Chapter VII: Front Matter (7)

Here we encounter the question, What measure of praise shall be accorded to war, or to the profession of arms? Thus far, great generals and conquerors have attracted the largest share of admiration. They swell the page of history. For them is inspiring music, the minute-gun, the flag at half-mast, the trophy, the monument. Fame is a plant whose most luxuriant shoots have grown on fields of blood. Are these vigorous and perennial, or are they destined to perish and fall to earth beneath the rays of the still ascending sun?

There are not a few who will join with Milton in his admirable judgment of martial renown:--

"They err who count it glorious to subdue
By conquest far and wide, to overrun
Large countries, and in field great battles win,
Great cities by assault. What do these worthies
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave
Peaceable nations, neighboring or remote,
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more
Than those, their conquerors, who leave behind
Nothing but ruin, wheresoe'er they rove,
And all the flourishing works of peace destroy?"[217]

[217] Paradise Regained, Book III. 71-80.

This interesting testimony finds echo in another of England's remarkable characters, Edmund Waller,--himself poet, orator, statesman, man of the world,--who has left on record his judgment of True Glory, in a valedictory poem, written at the age of eighty, when the passions of this world no longer obscured the clear perception of duty. At an earlier period of life he had sung of war. Mark the change in this swan-like note, which might disenchant even the eloquence of Cicero, covetous of Fame:--

"Earth praises conquerors for shedding blood;
Heaven, those that love their foes and do 'em good.
It is terrestrial honor to be crowned
For strewing men, like rushes, on the ground:
True Glory 'tis to rise above them all,
Without the advantage taken by their fall.
He that in fight diminishes mankind
Does no addition to his stature find;
But he that does a noble nature show,
Obliging others, still does higher grow:
For virtue practised such an habit gives
That among men he like an angel lives;
Humbly he doth, and without envy, dwell,
Loved and admired by those he does excel.

* * * * *

Wrestling with Death, these lines I did indite;
No other theme could give my soul delight.
O that my youth had thus employed my pen,
Or that I now could write as well as then!"[218]

[218] Of the Fear of God, Canto 2.

Well does the poet give the palm to moral excellence! But it is from the lips of a successful soldier, cradled in war, the very pink of warlike heroism, that we are taught to appreciate the Fame of literature, which, though less elevated than that from disinterested beneficence, is truer and more permanent than any bloody Glory. I allude to Wolfe, conqueror of Quebec, who has attracted a larger share of romantic interest than any other of the gallant generals in English history. We behold him, yet young in years, at the head of an adventurous expedition, destined to prostrate the French empire in Canada,--guiding and encouraging the firmness of his troops in unaccustomed difficulties,--awakening their personal attachment by his kindly suavity, and their ardor by his own example,--climbing the precipitous steeps which conduct to the heights of the strongest fortress on the American continent,--there, under its walls, joining in deadly conflict,--wounded,--stretched upon the field,--faint from loss of blood,--with sight already dimmed,--his life ebbing rapidly,--cheered at last by the sudden cry, that the enemy is fleeing in all directions,--and then his dying breath mingling with the shouts of victory. An eminent artist has portrayed this scene of death in a much admired picture. History and Poetry have dwelt upon it with peculiar fondness. Such is the Glory of arms! Happily there is preserved to us a tradition of this day which affords the gleam of a truer Glory. As the commander, in his boat, floated down the current of the St. Lawrence, under cover of night, in the enforced silence of a military expedition, to effect a landing at an opportune promontory, he was heard repeating to himself, in subdued voice, that poem of exquisite charm,--then only recently given to mankind, now familiar as a household word wherever the mother tongue of Gray is spoken,--the "Elegy in a Country Churchyard." Strange and unaccustomed prelude to the discord of battle! As the ambitious warrior finished the recitation, he said to his companions, in low, but earnest tone, that he "would rather be the author of that poem than take Quebec."[219] He was right. The Glory of that victory is already dying out, like a candle in the socket. The True Glory of the poem still shines with star-bright, immortal beauty.

[219] Grahame, History of the United States, Vol. IV. pp. 51, 52.

Passing from these testimonies, I would observe for a moment the nature of Military Glory. Its most conspicuous element is courage, placed by ancient philosophers among the four cardinal virtues: Aristotle seems to advance it foremost. But plainly, of itself, it is neither virtue nor vice. It is a quality in man possessed in common with a large number of animals. It becomes virtue, when exercised in obedience to the higher sentiments, with Justice and Benevolence as its objects. It is of humbler character, if these objects are promoted by Force, or by _the beast in man_. It is unquestionably vice, when, divorced from Justice and Benevolence, it lends itself to the passion for wealth, power, or Glory.

It is easy to determine that courage, though of the lion or tiger, when employed in an unrighteous cause, cannot be the foundation of true and permanent Fame. Mardonius and his Persian hosts in Greece, Cæsar and his Roman legions in Britain, Cortés and his conquering companions in Mexico, Pizarro and his band of robbers in Peru, the Scandinavian Vikings in their adventurous expeditions of piracy, are all condemned without hesitation. Nor can applause attend hireling Swiss, or Italian chieftains of the Middle Ages, or bought Hessians of the British armies, who sold their spears and bayonets to the highest bidder. And it is difficult to see how those, in our own day, following _the trade of arms_, careless of the cause in which it is employed, can hope for better sympathy. An early English poet, of mingled gayety and truth, Sir John Suckling, himself a professor of war, makes the soldier confess the recklessness of his life:--

"I am a man of war and might,
And know thus much, that I can fight,
Whether I am i' th' wrong or right,
Devoutly."[220]

[220] A Soldier: Works, Vol. I. p. 82.

In such a spirit no True Glory can be achieved. And is not this plainly the spirit of the soldier, regarded as a "machine" only, and acting in unquestioning obedience to orders? No command of Government, or any human power, can sanctify wrong; nor can rules of military subordination, or prejudices of an unchristian patriotism, dignify conduct in violation of heaven-born sentiments. The inspiring inscription at Thermopylæ said, "O stranger, tell the Lacedæmonians that we lie here _in obedience to their commands_";[221] but the three hundred Lacedæmonians who there laid down their lives were stemming, in those narrow straits, the mighty tide of Xerxes, as it rolled in upon Greece.

[221] Simonides, apud Herod. Hist., Lib. VIII. c. 229.

To all defenders of freedom or country the heart goes forth with cordial, spontaneous sympathy. May God defend the right! Their cause, whether in victory or defeat, is invested with the interest which from the time of Abel has attached to all who suffer from the violence of a brother-man. But their unhappy strife belongs to the DISHONORABLE BARBARISM of the age,--like the cannibalism of an earlier period, or the slavery of our own day.

Not questioning the right of self-defence, or undertaking to consider the sanctions of the _Institution_ of War as an established Arbiter of Justice between nations, or its necessity in our age, all may join in regarding it as an _unchristian institution_, and a _melancholy necessity_, offensive in the sight of God, and hostile to the best interests of men. A field of battle is a scene of execution _according to the laws of war_,--without trial or judgment, but with a thousand Jack Ketches in the odious work.[222] And yet the acts of hardihood and skill here displayed are entitled "brilliant"; the movements of the executioners in gay apparel are praised as "brilliant"; the destruction of life is "brilliant"; the results of the _auto da fé_ are "brilliant"; the day of this mournful tragedy is enrolled as "brilliant"; and Christians are summoned to commemorate with _honor_ a scene which should rather pass from the recollection of men.

[222] A brilliant writer, who never fails to exalt war, recognizes
the parallel between the soldier and the executioner; but he
finds the soldier so noble as to ennoble even the work of the
executioner, when called to perform it.--Joseph de Maistre, Les
Soirées de Saint-Pétersbourg, Tom. II. pp. 4-13.

The example even of martial Rome may here teach us one great lesson. Recognizing the fellowship of a common country, conflicts between citizens were condemned as _fratricidal_. _Civil_ war was branded as _guilt_ and _crime_. The array of opposing forces, drawn from the bosom of the same community, knit together by the same political ties, was pronounced _impious_, even where they appeared under such cherished names as Pompey and Cæsar:--

"_Impia_ concurrunt Pompeii et Cæsaris arma."[223]

As the natural consequence, victories in these fraternal feuds were held to be not only unworthy of praise, but never to be mentioned without blame. Even if countenanced by _justice_ or dire _necessity_, they were none the less mournful. _No success over brethren of the same country could be the foundation of honor._ And so firmly was this principle embodied in the very customs and institutions of Rome, that no _thanksgiving_ or religious ceremony was allowed by the Senate in commemoration of such success; nor was the _triumph_ permitted to the conquering chief whose hands were red with the blood of fellow-citizens. Cæsar forbore even to send a herald of his unhappy victories, and looked upon them with _shame_.[224]

[223] Lucan, Pharsalia, Lib. VII. 196.

[224] See Illustrations at the end of this Oration.

As we recognize the commanding truth, that God "hath made of one blood all nations of men," and that all his children are brethren, the distinctions of country disappear, ALL WAR BECOMES FRATRICIDAL, and victory is achieved only by shedding a brother's blood. The soul shrinks from contemplation of the scene, and, while refusing to judge the act, confesses its unaffected sadness.

"The pomp is darkened, and the day o'ercast."

It was natural that ancient Heathen, strangers to the sentiment of Human Brotherhood, should limit their regard to the narrow circle of country,--as if there were magical lines within which strife and bloodshed are shame and crime, while beyond this pale they are great Glory. Preparing for battle, the Spartans sacrificed to the Muses, anxious for the countenance of these divinities, to the end that their deeds might be fitly described, and deeming it a heavenly favor that witnesses should behold them. Not so the Christian. He would rather pray that the recording angel would blot with tears all recollection of the fraternal strife in which he was sorrowfully engaged.

This conclusion, however repugnant to the _sentiment_ of Heathenism or the _practice_ of Christian nations, stands on the Brotherhood of Man. Because this truth is imperfectly recognized, the Heathen distinction between _civil_ war and _foreign_ war is yet maintained. To the Christian, every fellow-man, whether remote or near, whether of our own country or of another, is "neighbor" and "brother"; nor can any battle, whether between villages or towns or states or countries, be deemed other than _shame_,--like the civil wars of Rome, which the poet aptly said could bear no _triumphs_:--

"Bella geri placuit _nullos habitura triumphos_."[225]

[225] Lucan, Pharsalia, Lib. I. 12.

The same mortification and regret with which we regard the hateful contest between brothers of one household, kinsmen of one ancestry, citizens of one country, must attend every scene of strife; for are we not _all_, in a just and Christian sense, brethren of one household, kinsmen of one ancestry, citizens of one country,--the world? The inference is irresistible, that no success in arms against fellow-men, no triumph over brothers, flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone, no destruction of the life which God has given to his children, no assault upon his sacred image in the upright form and countenance of man, no effusion of human blood, _under whatever apology of necessity vindicated_, can be the foundation of Christian Fame.

Adverse to the prejudices of mankind as such conclusion may be, it must find sympathy in the refined soul and the inner heart of man, while it is in harmony with those utterances, in all ages, testifying to the virtue whose true parent is Peace. The loving admiration, so spontaneously offered to the Christian graces which adorned the Scipios, hesitates at those scenes of blood which gave to them the unwelcome eminence of "the two thunderbolts of war." The homage freely accorded to forbearance, generosity, or forgiveness, when seen in the spectral glare of battle, is a tacit rebuke to the hostile passions whose triumphant rage constitutes the Glory of arms. The wail of widows and orphans, and the sorrows of innumerable mourners refusing to be comforted, often check the gratulations of success. Stern warriors, too, in the paroxysm of victory, by unwilling tears vindicate humanity and condemn their own triumphs. More than one, in the dread extremities of life, has looked back with regret upon his career of battle, or perhaps, like Luxembourg of France, confessed that he would rather remember a cup of cold water given to a fellow-creature in poverty and distress than all his victories, with their blood, desolation, and death. Thus speaks the heart of man. No true Fame can flow from the fountain of tears.

The achievements of war and the characters of conquerors have been exposed by satire, under whose sharp touch we see their unsubstantial renown.

"Heroes are much the same, the point's agreed,
From Macedonia's madman to the Swede."

Nobody has done this more plainly than Rabelais, who, in an age when Peace was only a distant vision, gave expression to those sentiments, often vague and undefined, which have their origin in the depths of the human soul. In the Life of Pantagruel, that strange satire, compounded of indecency, humor, effrontery, and learning, one of the characters, after being very merry in hell, talking familiarly with Lucifer, and penetrating to the Elysian Fields, recognizes some of the world's great men, but changed after a very extraordinary manner. Alexander the Great is mending and patching old breeches and stockings, and thus obtains a very poor living. Achilles is a maker of hay-bundles; Hannibal, a kettle-maker, and seller of egg-shells. All the knights of the Round Table are poor day-laborers, employed to row over the rivers Cocytus, Phlegethon, Styx, Acheron, and Lethe, when, according to Rabelais, "my lords the devils have a mind to recreate themselves upon the water, as on like occasion one hires the boatmen at Lyons, the gondoliers of Venice, or oars of London,--but with this difference, that these poor knights have for their fare only a bob or flirt on the nose, and in the evening a morsel of coarse, mouldy bread."[226] Such is the wretched contrast between the judgment of earth and that other judgment, which cannot be arrested when earth has passed away.

[226] Pantagruel, Book II. ch. 30.

Whatever the voice of poets, moralists, satirists, and even of soldiers, it is certain that the Glory of arms still exercises no mean influence over the human mind. The "red planet Mars" is still in the ascendant. The Art of War, which a French divine has happily termed "the baleful art of teaching men to exterminate one another,"[227] is yet held, even among Christians, an honorable pursuit; and the animal courage which it stimulates and develops is prized as transcendent virtue. It will be for another age and a higher civilization to appreciate the more exalted character of Beneficence as an Art,--the art of extending happiness and all good influences, by word or deed, to the largest number of mankind,--while, in blessed contrast with the misery, degradation, and wickedness of war, shines resplendent the True Grandeur of Peace. All then will be willing to join with the early poet in saying,--

"Though louder Fame attend the martial rage,
'Tis greater Glory to reform the age."[228]

[227] "L'art militaire, c'est à dire, l'art funeste d'apprendre
aux hommes à s'exterminer les uns les autres."--Massillon, Oraison
Funèbre de Louis le Grand.

[228] Waller, Of Queen Catharine, on New Year's Day, 1683.

Then shall the soul thrill with a nobler heroism than that of battle, while peaceful Industry, with untold multitudes of cheerful and beneficent laborers, takes the place of War and its works,--while Literature, full of comfort and sympathy for the heart of man, rejoices in happiest empire,--while Science, with extensive sceptre, advances the bounds of knowledge and power, adding unimaginable strength to the hands of men, opening immeasurable resources in the earth, and revealing new secrets and harmonies in the skies,--while Art, elevated and refined, lavishes fresh images of beauty and grace,--while Charity, in streams of milk and honey, diffuses itself through all the habitations of the world.

Does any one ask for signs of this coming era? The increasing knowledge and beneficence of our own day, the broad-spread sympathy with human suffering, the widening thoughts of men, the longings of the heart for a higher condition on earth, the unfulfilled promises of Christian Progress, are the auspicious auguries of this Happy Future. Not to the Great Navigator alone, but to all now toiling for the new and glorious future, may be addressed the inspiring verses of the German poet:--

"Steer, bold mariner, on! albeit witlings deride thee,
And the steersman drop idly his hand at the helm;
Ever, ever to westward! there must the coast be discovered,
If it but lie distinct, luminous lie in thy mind.
Trust to the God that leads thee, and follow the sea that is silent;
Did it not yet exist, now would it rise from the flood.
Nature with Genius stands united in league everlasting;
What is promised by one surely the other performs."[229]

[229] Schiller, Columbus.

As early voyagers over untried realms of waste, we have already observed the signs of land. The green twig and fresh red berry have floated by our bark; the odors of the shore fan our faces; nay, we descry the distant gleam of light, and hear from the more earnest watchers, as Columbus heard, after midnight, from the mast-head of the Pinta, the joyful cry of _Land! Land!_ and, lo! a New World breaks upon our morning gaze.

A new order of heroes and of great men will then be recognized, while the history of the Past will be reviewed, to re-judge the Fame awarded or withheld. There are many, having high place in the world's praise, from whom a righteous Future will avert the countenance, so that they will know at last the neglect which has thus far been the lot of better men; but there are others, little regarded during life, sleeping in humble or unknown earth, who shall become the favorites of True Glory. At Athens there was an altar dedicated to the Unknown God. The time is at hand, when the company of good men whose lives are without record or monument will find at length an altar of praise.

Then will be cherished, not those who, from accident of birth, or by selfish struggle, have succeeded in winning the attention of mankind,--not those who have commanded armies in barbarous war,--not those who have exercised power or swayed empire,--not those who have made the world tributary to their luxury and wealth,--not those who have cultivated knowledge, regardless of their fellow-men. Not present Fame, nor war, nor power, nor wealth, nor knowledge, alone, can secure an entrance to this true and noble Valhalla. Here will be gathered those only who have toiled, each in his vocation, for the welfare of the race. Mankind will remember those only who have remembered mankind. Here, with the apostles, the prophets, and the martyrs, shall be joined the glorious company of the world's benefactors,--the goodly fellowship of truth and duty,--the noble army of statesmen, orators, poets, preachers, scholars, men in all walks of life, who have striven for the happiness of others. If the soldier finds a place in this sacred temple, it will be not _because_, but _notwithstanding_, he was a soldier.

* * * * *

"_God alone is great!_" Such was the admired and triumphant exclamation with which Massillon opened his funeral discourse on the deceased monarch of France, called in his own age Louis _the Great_. It is in the attributes of God that we find the elements of true greatness. Man is great by the godlike qualities of Justice, Benevolence, Knowledge, and Power. And as Justice and Benevolence are higher than Knowledge and Power, so are the just and benevolent higher than those who are intelligent and powerful only. Should all these qualities auspiciously concur in one person on earth, then might we look to behold a mortal, supremely endowed, reflecting the image of his Maker. But even Knowledge and Power, without those higher attributes, cannot constitute true greatness. It is by his Goodness that God is most truly known; so also is the Great Man. When Moses said unto the Lord, "Show me thy Glory," the Lord answered, "I will make all my Goodness pass before thee."[230]

[230] Exodus, xxxiii. 18, 19.--It was a saying of Heathen
Antiquity, that to help a mortal was to be a God to a mortal, and
this is the way to everlasting Glory: "Deus est mortali juvare
mortalem, et hæc ad æternam Gloriam via."--Plin., Nat. Hist., II. 7.

It will be easy to distinguish between those merely memorable in the world's annals and those truly great. Reviewing the historic names to which flattery or a false appreciation of character has awarded this title, we find its painful inaptitude. Alexander, drunk with victory and with wine, whose remains, after early death at the age of thirty-two, were borne through conquered Asia on a funeral car glittering with massive gold and wonderful in magnificence, was not truly great. Cæsar, ravager of distant lands, and trampler upon the liberties of his own country, with an unsurpassed combination of intelligence and power, was not truly great. Louis the Fourteenth of France, magnificent spendthrift monarch, prodigal of treasure and of blood, always panting for renown, was not truly great. Peter of Russia, organizer of material prosperity in his vast empire, murderer of his own son, despotic, inexorable, unnatural, savage, was not truly great. Frederic of Prussia, heartless and consummate general, skilled in the barbarous art of war, who played the game of robbery with human lives for dice, was not truly great. There is little of true grandeur in any such career. None of the Beatitudes showered upon them a blessed influence. They were not poor in spirit, or meek, or merciful, or pure in heart. They were not peacemakers. They did not hunger and thirst after Justice. They did not suffer persecution for Justice's sake.

It is men like these, that the good Abbé St. Pierre, in works deserving well of mankind, has termed _Illustrious_, in contradistinction to _Great_. Their influence was extensive, their power mighty, their names famous; but they were barbarous, selfish, and inhuman in aim, with little of love to God and less to man.

There is another and a higher company that thought little of praise or power, whose lives shine before men with those good works which glorify their authors. There is Milton, poor and blind, but "bating not a jot of heart or hope,"--in an age of ignorance the friend of education, in an age of servility and vice the pure and uncontaminated friend of freedom, tuning his harp to those magnificent melodies which angels might stoop to hear, and confessing his supreme duties to Humanity in words of simplicity and power. "I am long since persuaded," was his declaration, "that, to say or do aught worth memory and imitation, no purpose or respect should sooner move us than simply the love of God and of mankind."[231] There is Vincent de Paul, of France, once a captive in Algiers. Obtaining freedom by happy escape, this fugitive slave devoted himself with divine success to works of Christian benevolence,--the establishment of hospitals, visiting those in prison, the spread of amity and peace. Unknown, he repairs to the galleys at Marseilles, and, touched by the story of a poor convict, takes the heavy chains upon himself, that this fellow-man may leave to visit his wife and children; and then, moved by the sorrows of France bleeding with war, hurries to her powerful minister, the Cardinal Richelieu, and on his knees entreats,--"Give us peace! have pity upon us! give peace to France!"[232] There is Howard, the benefactor of those on whom the world has placed its brand,--whose charity, like that of the Frenchman, inspired by the single desire of doing good, illumined the gloom of the dungeon as with angelic presence. "A person of more ability," he says, in sweet simplicity, "with my knowledge of facts, would have written better; but the object of my ambition was not the Fame of an author. _Hearing the cry of the miserable, I devoted my time to their relief._"[233] And, lastly, there is Clarkson, who, while yet a pupil of the University, commenced those life-long labors against slavery and the slave-trade which embalm his memory. Writing an essay on the subject as a college exercise, his soul warmed with the task, and, at a period when even the horrors of "the middle passage" did not excite condemnation, he entered the lists, the stripling champion of the Right. He has left a record of the moment when this supreme duty flashed upon him. He was horseback, on his way from Cambridge to London. "Coming in sight of Wade's Mill, in Hertfordshire," he says, "I sat down disconsolate on the turf by the roadside, and held my horse. Here a thought came into my mind, that, if the contents of the Essay were true, _it was time some person should see these calamities to their end_."[234] Pure and noble impulse to a beautiful career!

[231] Of Education: Prose Works, Vol. I. p. 273.

[232] Biographie Universelle: Art. _Vincent de Paul_.

[233] Howard's State of the Prisons, p. 469.

[234] Clarkson's History of the Abolition of the African
Slave-Trade, Vol. I. p. 171.

Such are exemplars of True Glory. Without rank, office, or the sword, they accomplished immortal good. While on earth, they labored for their fellow-men; and now, sleeping in death, by example and works they continue the same sacred office. To all, in every sphere or condition, they teach the universal lesson of magnanimous duty. From the heights of their virtue, they call upon us to cast out the lust of power, of office, of wealth, of praise, of a fleeting popular favor, which "a breath can make, as a breath has made,"--to subdue the constant, ever-present suggestions of self, in disregard of neighbors, near or remote, whose welfare should never be forgotten,--to check the madness of party, which so often, for the sake of success, renounces the very objects of success,--and, finally, to introduce into our lives those sentiments of _Conscience_ and _Charity_ which animated them to such labors. Nor should these be holiday virtues, marshalled on great occasions only. They must become part of us, and of our existence,--present on every occasion, small or great,--in those daily amenities which add so much to the charm of life, as also in those grander duties which require an ennobling self-sacrifice. The former are as flowers, whose odor is pleasant, though fleeting; the latter are like the costly spikenard poured from the box of alabaster upon the head of the Lord.

To the supremacy of these principles let us all consecrate our best purposes and strength. So doing, we must reverse the very poles of worship in the past. Thus far men have bowed down before stocks, stones, insects, crocodiles, golden calves,--graven images, of ivory, ebony, or marble, often of cunning workmanship, wrought with Phidian skill, but all _false gods_. Their worship in the future must be the true God, our Father, as he is in heaven, and in the _beneficent_ labors of his children on earth. Then farewell to the Siren song of a worldly ambition! Farewell to the vain desire of mere literary success or oratorical display! Farewell to the distempered longing for office! Farewell to the dismal, blood-red phantom of martial renown! Fame and Glory may continue, as in times past, the reflection of public opinion,--but of an opinion sure and steadfast, without change or fickleness, illumined by those two eternal suns of Christian truth, love to God and love to man.

All things will bear witness to the change, while the busy forms of wrong and outrage disappear like evil spirits at the dawn. Then shall the happiness of the poor and lowly have uncounted friends. The cause of those in prison shall find fresh voices, the education of the ignorant kindly supporters, the majesty of Peace other vindicators, the sufferings of the slave new and gushing floods of sympathy. Then, at last, shall the Brotherhood of Man stand confessed, filling the souls of all with more generous life, prompting to deeds of beneficence, conquering the Heathen prejudices of country, color, and race, guiding the judgment of the historian, animating the verse of the poet and the eloquence of the orator, ennobling human thought and conduct, and inspiring those good works by which alone we attain the summits of True Glory. Good Works! Such even now is the Heavenly Ladder on which angels are ascending and descending, while weary Humanity, on pillows of stone, slumbers heavily at its feet.

ILLUSTRATIONS REFERRED TO ON PAGE 38.

_Civil War a Crime._--The terms describing civil war, employed by
Roman writers, implicate _both sides_ in its guilt and dishonor.
Such phrases as the following occur in the "Pharsalia" of Lucan:
"_civile nefas_" (Lib. IV. 172); "_civilis Erinnys_" (IV. 187);
"_crimen civile_" (VII. 398). Eutropius says: "Hinc jam _bellum
civile_ successit, _exsecrandum et lacrimabile_." (Brev. Hist.
Rom., Lib. VI. c. 19.) Of the war between Sulla and Marius Florus
says: "Hoc deerat unum populi Romani malis, jam ut ipse intra se
_parricidale bellum_ domi stringeret, et in urbe media ac foro,
quasi harena, cives cum civibus suis gladiatorio more concurrerent.
Æquiore animo utcumque ferrem, si plebeii duces, aut si nobiles,
mali saltem, ducatum _sceleri_ præbuissent; cum vero, _pro
facinus_! qui viri! qui imperatores! decora et ornamenta sæculi
sui, Marius et Sulla, _pessimo facinori_ suam etiam dignitatem
præbuerunt." (Epit. Rerum Rom., Lib. III. c. 21.) The condemnation
of the historian is aroused, not because of the wickedness of
a contest among fellow-_men_, but among fellow-_citizens_, and
because illustrious personages joined in it. But he is impartial
in condemning _both sides_. Marius and Sulla alike are treated as
criminals. The same judgment seems to be expressed with regard to
Cæsar and Pompey. "_Cæsaris furor atque Pompeii_ urbem, Italiam,
gentes, nationes, totum denique qua patebat imperium, quodam quasi
diluvio et inflammatione corripuit; adeo ut non recte tantum
_civile_ dicatur, ac ne sociale quidem, sed nec externum, sed
potius commune quoddam ex omnibus, et plus quam bellum." (Ibid.,
Lib. IV. c. 2.) His description of what was called the Social War
contains a principle which must condemn equally all strife among
cognate nations or states: "Sociale bellum vocetur licet, ut
extenuemus invidiam; si verum tamen volumus, illud civile bellum
fuit. Quippe cum populus Romanus Etruscos, Latinos. Sabinosque
miscuerit, et unum ex omnibus sanguinem ducat, corpus fecit ex
membris, et ex omnibus unus est. _Nec minore flagitio socii intra
Italiam, quam intra urbem cives rebellabant._" (Ibid., Lib. III. c.
18.)

* * * * *

_No triumph, thanksgiving, or holiday for a conqueror in Civil
War._--Valerius Maximus, in his chapter on _Triumphs_, shows how
the victories of civil war were regarded in Rome. "Although," he
says, "any one should perform illustrious and highly useful acts
to the Republic in civil war, he was not on this account hailed
as Imperator; nor were any _thanksgivings_ decreed; nor did he
enjoy a _triumph_ or _oration_: because, _howsoever necessary
these victories might be, they were always regarded as mournful_,
inasmuch as they were obtained, not by _foreign_, but by _domestic_
blood. Therefore Nasica and Opimius _sorrowfully_ slew, the one
the faction of Tiberius Gracchus, and the other that of Caius
Gracchus. Quintus Catulus, after overthrowing his colleague, Marcus
Lepidus, with all his seditious forces, returned to the city,
_showing only a moderated joy_. Even Caius Antonius, the conqueror
of Catiline, made his soldiers wipe their swords before taking them
back to the camp. Lucius Cinna and Caius Marius, after eagerly
draining the blood of citizens, _did not proceed immediately to the
temples and altars of the gods_. So, too, Lucius Sulla, who waged
many civil wars, and whose successes were most cruel and insolent,
at his triumph, on the establishment of his power, carried in his
procession the representations of many Greek and Asiatic cities,
_but of no town occupied by Roman citizens_. It were grievous and
wearisome to dwell longer on the wounds of the Republic. _The
Senate never gave the laurel to any one, nor did any one ever
desire that it should be given to himself, while a part of the
state was in tears._" These last words deserve to be repeated in
the original text: "Lauream nec Senatus cuiquam dedit, nec quisquam
sibi dari desideravit, civitatis parte lacrimante." (Valerius
Maximus, Lib. II. c. 8, § 7.) Florus, at the close of his chapter
on the War with Sertorius, says, that the victorious leaders wished
this to be regarded as a _foreign_ rather than a _civil_ war, _in
order that they might triumph_: "Victores duces _externum_ id magis
quam _civile_ bellum videri voluerunt, _ut triumpharent_." (Epit.
Rerum Rom., Lib. III. c. 22.) Cæsar did not triumph over Pompey,
although at a later day he shocked his fellow-citizens by a triumph
over the sons of that leader. "_All the world_," says Plutarch, in
his Life of Cæsar, "_condemned his triumphing in the calamities of
his country, and rejoicing in things which nothing could excuse,
either before the gods or men, but extreme necessity._ And it
was the more obvious to condemn it, because, before this, he had
never sent any messenger or letter to acquaint the public with any
victory he had gained in the civil wars, _but was rather ashamed of
such advantages_." (Lives, tr. Langhorne, Vol. IV. p. 387.)

A similar judgment of contests and battles _between citizens_
appears in other writers. Appian, speaking of Caius Gracchus,
says, that "all averted their countenances from him, as _a man
polluted with the blood of a citizen_." (De Bellis Civilibus, Lib.
I. c. 25.) The same author, in describing the triumphs of Cæsar
on his return from Africa, says, that "he took care that there
should be no triumphal inscription of his victories over Romans,
his fellow-citizens, _as both unbecoming himself, and shameful
and of evil omen to the Roman people_." (Ibid., Lib. II. c. 101.)
We may follow this sentiment in the History of Dion Cassius.
After describing the victory over Catiline, he says, "The victors
themselves greatly bewailed the loss to the Commonwealth of such
and so many men, citizens and allies, _although justly slain_."
(Hist. Rom., Lib. XXXVII. c. 40.) Thus the _justice_ of the
war did not make it a source of glory. Dion says, that Pompey,
after his success over Cæsar at Dyrrachium, "did not speak of it
boastfully, _nor did he wreathe his fasces with laurel, feeling a
repugnance to doing anything of this sort on account of a victory
over citizens_." (Ibid., Lib. XLI. c. 52.) The manner in which he
refers to Cæsar's conduct, also, after the battle of Pharsalia, is
in harmony with that of the other classical writers. "Cæsar," he
says, "sent no announcement of it to the people, _being unwilling
to appear to rejoice publicly over such a victory_; wherefore he
did not celebrate any triumph on account of it." (Ibid., Lib.
XLII. c. 18.) But he pursued a different course with regard to
his victory over the _foreigner_ Pharnaces, which he announced in
that famous epigrammatic epistle, "_Veni, vidi, vici._" Dion says,
"Cæsar was prouder of this than of any other of his victories,
although it was not very splendid." (Ibid., Lib. XLII. c. 48.) The
same historian alludes to his triumph over the sons of Pompey,
"having conquered no _foreign enemy_, but destroyed so large a
number of _citizens_." (Ibid., Lib. XLIII. c. 42.) Crowns and
public thanksgivings were decreed to Octavius Cæsar, after his
victories over Antony; "but," says Dion, "they did not expressly
name Antony, and the other Romans conquered with him, either at
first or then, _as though it were right to celebrate festivities
over them_." (Ibid., Lib. LI. c. 19.)

"The Tatler," in considering the Roman triumph, notices that
"it was not allowed in a civil war, lest one part should be in
tears, while the other was making acclamations." (No. LXIII.) And
Hudibras, in a most suggestive passage, uses language applicable to
all civil war:--

"What towns, what garrisons, might you
With hazard of this blood subdue,
Which now ye're bent to throw away
_In vain untriumphable fray_!"