 Chapter 13, Part 4 of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Volume 1. When the Roman princes had lost sight of the Senate and of their ancient capital, they easily forgot the origin and nature of their legal power. The civil offices of consul, of proconsul, of censor, and of tribune, by the union of which it had been formed, betrayed to the people its republican extraction. Those modest titles were laid aside, and if they still distinguished their high station by the appellation of emperor or imperator, that word was understood in a new and more dignified sense, and no longer denoted the general of the Roman armies, but the sovereign of the Roman world. The name of emperor, which was at first of a military nature, was associated with another of a more servile kind. The epithet of dominus, or lord, in its primitive signification, was expressive not of the authority of a prince over his subjects, or of a commander over his soldiers, but of the despotic power of a master over his domestic slaves. Viewing it in that odious light, it had been rejected with abhorrence by the first Caesars. Their resistance insensibly became more feeble and the name less odious, till at length the style of our lord and emperor was not only bestowed by flattery, but was regularly admitted into the laws and public monuments. Such lofty epithets were sufficient to elate and satisfy the most excessive vanity, and if the successors of Diocletian still declined the title of king, it seems to have been the effect, not so much of their moderation, as of their delicacy. Although the Latin tongue was in use, and it was the language of government throughout the empire, the imperial title, as it was peculiar to themselves, conveyed a more respectable idea than the name of king, which they must have shared with a hundred barbarian chieftains, or which, at the best, they could derive only from Romulus, or from Tarquin. But the sentiments of the East were very different from those of the West. In the earliest period of history, the Sovereigns of Asia had been celebrated in the Greek language by the title of Basilius, or king, and, since it was considered as the first distinction among men, it was soon employed by the Servile Provincials of the East in their humble addresses to the Roman throne. Even the attributes, or at least the titles of the divinity, were usurped by Diocletian and Maximian, who transmitted them to a succession of Christian emperors. Such extravagant compliments, however, soon lose their impiety by losing their meaning, and when the ear is once accustomed to the sound, they are heard with indifference, as vague, though excessive, professions of respect. From the time of Augustus to that of Diocletian, the Roman princes, conversing in a familiar manner among their fellow citizens, were saluted only with the same respect that was usually paid to senators and magistrates. Their principal distinction was the imperial or military robe of purple, whilst the senatorial garment was marked by a broad and the equestrian by a narrow band or stripe of the same honourable colour. The pride, or rather the policy of Diocletian, engaged that artful prince to introduce the stately magnificence of the court of Persia. He ventured to assume the diadem, an ornament detested by the Romans as the odious ensign of royalty, and the use of which had been considered as the most desperate act of the madness of Caligula. It was no more than a broad white fillet set with pearls which encircled the emperor's head. The sumptuous robes of Diocletian and his successors were of silk and gold, and it is remarked with indignation that even their shoes were studied with the most precious gems. The access to their sacred person was every day rendered more difficult by the institution of new forms and ceremonies. The avenues of the palace were strictly guarded by the various schools, as they began to be called, of domestic officers. The interior apartments were entrusted to the jealous vigilance of the eunuchs. The increase of whose numbers and influence was the most infallible symptom of the progress of despotism. When a subject was at length admitted to the imperial presence, he was obliged, whatever might be his rank, to fall prostrate on the ground and to adore, according to the Eastern fashion, the divinity of his lord and master. Rome was a man of sense, who, in the course of private as well as public life, had formed a just estimate both of himself and of mankind. Nor is it easy to conceive that in substituting the manners of Persia to those of Rome, he was seriously actuated by so mean a principle as that of vanity. He flattered himself that an ostentation of splendor and luxury would subdue the imagination of the multitude, that the monarch would be less exposed to the rude license of the people and the soldiers as his person was secluded from the public view, and that the habits of submission would insensibly be productive of sentiments of veneration. Like the modesty affected by Augustus, the state maintained by Diocletian was a theatrical representation, but it must be confessed that of the two comedies, the former was of a much more liberal and manly character than the latter. It was the aim of the one to disguise and the object of the other to display the unbounded power which the emperor possessed over the Roman world. Ostentation was the first principle of the new system instituted by Diocletian. The second was division. He divided the empire, the provinces, and every branch of the civil as well as military administration. He multiplied the wheels of the machine of government, and rendered its operations less rapid, but more secure. Whatever advantages and whatever defects might attend these innovations, they must be ascribed in a very great degree to the first inventor, but as the new frame of policy was gradually improved and completed by succeeding princes, it will be more satisfactory to delay the consideration of it till the season of its full maturity and perfection. Reserving therefore for the reign of Constantine a more exact picture of the new empire, we shall consent ourselves with describing the principle and decisive outline as it was traced by the hand of Diocletian. He had associated three colleagues in the exercise of the supreme power, and as he was convinced that the abilities of a single man were inadequate to the public defence, he considered the joint administration of four princes not as a temporary expedient, but as a fundamental law of the constitution. It was his intention that the two elder princes should be distinguished by the use of the diadem, and the title of Augusti, that as affection or esteem might direct their choice, they should regularly call to their assistance two subordinate colleagues, and that the Caesars rising in their turn to the first rank should supply an uninterrupted succession of emperors. The empire was divided into four parts. The east and Italy were the most honourable, the Danube and the Rhine the most laborious stations. The former claimed the presence of the Augusti, the latter were entrusted to the administration of the Caesars. The strength of the legions was in the hands of the four partners of sovereignty, and the despair of successively vanquishing four formidable rivals might intimidate the ambition of an aspiring general. In their civil government, the emperors were supposed to exercise the undivided power of the monarch, and their edicts, inscribed with their joint names, were received in all the provinces, as promulgated by their mutual councils and authority. Notwithstanding these precautions, the political union of the Roman world was gradually dissolved, and a principle of division was introduced, which, in the course of a few years, occasioned the perpetual separation of the eastern and western empires. The system of Diocletian was accompanied with another very material disadvantage, which cannot even at present be totally overlooked, a more expensive establishment, and consequently an increase of taxes and the oppression of the people. Instead of a modest family of slaves and freedmen such as had contented the simple greatness of Augustus and Trajan, three or four magnificent courts were established in the various parts of the empire, and as many Roman kings contended with each other, and with the Persian monarch, for the vain superiority of pomp and luxury. The number of ministers, of magistrates, of officers, and of servants who filled the different departments of the state, was multiplied beyond the example of former times, and, if we may borrow the warm expression of a contemporary, when the proportion of those who received exceeded the proportion of those who contributed, the provinces were oppressed by the weight of tributes. From this period to the extinction of the empire, it would be easy to deduce an uninterrupted series of clamours and complaints. According to his religion and situation, each writer chooses either Diocletian or Constantine or Valens or Theodosius for the object of his invectives, but they unanimously agree in representing the burden of the public impositions, and particularly the land tax and capitation as the intolerable and increasing grievance of their own times. From such a concurrence, an impartial historian, who is obliged to extract truth from satire as well as from panagiric, will be inclined to divide the blame among the princes whom they accuse, and to ascribe their exactions much less to their personal vices than to the uniform system of their administration. The emperor Diocletian was indeed the author of that system, but during his reign, the growing evil was confined within the bounds of modesty and discretion, and he deserves the reproach of establishing pernicious precedents, rather than of exercising actual oppression. It may be added that his revenues were managed with prudent economy, and that after all the current expenses were discharged, there still remained in the imperial treasury an ample provision, either for judicious liberality or for any emergency of the state. It was in the twenty-first year of his reign that Diocletian executed his memorable resolution of abdicating the empire, an action more naturally to have been expected from the elder or the younger Antoninus than from a prince who had never practised the lessons of philosophy either in the attainment or in the use of supreme power. Diocletian acquired the glory of giving to the world the first example of a resignation, which has not been very frequently imitated by succeeding monarchs. The parallel of Charles V, however, will naturally offer itself to our mind, not only since the eloquence of a modern historian has rendered that name so familiar to an English reader, but from the very striking resemblance between the characters of the two warriors, whose political abilities were superior to their military genius, and whose specious virtues were much less the effect of nature than of art. The abdication of Charles appears to have been hastened by the vicissitude of Fortun, and the disappointment of his favourite schemes urged him to relinquish a power which he found inadequate to his ambition. But the reign of Diocletian had flowed with a tide of uninterrupted success, nor was it till after he had vanquished all his enemies, and accomplished all his designs that he seems to have entertained any serious thoughts of resigning the empire. Neither Charles nor Diocletian were arrived at a very advanced period of life, since the one was only fifty-five, and the other was no more than fifty-nine years of age. But the active life of those princes, their wars and journeys, the cares of royalty, and their application to business had already impaired their constitution, and brought on the infirmities of a premature old age. Notwithstanding the severity of a very cold and rainy winter, Diocletian left Italy soon after the ceremony of his triumph, and began his progress towards the east, round the circuit of the Illyrian provinces. From the inclemency of the weather, and the fatigue of the journey, he soon contracted a slow illness, and though he made easy marches, and was generally carried in a close litter, his disorder, before he arrived at Nicomedia about the end of the summer, was become very serious and alarming. During the whole winter he was confined to his palace. His danger inspired a general and unaffected concern, but the people could only judge of the various alterations of his health from the joy or consternation which they discovered in the contenances and behaviour of his attendants. The rumour of his death was for some time universally believed, and it was supposed to be concealed, with a view to prevent the troubles that might have happened during the absence of the Caesar Galerius. At length, however, on the first of March, Diocletian once more appeared in public, but so pale and emaciated that he could scarcely have been recognised by those to whom his person was the most familiar. It was time to put an end to the painful struggle which he had sustained during more than a year between the care of his health and that of his dignity. The former required indulgence and relaxation. The latter compelled him to direct from the bed of sickness the administration of a great empire. He resolved to pass the remainder of his days in honourable repose, to place his glory beyond the reach of fortune, and to relinquish the theatre of the world to his younger and more active associates. The ceremony of his abdication was performed in a spacious plain about three miles from Nicomedia. The emperor ascended a lofty throne, and in a speech full of reason and dignity declared his intention both to the people and to the soldiers who were assembled on this extraordinary occasion. As soon as he had divested himself of the purple, he withdrew from the gazing multitude, and traversing the city in a covered chariot proceeded without delay to the favourite retirement which he had chosen in his native country of Dalmatia. On the same day which was the first of May, Maximian, as it had been previously concerted, made his resignation of the imperial dignity at Milan. Even in the splendour of the Roman triumph, Diocletian had meditated his design of abdicating the government. As he wished to secure the obedience of Maximian, he extracted from him either a general assurance that he would submit his actions to the authority of his benefactor, or a particular promise that he would descend from the throne whenever he should receive the advice and the example. This engagement, though it was confirmed by the solemnity of an oath before the altar of the capitaline Jupiter, would have proved a feeble restraint on the fierce temper of Maximian whose passion was the love of power, and who neither desired present tranquility nor future reputation. But he yielded, however reluctantly, to the ascendant which his wiser colleague had acquired over him, and retired, almost immediately after his abdication, to a villa in Lucania, where it was almost impossible that such an impatient spirit could find any lasting tranquility. Diocletian, who, from a servile origin, had raised himself to the throne, past the nine last years of his life, in a private condition. Reason had dictated, and content seems to have accompanied his retreat, in which he enjoyed, for a long time, the respect of those princes to whom he had resigned the possession of the world. It is seldom that mine's long exercised in business have formed the habits of conversing with themselves, and in the loss of power they principally regret the want of occupation. The amusements of letters and of devotion which afford so many resources in solitude were incapable of fixing the attention of Diocletian. But he had preserved, or at least he soon recovered, a taste for the most innocent as well as natural pleasures, and his leisure hours were sufficiently employed in building, planting, and gardening. His answer to Maximian is deservedly celebrated. He was solicited by that restless old man to reassume the reigns of government and the imperial purple. He rejected the temptation with a smile of pity, calmly observing that if he could show Maximian the cabbages which he had planted with his own hands at Salona, he should no longer be urged to relinquish the enjoyment of happiness for the pursuit of power. In his conversations with his friends he frequently acknowledged that of all arts, the most difficult was the art of reigning, and he expressed himself on that favorite topic with a degree of warmth which could be the result only of experience. How often was he accustomed to say, is it the interest of four or five ministers to combine together to deceive their sovereign? Secluded from mankind by his exalted dignity, the truth is concealed from his knowledge. He can see only with their eyes. He hears nothing but their misrepresentations. He confers the most important offices upon vice and weakness, and disgraces the most virtuous and deserving among his subjects. By such infamous arts, added Diocletian, the best and wisest princes are sold to the venal corruption of their courtiers. A just estimate of greatness and the assurance of immortal fame improve our relish for the pleasures of retirement, but the Roman emperor had filled too important a character in the world to enjoy without alloy the comforts and security of a private condition. It was impossible that he could remain ignorant of the troubles which afflicted the empire after his abdication. It was impossible that he could be indifferent to their consequences. Fear, sorrow, and discontent sometimes pursued him into the solitude of Salona. His tenderness, or at least his pride, was deeply wounded by the misfortunes of his wife and daughter, and the last moments of Diocletian were embittered by some fronts. Which Blicinius and Constantine might have spared the father of so many emperors, and the first author of their own fortune. A report, though of a very doubtful nature, has reached our times that he prudently withdrew himself from their power by a voluntary death. Before we dismiss the consideration of the life and character of Diocletian, we may for a moment direct our view to the place of his retirement. Salona, a principal city of his native province of Dalmatia, was near 200 Roman miles, according to the measurement of the public highways, from Aquileia and the confines of Italy, and about 270 from Sermium, the usual residence of the emperors whenever they visited the Illyrian frontier. A miserable village still preserves the name of Salona. But so late as the 16th century the remains of a theatre, and a confused prospect of broken arches and marble columns, continued to attest its ancient splendour. About six or seven miles from the city, Diocletian constructed a magnificent palace, and we may infer from the greatness of the work how long he had meditated his design of abdicating the empire. The choice of a spot which united all that could contribute either to health or to luxury did not require the partiality of a native. The soil was dry and fertile, the air is pure and wholesome, and though extremely hot during the summer months, this country seldom feels those sultry and noxious winds to which the coasts of Istria and some parts of Italy are exposed. The views from the palace are no less beautiful than the soil and climate were inviting. Towards the west lies the fertile shore that stretches along the Adriatic, in which a number of small islands are scattered in such a manner as to give this part of the sea the appearance of a great lake. On the north side lies the bay, which led to the ancient city of Salona, and the country beyond it appearing in sight forms a proper contrast to that more extensive prospect of water which the Adriatic presents, both to the south and to the east. Towards the north the view is terminated by high and irregular mountains, situated at a proper distance and in many places covered with villages, woods and vineyards. Though Constantine, from a very obvious prejudice, affects to mention the palace of dark lesion with contempt, yet one of their successors who could only see it in a neglected and mutilated state celebrates its magnificence in terms of the highest admiration. It covered an extent of ground consisting of between nine and ten English acres. The fort was quadrangular, flanked with sixteen towers. Two of the sides were near six hundred and the other two near seven hundred feet in length. The hole was constructed of a beautiful freestone, extracted from the neighbouring quarries of Trau or Tragutium, and very little inferior to marble itself. Four streets, intersecting each other at right angles, divided the several parts of this great edifice, and the approach to the principal apartment was from a very stately entrance which is still denominated the Golden Gate. The approach was terminated by a peristilium of granite columns, on one side of which we discover the square temple of Isculapius, and on the other the octagon temple of Jupiter. The latter of those deities, Diocletian revered as the patron of his fortunes, the former as the protector of his health. By comparing the present remains with the precepts of Vitruvius, the several parts of the building, the baths, bed-chamber, the atrium, the basilica, and the saizikini, Corinthian, and Egyptian halls have been described with some degree of precision, or at least of probability. Their forms were various, their proportions just, but they were all attended with two imperfections, very repugnant to our modern notions of taste and convenience. These stately rooms had neither windows nor chimneys. They were lighted from the top, for the building seems to have consisted of no more than one story, and they received their heat by the help of pipes that were conveyed along the walls. The range of principal apartments was protected towards the south-west by a portico five hundred and seventeen feet long, which must have formed a very noble and delightful walk when the beauties of painting and sculpture were added to those of the prospect. Had this magnificent edifice remained in a solitary country, it would have been exposed to the ravages of time, but it might perhaps have escaped the rapacious industry of man. The village of Aspalathus and long afterwards the provincial town of Spalattro have grown out of its ruins. The Golden Gate now opens into the marketplace. Saint John the Baptist has usurped the honours of Isculapius, and the Temple of Jupiter, under the protection of the Virgin, is converted into the Cathedral Church. For this account of Diocletian's palace, we are principally indebted to an ingenious artist of our own time and country whom a very liberal curiosity carried into the heart of Dalmatia. But there is room to suspect that the elegance of his designs and engraving has somewhat flattered the objects which it was their purpose to represent. We are informed by a more recent and very judicious traveller that the awful ruins of Spalattro are not less expressive of the decline of the art than of the greatness of the Roman Empire at the time of Diocletian. If such was indeed the state of architecture, we must naturally believe that painting and sculpture had experienced a still more sensible decay. The practice of architecture is directed by a few general and even mechanical rules, but sculpture and above all painting proposed to themselves the imitation not only of the forms of nature, but of the characters and passions of the human soul. In those sublime arts the dexterity of the hand is of little avail, unless it is animated by fancy, and guided by the most correct taste and observation. It is almost unnecessary to remark that the civil distractions of the Empire, the licence of the soldiers, the inroads of the barbarians, and the progress of despotism had proved very unfavourable to genius and even to learning. The succession of Illyrian princes restored the Empire without restoring the sciences. Their military education was not calculated to inspire them with the love of letters, and even the mind of Diocletian, however active and capacious in business, was totally uninformed by study or speculation. The professions of law and physique are of such common use and certain profit that they will always secure a sufficient number of practitioners, endowed with a reasonable degree of abilities and knowledge. But it does not appear that the students in those two faculties appealed to any celebrated masters who have flourished within that period. The voice of poetry was silent. History was reduced to dry and confused abridgments, a like destitute of amusement and instruction. A languid and affected eloquence was still retained in the pay and service of the emperors, who encouraged not any arts except those which contributed to the gratification of their pride, or the defence of their power. The declining age of learning and of mankind is marked, however, by the rise and rapid progress of the new Platonists. The School of Alexandria silenced those of Athens, and the ancient sects enrolled themselves under the banners of the more fashionable teachers, who recommended their system by the novelty of their method and by the austerity of their manners. Several of these masters, Amonius, Plotinus, Amelius and Porphyry, were men of profound thought and intense application. But by mistaking the true object of philosophy, their labours contributed much less to improve than to corrupt the human understanding. The knowledge that is suited to our situation and powers, the whole compass of moral, natural and mathematical science, was neglected by the new Platonists, whilst they exhausted their strength in the verbal disputes of metaphysics, attempted to explore the secrets of the invisible world, and studied to reconcile Aristotle with Plato, on subjects of which both these philosophers were as ignorant as the rest of mankind. Consuming their reason in these deep but unsubstantial meditations, their minds were exposed to illusions of fancy. They flattered themselves that they possessed the secret of disengaging the soul from its corporal prison, claimed a familiar intercourse with demons and spirits, and, by a very singular revolution, converted the study of philosophy into that of magic. The ancient sages had derided the popular superstition. After disguising its extravagance by the thin pretense of allegory, the disciples of Plotinus and Porphyry became its most zealous defenders. As they agreed with the Christians in a few mysterious points of faith, they attacked the remainder of their theological system with all the fury of civil war. The new Platonists would scarcely deserve a place in the history of science, but in that of the church the mention of them will very frequently occur. End of Chapter 13, Part 4. Chapter 14, Part 1 of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Volume 1 by Edward Gibbon. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 14, Six Emperors at the Same Time, Reunion of the Empire. Part 1. Troubles after the abdication of Diocletian. Death of Constantius. Elevation of Constantine and Macentius. Six Emperors at the same time. Death of Maximian and Galerius. Victories of Constantine over Macentius and Lichinas. Reunion of the Empire under the authority of Constantine. The balance of power established by Diocletian subsisted no longer than while it was sustained by the firm and dexterous hand of the founder. It required such a fortunate mixture of different tempers and abilities, as could scarcely be found or even expected a second time. Two Emperors without jealousy. Two Caesars without ambition. And the same general interest invariably pursued by four independent princes. The abdication of Diocletian and Maximian was succeeded by 18 years of discord and confusion. The Empire was afflicted by five civil wars, and the remainder of the time was not so much a state of tranquility as a suspension of arms between several hostile monarchs, who, viewing each other with an eye of fear and hatred, strove to increase their respective forces at the expense of their subjects. As soon as Diocletian and Maximian had resigned the purple, their station, according to the rules of the new constitution, was filled by the two Caesars, Constantius and Galerius, who immediately assumed the title of Augustus. The honours of seniority and precedence were allowed to the former of those princes, and he continued under a new appellation to administer his ancient department of Gaul, Spain and Britain. The government of those ample provinces was sufficient to exercise his talents and to satisfy his ambition. Clemency, Temperance and Moderation distinguished the amiable character of Constantius, and his fortunate subjects had frequently occasioned to compare the virtues of their sovereign with the passions of Maximian, and even with the arts of Diocletian. Instead of imitating their Eastern pride and magnificence, Constantius preserved the modesty of a Roman prince. He declared, with unaffected sincerity, that his most valued treasure was in the hearts of his people, and that, whenever the dignity of the throne or the danger of the state required any extraordinary supply, he could depend with confidence on their gratitude and liberality. The provincials of Gaul, Spain and Britain, sensible of his worth and of their own happiness, reflected with anxiety on the declining health of the Emperor Constantius, and the tender age of his numerous family, the issue of his second marriage with the daughter of Maximian. The stern temper of Galerius was cast in a very different mould, and while he commanded the esteem of his subjects, his seldom condescended to solicit their affections. His fame in arms, and above all the success of the Persian War, had elated his haughty mind, which was naturally impatient of a superior or even of an equal. If it were possible to rely on the partial testimony of an injudicious writer, we might ascribe the abdication of Diocletian to the menaces of Galerius, and relate the particulars of a private conversation between the two princes, in which the former discovered as much pusillanimity as the latter displayed in gratitude and arrogance. But these obscure anecdotes are sufficiently refuted by an impartial view of the character and conduct of Diocletian. Whatever might otherwise have been his intentions, if he had apprehended any danger from the violence of Galerius, his good sense would have instructed him to prevent the ignominious contest, and as he had held the scepter with glory, he would have resigned it without disgrace. After the elevation of Constantius and Galerius to the rank of Augusti, two new Caesars were required to supply their place, and to complete the system of the imperial government. Diocletian was sincerely desirous of withdrawing himself from the world. He considered Galerius, who had married his daughter, as the firmest support of his family and of the empire, and he consented without reluctance that his successor should assume the merit as well as the envy of the important nomination. It was fixed, without consulting the interest or inclination of the princes of the West. Each of them had a son who was arrived at the age of manhood, and who might have been deemed the most natural candidates for the vacant honor. But the impotent resentment of Maximian was no longer to be dreaded, and the moderate Constantius, though he might despise the dangers, was humanely apprehensive of the calamities of civil war. The two persons whom Galerius promated to the rank of Caesar were much better suited to serve the views of his ambition, and their principal recommendation seems to have consisted in the want of merit or personal consequence. The first of these was Daza, or, as he was afterwards called, Maximian, whose mother was the sister of Galerius. The unexperienced youth still betrayed by his manners and language, his rustic education, when, to his own astonishment, as well as that of the world, he was invested by Diocletian with the purple, exalted to the dignity of Caesar, and entrusted with the sovereign command of Egypt and Syria. At the same time, Severus, a faithful servant, addicted to pleasure but not incapable of business, was sent to Milan to receive, from the reluctant hands of Maximian, the Caesarean ornaments, and the possession of Italy and Africa. According to the forms of the Constitution, Severus acknowledged the supremacy of the Western Emperor, but he was absolutely devoted to the commands of his benefactical areas, who, reserving to himself the intermediate countries, from the confines of Italy to those of Syria, firmly established his power over three-fourths of the monarchy. In the full confidence that the approaching death of Constantius would leave him sole master of the Roman world, we are assured that he had arranged in his mind a long succession of future princes, and that he meditated his own retreat from public life, after he should have accomplished a glorious reign of about 20 years. But, within less than 18 months, two unexpected revolutions overturned the ambitious schemes of Galerius. The hopes of uniting the western provinces to his empire were disappointed by the elevation of Constantine, whilst Italy and Africa were lost by the unsuccessful revolt of Maxentius. The fame of Constantine has rendered posterity attentive to the most minute circumstances of his life and actions. The place of his birth, as well as the condition of his mother Helena, have been the subject not only of literary but of national disputes. Notwithstanding the recent tradition, which assigns for her father a British king, we are obliged to confess that Helena was the daughter of an innkeeper. But, at the same time, we may defend the legality of her marriage against those who have represented her as the concubine of Constantius. The great Constantine was most probably born at Naesus in Dacia, and it is not surprising that, in a family and province distinguished only by the profession of arms, the youth should discover very little inclination to improve his mind by the acquisition of knowledge. He was about 18 years of age when his father was promoted to the rank of Caesar. But that fortunate event was attended with his mother's divorce, and the splendour of an imperial alliance reduced the son of Helena to a state of disgrace and humiliation. Instead of following Constantius in the West, he remained in the service of Diocletian, signalled his valour in the wars of Egypt and Persia, and gradually rose to the honourable station of a Tribune of the First Order. The figure of Constantine was tall and majestic. He was dexterous in all his exercises, intrepid in war, affable in peace. In his whole conduct the active spirit of youth was tempered by habitual prudence, and while his mind was engrossed by ambition, he appeared cold and insensible to the allurements of pleasure. The favour of the people and soldiers who had named him as a worthy candidate for the rank of Caesar served only to exasperate the jealousy of Galerius. And, though prudence might restrain him from exercising any open violence, an absolute monarch is seldom at a loss how to execute a sure and secret revenge. Every hour increased the danger of Constantine and the anxiety of his father, who, by repeated letters expressed the warmest desire of embracing his son. For some time the policy of Galerius supplied him with delays and excuses, but it was impossible long to refuse a natural request of his associate without maintaining his refusal by arms. The permission of the journey was reluctantly granted, and whatever precaution the emperor might have taken to intercept a return, the consequences of which he, with so much reason apprehended, they were effectually disappointed by the incredible diligence of Constantine. Leaving the palace of Nicomedia in the night he travelled post through Bithynia, Thrace, Dacia, Pannonia, Italy and Gaul, and, amidst the joyful acclamations of the people, reached the port of Bologna in the very moment when his father was preparing to embark for Britain. The British expedition, and an easy victory over the barbarians of Caledonia, were the last exploits of the reign of Constantius. He ended his life in the imperial palace of York, fifteen months after he had left the palace of Bologna, fifteen months after he had received the title of Augustus, and almost fourteen years and a half after he had been promoted to the rank of Caesar. His death was immediately succeeded by the elevation of Constantine. The ideas of inheritance and succession are so very familiar that the generality of mankind consider them as founded not only in reason but in nature itself. Our imagination readily transfers the same principles from private property to public dominion, and whenever a virtuous father leaves behind him a son whose merit seems to justify the esteem or even the hopes of the people, the joint influence of prejudice and of affection operates with irresistible weight. The flower of the Western armies had followed Constantius into Britain, and the national troops were reinforced by a numerous body of Alemani who obeyed the orders of Crocus, one of their hereditary chieftains. The opinion of their own importance and the assurance that Britain, Gaul and Spain would acquiesce in their nomination were diligently inculcated to the legions by the adherents of Constantine. The soldiers were asked whether they could hesitate a moment between the honour of placing at their head the worthy son of their beloved emperor, and the ignominy of tamely expecting the arrival of some obscure stranger on whom it might please the sovereign of Asia to bestow the armies and provinces of the West. It was insinuated to them that gratitude and liberality held a distinguished place among the virtues of Constantine, nor did that artful prince show himself to the troops till they were prepared to salute him with the names of Augustus and Emperor. The throne was the object of his desires, and had he been less activated by ambition, it was his only means of safety, he was well acquainted with the character and sentiments of Galerius, and sufficiently apprised that if he wished to live he must determine to reign. The decent and even obstinate resistance which he chose to affect was contrived to justify his usurpation, nor did he yield to the acclamations of the army till he had provided the proper materials for a letter, which he immediately dispatched to the emperor of the East. Constantine informed him of the melancholy event of his father's death, modestly asserted his natural claim to the succession, and respectfully lamented that the affectionate violence of his troops had not permitted him to solicit the imperial purple in the regular and constitutional manner. The first emotions of Galerius were those of surprise, disappointment and rage, and as he could seldom restrain his passions, he loudly threatened that he would commit to the flames both the letter and the messenger. But his resentment insensibly subsided, and when he recollected the doubtful chance of war, when he had weighed the character and strength of his adversary, he consented to embrace the honourable accommodation which the prudence of Constantine had left open to him. Without either condemning or ratifying the choice of the British army, Galerius accepted the son of his deceased colleague as the sovereign of the provinces beyond the Alps, but he gave him only the title of Caesar and the fourth rank among the Roman princes, while he conferred the vacant place of Augustus on his favourite Severus. The apparent harmony of the empire was still preserved, and Constantine, who already possessed the substance, expected without impatience an opportunity of obtaining the honours of supreme power. The children of Constantius by his second marriage were six in number, three of either sex, and whose imperial dissent might have solicit a preference over the meaner extraction of the son of Helena. But Constantine was in the 32nd year of his age, in the full vigour both of mind and body, at the time when the eldest of his brothers could not possibly be more than 13 years old. His claim of superior merit had been allowed and ratified by the dying emperor. In his last moments, Constantine was bequeathed to his eldest son the care of the safety as well as greatness of the family, conjuring him to assume both the authority and the sentiments of a father with regard to the children of Theodora. Their liberal education, advantageous marriages, the secure dignity of their lives, and the first honours of the state with which they were invested attest the fraternal affection of Constantine, and as those princes possessed a mild and grateful disposition, they submitted without reluctance to the superiority of his genius and fortune. The ambitious spirit of Galerius was scarcely reconciled to the disappointment of his views upon the Gallic provinces before the unexpected loss of Italy wounded his pride as well as power in a still more sensible part. The long absence of the emperors had filled Rome with discontent and indignation, and the people gradually discovered that the preference given to Nicomedia and Milan was not to be ascribed to the particular inclination of Diocletian, but to the permanent form of government which he had instituted. It was in vain that, a few months after his abdication, his successors dedicated under his name those magnificent baths whose ruins still supply the ground as well as the materials for so many churches and convents. The tranquillity of those elegant recesses of ease and luxury was disturbed by the impatient murmurs of the Romans, and a report was insensibly circulated that the sums expended in erecting those buildings would soon be required at their hands. About that time the avarice of Galerius, or perhaps the exigencies of the state, had induced him to make a very strict and rigorous inquisition into the property of his subjects for the purpose of a general taxation, both on their lands and on their persons. A very minute survey appears to have been taken of their real estates, and wherever there was the slightest suspicion of concealment, torture was very freely employed to obtain a sincere declaration of their personal wealth. The privileges which had exalted Italy above the rank of the provinces were no longer regarded, and the officers of the revenue already began to number the Roman people, and to settle the proportion of the new taxes. Even when the spirit of freedom had been utterly extinguished, the tamest subjects have sometimes ventured to resist an unprecedented invasion of their property, but on this occasion the injury was aggravated by the insult, and the sense of private interest was quickened by that of national honour. The conquest of Macedonia, as we have already observed, had delivered the Roman people from the weight of personal taxes, though they had experienced every form of despotism. They had now enjoyed that exemption near five hundred years, nor could they patiently brook the insolence of an Illyrian peasant, who, from his distant residence in Asia, presumed to number Rome among the tributary cities of his empire. The rising fury of the people was encouraged by the authority, or at least the connivance of the senate, and the feeble remains of the Praetorian guards, who had reason to apprehend their own dissolution, embraced so honourable a pretence, and declared their readiness to draw their swords in the service of their oppressed country. It was the wish, and it soon became the hope, of every citizen, that after expelling from Italy their foreign tyrants, they should elect a prince who, by the place of his residence, and by the maxims of government, might once more deserve the title of Roman emperor. The name, as well as the situation of Maxentius, determined in his favour the popular enthusiasm. Maxentius was the son of the emperor Maximian, and he had married the daughter of Galerius. His birth and alliance seemed to offer him the fairest promise of succeeding to the emperor, but his vices and incapacity procured him the same exclusion from the dignity of Caesar, which Constantine had deserved by a dangerous superiority of merit. The policy of Galerius preferred such associates as would never disgrace the choice, nor dispute the commands of their benefactor. An obscure stranger was therefore raised to the throne of Italy, and the son of the late emperor of the west was left to enjoy the luxury of a private fortune in a villa a few miles distant from the capital. The gloomy passions of his soul, shame, vexation and rage, were inflamed by envy on the news of Constantine's success, but the hopes of Maxentius revived with the public discontent, and he was easily persuaded to unite his personal injury and pretensions with the cause of the Roman people. Two Praetorian tribunes and a commissary of provisions undertook the management of the conspiracy, and as every order of men was actuated by the same spirit, the immediate event was neither doubtful nor difficult. The prefect of the city, and a few magistrates who maintained their fidelity to Severus, were massacred by the guards, and Maxentius, invested with the imperial ornaments, was acknowledged by the applauding senate and people as the protector of the Roman freedom and dignity. It is uncertain whether Maximian was previously acquainted with the conspiracy, but as soon as the standard of rebellion was erected at Rome, the old emperor broke from the retirement where the authority of Darkletian had condemned him to pass a life of melancholy and solitude, and concealed his returning ambition under the disguise of paternal tenderness. At the request of his son and of the senate, he condescended to resume the purple. His ancient dignity, his experience, and his fame in arms added strength as well as reputation to the party of Maxentius. According to the advice, or rather the orders of his colleague, the emperor Severus immediately hastened to Rome in the full confidence that, by his unexpected celerity, he should easily suppress the tumult of an unwarlike populace commanded by a licentious youth. But he found on his arrival the gates of the city shut against him, the walls filled with men and arms, an experienced general at the head of the rebels, and his own troops without spirit or affection. A large body of moors deserted to the enemy, allured by the promise of a large donative, and if it be true that they had been levied by Maximian in his African war, preferring the natural feelings of gratitude to the artificial ties of allegiance. Annulinus, the Praetorian Prefect, declared himself in favour of Maxentius, and drew after him the most considerable part of the troops, accustomed to obey his commands. Rome, according to the expression of an orator, recalled her armies, and the unfortunate Severus, destitute of force and of council retired, or rather fled with precipitation, to Ravenna. Here he might for some time have been safe. The fortifications of Ravenna were able to resist the attempts, and the morasses that surrounded the town were sufficient to prevent the approach of the Italian army. The sea, which Severus commanded with a powerful fleet, secured him an inexhaustible supply of provisions, and gave a free entrance to the legions, which, on return of spring, would advance to his assistance from Illyricum and the east. Maximian, who conducted the siege in person, was soon convinced that he might waste his time and his army in the fruitless enterprise, and that he had nothing to hope, either from force or famine. With an art more susceptible to the character of Diocletian than to his own, he directed his attack not so much against the walls of Ravenna as against the mind of Severus. The treachery which he had experienced disposed that unhappy prince to distrust the most sincere of his friends and adherents. The emissaries of Maximian easily persuaded his credulity that a conspiracy was formed to betray the town, and prevailed upon his fears not to expose himself to the discretion of an irritated conqueror, but to accept the faith of an honourable capitulation. He was, at first, received with humanity and treated with respect. Maximian conducted the captive emperor to Rome and gave him the most solemn assurances that he had secured his life by the resignation of the purple. But Severus could obtain only an easy death and an imperial funeral. When the sentence was signified to him, the manner of executing it was left to his own choice. He preferred the favourite mode of the ancients, that of opening his veins, and as soon as he expired his body was carried to the sepulchre which had been constructed for the family of Gallienus. Chapter 14 Part 2 of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire Volume 1 This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. Chapter 14 Six emperors at the same time. Reunion of the Empire Part 2 Though the characters of Constantine and Maccentius had very little affinity with each other, their situation and interest were the same, and prudence seemed to require that they should unite their forces against the common enemy. Notwithstanding the superiority of his age and dignity, the indefatigable Maximian passed the Elbs, and, courting a personal interview with the sovereign of Gaul, carried with him his daughter Fausta as a pledge of the new alliance. The marriage was celebrated at Arle with every circumstance of magnificence, and the ancient colleague of Diocletian, who again asserted his claim to the Western Empire, conferred on his son-in-law and ally the title of Augustus. By consenting to receive that honour from Maximian, Constantine seemed to embrace the cause of Rome and of the Senate, but his professions were ambiguous and his assistance slow and ineffectual. He considered, with attention, the approaching contest between the Masters of Italy and the Emperor of the East, and was prepared to consult his own safety or ambition in the event of the war. The importance of the occasion called for the presence and abilities of Galerius. At the head of a powerful army collected from Illyricum in the East, he entered Italy, resolved to revenge the death of Severus and to chastise the rebellious Romans, or, as he expressed his intentions in the furious language of a barbarian, to extirpate the Senate and to destroy the people by the sword. But the skill of Maximian had concerted a prudent system of defence. The invader found every place hostile, fortified and inaccessible, and though he forced his way as far as Narni within 60 miles of Rome, his dominion in Italy was confined to the narrow limits of his camp. Sensible of the increasing difficulties of his enterprise, the haughty Galerius made the first advances towards a reconciliation, and dispatched two of his most considerable officers to tempt the Roman princes by an offer of a conference, and the declaration of his paternal regard for Maxentius, who might obtain much more from his liberality than he could hope from the doubtful chance of war. The offers of Galerius were ejected with firmness. His perfidious friendship refused with contempt, and it was not long before he discovered that, unless he provided for his safety by timely retreat, he had some reason to apprehend the fate of Severus. The wealth which the Romans defended against his rapacious tyranny, they freely contributed for his destruction. The name of Maximian, the popular arts of his son, the secret distribution of large psalms, and the promise of still more liberal rewards, checked the ardour, and corrupted the fidelity of the Illyrian legions, and when Galerius at length gave the signal of the retreat, it was with some difficulty that he could prevail on his veterans not to desert a banner which had so often conducted them to victory and honour. A contemporary writer assigns two other causes for the failure of the expedition, but they are both of such a nature that a cautious historian will scarcely venture to adopt them. We are told that Galerius, who had formed a very imperfect notion of the greatness of Rome by the cities of the east with which he was acquainted, found his forces inadequate to the siege of that immense capital. But the extent of a city serves only to render it more accessible to the enemy. Rome had long since been accustomed to submit on the approach of a conqueror, nor could the temporary enthusiasm of the people have long contended against the discipline and valor of the legions. We are likewise informed that the legions themselves were struck with horror and remorse, and that those pious sons of the Republic refused to violate the sanctity of their venerable parent. But when we recollect with how much ease in the more ancient civil wars the zeal of party and the habits of military obedience had converted the native citizens of Rome into her most implacable enemies, we shall be inclined to distrust this extreme delicacy of strangers and barbarians who had never beheld Italy till they entered it in a hostile manner. Had they not been restrained by motives of a more interested nature, they would probably have answered Galerius in the words of Caesar's veterans, if our general wishes to lead us to the banks of the Tiber, we are prepared to trace out his camp. Whatsoever walls he has determined to level with the ground, our hands are ready to work the engines, nor shall we hesitate, should the name of the devoted city be Rome itself. These are indeed the expressions of a poet, but of a poet who has been distinguished and even censured for his strict adherence to the truth of history. The legions of Galerius exhibited a very melancholy proof of their disposition by the ravages which they committed in their retreat. They murdered, they ravished, they plundered, they drove away the flocks and herds of the Italians, they burnt the villages through which they passed and they endeavoured to destroy the country which it had not been in their power to subdue. During the whole march Maxentius hung on their rear, but he very prudently declined the general engagement with those brave and desperate veterans. His father had undertaken a second journey into Gaul with the hope of persuading Constantine, who had assembled an army on the frontier, to join in the pursuit and to complete the victory. But the actions of Constantine were guided by reason and not by resentment. He persisted in the wise resolution of maintaining a balance of power in the divided empire, and he no longer hated Galerius, when that aspiring prince had ceased to be an object of terror. The mind of Galerius was the most susceptible of the stern of passions, but it was not, however, incapable of sincere and lasting friendship. Likinius, whose manners as well as character were not unlike his own, seems to have engaged both his affection and esteem. Their intimacy had commenced, in the happier period perhaps of their use and obscurity. It had been cemented by the freedom and dangers of a military life. They had advanced almost by equal steps through the successive honours of the service, and as soon as Galerius was invested with the imperial dignity, he seems to have conceived the design of raising his companion to the same rank with himself. During the short period of his prosperity, he considered the rank of Caesar as unworthy of the age and merit of Likinius, and rather chose to reserve for him the place of Constantius and the empire of the West. While the emperor was employed in the Italian War, he entrusted his friend with the defense of the Danube, and immediately after his return from that unfortunate expedition, he invested Likinius with the vacant purple of Severus, resigning to his immediate command of the provinces of Illyricum. The news of his promotion was no sooner carried into the east than Maximine, who governed, or rather oppressed, the countries of Egypt and Syria, betrayed his envy and discontent, disdained the inferior name of Caesar, and notwithstanding the prayers as well as arguments of Galerius exacted almost by violence the equal title of Augustus. For the first, and indeed for the last time, the Roman world was administered by six emperors. In the West, Constantine and Maxentius affected to reverence their father Maximian. In the east, Likinius and Maximian honored with more real consideration their benefactor Galerius. The opposition of interest and the memory of a recent war divided the empire into two great hostile powers, but their mutual fears produced an apparent tranquillity and even a feigned reconciliation till the death of the elder princes, of Maximian, and more particularly of Galerius, gave a new direction to the views and passions of their surviving associates. When Maximian had reluctantly abdicated the empire, the venal orators of the times applauded his philosophic moderation. When his ambition excited or at least encouraged a civil war, they returned thanks to his generous patriotism and gently censured that love of ease and retirement which had withdrawn him from the public service. But it was impossible that minds like those of Maximian and his son could long possess in harmony an undivided power. Maxentius considered himself as the legal sovereign of Italy, elected by the Roman Senate and people, nor would he endure the control of his father who arrogantly declared that by his name and abilities the rash youth had been established on the throne. The cause was solemnly pleaded before the Praetorian guards and those troops who dreaded the severity of the old emperor, espoused the party of Maxentius. The life and freedom of Maximian were however respected, and he retired from Italy into Illyricum, affecting to lament his past conduct and secretly contriving new mischiefs. But Galerius, who was well acquainted with his character, soon obliged him to leave his dominions, and the last refuge of the disappointed Maximian was the court of his son-in-law Constantine. He was received with respect by that heartful prince and with the appearance of filial tenderness by the Empress Fausta. That he might remove every suspicion, he resigned the imperial purple a second time, professing himself at length convinced of the vanity of greatness and ambition. Had he persevered in this resolution, he might have ended his life with less dignity, indeed, than in his first retirement, yet, however, with comfort and reputation. But the near prospect of a throne brought back to his remembrance the state from whence he was fallen, and he resolved by a desperate effort either to reign or to perish. An incursion of the Franks had summoned Constantine with a part of his army to the banks of the Rhine. The remainder of the troops were stationed in the southern provinces of Gaul, which lay exposed to the enterprises of the Italian Emperor, and a considerable treasure was deposited in the city of Arle. Maximian either craftily invented or easily credited a vain report of the death of Constantine. Without hesitation, he ascended the throne, seized the treasure, and scattering it with his accustomed profusion amongst the soldiers, endeavored to awaken their minds the memory of his ancient dignity and exploits. Before he could establish his authority, or finish the negotiation which he appears to have entered into with his son Maxentius, the consularity of Constantine defeated all his hopes. On the first news of his perfidious gratitude, that prince returned by rapid marches from the Rhine to the Seine, embarked on the last mentioned river at Chalon, and at Lyon, trusting himself to the rapidity of the Rhine, arrived at the gates of Arle with a military force which it was impossible for Maximian to resist, and which scarcely permitted him to take refuge in the neighbouring city of Marseille. The narrow neck of land which joined that place to the continent was fortified against the besiegers whilst the sea was open, either for the escape of Maximian or for the sucker of Maxentius, if the latter should choose to disguise his invasion of Gaul under the honourable pretence of defending a distressed, or as he might allege an injured father. Apprehensive of the fatal consequences of delay, Constantine gave orders for an immediate assault, but the scaling ladders were found too short for the height of the walls, and Marseille might have sustained as long a siege as it formally did against the arms of Caesar, if the garrison, conscious either of their fault or of their danger, had not purchased their pardon by delivering up the city and the person of Maximian. A secret, but irrevocable sentence of death was pronounced against the usurper. He obtained only the same favour which he had indulged a severus, and it was published to the world that, oppressed by the remorse of his repeated crimes, he had strangled himself with his own hands. After he had lost the assistance and disdained the moderate councils of Diocletian, the second period of his active life was a series of public calamities and personal mortifications which were terminated in about three years by an ignominious death. He deserved his fate, but we should find more reason to applaud the humanity of Constantine if he had spared an old man, the benefactor of his father, and the father of his wife. During the whole of this melancholy transaction, it appears that Fauster sacrificed the sentiments of nature to her conjugal duties. The last years of Galerius were less shameful and unfortunate, and though he had filled with more glory the subordinate station of Caesar than the superior rank of Augustus, he preserved till the moment of his death the first place among the princes of the Roman world. He survived his retreat from Italy about four years, and widely relinquishing his use of Universal Empire, he devoted the remainder of his life to the enjoyment of pleasure and to the execution of some works of public utility, among which we may distinguish the discharging into the Danube, the superfluous waters of the Lake Pelso, and the cutting down of the immense forests that encompassed it, an operation worthy of a monarch since it gave an extensive country to the agriculture of his Pannonian subjects. His death was occasioned by a very painful and lingering disorder. His body, swelled by an intemperate course of life to an unwieldy corpulence, was covered with ulcers, and devoured by innumerable swarms of those insects which have given their name to a most loathsome disease. But, as Galerius had offended a very zealous and powerful party among his subjects, his sufferings, instead of exciting their compassion, have been celebrated as the visible effects of divine justice. He had no sooner expired in his Paris of Nicomedia than the two emperors who were indebted for their purple to his favours, began to collect their forces with the intention either of disputing or of dividing the dominions which he had left without a master. They were persuaded, however, to desist from the former design and to agree in the latter. The provinces of Asia fell to the share of Maximian, and those of Europe augmented the portion of Likinius. The Hellespont and the Thracian Bosphorus formed their mutual boundary, and the banks of those narrow seas which flowed in the midst of the Roman world were covered with soldiers, with arms, and with fortification. The deaths of Maximian and of Galerius reduced the number of emperors to four. The sense of their true interests soon connected Likinius and Constantine. A secret alliance was concluded between Maximian and Maxentius, and their unhappy subjects expected with terror the bloody consequences of their inevitable dissensions which were no longer restrained by the fear or the respect which they had entertained for Galerius. Among so many crimes and misfortunes occasioned by the passions of the Roman princes there is some pleasure in discovering a single action which may be ascribed to their virtue. In the sixth year of his reign Constantine visited the city of Ota, and generously remitted the areas of tribute, reducing at the same time the proportion of their assessment from twenty-five to eighteen thousand heads subject to the real and personal capitation. Yet even this indulgence affords the most unquestionable proof of the public misery. This tax was so extremely oppressive, either in itself or in the mode of collecting it, that whilst the revenue was increased by extortion it was diminished by despair. A considerable part of the territory of Ota was left uncultivated, and great numbers of the provincials chose rather to live as exiles and outlaws than to support the weight of civil society. It is but too probable that the bountiful emperor relieved by a partial act of liberality, one among the many evils which he had caused by his general maxims of administration. But even those maxims were less the effect of choice than of necessity. And if we accept the death of Maximian, the reign of Constantine in Gaul seems to have been the most innocent and even virtuous period of his life. The provinces were protected by his presence from the inroads of the barbarians who either dreaded or experienced his active valor. After a signal victory over the Franks and Alemani, several of their princes were exposed by his order to the wild beasts in the amphitheater of Trev, and the people seemed to have enjoyed the spectacle, without discovering, in such treatment of royal captives, anything that was repugnant to the laws of nations or of humanity. The virtues of Constantine were rendered more illustrious by the vices of Maxentius. While the Gallic provinces enjoyed as much happiness as the condition of the times was capable of receiving, Italy and Africa groaned under the dominion of a tyrant, as contemptible as he was odious. The zeal of flattery and faction had indeed too frequently sacrificed the reputation of the vanquished to the glory of their successful rivals. But even those writers who have revealed with the most freedom and pleasure the folds of Constantine unanimously confessed that Maxentius was cruel, rapacious and profligate. He had the good fortune to suppress a slight rebellion in Africa. The governor and a few adherents had been guilty, the province suffered for their crime. The flourishing cities of Kiertha and Carthage and the whole extent of that fertile country were wasted by fire and sword. The abuse of victory was followed by the abuse of law and justice. A formidable army of sick fans and delators invaded Africa. The rich and the noble were easily convicted of a connection with the rebels, and those among them who experienced the emperor's clemency were only punished by the confiscation of their estates. So signal of victory was celebrated by a magnificent triumph, and Maxentius exposed to the eyes of the people the spoils and captives of a Roman province. The state of the capital was no less deserving of compassion than that of Africa. The wealth of Rome supplied an inexhaustible fund for his vain and prodigal expenses, and the ministers of his revenue were skilled in the arts of rapine. It was under his reign that the method of exacting a free gift from the senators was first invented, and as the sum was insensibly increased the pretenses of levying it, a victory, a birth, a marriage, or an imperial consulship, were proportionably multiplied. Maxentius had imbibed the same implacable aversion to the senate, which had characterised most of the former tyrants of Rome. Nor was it possible for his ungrateful temper to forgive the generous fidelity which had raised him to the throne and supported him against all his enemies. The lives of the senators were exposed to his jealous suspicions. The dishonour of their wives and daughters heightened the gratification of his sensual passions. It may be presumed that an imperial lover was seldom reduced to sign vain, but whenever persuasion proved ineffectual he had recourse to violence, and there remains one memorable example of a noble matron who preserved her chastity by a voluntary death. The soldiers were the only order of men whom he appeared to respect or studied to please. He filled Rome and Italy with armed troops, connived at their tumult, suffered them with impunity to plunder and even to massacre the defenseless people, and indulging them in the same licentiousness which their emperor enjoyed, Maxentius often bestowed on his military favourites the splendid villa or the beautiful wife of a senator. A prince of such character, alike incapable of governing, either in peace or in war, might purchase the support but he could never obtain the esteem of the army. Yet his pride was equal to his other vices. Whilst he passed an indolent life either within the walls of his palace or in the neighbouring gardens of Salist, he was repeatedly heard to declare that he alone was emperor, and that the other princes were no more than his left tenants, on whom he had devolved the defence of the frontier provinces, that he might enjoy without interruption the elegant luxury of the capital. Rome, which had so long regretted the absence, lamented during the six years of his reign that the presence of her sovereign. Though Constantine might view the conduct of Maxentius with abhorrence and the situation of the Romans with compassion, we have no reason to presume that he would have taken up arms to punish the one or to relieve the other. But the tyrant of Italy rashly ventured to provoke a formidable enemy whose ambition had been hitherto restrained by considerations of prudence rather than principles of justice. After the death of Maximian, his titles, according to the established custom, had been erased, and his statues thrown down with ignominy. His son, who had persecuted and deserted him when alive, effected to display the most pious regard for his memory, and gave orders that a similar treatment should be immediately inflicted on all the statues that had been erected in Italy and Africa to the honour of Constantine. That wise prince, who sincerely wished to decline a war, with the difficulty and importance of which he was sufficiently acquainted, at first dissembled the insult and sought for address by the milder expedient negotiation, till he was convinced that the hostile and ambitious designs of the Italian emperor made it necessary for him to arm in his own defence. Maxentius, who openly avowed his pretensions to the whole monarchy of the West, had already prepared a very considerable force to invade the Gallic provinces on the side of Raishia. And though he could not expect any assistance from Likinius, he was flattered with the hope that the legions of Illyricum, allured by his presence and promises, would desert the standard of that prince and unanimously declare themselves his soldiers and subjects. Constantine no longer hesitated. He had deliberated with caution, he acted with vigor. He gave a private audience to the ambassadors, who in the name of the Senate and people conjured him to deliver Rome from a detested tyrant, and without regarding the timid remonstrances of his council, he resolved to prevent the enemy and to carry the war into the heart of Italy. The enterprise was as full of danger as of glory, and the unsuccessful event of two former invasions was sufficient to inspire the most serious apprehensions. The veteran troops, who revered the name of Maximian, had embraced in both those wars the party of his son, and were now restrained by a sense of honour, as well as of interest, by entertaining an idea of a second desertion. Max Antius, who considered the Praetorian Guards as the firmest defence of his throne, had increased them to their ancient establishment, and they composed, including the rest of the Italians who were enlisted into his service, a formidable body of four score thousand men. Forty thousand Moors and Carthaginians had been raised since the reduction of Africa. Even Sicily furnished its proportion of troops, and the armies of Max Antius amounted to 170,000 foot and 18,000 horse. The wealth of Italy supplied the expenses of the war, and the adjacent provinces were exhausted to form immense magazines of corn and every other kind of provisions. The whole force of Constantine consisted of 90,000 foot and 8,000 horse, and as the defence of the Rhine required an extraordinary attention during the absence of the emperor, it was not in his power to employ above half his troops in the Italian expedition, unless he sacrificed the public safety to his private quarrel. At the head of about 40,000 soldiers, he marched to encounter an enemy whose numbers were at least four times superior to his own. But the armies of Rome placed at a secure distance from danger were enervated by indulgence and luxury. Habituated to the bars and theatres of Rome they took the field with reluctance, and were chiefly composed of veterans who had almost forgotten, or of new levies who had never acquired the use of arms in the practice of war. The hardy legions of Gaul had long defended the frontiers of the empire against the barbarians of the north, and in the performance of that laborious service their valour was exercised and their discipline confirmed. There appeared the same difference between the leaders as between the armies. Caprice or Flattery had tempted Max Entius with the hopes of conquest, but these aspiring hopes soon gave way to the habits of pleasure and the consciousness of his inexperience. The intrepid mind of Constantine had been trained from his earliest youth to war, to action, and to military command. End of chapter 14 part 2. Chapter 14 part 3 of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire volume 1. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 14. Six emperors at the same time. Reunion of the Empire. Part 3. When Hannibal marched from Gaul into Italy he was obliged first to discover, and then to open a way over mountains and through savage nations that had never yielded a passage to a regular army. The Alps were then guarded by nature. They are now fortified by art. Citadels, constructed with no less skill than labour and expense, command every avenue into the plain, and on that side render Italy almost inaccessible to the enemies of the king of Sardinia. But in the course of the intermediate period the generals who have attempted the passage have seldom experienced any difficulty or resistance. In the age of Constantine the peasants of the mountains were civilized and obedient subjects. The country was plentifully stocked with provisions, and the stupendous highways which the Romans had carried over the Alps opened several communications between Gaul and Italy. Constantine preferred the road of the Cotian Alps, or as it is now called, of Mount Canis, and led his troops with such active diligence that he descended into the plain of Piedmont before the court of Maxentius had received any certain intelligence of his departure from the banks of the Rhine. The city of Sousa, however, which is situated at the foot of Mount Canis, was surrounded with walls, and provided with a garrison sufficiently numerous to check the progress of an invader. But the impatience of Constantine's troops disdained the tedious forms of a siege. The same day that they appeared before Sousa they applied fire to the gates and ladders to the walls, and mounting to the assault amidst a shower of stones and arrows, they entered the place sword in hand and cut in pieces the greatest part of the garrison. The flames were extinguished by the care of Constantine, and the remains of Sousa preserved from total destruction. About forty miles from thence a more severe contest awaited him. A numerous army of Italians was assembled under the lieutenants of Maxentius in the plains of Turin. Its principal strength consisted in a species of heavy cavalry, which the Romans, since the decline of their discipline, had borrowed from the nations of the east. The horses, as well as the men, were clothed in complete armour, the joints of which were artfully adapted to the motions of their bodies. The aspect of this cavalry was formidable, their weight almost irresistible, and as on this occasion their generals had drawn them up in a compact column or wedge, with a sharp point and with spreading flanks, they flattered themselves that they could easily break and trample down the army of Constantine. They might, perhaps, have succeeded in their design, had not their experienced adversary embraced the same method of defence which in similar circumstances had been practised by Aurelian. The skillful evolutions of Constantine divided and baffled this massy column of cavalry. The troops of Maxentius fled in confusion towards Turin, and as the gates of the city were shut against them, very few escaped the sword of the victorious pursuers. By this important service Turin deserved to experience the clemency and even favour of the conqueror. He made his entry into the imperial palace of Milan, and almost all the cities of Italy between the Alps and the Poe not only acknowledged the power but embraced with zeal the party of Constantine. From Milan to Rome the Emillian and Flamillian highways offered an easy march of about four hundred miles, but though Constantine was impatient to encounter the tyrant, he prudently directed his operations against another army of Italians, who, by their strength and position, might either oppose his progress or, in the case of a misfortune, might intercept his retreat. Rorichios Pompeianus, a general distinguished by his valor and ability, had under his command the city of Verona and all the troops that were stationed in the province of Venetia. As soon as he was informed that Constantine was advancing towards him, he detached a large body of cavalry which was defeated in an engagement near Brescia and pursued by the Gallic legions as far as the gates of Verona. The necessity, the importance and the difficulties of the siege of Verona immediately presented themselves to the sagacious mind of Constantine. The city was accessible only by a narrow peninsula towards the west, as the other three sides were surrounded by the Adige, a rapid river which covered the province of Venetia, from whence the besieged derived an inexhaustible supply of men and provisions. It was not without great difficulty, and after several fruitless attempts, that Constantine found means to pass the river at some distance above the city and in a place where the torrent was less violent. He then encompassed Verona with strong lines, pushed his attacks with prudent vigor, and repelled a desperate sally of Pompeianus. That intrepid general, when he had used every means of defence at the strength of the place or that of the garrison could afford, secretly escaped from Verona, anxious not for his own, but for the public safety. With indefatigable diligence, he soon collected an army sufficient, either to meet Constantine in the field, or to attack him, if he obstinately remained within his lines. The emperor, attentive to the motions and informed of the approach of so formidable an enemy, left a part of his legions to continue the operations of the siege whilst at the head of those troops on whose valour and fidelity he more particularly depended, he advanced in person to engage the general of Maxentius. The army of Gaul was drawn up in two lines according to the usual practice of war, but their experienced leader, perceiving that the numbers of the Italians far exceeded his own, suddenly changed his disposition, and, reducing the second, extended the front of his first line to adjust proportion with that of the enemy. Such evolutions, which only veteran troops can execute without confusion in a moment of danger, commonly proved decisive. But as this engagement began towards the close of the day, and was contested with great obstinacy during the whole night, there was less room for the conduct of the generals than for the courage of the soldiers. The return of light displayed the victory of Constantine, and a field of carnage covered with many thousands of the vanquished Italians. Their general, Pompeianus, was found among the slain. Verona immediately surrendered at discretion, and the garrison were made prisoners of war. When the officers of the victorious army congratulated their master on this important success, they ventured to add some respectful complaints of such a nature, however, as the most jealous monarchs will listen to without displeasure. They represented to Constantine that, not contented with all the duties of a commander, he had exposed his own person with an excess of valor which almost degenerated into rashness, and they conjured him for the future to pay more regard to the preservation of a life in which the safety of Rome and of the empire was involved. While Constantine signalized his conduct and valor in the field, the sovereign of Italy appeared insensible of the calamities and danger of a civil war which reigned in the heart of his dominions. Pleasure was still the only business of Maxentius. Concealing, or at least attempting to conceal from public knowledge the misfortunes of his arms, he indulged himself in a vain confidence which deferred the remedies of the approaching evil without deferring the evil itself. The rapid progress of Constantine was scarcely sufficient to awaken him from his fatal security. He flattered himself that his well-known liberality and the majesty of the Roman name which had already delivered him from two invasions would dissipate with the same facility the rebellious army of Gaul. The officers of experience and ability who had served under the banners of Maximian were at length compelled to inform his effeminate son of the imminent danger to which he was reduced, and with a freedom that had once surprised and convinced him to urge the necessity of preventing his ruin by a vigorous exertion of his remaining power. The resources of Maxentius, both of men and money, were still considerable. The Praetorian guards felt how strongly their own interest and safety were connected with his cause, and a third army was soon collected, more numerous than those which had been lost in the battles of Turin and Verona. It was far from the intention of the emperor to lead his troops in person. A stranger to the exercises of war he trembled at the apprehension of so dangerous a contest, and as fear is commonly superstitious, he listened with melancholy attention to the rumours of omens and presages which seemed to menace his life and empire. Shame at length supplied the place of courage and forced him to take field. He was unable to sustain the contempt of the Roman people. The circus resounded with their indignant clamours, and they tumultuously besieged the gates of the palace, reproaching the pusillanimity of their indolent sovereign and celebrating the heroic spirit of Constantine. Before Maxentius left Rome, he consulted the civiline books. The guardians of these ancient oracles were as well versed in the arts of this world as they were ignorant of the secrets of fate, and they returned him a very prudent answer which might adapt itself to the event and secure their reputation, whatever should be the chance of arms. The celerity of Constantine's march has been compared to the rapid conquest of Italy by the first of the Caesars, nor is the flattering parallel repugnant to the truth of history since no more than fifty-eight days elapsed between the surrender of Verona and the final decision of the war. Constantine had always apprehended that the tyrant would consult the dictates of fear and perhaps a prudence, and that instead of risking his last hopes in a general engagement he would shut himself up within the walls of Rome. His ample magazines secured him against the danger of famine, and as the situation of Constantine admitted not of delay he might have been reduced to the sad necessity of destroying with fire and sword the imperial city, the noblest reward of his victory, and the deliverance of which had been the motive or rather indeed the pretence of the civil war. It was with equal surprise and pleasure that on his arrival at a place called Saxa Rubra, about nine miles from Rome, he discovered the army of Maxentius prepared to give him battle. Their long front filled a very spacious plain, and their deep array reached to the banks of the Tiber, which covered their rear and forbade their retreat. We are informed, and we may believe, that Constantine disposed his troops with consummate skill, and that he chose for himself the post of honour and danger. Distinguished by the splendour of his arms, he charged in person the cavalry of his rival, and his irresistible attack determined the fortune of the day. The cavalry of Maxentius was principally composed either of unwieldy curasias, or of light, moors, and numidians. They yielded to the vigour of the gallic horse, which possessed more activity than the one, more firmness than the other. The defeat of the two wings left the infantry without any protection on its flanks, and the undisciplined Italians fled without reluctance from the standard of a tyrant whom they had always hated, and whom they no longer feared. The Praetorians conscious that their offences were beyond the reach of mercy were animated by revenge and despair. Notwithstanding their repeated efforts, those brave veterans were unable to recover their victory. They obtained, however, an honourable death, and it was observed that their bodies covered the same ground which had been occupied by their ranks. The confusion then became general, and the dismayed troops of Maxentius pursued by an implacable enemy rushed by thousands into the deep and rapid stream of the Tiber. The emperor himself attempted to escape back into the city over the Milvian bridge, but the crowds which pressed together through that narrow passage forced him into the river, where he was immediately drowned by the weight of his armour. His body, which had sunk very deep into the mud, was found with some difficulty the next day. The sight of his head when it was exposed to the eyes of the people convinced them of their deliverance, and admonished them to receive with acclamations of loyalty and gratitude the fortunate Constantine, who thus achieved by his valour and ability the most splendid enterprise of his life. In the use of victory Constantine neither deserved the praise of clemency, nor incurred the censure of immoderate rigor. He inflicted the same treatment to which a defeat would have exposed his own person and family, put to death the two sons of the tyrant, and carefully extirpated his whole race. The most distinguished adherents of Maxentius must have expected to share his fate, as they had shared his prosperity and his crimes, but when the Roman people loudly demanded a greater number of victims, the conqueror resisted with firmness and humanity those servile clamours which were dictated by flattery as well as by resentment. Informers were punished and discouraged. The innocent, who had suffered under the late tyranny, were recalled from exile and restored to their estates. A general act of oblivion quieted the mines and settled the property of the people both in Italy and in Africa. The first time that Constantine honoured the Senate with his presence, he recapitulated his own services and exploits in a modest duration, assured that illustrious order of his sincere regard, and promised to re-establish its ancient dignity and privileges. The grateful Senate repaid these unmeaning professions by the empty titles of honour, which it was yet in their power to bestow, and without presuming to ratify the authority of Constantine, they passed a decree to assign him in the first rank among the three Augusti who governed the Roman world. Games and festivals were instituted to preserve the fame of his victory, and several edifices raised at the expense of Maxentius were dedicated to the honour of his successful rival. The triumphal arch of Constantine still remains a melancholy proof of the decline in the arts, and a singular testimony of the meanest vanity. As it was not possible to find in the capital of the empire a sculptor who was capable of adorning that public monument, the arch of Trajan, without any respect either for his memory or for the rules of propriety, was stripped of its most elegant figures. The difference of times and persons of actions and characters was totally disregarded. The Parthian captives appear prostrate at the feet of a prince who never carried his arms beyond the Euphrates, and curious antiquarians can still discover the head of Trajan on the trophies of Constantine. The new ornaments which it was necessary to introduce between the vacancies of ancient sculpture are executed in the rudest and most unskillful manner. The final abolition of the Praetorian guards was a measure of prudence as well as of revenge. Those haughty troops whose numbers and privileges had been restored and even augmented by Maxentius were forever suppressed by Constantine. Their fortified camp was destroyed, and the few Praetorians who had escaped the fury of the sword were dispersed among the legions and banished to the frontiers of the empire, where they might be serviceable without again becoming dangerous. By suppressing the troops which were usually stationed in Rome, Constantine gave the fatal blow to the dignity of the senate and people, and the disarmed capital was exposed without protection to the insults or neglect of its distant master. We may observe that in this last effort to preserve their expiring freedom, the Romans, from the apprehension of a tribute, had raised Maxentius to the throne. He exacted that tribute from the senate under the name of a free gift. They implored the assistance of Constantine. He vanquished the tyrant, and converted the free gift into a perpetual tax. The senators, according to the declaration which was required of their property, were divided into several classes. The most opulent paid annually eight pounds of gold, the next class paid four, the last two, and those whose poverty might have claimed an exemption were assessed, however, at seven pieces of gold. Besides the regular members of the senate, their sons, their descendants, and even their relations enjoyed the vain privileges and supported the heavy burdens of the senatorial order. Nor will it any longer excite our surprise that Constantine should be attentive to increase the number of persons who were included under so useful a description. After the defeat of Maxentius, the victorious emperor passed no more than two or three months in Rome, which he visited twice during the remainder of his life, to celebrate the solemn festivals of the tenth and of the twentieth years of his reign. Constantine was almost perpetually in motion, to exercise the legions, or to inspect the state of the provinces. Trev, Milan, Aquileia, Siamium, Naissa, San Thessalonica were the occasional places of his residence, till he founded a new Rome on the confines of Europe and Asia. Before Constantine marched into Italy, he had secured the friendship, or at least the neutrality, of Likinius, the Illyrian emperor. He had promised his sister Constantia in marriage to that prince, but the celebration of the nuptials was deferred till after the conclusion of the war, and the interview of the two emperors at Milan, which was appointed for that purpose, appeared to cement the union of their families in interests. In the midst of the public festivity, they were suddenly obliged to take leave of each other. An inroad of the Franks summoned Constantine to the Rhine, and the hostile approach of the sovereign of Asia demanded the immediate presence of Likinius. Maximus had been the secret ally of Maxentius, and without being discouraged by his fate, he resolved to try the fortune of a civil war. He moved out of Syria towards the frontiers of Bithynia in the depth of winter. The season was severe and tempestuous, great numbers of men as well as horses perished in the snow, and as the roads were broken up by incessant rains, he was obliged to leave behind him a considerable part of the heavy baggage, which was unable to follow the rapidity of his forced marches. By this extraordinary effort of diligence, he arrived with a harassed but formidable army on the banks of the Thracian Bosphorus, before the lieutenants of Likinius were appraised of his hostile attentions. Byzantium surrendered to the power of Maximus after a siege of eleven days. He was detained some days under the walls of Heraclea, and he had no sooner taken possession of that city than he was alarmed by the intelligence that Likinius had pitched his camp at a distance of only eighteen miles. After a fruitless negotiation in which the two princes attempted to seduce the fidelity of each other's adherents, they had recourse to arms. The Emperor of the East commanded a disciplined and veteran army of above seventy thousand men, and Likinius, who had collected about thirty thousand delirians, was at first depressed by the superiority of numbers. His military skill, and the firmness of the troops, restored the day, and obtained a decisive victory. The incredible speed which Maximus exerted in his flight is much more celebrated than his prowess in the battle. Twenty-four hours afterwards, he was seen pale, trembling, and without his imperial ornaments at Nicomedia, one hundred and sixty miles from the place of his defeat. The wealth of Asia was yet unexhausted, and though the flower of his veterans had fallen in the late action, he still had power, if he could obtain time, to draw very numerous levies from Syria and Egypt. But he survived his misfortune only three or four months. His death, which happened at Tarsus, was variously ascribed to despair, to poison, and to the divine justice, as Maximus was alike, destitute of abilities and of virtue, he was lamented neither by the people, nor by the soldiers. The provinces of the east, delivered from the terrors of civil war, cheerfully acknowledged the authority of Likinius. The vanquished emperor left behind him two children, a boy of about eight, and a girl of about seven years old. Their inoffensive age might have excited compassion, but the compassion of Likinius was a very feeble resource, nor did it restrain him from extinguishing the name and memory of his adversary. The death of Severianus will admit of less excuse, as it was dictated neither by revenge nor by policy. The conqueror had never received any injury from the father of that unhappy youth, and the short and obscure reign of Severus in a distant part of the empire was already forgotten. But the execution of Candidianus was an act of the blackest cruelty and ingratitude. He was the natural son of Galerius, the friend and benefactor of Likinius. The prudent father had judged him too young to sustain the weight of a diadem, but he hoped that, under the protection of princes who were indebted to his favour for the imperial purple, Candidianus might pass a secure and honourable life. He was now advancing towards the twentieth year of his age, and the royalty of his birth, though unsupported either by merit or ambition, was sufficient to exasperate the jealous mind of Likinius. To these innocent and illustrious victims of his tyranny, we must add the wife and daughter of the emperor Diocletian. When that prince conferred on Galerius the title of Caesar, he had given him in marriage his daughter Valeria, whose melancholy adventures might furnish a very singular subject for tragedy. She had fulfilled and even surpassed the duties of her wife, as she had not any children herself. She condescended to adopt the illegitimate son of her husband, and invariably displayed towards the unhappy Candidianus the tenderness and anxiety of a real mother. After the death of Galerius, her ample possessions provoked the avarice and her personal attractions excited the desires of his successor Maximon. He had a wife still alive, but divorce was permitted by the Roman law, and the fierce passions of the tyrant demanded an immediate gratification. The answer of Valeria was such as became the daughter and widow of emperors, but it was tempered by the prudence which had defenced this condition compelled her to observe. She represented to the persons who Maximon had employed on this occasion that, even if honour could permit a woman of her character and dignity to entertain a thought of second nuptials, decency at least must forbid her to listen to his addresses at a time when the ashes of her husband and his benefactor were still warm, and while the sorrows of her mind were still expressed by her mourning garments. She ventured to declare that she could place very little confidence in the professions of a man whose cruel inconstancy was capable of repudiating a faithful and affectionate wife. On this repulse the lover of Maximon was converted into Fiori, and as witnesses and judges were always at his disposal it was easy for him to cover his Fiori with an appearance of legal proceedings, and to assault the reputation as well as the happiness of Valeria. Her estates were confiscated, her unics and domestics devoted to the most inhuman tortures, and several innocent and respectable matrons who were honoured with her friendship suffered death on a false accusation of adultery. The Empress herself, together with her mother, Prisca, was condemned to exile, and as they were ignominiously hurried from place to place before they were confined to a sequestered village in the deserts of Syria, they exposed their shame and distress to the provinces of the East which, during thirty years, had respected their august dignity. Diocletian made several ineffectual efforts to alleviate the misfortunes of his daughter, and, as the last return that he expected for the imperial purple, which he had conferred upon Maximon, he entreated that Valeria might be permitted to share his retirement of Salona and to close the eyes of her afflicted father. He entreated, but as he could no longer threaten, his prayers were received with coldness and disdain, and the pride of Maximon was gratified in treating Diocletian as a supliant and his daughter as a criminal. The death of Maximon seemed to assure the empresses of a favourable alteration in their fortune. The public disorders relaxed to the vigilance of their guard, and they easily found means to escape from their place of exile and to repair, though with some precaution and in disguise, to the court of Likinius. His behaviour in the first days of his reign and the honourable reception which he gave to young Candidianus inspired Valeria with a secret satisfaction, both on her own account and on that of her adopted son. But these grateful prospects were soon succeeded by horror and astonishment, and the bloody executions which stained the palace of Nicomedia sufficiently convinced her that the throne of Maximon was filled by a tyrant more inhuman than himself. Valeria consulted her safety by a hasty flight and, still accompanied by her mother Prisca, they wandered about fifteen months through the provinces concealed in the disguise of plebeian habits. They were at length discovered at Thessalonica, and as the sentence of their death was already pronounced, they were immediately beheaded, and their bodies thrown into the sea. The people gazed on this melancholy spectacle, but their grief and indignation were suppressed by the terrors of a military guard. Such was the unworthy fate of the wife and daughter of Diocletian. We lament their misfortunes, we cannot discover their crimes, and whatever idea we may justly entertain of the cruelty of Likinius, it remains a matter of surprise that he was not contented with some more secret and decent method of revenge. The Roman world was now divided between Constantine and Likinius, the former of whom was master of the west, the latter of the east. It might perhaps have been expected that the conquerors fatigued with civil war and connected by private as well as public alliance would have renounced, or at least would have suspended, any further designs of ambition. And yet a year had scarcely elapsed after the death of Maximon, before the victorious emperors turned their arms against each other. The genius, the success, and the aspiring temper of Constantine may seem to mark him out of the aggressor. But the perfidious character of Likinius justifies the most unfavorable suspicions, and by the faint light which history reflects on this transaction, we may discover a conspiracy fermented by his arts against the authority of his colleague. Constantine had lately given his sister Anastasia in marriage to Bassianus, a man of a considerable family and fortune, and had elevated his new kinsman to the rank of Caesar. According to the system of government instituted by Diocletian, Italy and perhaps Africa were designed for his department in the Empire. But the performance of the promised favour was either attended with so much delay, or accompanied with so many unequal conditions, that the fidelity of Bassianus was alienated rather than secured by the honourable distinction which he had obtained. His nomination had been ratified by the consent of Likinius and that artful prince, by the means of his emissaries, soon contrived to enter into a secret and dangerous correspondence with the new Caesar, to irritate his discontents, and to urge him to the rash enterprise of extorting by violence, what he might in vain solicit from the justice of Constantine. But the vigilant emperor discovered the conspiracy before it was right for execution, and after solemnly renouncing the alliance of Bassianus, dispoiled him of the purple, and inflicted the deserved punishment on his treason and ingratitude. The haughtier refusal of Likinius, when he was required to deliver up the criminals who had taken refuge in his dominions, confirmed the suspicions already entertained of his perfidy, and the indignities offered at Imona on the frontiers of Italy to the statues of Constantine became the signal of discord between the two princes. The first battle was fought near Chibalis, a city of Pannonia, situated on the river Savae, about fifty miles above Cermium. From the inconsiderable forces, which in this important contest to such powerful monarchs brought into the field, it may be inferred that the one was suddenly provoked, and that the other was unexpectedly surprised. The emperor of the west had only twenty thousand, the sovereign of the east no more than five and thirty thousand men. The inferiority of number was, however, compensated by the advantage of the ground. Constantine had taken his post in a defile about half a mile in breadth, between a steep hill and a deep morass, and in that situation he steadily expected and repulsed the first attack of the enemy. He pursued his success and advanced into the plain. But the veteran legions of Illyricum rallied under the standard of a leader who had been trained to arms in the School of Probus and Diocletian. The missile weapons on both sides were soon exhausted, the two armies with equal valor rushed to a closer engagement of swords and spears, and the doubtful contest had already lasted from the dawn of the day to a late hour of the evening when the right wing, which Constantine led in person, made a vigorous and decisive charge. The judicious retreat of Likinius saved the remainder of his troops from a total defeat, but when he computed his loss, which amounted to more than twenty thousand men, he thought it unsafe to pass the night in the presence of an active and victorious enemy. Abandoning his camp and magazines, he marched away with secrecy and diligence, at the head of the greatest part of his cavalry, and was soon removed beyond the danger of a pursuit. His diligence preserved his wife, his son, and his treasures which he had deposited at Sermium. Likinius passed through that city, and, breaking down the bridge on the Sarve, hastened to collect a new army in Dacia and Thrace. In his flight, he bestowed the precarious title of Caesar on Valens, his general of the Illyrian frontier.