buying such slaves had already frustrated the soldiers’ hope for
profit. So they began to kill their captives, whose relatives and in-laws, when
this became known, covertly bought their release. After a while, the surviving
inhabitants returned to Cremona, and the squares and temples were rebuilt by
the munificence of the Italian towns and under Vespasian’s direct patronage.
Book III, Chapter 62, the obituary of Fabius
Valens.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
About the same time Fabius
Valens was put to death while in confinement at Urbinum. His head was displayed
to the Vitellianist cohorts, that they might not cherish any further hope, for
they generally believed that Valens had made his way into Germany, and was
there bringing into the field veteran as well as newly levied armies. The
bloody spectacle reduced them to despair, and it was amazing how the army of
Vespasian welcomed in their hearts the destruction of Valens as the termination
of the war. Valens was a native of Anagnia, and belonged to an Equestrian
family; he was a man of loose character, but of no small ability, who sought to
gain by profligacy a reputation for elegance. In the theatricals performed by
young men during the reign of Nero, at first apparently from compulsion,
afterwards of his own free choice, he repeatedly acted in the farces, with more
cleverness than propriety. While legate of a legion, he first supported, then
slandered, Verginius. Fonteius Capito he murdered, either after he had
corrupted him, or because he had failed to do so. Though a traitor to Galba he
was loyal to Vitellius, and gained a lustre from the perfidy of others.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
During these same days
Fabius Valens was killed at Urbinum, where he was under guard. His head was
exhibited to the cohorts of Vitellius to keep them from cherishing any further
hope, for hitherto they had believed that Valens had made his way to the German
provinces, where he was setting in motion the old forces and enrolling new. The
sight of his head turned them to despair; and it was extraordinary with what an
enormous increase of courage the execution of Valens inspired the Flavian
troops, who regarded it as the end of the war. Valens was born at Anagnia of
an equestrian family. He was a man of loose morals but not without natural
ability, save that he sought a reputation for wit by buffoonery. At the
Festival of Youth under Nero he appeared in mimes, at first apparently under
compulsion, but later of his own free will, acting in a manner more clever than
decent. As a legate of a legion he courted Verginius and then defamed him. He
put Fonteius Capito to death after corrupting him – or it may have been
because he could not corrupt him. A traitor to Galba, he was faithful to
Vitellius and gained glory from the perfidy of others.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
It was during this period
that Fabius Valens was put to death at Urvinum, where he had been confined. His
head was displayed to the Vitellian cohorts to prevent their indulging any
further hopes, for they imagined that Valens had got through to the German
provinces and mobilising existing and newly recruited armies there. The gory
sight effectually disillusioned them. The Flavian army for its part
triumphantly greeted the death of Valens as marking the end of the war.
Valens was born at Anagina
of an equestrian family. Undisciplined in character but not without talent, he
had tried to pass himself off as a man of fashion by behaving extravagantly. During
Nero’s reign, he appeared on the music-hall stage at the emperor’s
coming-of-age party, ostensibly at the imperial command, then voluntarily. In
this he displayed some skill, but little sense of decorum. As the commander of
a legion, he both supported Verginius and blackened his name. It was thanks to
him that Fonteius Capito met his end, after Valens had lured his victim into
treachery – or perhaps because his allurements had failed. False to Galba, he
displayed towards Vitellius a loyalty which contrasted favourably with the
perfidy of others.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
About the same time Fabius
Valens was executed in his prison at Urbinum, and his head was exhibited to
Vitellius’ Guards to show them that further hope was vain. For they cherished a
belief that Valens had made his way into Germany, and was there mustering
armies old and new. This evidence of his death threw them into despair. The
Flavian army was vastly inspirited by it and regarded Valens’ death as the end
of the war.
Valens had been born at
Anagina of an equestrian family. He was a man of loose morality, not without
intellectual gifts, who by indulging in frivolity posed as a wit. In Nero’s
time he had acted in a farce at the Juvenalian Games, at first pleading
compulsion, but afterwards voluntarily; his performances were clever rather
than respectable. Rising to the command of a legion, he supported Verginius and
then defamed his character. He murdered Fonteius Capito when he had corrupted
him – or perhaps it was because he had failed to corrupt him. He betrayed Galba
and remained faithful to Vitellius, a merit given lustre by the treachery of
others.
Book III, Chapters 67-68, the attempted abdication
of Vitellius.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
The ears of Vitellius were
deaf to manly counsels. His whole soul was overwhelmed by a tender anxiety,
lest by an obstinate resistance he might leave the conqueror less mercifully
disposed to his wife and children. He had also a mother old and feeble, but
she, expiring a few days before, escaped by her opportune death the ruin of her
house, having gained from the Imperial dignity of her son nothing but sorrow
and a good name. On the 18th of December, after hearing of the defection of the
legion and the auxiliary infantry which had surrendered at Narnia, he left the
palace, clad in mourning robes, and surrounded by his weeping household. With
him went his little son, carried in a litter, as though in a funeral
procession. The greetings of the people were flattering, but ill-suited to the
time; the soldiers preserved an ominous silence.
There could hardly be a man
so careless of human interests as not to be affected by this spectacle. There
was the Roman Emperor, lord but a few days before of the whole human race,
leaving the seat of his power, and passing through the midst of his people and
his capital, to abdicate his throne. Men had never before seen or heard of such
an event. Caesar, the Dictator, had fallen by sudden violence, Caligula by
secret treason. The shades of night and the obscurity of a rural hiding-place
had veiled the flight of Nero. Piso and Galba had, it might be said, fallen in
battle. In an assembly of his own people, and in the midst of his own soldiers,
with the very women of his family looking on, Vitellius stood and spoke a few
words suitable to the sad conjuncture. “He gave way,” he said, “for the sake of
peace, for the sake of his country; let them only remember him, and think with
compassion of his brother, of his wife, of his young and innocent children.” At
the same time he held out his son, commending him first to individual
bystanders, then to the whole assembly. At last, unable to speak for weeping,
he unfastened the dagger from his side, and offered it to the Consul, Caecilius
Simplex, who was standing by him, as if to indicate that he surrendered the
power of life and death over the citizens. The Consul rejecting it, and those
who were standing by in the assembly shouting remonstrance, he departed, as if with
the intention of laying aside the emblems of Imperial power in the Temple of
Concord, and of betaking himself to his brother's house. Louder shouts here met
him from the crowd, which hindered him from entering a private house, and
invited him to return to the palace. Every other route was closed, and the only
one open was one which led into the Via Sacra. Then in utter perplexity he
returned to the palace.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
Vitellius’s ears were deaf
to all sterner counsels. His mind was overwhelmed by pity and anxiety for his
wife and children, since he feared that if he made an obstinate struggle, he
might leave the victor less mercifully disposed toward them. He had also his
mother, who was bowed with years; but through an opportune death she
anticipated by a few days the destruction of her house, having gained nothing
from the elevation of her son to the principate but sorrow and good repute. On
December eighteenth, when Vitellius heard of the defection of the legion and
cohorts that had given themselves up at Narnia, he put on mourning and came
down from his palace, surrounded by his household in tears; his little son was
carried in a litter as if in a funeral procession. The voices of the people
were flattering and untimely; the soldiers maintained an ominous silence.
There was no one so
indifferent to human fortunes as not to be moved by the sight. Here was a Roman
emperor who, but yesterday lord of all mankind, now, abandoning the seat of his
high fortune, was going through the midst of his people and the heart of the
city to give up his imperial power. Men had never seen or heard the like
before. A sudden violent act had crushed the dictator Caesar, a secret plot the
emperor Gaius; night and the obscurity of the country had concealed the flight
of Nero; Piso and Galba had fallen, so to say, on the field of battle. But now
Vitellius, in an assembly called by himself, surrounded by his own soldiers,
while even women looked on, spoke briefly and in a manner befitting his present
sad estate, saying that he withdrew for the sake of peace and his country; he
asked the people simply to remember him and to have pity on his brother, his
wife, and his innocent young children. As he spoke, he held out his young son
in his arms, commending him now to one or another, again to the whole assembly;
finally, when tears choked his voice, taking his dagger from his side he
offered it to the consul who stood beside him, as if surrendering his power of
life and death over the citizens. The consul's name was Caecilius Simplex.
When he refused it and the assembled people cried out in protest, Vitellius
left them with the intention of depositing the imperial insignia in the Temple
of Concord and after that going to his brother's home. Thereupon the people
with louder cries opposed his going to a private house, but called him to the
palace. Every other path was blocked against him; the only road open was along
the Sacred Way. Then in utter perplexity he returned to the palace.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
But Vitellius had no ears
for bold policies. He was overwhelmed by pity for his family and by concern
lest, by fighting to the bitter end, he might leave his widow and children to
face a victor less disposed to mercy. He also had an elderly mother in poor
health, but happily she died a few days before the ruin of her family, having
gained nothing by her son’s reign but grief and men’s esteem.
On 18 December, after
learning of the defection of the legion and cohorts which had surrendered at
Narnia, he walked down from the palace dressed in black and surrounded by his
sorrowing servants. His little son was borne in a tiny litter, as if to his
funeral. The greetings of the public were ingratiating and ill-timed. The
troops maintained a sullen silence. No one, however heartless and inhuman,
could have failed to be deeply touched by the scene. An emperor of Rome, until
recently the acknowledged master of the world, was leaving the imperial palace which
had been his and passing through the people and city of Rome on the way to
abdication. This was something they had never seen, never heard of. Julius
Caesar had been the victim of sudden assassination, Gaius of a secret plot. Night
and a solitary countryside had hidden the flight of Nero. Piso and Galba met
their deaths in circumstances which recalled a field of battle. The abdication
of Vitellius, however, took place at a public meeting summoned by himself, amid
his own troops, before an audience which included women. He made a short speech
suited to the melancholy occasion, saying that he was abdicating in the interests
of the peace and of his country. He merely urged them to remember him and deal
mercifully with his brother, his wife and his innocent children. As he spoke,
he held up his son and appealed to them, sometimes as individuals, sometimes
collectively, to look after the child. In the end, his tears prevented further
speech. Drawing from his belt the dagger which symbolized the power of life and
death over his subjects, he offered it to the consul standing by him, Caecilius
Simplex. The latter refused to take it, and the nearer members of the crowd
protested indignantly. He then moved away with the intention of giving up the
insignia of empire in the Temple of Concord and of making for his brother’s
house. At this, the cries increased. They barred his access to a mere private
house, and called upon him to go back to the palace. Every other road was
blocked except that which took him along the Sacred Way. Thereupon, not knowing
what to do, he returned to the palace.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
But Vitellius was deaf to
all courageous counsel. His mind was obsessed with pity for his wife and
children, and anxiety that obstinate resistance might make the conqueror
merciless towards them. He had also a mother, very old and infirm, but she
forestalled the ruin of her house, opportunely dying a few days before. All she
had got out of her son’s principate was sorrow and a fine reputation.
On 18 December he heard the
news that the legion and the cohorts at Narnia had deserted him and surrendered
to the enemy. He at once put on sombre garments and left the enemy. He at once
put on sombre garments and left the place, surrounded by his sorrowful
household. His small son was carried in a little litter, as though this had
been his funeral. The populace uttered untimely flatteries: the soldiers kept
an ominous silence.
No one could have been so
indifferent to the tragedy of human life as to be unmoved by this spectacle. A
Roman emperor, yesterday master of the inhabited world, had left the seat of
his authority, and was now passing through the streets of the city, through the
crowding populace, quitting the throne. Such a sight had never been seen or
heard of before. The dictator, Caesar, had been the victim of sudden violence;
Gaius of a secret conspiracy. Nero’s had been a stealthy flight to some obscure
country house under cover of night. Piso and Galba might almost be said to have
fallen on the field of battle. But here was Vitellius – before the assembly of
his own people, his own soldiers around him, with even women looking on –
uttering a few sentences suitable to his miserable situation. He said it was in
the interest of peace and of his country that he now resigned. He begged them
only to retain his memory in their hearts and to take pity on his brother, his
wife, and his innocent little children. As he said this, he held out his son to
them and commended him, now to individuals, now to the whole assembly. At last
tears choked his voice. Turning to the consul Caecilius Simplex, who was
standing by, he unstrapped his dagger from his side, and offered to surrender
it as a symbol of his power over the life and death of his subjects. The consul
refused, and the people standing by shouted ‘No’. So he left them with the
intention of deposing the imperial regalia in the Temple of Concord and going
to his brother’s house. But he was faced with a still louder uproar. They
refused to let him enter a private house, and shouted to him to return to the
palace. They blocked every other way and only left open the road leading into
the Sacred Way. Not knowing what to do, Vitellius returned to the palace.
Book III, Chapters 71-72, the burning of the
Capitol.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
Martialis had hardly
returned to the Capitol, when the infuriated soldiery arrived, without any
leader, every man acting on his own impulse. They hurried at quick march past
the Forum and the temples which hang over it and advanced their line up the
opposite hill as far as the outer gates of the Capitol. There were formerly
certain colonnades on the right side of the slope as one went up; the
defenders, issuing forth on the roof of these buildings showered tiles and
stones on the Vitellianists. The assailants were not armed with anything but
swords, and it seemed too tedious to send for machines and missiles. They threw
lighted brands on a projecting colonnade, and following the track of the fire
would have burst through the half-burnt gates of the Capitol, had not Sabinus,
tearing down on all sides the statues, the glories of former generations,
formed them into a barricade across the opening. They then assailed the
opposite approaches to the Capitol, near the grove of the Asylum, and where the
Tarpeian rock is mounted by a hundred steps. Both these attacks were
unexpected; the closer and fiercer of the two threatened the Asylum. The
assailants could not be checked as they mounted the continuous line of
buildings, which, as was natural in a time of profound peace, had grown up to
such a height as to be on a level with the soil of the Capitol. A doubt arises
at this point, whether it was the assailants who threw lighted brands on to the
roofs, or whether, as the more general account has it, the besieged thus sought
to repel the assailants, who were now making vigorous progress. From them the
fire passed to the colonnades adjoining the temples; the eagles supporting the
pediment, which were of old timber, caught the flames. And so the Capitol, with
its gates shut, neither defended by friends, nor spoiled by a foe, was burnt to
the ground.
This was the most
deplorable and disgraceful event that had happened to the Commonwealth of Rome
since the foundation of the city; for now, assailed by no foreign enemy, with
Heaven ready to be propitious, had our vices only allowed, the seat of Jupiter
Supremely Good and Great, founded by our ancestors with solemn auspices to be
the pledge of Empire, the seat, which neither Porsenna, when the city was
surrendered, nor the Gauls, when it was captured, had been able to violate, was
destroyed by the madness of our Emperors. Once before indeed during civil war
the Capitol had been consumed by fire, but then only through the crime of
individuals; now it was openly besieged, and openly set on fire. And what were
the motives of this conflict? what the compensation for so great a disaster?
was it for our country we were fighting? King Tarquinius Priscus had vowed its
erection in his war with the Sabines, and had laid the foundations on a scale
which suited the hopes of future greatness rather than what the yet moderate
resources of Rome could achieve. After him, Servius Tullius, heartily assisted
by the allies, and Tarquinius Superbus, employing the spoils of war from the
conquered Suessa Pometia, raised the superstructure. But the glory of its
completion was reserved for the days of liberty. After the expulsion of the
Kings, Horatius Pulvillus, in his second consulate, dedicated it, a building so
magnificent, that the vast wealth afterwards acquired by the people of Rome
served to embellish rather than increase it. It was rebuilt on the same site,
when, after an interval of 415 years, it was burnt to the ground in the
consulate of Lucius Scipio and Caius Norbanus. Sulla, after his final triumph,
undertook the charge of restoring it, but did not live to dedicate it, the one
thing denied to his uniform good fortune. The name of Lutatius Catulus, the
dedicator, remained among all the vast erections of the Emperors, down to the
days of Vitellius. This was the building that was now on fire.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
Martialis had hardly
returned to the Capitol when the soldiers arrived in fury. They had no leader;
each directed his own movements. Rushing through the Forum and past the temples
that rise above it, they advanced in column up the hill, as far as the first
gates of the Capitoline citadel. There were then some old colonnades on the
right as you go up the slopes; the defenders came out on the roofs of these and
showered stones and tiles on their assailants. The latter had no arms except
their swords, and they thought that it would cost too much time to send for
artillery and missiles; consequently they threw firebrands on a projecting
colonnade, and then followed in the path of the flames; they actually burned
the gates of the Capitol and would have forced their way through, if Sabinus
had not torn down all the statues, memorials to the glory of our ancestors, and
piled them up across the entrance as a barricade. Then the assailants tried
different approaches to the Capitol, one by the grove of the asylum and
another by the hundred steps that lead up to the Tarpeian Rock. Both attacks
were unexpected; but the one by the asylum was closer and more threatening.
Moreover, the defenders were unable to stop those who climbed through
neighbouring houses, which, built high in time of peace, reached the level of
the Capitol. It is a question here whether it was the besiegers or the besieged
who threw fire on the roofs. The more common tradition says this was done by
the latter in their attempts to repel their assailants, who were climbing up or
had reached the top. From the houses the fire spread to the colonnades
adjoining the temple; then the “eagles” which supported the roof, being of old
wood, caught and fed the flames. So the Capitol burned with its doors closed;
none defended it, none pillaged it.
This was the saddest and
most shameful crime that the Roman state had ever suffered since its
foundation. Rome had no foreign foe; the gods were ready to be propitious if
our characters had allowed; and yet the home of Jupiter Optimus Maximus,
founded after due auspices by our ancestors as a pledge of empire, which
neither Porsenna, when the city gave itself up to him,15 nor the Gauls when
they captured it, could violate – this was the shrine that the mad fury of
emperors destroyed! The Capitol had indeed been burned before in civil war, but
the crime was that of private individuals. Now it was openly besieged, openly
burned – and what were the causes that led to arms? What was the price paid for
this great disaster? This temple stood intact so long as we fought for our
country. King Tarquinius Priscus had vowed it in the war with the Sabines and
had laid its foundations rather to match his hope of future greatness than in
accordance with what the fortunes of the Roman people, still moderate, could
supply. Later the building was begun by Servius Tullius with the enthusiastic
help of Rome’s allies, and afterwards carried on by Tarquinius Superbus with
the spoils taken from the enemy at the capture of Suessa Pometia. But the glory
of completing the work was reserved for liberty: after the expulsion of the
kings, Horatius Pulvillus in his second consulship dedicated it; and its
magnificence was such that the enormous wealth of the Roman people acquired
thereafter adorned rather than increased its splendour. The temple was built
again on the same spot when after an interval of four hundred and fifteen years
it had been burned in the consulship of Lucius Scipio and Gaius Norbanus. The
victorious Sulla undertook the work, but still he did not dedicate it; that was
the only thing that his good fortune was refused. Amid all the great works
built by the Caesars the name of Lutatius Catulus kept its place down to
Vitellius’s day. This was the temple that then was burned.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
Martialis had scarcely
regained the Capitol when the infuriated troops appeared. They had no leader,
and each man followed his own devices. At a rapid pace, the column swept past
the forum and the temples abutting on it, and charged up the slope opposite as
far as the outer gate of the Capitoline Hill. At that time, there was a row of
porticoes on the right-hand side of the Clivus Capitolinus as you go up. The
defenders got on the roof of the colonnade and assailed the Vitellians with
stones and tiles. The enemy for their part were armed only with swords, and
thought it would take too long to bring up artillery or missiles. So they
hurled firebrands at a projecting portico, followed the flames as they spread uphill, and would have forced the
charred gates of the Capitol, had not Sabinus uprooted the statues with which
past generations had adorned the whole area, and so formed an improvised
barricade at the actual entrance. Then the Vitellians attacked at two opposite
approaches to the Capitol, next to the Grove of Refuge and where access is
gained to the Tarpeian Rock by the Hundred Steps. Both onslaughts were
unforeseen, but that delivered by way of Refuge was closer and more violent.
Nor could the enemy be prevented from climbing up through the adjoining buildings
which, naturally enough in a time of profound peace, had been allowed to attain
a considerable height, on a level with the surface of the Capitol. At this
point it is a matter of controversy whether it was the attacking force that set
fire to the houses or whether – and this is the more common version – it was
the besieged who did so in an attempt to dislodge their enemies, who were
forcing their way up and had made some progress. From the houses the fire
spread to the porticoes adjoining the temple. Then the rafters made of
well-seasoned timber caught alight and fed the flames. Thus the Capitoline
temple, its doors locked, was burned to the ground undefended and unplundered.
This was the most
lamentable and appalling disaster in the whole history of the Roman
commonwealth. Though no foreign enemy threatened, though we enjoyed the favour
of heaven as far as our failings permitted, the sanctuary of Jupiter Best and
Greatest solemnly founded by our fathers as a symbol of our imperial destiny –
a temple which neither Porsenna on the capitulation of the city nor the Gauls
on its capture had been able to desecrate – was now, thanks to the infatuation
of our leaders, suffering utter destruction. It had already been burnt down in
a previous civil war, but by an individual and mysterious act of arson. But on
this occasion it was besieged in the broad light of day, and in the broad light
of day fired. One might well ask, for what military reasons? What advantage
could compensate Rome for his heavy sacrifice? So long as we fought in the
defence of our country and not against it, the Capitoline temple stood
four-square.
It owed its origin to a vow
made by Tarquin the Elder in the Sabine War, and the scale upon which he had
laid its foundations was prompted rather by a hope of coming greatness than by
the then modest resources of Rome. The construction of building was carried
further by Servius Tullius, thanks to the support of our allies, and later by
Tarquin the Proud with spoils taken from the enemy at the capture of Suessa
Pometia. But the distinction of completing the structure was reserved for the
free republic. On the expulsion of the kings, it was dedicated by Horatius
Pulvillus in his second consulship. Such was its magnificence that the enormous
increase of Rome’s wealth in later days served rather to adorn than to enlarge
it. Four hundred and twenty-five years later, in the consulship of Lucius
Scipio and Gaius Norbanus, it was burnt down, to be rebuilt on the same site. Sulla
undertook this responsibility after his victory, but he did not live to perform
the dedication. This was the only instance in which his proverbial good luck
deserted him. This inscription recording the name of Lutatius Catulus survived
amid all the great works of the Caesars until the reign of Vitellius. Such,
then, was the temple which was being reduced to ashes.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
Martialis had hardly
returned to the Capitol when the furious soldiery arrived. They had no general
to lead them: each was a law to himself. Their column marched at full speed
through the Forum and past the temples overlooking it. Then they advanced up
the hill in front of them, until they reached the lowest gates of the fortress
on the Capitol. In those days there was a series of colonnades at the side of
this slope, on the right as you go up. Emerging onto the roof of these, the
besieged overwhelmed the Vitellians with showers of stones and tiles. The
attacking party carried nothing but swords, and it seemed a long business to
send for siege-engines and missiles. So they flung torches into a projecting
colonnade and, following in the wake of the flames, would have burst through
the burnt gates of the Capitol, if Sabinus had not torn down all the available
statues – the monuments of our ancestors’ glory – and built a sort of barricade
on the very threshold. They then attacked the Capitol by two opposite approaches,
one near the ‘Grove of Refuge’ and the other by the 100 steps which lead up to
the Tarpeian Rock. This double assault came as a surprise; but that by the
Refuge was the closer and more vigorous. Nothing could stop the Vitellians, who
climbed up by some adjoining buildings, which in the days of prolonged peace had
been raised to such a height that their roofs were level with the floor of the
Capitol. It is uncertain whether the houses at this point were fired by
assailants or – the most common account – by the besieged in trying to dislodge
their enemies who had struggled up so far. The fire spread to the colonnades
adjoining the temple; and then the gables supporting the roof, which were made
of very old wood, caught the flame and fed them. And so the Capitol, with its
doors fast shut, undefended and unplundered, was burnt to the ground.
Since the foundation of the
city no such deplorable and horrible disaster had ever befallen the people of
Rome. It was no case of foreign invasion. Had our own wickedness allowed, the
country might have been enjoying the blessings of a benign Providence; and yet
here was the seat of Jupiter Optimus Maximus – the temple solemnly founded by
our ancestors as the guarantee of their imperial greatness, which not even
Porsenna, when Rome surrendered, nor the Gauls, when they took it, could have
defiled – being brought utterly to ruin by the mad folly of rival emperors! The
Capitol had been burnt before civil war, but that was the crime of private
persons. Now it had been openly besieged and openly burnt. And what was the
military justification? What recompense for such disaster?
While we fought for our
country, the temple stood firm. King Tarquinius Priscus had vowed to build it
in the Sabine war, and had laid the foundations on a scale that suited rather
his hope of the city’s future greatness than the still moderate fortunes of the
Roman people. Later Servius Tullius, with the support of Rome’s allies, and
Tarquinius Superbus, with the spoils of the Volscians after the capture of
Suessa Pometia, continued the building. But the glory of completing it was
reserved for the days of freedom. After the expulsion of the kings, Horatius
Pulvillus in his second consulship dedicated this monument on such a
magnificent scale that in later days, with all her boundless wealth, Rome was
able to embellish but never to enlarge it. After an interval of 415 years, in
the consulship of Lucius Scipio and Gaius Norbanus, it was burnt and rebuilt on
the same foundations. Sulla after his victory undertook the task of restoring
it, but did not dedicate it: this one thing his famous ‘Fortune’ denied him.
Much as the emperors did to it, the name of Lutatius Catulus still remained
upon it up to the time of Vitellius. This was the temple that was now ablaze.
Book III, Chapters 84-85, the end of Vitellius.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
When the city had been
taken, Vitellius caused himself to be carried in a litter through the back of
the palace to the Aventine, to his wife's dwelling, intending, if by any
concealment he could escape for that day, to make his way to his brother's
cohorts at Tarracina. Then, with characteristic weakness, and following the
instincts of fear, which, dreading everything, shrinks most from what is
immediately before it, he retraced his steps to the desolate and forsaken
palace, whence even the meanest slaves had fled, or where they avoided his
presence. The solitude and silence of the place scared him; he tried the closed
doors, he shuddered in the empty chambers, till, wearied out with his miserable
wanderings, he concealed himself in an unseemly hiding-place, from which he was
dragged out by the tribune Julius Placidus. His hands were bound behind his
back, and he was led along with tattered robes, a revolting spectacle, amidst
the invectives of many, the tears of none. The degradation of his end had
extinguished all pity. One of the German soldiers met the party, and aimed a
deadly blow at Vitellius, perhaps in anger, perhaps wishing to release him the
sooner from insult. Possibly the blow was meant for the Tribune. He struck off
that officer’s ear, and was immediately dispatched.
Vitellius, compelled by
threatening swords, first to raise his face and offer it to insulting blows,
then to behold his own statues falling round him, and more than once to look at
the Rostra and the spot where Galba was slain was then driven along till they
reached the Gemoniae, the place where the corpse of Flavius Sabinus had lain.
One speech was heard from him shewing a spirit not utterly degraded, when to
the insults of a tribune he answered, “Yet I was your Emperor.” Then he fell
under a shower of blows, and the mob reviled the dead man with the same
heartlessness with which they had flattered him when he was alive.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
On the capture of the city
Vitellius was carried on a chair through the rear of the palace to his wife's
house on the Aventine, so that, in case he succeeded in remaining undiscovered
during the day, he might escape to his brother and the cohorts at Tarracina.
But his fickle mind and the very nature of terror, which makes the present
situation always seem the worst to one who is fearful of everything, drew him
back to the palace. This he found empty and deserted, for even the meanest of
his slaves had slipped away or else avoided meeting him. The solitude and the
silent spaces filled him with fright: he tried the rooms that were closed and
shuddered to find them empty. Exhausted by wandering forlornly about, he
concealed himself in an unseemly hiding-place; but Julius Placidus, tribune of
a cohort, dragged him to the light. With his arms bound behind his back, his
garments torn, he presented a grievous sight as he was led away. Many cried out
against him, not one shed a tear; the ugliness of the last scene had banished
pity. One of the soldiers from Germany met him and struck at him in rage, or
else his purpose was to remove him the quicker from insult, or he may have been
aiming at the tribune – no one could tell. He cut off the tribune’s ear and was
at once run through.
Vitellius was forced at the
point of the sword now to lift his face and offer it to his captors’ insults,
now to see his own statues falling, and to look again and again on the rostra
or the place where Galba had been killed. Finally, the soldiers drove him to
the Gemonian stairs where the body of Flavius Sabinus had recently been lying.
His only utterance marked his spirit as not ignoble, for when the tribune
insulted him, he replied, “Yet I was your Emperor.” Then he fell under a shower
of blows; and the people attacked his body after he was dead with the same base
spirit with which they had fawned on him while he lived.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
As for Vitellius, on the
capture of the city he was taken in a chair through the back of the palace to
his wife’s house. His intention, provided he could lie low during the remaining
hours of daylight, was to get away to his cohorts and his brother at Tarracina.
Then with characteristic fickleness of purpose, and – true to the psychology of
panic – amid all his fears least happy about what he was doing at the moment,
he returned to the palace. The building was forlorn and deserted, for even the
humblest of his menials had slipped away, or avoided encountering him. The
solitude and silence of the place were frightening. He tried locked doors, and
shuddered to find rooms empty. Exhausted by miserable wanderings and hiding in
a degrading place of concealment, he was hauled out by a cohort tribune named
Julius Placidus. His hands were tied behind his back. Presenting a revolting
spectacle with his clothes in ribbons, he was led away amid curses from many
and tears from none. The squalor of his end had robbed it of pity. On the way,
one of the men from the army of Germany met him. It was not clear at the time
whether he was aiming a blow at Vitellius – either in fury or else in order to
spare him further humiliation – or attacking the tribune. In any event, he cut
off the tribune’s ear, and was immediately run through.
At the point of the sword,
Vitellius was at one moment forced to look up and face the jeering, at the next
to fix his eyes not only on the statues of himself as they were pulled down but
above all on the rostra or the spot where Galba was murdered. Finally, they
drove him to the Gemonian Steps where the body of Flavius Sabinus had lain. One
remark of his, and one only, was overheard which showed a not wholly degenerate
spirit. When a tribune mocked him, he retorted ‘Whatever you may say, I was
your emperor.’ Thereupon he fell lifeless beneath a rain of blows. And still
the mob reviled him in death as viciously as they had flattered him while he
lived.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
When the city was taken,
Vitellius left the palace by a back way and was carried in a litter to his
wife’s house on the Aventine. If he could lie hidden during the day, he hoped
to make his escape to the cohorts with his brother at Tarracina. But it is in
the very nature of terror that, while any course looks dreadful, one’s current
situation seems worst of all. In his endemic restlessness he returned to the
vast, deserted palace. Even the lowest of his menials had slipped away, or at
least avoided meeting him. The solitude and the hushed silence of the place
terrified him; he tried locked doors, he shuddered at the emptiness. At last,
wearied with his miserable search, he crept into some shameful hiding-place.
There Julius Placidus, a tribune of the Guards, found him and dragged him out.
His hands were tied behind his back, his clothes were torn, and he was led
forth – a disgraceful spectacle at which many hurled insults, no one shed a
single tear of pity. The ignominy of his end had wiped out all compassion. On
the way a soldier of the German army either aimed an angry blow at him, or tried
to put him out of his shame, or meant, perhaps, to strike the tribune – it is
unclear which. At any rate, he cut off the tribune’s ear and was immediately
stabbed to death.
With the points of their
swords they forced Vitellius to hold up his head and face their insults, then
to watch his own statues hurtling down, but above all to look at the Rostra and
the site of Galba’s murder. At last he was thrust along to the Gemonian Steps,
where the body of Flavius Sabinus had lain. Just one thing that he was heard to
say had a ring of true nobility. When some tribune jeered at him, he answered,
‘And yet I was once your Emperor.’ After that he fell under a shower of wounds;
and the mob in their perversity abused him in his death, just as they had flattered
him in his lifetime.
Book IV, Chapter 1, yet another piece of
staggering Roman carnage!
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
When Vitellius was dead,
the war had indeed come to an end, but peace had yet to begin. Sword in hand,
throughout the capital, the conquerors hunted down the conquered with merciless
hatred. The streets were choked with carnage, the squares and temples reeked
with blood, for men were massacred everywhere as chance threw them in the way.
Soon, as their license increased, they began to search for and drag forth
hidden foes. Whenever they saw a man tall and young they cut him down, making
no distinction between soldiers and civilians. But the ferocity, which in the
first impulse of hatred could be gratified only by blood, soon passed into the
greed of gain. They let nothing be kept secret, nothing be closed;
Vitellianists, they pretended, might be thus concealed. Here was the first step
to breaking open private houses; here, if resistance were made, a pretext for
slaughter. The most needy of the populace and the most worthless of the slaves
did not fail to come forward and betray their wealthy masters; others were
denounced by friends. Everywhere were lamentations, and wailings, and all the
miseries of a captured city, till the license of the Vitellianist and
Othonianist soldiery, once so odious, was remembered with regret. The leaders
of the party, so energetic in kindling civil strife, were incapable of checking
the abuse of victory. In stirring up tumult and strife the worst men can do the
most, but peace and quiet cannot be established without virtue.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
The death of Vitellius was
rather the end of war than the beginning of peace. The victors ranged through
the city in arms, pursuing their defeated foes with implacable hatred: the
streets were full of carnage, the fora and temples reeked with blood; they slew
right and left everyone whom chance put in their way. Presently, as their
licence increased, they began to hunt out and drag into the light those who had
concealed themselves; did they espy anyone who was tall and young, they cut him
down, regardless whether he was soldier or civilian. Their ferocity, which
found satisfaction in bloodshed while their hatred was fresh, turned then
afterwards to greed. They let no place remain secret or closed, pretending that
Vitellians were in hiding. This led to the forcing of private houses or, if
resistance was made, became an excuse for murder. Nor was there any lack of
starvelings among the mob or of the vilest slaves ready to betray their rich
masters; others were pointed out by their friends. Everywhere were
lamentations, cries of anguish, and the misfortunes that befall a captured
city; so that the citizens actually longed for the licence of Otho’s and
Vitellius’s soldiers, which earlier they had detested. The generals of the
Flavian party, who had been quick to start the conflagration of civil war, were
unequal to the task of controlling their victory, for in times of violence and
civil strife the worst men have the greatest power; peace and quiet call for
honest arts.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
The execution of Vitellius
marked the end of hostilities rather than the beginning of peace. The victors
roamed through the city sword in hand, hunting the vanquished down with
relentless hate. The streets were choked with bodies, the squares and temples stained
with blood. The Flavians slaughtered their victims wherever they happened to
come across them. Soon discipline went to pieces, and they set to work to
search for skulkers and drag them from their hiding places. Whenever a man of
tall and military appearance came in sight, they cut him down regardless of
whether he was a soldier or a civilian. While feeling still ran high, their
brutality glutted itself with blood. Then it was transformed into an appetite
for loot. They left not lurking-place untouched, no door unopened: the excuse
was that supporters of Vitellius might be hidden there. This was a signal for
breaking into private mansions or, if resistance was offered, an excuse for
murder. There were plenty of destitute Romans or vicious slaves ready to betray
rich masters. Others again were denounced by their friends. Rome was filled
with wailing and lamentation, and suffered the plight of a captured city. Indeed
the unruly behaviour of the Othonian and Vitellian troops, which had been
resented at the time, now seemed tolerable in retrospect. The Flavian generals
had been keen enough to start the civil war, but they were incapable of
exercising control in the day of victory. The truth is that revolution and
strife put tremendous power into the hands of evil men, whereas peace and quiet
call for good lives.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
The death of Vitellius had
ended the war without inaugurating peace. The victors remained under arms, and
the defeated Vitellians were hunted through the city with implacable hatred,
and butchered indiscriminately wherever they were found. The streets were
choked with corpses; squares and temples ran with blood. Soon the riot knew no
restraint; they began to hunt for those who were hiding and to drag them out.
All who were tall and of youthful appearance were cut down, without distinction
between soldiers and civilians. While their rage was fresh they sated their
savage cravings with blood; but now the instinct of greed had prevailed. On the
pretext of hunting for hidden enemies, they would leave no door unopened and
respect no privacy. Thus they began to burst into private houses or else made
resistance an excuse for murder. There were plenty of needy citizens, too, and
villainous slaves, who without prompting betrayed their wealthy masters. Others
were denounced by their friends. From all sides came cries of mourning and
misery. Rome was like a captured city. People even longed to have the insolent
soldiers of Othoa and Vitellius back
again, much as they had been hated. The Flavian generals, who had fanned the
flame of civil war with such energy, were incapable of acting temperately in
victory. In riot and disorder the worst characters take the lead; peace and
quiet call for the highest qualities.
Book IV, Chapter 3, dissection of human
nature with the Tacitean scalpel.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
... so much more inclined are
we to requite an injury than an obligation. Gratitude is a burden, while there
seems to be a profit in revenge.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
... so much easier is it to
repay injury than to reward kindness, for gratitude is regarded as a burden, revenge
as gain.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
...which shows that men are
more inclined to repay injury than kindness: the truth is that gratitude is
irksome, while vengeance is accounted gain.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
It is always easier to
requite an injury than a service: gratitude is a burden, but revenge is found
to pay.
Book V, Chapter 5, a Jewish digression.
[Church-Brodribb,
1876:]
This worship, however
introduced, is upheld by its antiquity; all their other customs, which are at
once perverse and disgusting, owe their strength to their very badness. The
most degraded out of other races, scorning their national beliefs, brought to them
their contributions and presents. This augmented the wealth of the Jews, as
also did the fact, that among themselves they are inflexibly honest and ever
ready to shew compassion, though they regard the rest of mankind with all the
hatred of enemies. They sit apart at meals, they sleep apart, and though, as a
nation, they are singularly prone to lust, they abstain from intercourse with
foreign women; among themselves nothing is unlawful. Circumcision was adopted
by them as a mark of difference from other men. Those who come over to their
religion adopt the practice, and have this lesson first instilled into them, to
despise all gods, to disown their country, and set at nought parents, children,
and brethren. Still they provide for the increase of their numbers. It is a
crime among them to kill any newly-born infant. They hold that the souls of all
who perish in battle or by the hands of the executioner are immortal. Hence a
passion for propagating their race and a contempt for death. They are wont to
bury rather than to burn their dead, following in this the Egyptian custom;
they bestow the same care on the dead, and they hold the same belief about the
lower world. Quite different is their faith about things divine. The Egyptians
worship many animals and images of monstrous form; the Jews have purely mental
conceptions of Deity, as one in essence. They call those profane who make
representations of God in human shape out of perishable materials. They believe
that Being to be supreme and eternal, neither capable of representation, nor of
decay. They therefore do not allow any images to stand in their cities, much
less in their temples. This flattery is not paid to their kings, nor this
honour to our Emperors. From the fact, however, that their priests used to chant
to the music of flutes and cymbals, and to wear garlands of ivy, and that a
golden vine was found in the temple, some have thought that they worshipped
Father Liber, the conqueror of the East, though their institutions do not by
any means harmonize with the theory; for Liber established a festive and
cheerful worship, while the Jewish religion is tasteless and mean.
[Moore,
1925/31, Loeb Classical Library:]
Whatever their origin, these rites are maintained by their antiquity: the other customs of the Jews are base and abominable, and owe their persistence to their depravity. For the worst rascals among other peoples, renouncing their ancestral religions, always kept sending tribute and contributions to Jerusalem, thereby increasing the wealth of the Jews; again, the Jews are extremely loyal toward one another, and always ready to show compassion, but toward every other people they feel only hate and enmity. They sit apart at meals, and they sleep apart, and although as a race, they are prone to lust, they abstain from intercourse with foreign women; yet among themselves nothing is unlawful. They adopted circumcision to distinguish themselves from other peoples by this difference. Those who are converted to their ways follow the same practice, and the earliest lesson they receive is to despise the gods, to disown their country, and to regard their parents, children, and brothers as of little account. However, they take thought to increase their numbers; for they regard it as a crime to kill any late-born child, and they believe that the souls of those who are killed in battle or by the executioner are immortal: hence comes their passion for begetting children, and their scorn of death. They bury the body rather than burn it, thus following the Egyptians’ custom; they likewise bestow the same care on the dead, and hold the same belief about the world below; but their ideas of heavenly things are quite the opposite. The Egyptians worship many animals and monstrous images; the Jews conceive of one god only, and that with the mind alone: they regard as impious those who make from perishable materials representations of gods in man's image; that supreme and eternal being is to them incapable of representation and without end. Therefore they set up no statues in their cities, still less in their temples; this flattery is not paid their kings, nor this honour given to the Caesars. But since their priests used to chant to the accompaniment of pipes and cymbals and to wear garlands of ivy, and because a golden vine was found in their temple, some have thought that they were devotees of Father Liber, the conqueror of the East, in spite of the incongruity of their customs. For Liber established festive rites of a joyous nature, while the ways of the Jews are preposterous and mean.
[Wellesley,
1964, rev. 1975, Penguin Classics:]
Whatever their origin, these observances are sanctioned by their antiquity. The other practices of the Jews are sinister and revolting, and have entrenched themselves by their very wickedness. Wretches of the most abandoned kind who had no use for the religion of their fathers took to contributing dues and free-will offerings to swell the Jewish exchequer; and other reasons for their increasing wealth may be found in their stubborn loyalty and ready benevolence towards brother Jews. But the rest of the world they confront with the hatred reserved for enemies. They will not feed or intermarry with gentiles. Though a most lascivious people, the Jews avoid sexual intercourse with women of alien race. Among themselves nothing is barred. They have introduced the practice of circumcision to show that they are different from others. Proselytes to Jewry adopt the same practices, and the very first lesson they learn is to despise the gods, shed all feelings of patriotism, and consider parents, children and brothers as readily expendable. However, the Jews see to it that their numbers increase. It is a deadly sin to kill an unwanted child, and they think that eternal life is granted to those who die in battle or execution – hence their eagerness to have children, and their contempt for death. Rather than cremate their dead, they prefer to bury them in imitation of the Egyptian fashion, and they have the same concern and beliefs about the world below. But their conception of heavenly things is quite different. The Egyptians worship a variety of animals and half-human, half-bestial forms, whereas the Jewish religion is a purely spiritual monotheism. They hold it to be impious to make idols of perishable materials in the likeness of man: for them, the Most High and Eternal cannot be portrayed by human hands and will never pass away. For this reason they erect no images in their cities, still less in their temples. Their kings are not so flattered, the Roman emperors not so honoured. However, their priests used to perform their chants on the flute and drums, crowned with ivy, and a golden vine was discovered in the Temple; and this has led some to imagine that the god thus worship was Prince Liber, the conqueror of the East. But the two cults are diametrically opposed. Liber founded a festive and happy cult: the Jewish belief is paradoxical and degraded.
[Fyfe/Levene,
1912/97, Oxford World’s Classics:]
Whatever their origin,
these rites are sanctioned by their antiquity. Their other customs are
perverted and abominable, and own their prevalence to their depravity. All the
most worthless rascals, renouncing their national cults, started showering them
with offerings and tribute. This is one cause of Jewish prosperity. Another is
that they are obstinately loyal to each other and always ready to show
compassion, whereas they feel nothing but hatred and enmity for the rest of the
world. They separate themselves from others both in meals and in bed: though
immoderate in sexual indulgence, they refrain from intercourse with foreign
women: among themselves anything is allowed. They have introduced circumcision
to distinguish themselves from other people. Those who are converted to their
customs adopt the same practice, and the first lessons they learn are to
despise the gods, to renounce their country, and to regards parents, children,
and brethren as worthless.
However, they take steps to increase their numbers. They count it a crime even to kill any of their later-born children, and they believe that the souls of those who die in battle or under execution are immortal. Thus they think much of having children and nothing of facing death. They prefer to bury and not burn their dead. In this, as in their concern for and belief in an underworld, they conform to Egyptian custom. Their ideas of the divine are quite different. The Egyptians worship most of their gods as animals, or in shapes half animal and half human. The Jews acknowledge one god only, of whom they have a purely spiritual conception. They think it impious to make images of gods in human shape out of perishable materials. Their god is almighty and eternal, inimitable and without end. They therefore set up no statues in their temples, nor even in their cities, refusing this homage to their kings and this honour to the Roman emperors. However, the fact that their priests intoned to the flute and cymbals and wore wreaths of ivy, and that a golden vine was found in their Temple, has led some people to think that they worshipped Father Liber, the conqueror of the East. But this is completely out of accord with their cult. Liber instituted joyous and cheerful rites, but the Jewish ritual is preposterous and sordid.
No comments:
Post a Comment