The latter was dead. It had been banished by
barbarian senators, by barbarian gods; it had died twice, at
Pharsalus, at Philippi; it was the people that was sovereign, and
it was important that that sovereign should be amused--flattered,
too, and fed. For thirty years not a Roman of note had died in his
bed; not one but had kept by him a slave who should kill him when
his hour had come; anarchy had been continuous; but now Rome was
at rest and its sovereign wished to laugh. Made up of every nation
and every vice, the universe was ransacked for its entertainment.
The mountain sent its lions, the desert giraffes; there were boas
from the jungles, bulls from the plains, and hippopotami from the
waters of the Nile. Into the arenas patricians descended; in the
amphitheatre there were criminals from Gaul; in the Forum
philosophers from Greece. On the stage, there were tragedies,
pantomimes and farce; there were races in the circus, and in the
sacred groves girls with the Orient in their eyes and slim waists
that swayed to the crotals. For the thirst of the sovereign there
were aqueducts, and for its hunger Africa, Egypt, Sicily
contributed grain. Syria unveiled her altars, Persia the mystery
and magnificence of her gods.
Such was Rome. Augustus was less noteworthy; so unnecessary even
that every student must regret Actium, Antony's defeat, the
passing of Caesar's dream. For Antony was made for conquests; it
was he who, fortune favoring, might have given the world to Rome.
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