On the Destruction of Jerusalem 1.37–1.39

The young man is sent at night to the city of Jericho, and there, since he used to enjoy swimming, he was drowned in a pool by very many men who came together as if in play, while he was being ducked without measure. His sister did not bear this in silence, but in her sisterly affection betrayed it in reproaches and charged her husband that her brother had been taken from her at his order. She was bereft of everyone, she said; her husband's house was deadly to her, he who first took away her grandfather and then killed her brother; she was wretched, the ruin of her family. She called down curses on her husband, her mother-in-law, and the king's sister—a crime common to them all—and begged God as avenger not to leave so great a deed unpunished. Herod bore all this, as one captivated by love and devoted to her nods. But the women's anger raged, and they could not bear the curses of the cursing woman and above all her indignant arrogance, especially because Herod, conquered by her, could not rise up against her even when slighted by her; and therefore, so that he might be roused the more as a lover, a drama of adultery is woven together, and a charge of this kind is composed against the woman: that she had sent her portrait to Antony in Egypt. How great an intemperance it would have been, to offer her beauty for sale to an absent man prone to lust, and moreover a powerful one who used power as law, so as to entice him by her beauty—that she, a woman, could have put herself up in the commerce of a new kind of auction, from love, or from hatred of her husband, whose danger she would have demanded as the price of adultery! By this invention of the women, then, Mariamne, the more she was loved by Herod, the more heavily she was attacked. Yet the accusation itself, though made by indignant women, was not altogether foreign to the truth. For it was more credible that her mother Alexandra, furious that another was preferred in the priesthood to her son Aristobulus (she preferred her son Jonathan to be called by this name, to recall that his grandfather had been a king), had asked Antony, through a certain musician who carried the letters, for the priesthood for her son. Then, when Dellius, Antony's friend, came to Judea, the young man had been noticed and marveled at for the grace of his most excellent beauty; and no less Mariamne, whose fame was the more brilliant the more distinguished her rank, had perhaps become known to him, by a certain habit of human nature by which men wish to show themselves dearer to their more intimate friends if they also admit them to hospitality in the presence of their families. There, too, Alexandra had been given the opportunity of talking with Sosius, being a widow and somewhat freer, and her guest could not lack the opportunity of learning other things, especially as he was inquiring into such matters and persons. Then, having consulted together, they had come to this decision, that the portraits of both should be sent to Antony. Struck by the brilliance of the portraits, and especially by the testimony of Sosius (who asserted that he had never seen anything like it on earth, and that a grace not human but divine was in them, acting the pander, so as to rouse the man's far from sober desires), Antony had written to Herod to send Aristobulus to him without delay; about Mariamne, because she was married, he said nothing—not that he used to cover his lusts even toward women who were with their husbands, for he could commit outrage without danger and without shame—but so as to avoid the anger of Cleopatra, who was offended by a rival of either sex, but more if she caught him with a woman joined to a husband, since she thought she surpassed all women in beauty. When the letter had been read, Herod excused himself, saying he could not tear the noble young man away from his people without an uprising of the people and disturbance of the whole nation; and to satisfy Alexandra he promised Aristobulus the priesthood. But when Alexandra saw delays being made in the promises and thought she was being toyed with, she prepared a ship; and when the very preparation for flight was discovered through Sabbion's information, she was brought back with her son. Moved by this, Herod concealed the injury for the time and hastened the conferral of the priesthood on Aristobulus, so as to veil under the appearance of honor the odium of the death he had prepared. When this was done, as we have said, he was shaken as if struck by lightning, and at the same time by the charge of attempted adultery invented by his family, since he knew Antony was prone to lusts, and unveiled ones, and inflamed his desires to every kind of love by having very great power. Dreading also the implacable pain and savagery of Cleopatra's rivalry—who had killed very many men whom she had found, as their elders, to be restraining their wives' intemperance—he feared that the danger threatening him was not only of losing his wife but also of undergoing death. So he himself proposed to go to Egypt, to turn aside Antony or Cleopatra, whom he feared most. Others say that he went there summoned by Mark Antony's letters, to give account of the reasons for the young man's death. Yet, as he was about to set out, he secretly told his kinsman Joseph, to whom Salome, the king's sister, had been joined in marriage, that he suspected he would be put to death because of Antony's desire for his wife's beauty, which the woman was accused of betraying by sending a likeness of her charms; and he entrusted this to him, as a kinsman, as a charge: that if he himself were killed by Antony, he should kill Mariamne, so that the prize of the crime would not survive. Joseph—not at all, I think, from a wish to betray, but to quiet the woman's complaints against her husband, in which she said that, afflicted, she burned with hatred of him—disclosed the order and interpreted it as the affection of a lover: that not even in death would Herod endure being separated from his wife's company. But the woman, very differently from what Joseph had supposed, took it as proof of a cruelty still wrapped around her, whose execution he had entrusted to his own kinsman to be carried out even after his death: he was hostile to her through injustice, she said, a man who did not test his suspicions by any proof of truth but pressed them with a headlong death; there would be no end to hatreds that stretched beyond the very loss of life and safety. But Joseph, forgetful of the evil in his own house, while he eagerly sought to reconcile another man's wife, inflamed his own wife's suspicions against himself, for she thought that her husband's conversations with Mariamne and his lingering in the royal palace were not to be borne lightly. In the end, when her brother returned, she did not delay her accusations, adding her own injury to the king's insults, that Mariamne had taken her husband from her too. But Herod, though struck, was at first by no means seriously moved, nor did he show himself hostile to his wife; indeed, broken by the force of love, one day he began to swear to the woman that he loved her with such affection that he had never burned with desire for another woman, and had so cast all of them from his mind as to keep faith with his wife. But she said: “You had shown your love for me well enough by the orders you gave Joseph, when you commanded him to kill me. How can he love who can kill?” At once the king, beside himself when he heard that his secret had been betrayed, began to think that Joseph would never have betrayed it unless, captured by love of the woman, he had sought the reward of his betrayal in illicit intercourse: what had long been hidden was made plain, the crime was in the open with undoubted corruption; his sister had not been roused for nothing, she who had detected the injury to the house before the rest. So, raging with excessive indignation and out of his mind, he leapt from the couch, fleeing the contagion of base corruption, and the palace could not hold him in his fury. His sister heard him shouting, and at once, seizing the moment as an argument for accusation and an occasion for harm, she confirmed the suspicions of the indignant man. So, driven by the pain of the injury and by his sister's accusation, he ordered both to be killed. Not long after came repentance for what was done; and when anger fell, love followed, and passion was revived; and such a fever of desire blazed up that he did not believe she was dead, and, out of his mind, spoke to her as if she were alive. And he would send servants to her as to a living woman, asking her to lay aside their quarrels, come to him, and give herself back to conjugal favor. At last, taught by a long interval of time, he hardly believed that she had died, whom, for love, he thought could not die, like a woman of immortal beauty. So great was his affection for the dead woman. In the end, they say, he became savage afterwards and, exasperated by hatred of those around him, was carried away into the murder of many; and he suffered not only from a sickness of the mind but also from a serious illness of the body, which they said he contracted from a pestilence of the air as well. For a more corrupt region of the sky produced plague for very many. So, on the advice of physicians, he hid himself in the secret places of the forests, and as his strength gradually returned, he recovered health of body and mind alike with the spring air.

He added this too to the wonders by which he looked up to the charm of the dead woman: that he had paid the penalty for an unjust outrage, and that the death of such beauty had been expiated by the sickness of the elements—the death of one avenged by the ruin of the world and the plague of peoples, though with unequal lot, since the earth refused its fruits and famine increased the pestilence. Such was the end Mariamne met: chaste toward her husband with sobriety, but insolent in the awareness of her beauty. She had greatness of spirit in abundance but lacked attentiveness, so that she scorned her husband's endearments, secure that she could suffer no ruin from one who loved her beyond measure. Nor did she find vengeance only for the present, but passed on inherited hatreds for the future. Her sons succeeded her as executors of their mother's grief, with devoted affection toward their mother but impious toward their father, though they ought to have paid the right of nature to both parents with equal duty. Nor did grief find them untrained: long educated at Rome in Latin and Greek letters alike, they had acquired no small cunning; they had learned of their mother's death while absent, and were embittered, very many urging them on to hatred of their father. When they returned, not even reverence at the sight of their father instilled attentiveness in them; their malice grew with age. Presumption came also from their marriages, for one had been joined in marriage to the daughter of Salome, Herod's niece, and the other to the daughter of Archelaus, who held the kingdom of Cappadocia; and the nobility of the union had given weight to their hatreds. So Herod was offended, even by the silent character of his sons, more spirited than a father's devotion could bear—a devotion that is often wounded even by a look. Goads were added by those who, as though anxious, frequently warned him to beware of his sons' plots, asserting that they were arming hands to avenge their mother's death. Frightened by this, Herod began to prefer Antipater, Doris's son, to his brothers, and to provoke them by showing him richer favor. The royal palace burned with greater hatreds and was shaken by the contest of brothers: they were indignant that the son of a private woman was preferred to themselves, born in the kingdom; he, skilled in flattery, the more he saw himself inferior on his mother's side, the more zealously he commended himself to his father, and he did not stop attacking his brothers with fabricated accusations until by himself and through others whom he had won over he shut them out from their father's affection. In the end he took from them all hope of reigning, so that by a publicly made will he was designated sole successor to the rule; and, sent to Caesar at Rome, he was furnished with every royal ornament and style except the badge of the diadem. Returning from there to Judea, with increased favor from Caesar and many illustrious men, within almost a short interval of time he gained such influence that he even restored his mother to his father's marriage; and with twin weapons, the art of flattery and the cunning of pretense, he began so to press his brothers before his father that the father prepared death for his son. At last, raging in mind, Herod went to Rome, taking Alexander with him, whom he set before Caesar as accused of a crime of sorcery against himself. Alexander, being given the opportunity of lamenting his calamity and all his miseries, and seeing that he had the authority of so great a judge, who could neither be won over by Herod through favor nor be got round by Antipater, thought nothing should be passed over, and touched on his father's crimes with a certain modesty, so that he neither seemed to press like an accuser nor allowed them to stay hidden, since it would greatly help his case if he showed that he was being attacked by his father's hatred because of his grief at his mother's death. For in such trials nothing burdens children more than the duty of nature and the authority of that duty; if these are somewhat discredited by an outrage, the presumption against the child is lessened and the father's privilege excluded. But when he came to his father's charges, refuting them with strong arguments, he first showed that his brother was free of the crime, the partner of his dangers, and he groaned that an innocent man was being called into the charge. A clear conscience gave him the right to plead, and he had skill in speaking: no honor had been left to him and his brother; everything had been taken away by the crime of their brother and their father's credulity. He lamented most bitterly that death was being inflicted on him, which his father sought so far as to add a charge and join a crime to it. With these words he drove all to tears, and brought the outcome of the trial to this: that the accusation was not proved to Caesar, and the father embraced reconciliation. This was very pleasing and most excellent to the Roman emperor: not only to have given a kingdom to a famous king but also to have given him back his children. So it was settled by a just examination that the reverence of a father's right should remain inviolate and the innocence of the sons safe: the children should obey their father, as was fitting; he should keep his natural affection toward his sons unoffended; yet he might leave the kingdom to whom he wished. Alexander returned from the city of Rome with his father, acquitted by the judgment rather than freed from suspicion. For Antipater did not allow Herod's mind to be free of hatred for his sons, since he himself was the material of the hatreds; yet he restrained his efforts in view of the reconciliation, so as not to betray the stage play of his feigned brotherhood or reveal his plots. When they came to Cilicia and, sailing, put in at Elaeusa, Archelaus received them with a rich banquet, giving thanks for the sake of Alexander, his son-in-law, that Caesar had thought him worthy of reconciliation as well as freed from danger. He himself had also asked his friends, by letters sent through his people, to support his son-in-law in his defense; and as they departed he gave thirty talents as a gift of hospitality and escorted the king as far as Zephyrium. On returning home the king at once summoned the people and addressed them in this way.

“A useful and fruitful reason, citizens of the Hebrews, took me recently to Rome: I went to Caesar so that Caesar might judge concerning my sons, so that I, who was angry, should not be the only one to hear the case; so that he who had given back the kingdom might pronounce on my successor. He added to his kindnesses that he restored to a father sons almost lost—a difficult thing—and gave back to brothers concord, which is above a kingdom. So I return richer than I set out. I have learned to be a better father, because my sons have learned to be better children, by Caesar's kindness. For he decided that the succession of my sons should depend on my decision, so that the privilege of succession would not breed pride: I myself should give myself a successor whom I chose, namely the one who had deserved it, the one who honored his father more. I shall imitate Caesar: for by acquitting my younger sons he made them equal to my elder son. So today I appoint my three children kings together: age supports the one, nobility the others; and let the number not trouble you—the greatness of the kingdom is enough even for more. God is first the arbiter of my decision; then you too must join in. Those whom Caesar has united and their father has appointed, attend with fitting honor, so that the honor be neither excessive nor too low: the one puffs up, the other embitters. Let each be given what the merits of his share warrant. For no one pleases the one he honors beyond measure as much as he hurts the one to whom he denies what is due; and both are offended where there is the flattery of preference. I am certainly father to all. The honor of sons is without doubt the father's glory. Yet if anyone courts my children beyond measure, he is guilty before me even on behalf of my children, for whom he is the cause of a fall; for excessive courting is the fuel of daring. Do I envy my children? Far from it; but I prefer them to have less power with favor than very much with sedition. For what comes from pride or plunder quickly slips away; what comes from favor is held long. So it will be my care to give my children, as sponsors of concord, relatives and friends by whose encouragement they may put on the affection of mutual love. For since every evil word easily infects the mind of the hearer, constant conversations and long familiarity especially pour plague into minds, so that by contagion it quickly passes, as it were, into the characters of those who live together. Even if character is tranquil, still, as a pond, however gentle, can rise into billows when winds stir it, so a good nature is tossed by wicked advisers. So I think that each of you ought to place his chief hope in me; for what accrues to my children is not lost to me. Each of the tribunes or soldiers ought to revere more the father of the commanders. It is I, I who will repay a reward to all, even for what you render to my sons. If I notice right efforts, I will reward them with deeds; ill will shall bring its own price, so that it will fall from favor even with the one it thought it should flatter. And you, good sons, consider first the bond of nature, by whose grace it binds even beasts and forces even wild animals into the love of kinship: mutual love remains among untamed beasts, and animals ransom their own by their own dangers. Revere also Caesar, who has made you friends instead of enemies. Third, revere me, who prefer to ask when I could command. Remain brothers; do not burn away what you were born. I give you the robe and imperial style; but more precious is what I urge, the unbroken seal of your love. If devotion remains, a kingdom delights; if favor is lacking, rule is cheap and often harmful. So while I test you, you will have meanwhile not the kingdom but the honor of the kingdom. If you love your father, the right will follow. Prove, however, your love for me: you will enjoy as princes all the things in which a kingdom usually delights. The burdens of rule and the weight of affairs will remain with me alone, even if I do not wish it. And therefore it profits you to want what I want, because what is yours I both want and consider mine.” With these words he kissed his sons, to bind them to one another with one kiss of love. When this was done, he dismissed the assembly.