Catastasis (Two Speeches on the Barbarian Invasions of the Pentapolis) (complete)

Having chosen a philosophy that keeps out of public life, yet with the most humane religion leading me toward a public-spirited character, I obeyed when you called me, and I rejoice to learn why you cities have come together. For I think it is to your advantage, now and hereafter, both to be and to appear grateful toward those who have done good deeds. So I welcomed the common acclamations of the people, and whatever speech anyone composed privately, I praised them all together with their praises. But I too must be among those who speak well of him; and it befits me more than others, I think, to owe the benefactors both the common thanks and the thanks on behalf of each, private person and city alike. For how will one who must pray for the common good not owe thanks to the man who increased it by his generalship and his other care? And how shall I not hold in every honor the man who by his sweat accomplished what I prayed for? I prayed to God that the accursed barbarians might perish miserably; but the hands of Anysius, under God, have accomplished it.

Of the horsemen who recently invaded, more than a thousand in number, not even a fifth is left, say those who suffered; let them count the fallen themselves. And he did this not as leader of a large army: forty men fought at his side. I will say nothing bad of the cavalry and infantry we feed. But this man thinks he must use the Unnigardae for everything; the many others he did not bring along even as spectators of other men's deeds. These alone carry out his stratagems. With these he is fellow soldier and captain; with these he is comrade-in-arms and general; with these he runs an armed course through the country, is quickly everywhere, and conquers wherever he arrives. If there were more of them, two hundred besides those we have, trusting in God I declare that the young man would carry the war into their country. Let us ask for two hundred Unnigardae for the general Anysius, if we are to bring back our kinsfolk from the barbarians' land. Would that I might see the division of the spoils, and barbarian captives serving in turn those who were lately their masters! Formerly this was easier to pray for; now one may even hope for it. For what is before our eyes has become a trustworthy pledge of what we expect. For this, then, we need Anysius at the head of the two hundred. He has both the nature and the skill to use the Unnigardae; he can arm the men and handle them. The Unnigardae with Anysius are Roman hands; without him, even the forty here I can praise for their strength, but I will not vouch for their judgment.

Let a report be sent about this, an embassy asking for soldiers and for time for the noble man. And what sort of man is he in other respects? Is it not he who ended the war in time of peace, which is almost harder than the barbarian war, the war that comes from the disorder of the soldiers and the greed of the officers? Under him alone of many generals a wronged private citizen speaks louder than a soldier. Whom may one call most incorruptible? Is it not the man who scorns even the gains the law allows? And who would be more God-fearing than one who begins every deed and word from God? For all these things it is right for everyone here too to pray that a deep and comfortable old age may stay with him, his virtue advancing along with his years.

I do not know what one should even say about the calamities before our eyes. There is no leisure for speaking when one must weep, nor could any speech match the events. Indeed some, stunned by the greatness of the evils that have befallen them, have even ceased to weep. But since God perceives those who weep, and those who wield the scepters of the Romans must also know, write, you who are able, to those who can bring a report into the emperor's council. Let someone tell them briefly that Pentapolis was the emperor's possession until three days ago: a good possession, if inferior in power to others, yet better disposed than those of greater power. All who have held office here with attention to affairs know this, and first among them, as I hear and believe, the great Anthemius. He knows, then, on how many occasions, especially in times of usurpation, we have been loyal to the emperor without excuse. But so much for Pentapolis up to now. Yesterday and the day before, the Romans suffered the loss of a people; they will count their provinces without Pentapolis. Pentapolis is now utterly gone; it is gone to the last. For six years it had already fared badly, but, like an animal that dies hard, it revived and gathered what breath remained.

Fortunate … in the memory of Anysius … in a year it accomplished more …, using at need the shields of all and the hands of the Unnigardae. So there was a postponement of the evil: the enemy did not pour out over the country in their whole mass, but changed to raiding bands, leaping off and leaping forward. But since, after fighting them three times, our men repented of it, now the plains ring with hooves, now the soldiers are shut up behind walls, scattered one here and one there (the evil of Cerealis), of no use to one another because they were not drawn up together. Accordingly the enemy's fortunes are brilliant. Those who last year were lightly equipped and ready to flee are now besiegers; now, having torn down the village walls, they surround the cities with a broad army. For what has not gone well for them? The Ausurians put on the breastplates of the Thracian horsemen, not from need but mocking the uniform; on top of these they used the shields of the Marcomanni. The Roman heavy infantry has become light-armed, finding safety by the enemy's pity. I weep for the men; I do not reproach their misfortune. For what could they have done against a force many times larger, those who met them piecemeal while the enemy came in a mass? The Unnigardae, as far as depended on God, on their strength, and on their skill in arms, are saved; but as far as depended on the generalship, what great harm could they have done the enemy, when those who lead them do not let them go willingly, but if ever they forced their way like puppies, these pulled them back again and recalled them before they had had their fill of running and of slaughtering the beasts? Yet even the Unnigardae needed a rearguard and an army drawn up in order. A phalanx, I think, needed, like an effective sword, its sharper part thrust forward and its heavier part driven behind; so the blow cuts deeper. On the whole their number is small for fighting the war to the end, which could not be fought well even in our own territory. But unless someone were to carry the Unnigardae over into the enemy's country, a force of four hundred is needed against these; or rather, such a force and a general were needed earlier, before we were utterly gone, before the enemy's affairs had grown so great. In these last events even women took the field. I saw, many saw, a woman wearing a sword and at the same time nursing her babies.

Who does not see that it is a war without risk for them? Fearing for myself, I am ashamed for the times and for the state. O the ancient spirit of the Romans! Those who conquered everything everywhere, who joined continents together with trophies, are now in danger of losing to a wretched nomadic people the Greek Libyas, and before long Alexandria by Egypt too. That loss would be greater in money, but this one no less in reputation, if one knows how to be ashamed and takes any account of what is fitting. O the arrogance with which they have swept the country as with a net! To them no mountain has been impassable, no fortress strong. They went through all of it, searched all of it, enslaved every age. Long ago, I hear from the Greek writers of history, women and little children were left behind as tokens of a sack. But in Pentapolis it is these that have become the plunder. For what possession is finer to an Ausurian than a woman and a baby, that the women may bear children for them, and the children, when grown, may serve in their army? For they become loyal to those who reared them instead of those who bore them. O the wicked colony we are founding! Our youth is led away captive to swell the ranks of the enemy. A people will come as an enemy against the land that bore it; a young man will ravage the land he tilled with his father when still a boy. Now on the road, now being led away, now still in chains is the youth of Pentapolis. No one defends them, nor is anyone able. They say the general is eager; but those Alexandrians who, by an evil fate for Pentapolis, have been enrolled in his army do not allow him. And what could one charge against a blameless man, whose deep old age and long-lasting illness have pleaded for his pardon?

Yet it would have been easier, had we been fortunate in our generals, to exact from an arrogant army that has offended God the penalty for its impiety. What holy things, what sacred things did they spare? Did they not in many places of the plain of the Barcaeans dig up the newly dug graves? Are not the churches of our district everywhere burned and in ruins because of them? Did they not set out the holy tables as profane for carving meat, and are not the mystic vessels that served the sacred libation being carried off into the enemy's country for a rite to demons? Which of these things is bearable even to hear? Who would think worth mentioning the forts they shook down, the baggage, the furniture, the oxen, the sheep, whatever was left over from the barbarian raids hidden in the ravines, without incurring the charge of pettiness amid such evils? Yet they carried off their baggage on some five thousand camels. And they go back home three times as many, increased by so much through the addition of the captives.

Pentapolis is dead, extinguished, at an end, done to death, perished; it will exist no longer at all, neither for us nor for the emperor. For it would not be a possession for the emperor from which he will get nothing; what will he get from the fruits of a desert? Nor shall I have a fatherland, since I shall leave it. … nothing remains for me but to be on the open sea and look out for an island. For if I go away to Egypt, camels can cross even there carrying an Ausurian soldier. I shall live as an emigrant, poor instead of a landholder, a resident alien, less honored than … For in my inquiries I now learn that Cythera lies across the sea from Pentapolis. Perhaps the south winds will carry me there; among those people I shall live as a stranger and a wanderer. If I try to say anything about noble birth, they will disbelieve me. Alas for me, Cyrene, whose public tablets carry down to me the line of descent from Heracles! For I would not be thought ancient if I lamented my fallen nobility among people who know. Alas for the Dorian tombs, in which I shall have no share! Alas for Ptolemais, of which I was appointed the last priest! But the terror will be upon me; I can speak no longer; tears seize my tongue; I am overcome at the image of leaving the holy places. We ought to be gone, sailing; but when someone calls me to the ship, I shall ask him to wait a little. For first I shall go to the temple of God; I shall go round the altar; I shall wet the most precious floor with tears; I shall not run off before I have kissed that door and that throne. O how often shall I call on God and turn back! How often shall I lay my hands on the railings! But necessity is a strong and violent thing. I long to give my eyes a sleep not broken by the trumpet. How long shall I stand at the battlement? How long shall I guard the stretch of wall between the towers? I am worn out setting the night watches, keeping guard in my turn and being guarded. I who formerly often stayed awake for the risings of the stars am now worn out keeping watch for the attacks of the enemy. We sleep by the measured water-clock, and the share allotted me for sleep the watch-bell often takes away. And if I close my eyes a little, O the gloomy dreams! To what scenes the cares of the day send us! To cease from toils is to begin toils. We flee, we are caught, we are wounded, we are bound, we are sold. How often have I leapt up glad that I had escaped a master! How often have I leapt up panting, drenched with sweat, leaving at once my sleep and the flight in which I was running with all my might from an enemy soldier! For us alone Hesiod says nothing, he who kept hope inside the jar. All are without courage and without hope.

The proverbial life not worth living is no other, men, than the one we live. Why the delay? Why do we hesitate? Pentapolis is hateful to God; we have been handed over to punishments. The locust is no more thorough an evil, nor the fire which, before the enemy came, consumed the crops of three cities. What end is there to our evils? If the islands are free of these, I will sail when the sea ceases its violence. But I fear the terror may overtake me first; for the day appointed for the assault will come near, which, they say, the plumed commander of the enemy army threatened against the city. Then above all that occasion will make the run to the courts of God necessary for priests, if the danger comes close to the city. I will stay in my place in the church; I will set the all-holy lustral basins before me; I will cling to the holy columns that hold up from the ground the inviolable table; there I will sit while alive, and there lie when dead. I am a minister of God, and perhaps I must offer my life as my last service. Yet God will not overlook the bloodless altar defiled with a priest's blood. May you be strongest in words and deeds, Thalelaeus, to whom all learning is fitting.