This diary was originally published on 11/10/2016. I have chosen to republish it since it is more appropriate for this day, the unfortunate Inauguration of Donald Trump. Republishing it was inspired by Murfster35’s recent diary, as was the original posting inspired by one of his previous diaries (see text). For those who are history buffs, please, read on. You will understand why I wrote about this Emperor. I am not expecting too many views again, but I just can’t get this small speck from the dustbin of history out of my mind.
Emperor Didius Julianus is one of my favorites in the history of the Roman Empire. I’m sure very few have heard his name. He was also insignificant in the timeline of the Roman Empire, having ruled for a brief 66 days. In fact, I can’t even honestly say that the history of his reign is what actually makes him interesting to me. No, in fact, what makes him one of my most favorite Emperors is what Edward Gibbon had to say about him in his epic work The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire.
I like to read (although I haven’t been doing a lot lately, something I will rectify soon), but I am a little different than most people in how I approach reading. I have often been accused of being a Renaissance Man, a criticism I gladly embrace. I read a lot of science fiction and other nonsense; however, once a year I try to take on something I view as a challenge.
One year while in grad school, I was running out of things to read that interested me. In fact it was taking too much time to find something new to pique my interest. I decided the best course was to pick something that was a rather large challenge, so I wouldn’t have to bother searching for something else for some time. I decided to read Decline and Fall, fully prepared to take on its ~3000 pages. It ended up taking me 10 months to read.
Gibbon was a fascinating writer, and had some delicious quotes in his writing, and my personal favorite was about Didius Julianus.
So lets set up the story:
The Praetorian Guard was an elite military unit that was used by the Roman Emperors, primarily as bodyguards. They also had many disreputable functions as well, including being secret police and warriors. They were originally recruited by Augustus in 31 BC. Originally serving as bodyguards and a ceremonial representation of the might of the Roman Empire, their role began to change over time. According to Gibbon:
[Augustus] had gradually formed this powerful body of guards in constant readiness to protect his person, to awe the senate, and either to prevent or to crush the first motions of rebellion. He distinguished these favoured troops by a double pay, and superior privileges…
...
By thus introducing the Praetorian guards, as it were, into the palace and the senate, the emperors taught them to perceive their own strength, and the weakness of the civil government; to view the vices of their masters with familiar contempt, and to lay aside that reverential awe, which distance only, and mystery, can preserve towards an imaginary power. In the luxurious idleness of an opulent city, their pride was nourished by the sense of their irresistible weight; nor was it possible to conceal from them, that the person of the sovereign, the authority of the senate, the public treasure, and the seat of empire, were all in their hands. To divert the Praetorian bands from these dangerous reflections, the firmest and best established princes were obliged to mix blandishments with commands, rewards with punishments, to flatter their pride, indulge their pleasures, connive at their irregularities, and to purchase their precarious faith by a liberal donative; which, since the elevation of Claudius, was exacted as a legal claim, on the accession of every new emperor.
In other words, the Emperors began to recognize this group as a necessary evil to secure their own place of power. They understood that in order not to be afraid of these individuals assassinating the Emperor, the Emperor must provide them with favor in order to use them to be the military face of Imperial power.
The advocates of the guards endeavoured to justify by arguments, the power which they asserted by arms; and to maintain that, according to the purest principles of the constitution, their consent was essentially necessary in the appointment of an emperor.
The previous Emperor, Pertinax, was assassinated by the Guard. Pertinax was essentially proclaimed Emperor after (possibly) being involved in the assassination of Commodus, a man described by the Roman historian, Cassius Dio, as,
...not naturally wicked but, on the contrary, as guileless as any man that ever lived. His great simplicity, however, together with his cowardice, made him the slave of his companions, and it was through them that he at first, out of ignorance, missed the better life and then was led on into lustful and cruel habits, which soon became second nature.
Pertinax, generally recognized by historians as a good man, had a volatile reign and attempted several reforms after Commodus’ disastrous reign, but he met much resistance. One of the organizations that he attempted to reform was the Praetorian Guard itself, attempting to infuse them with military discipline. For this reason, they assassinated him. At the last minute he was even attempting to reason with them, ignoring pleas to flee, and was almost successful, being suddenly struck down at the last moment.
During the ensuing power vacuum, the Praetorian Guard, rejected the argument made by Pertinax’s father-in-law, Sulpicianus, of “Imperial dignity” and
the more prudent of the Praetorians, apprehensive that, in this private contract, they should not obtain a just price for so valuable a commodity, ran out upon the ramparts; and, with a loud voice, proclaimed that the Roman world was to be disposed of to the best bidder by public auction.
This infamous offer, the most insolent excess of military licence, diffused an universal grief, shame, and indignation throughout the city. It reached at length the ears of Didius Julianus, a wealthy senator, who, regardless of the public calamities, was indulging himself in the luxury of the table. His wife and his daughter, his freedmen and his parasites, easily convinced him that he deserved the throne, and earnestly conjured him to embrace so fortunate an opportunity. The vain old man (A.D. 193, March 28th) hastened to the Praetorian camp, where Sulpicianus was still in treaty with the guards; and began to bid against him from the foot of the rampart. The unworthy negotiation was transacted by faithful emissaries, who passed alternately from one candidate to the other, and acquainted each of them with the offers of his rival.
After conclusion of the bidding, which some historians cheekily refer to as the original public auction,
The gates of the camp were instantly thrown open to the purchaser; he was declared emperor, and received an oath of allegiance from the soldiers, who retained humanity enough to stipulate that he should pardon and forget the competition of Sulpicianus.
The Praetorians then proceeded to fulfill the conditions of the sale:
They placed their new sovereign, whom they served and despised, in the centre of their ranks, surrounded him on every side with their shields, and conducted him in close order of battle through the deserted streets of the city. The senate was commanded to assemble, and those who had been the distinguished friends of Pertinax, or the personal enemies of Julian, found it necessary to affect a more than common share of satisfaction at this happy revolution. After Julian had filled the senate-house with armed soldiers, he expatiated on the freedom of his election, his own eminent virtues, and his full assurance of the affections of the senate. The obsequious assembly congratulated their own and the public felicity; engaged their allegiance, and conferred on him all the several branches of the Imperial power. From the senate Julian was conducted, by the same military procession, to take possession of the palace. The first objects that struck his eyes were the abandoned trunk of Pertinax and the frugal entertainment prepared for his supper. The one he viewed with indifference; the other with contempt. A magnificent feast was prepared by his order, and he amused himself till a very late hour with dice, and the performances of Pylades, a celebrated dancer.
What becomes important here is the next sentence by Gibbon. I have to admit here I was inspired by Murfster35’s diary. Although I had been thinking about this Emperor after the election of Donald Trump, his diary inspired me to write my own.
Yet it was observed, that after the crowd of flatterers dispersed, and left him to darkness, solitude, and terrible reflection, he passed a sleepless night; revolving most probably in his mind his own rash folly, the fate of his virtuous predecessor, and the doubtful and dangerous tenure of an empire, which had not been acquired by merit, but purchased by money.
Although Trump did not purchase the Presidency through money per se, he did, like Didius Julianus, purchase it by selling out to the worst elements in our society. Those who are filled with hate and actively look for a target for that hatred. The rest of Trump’s Presidency will be dealing with people who share power with him, that do not like him. In addition, he will continuously have to actively seek the adoration of those deplorable elements in such a way that they will not actively hate him. I think after the pomp and circumstance of January 20th, 2017, that night will be a lonely one for President Trump, as the next day he will be in over his head and will not be able to handle the epic scrutiny and responsibility that comes with being President of the most powerful nation on Earth. Good luck, President Trump.
To round the story out, briefly, Didius Julianus had a terrible rule.
On the throne of the world he found himself without a friend, and even without an adherent. The guards themselves were ashamed of the prince whom their avarice had persuaded them to accept; nor was there a citizen who did not consider his elevation with horror, as the last insult on the Roman name. The nobility whose conspicuous station and ample possessions exacted the strictest caution, dissembled their sentiments, and met the affected civility of the emperor with smiles of complacency and professions of duty. But the people, secure in their numbers and obscurity, gave a free vent to their passions. The streets and public places of Rome resounded with clamours and imprecations. The enraged multitude affronted the person of Julian, rejected his liberality, and conscious of the impotence of their own resentment, they called aloud on the legions of the frontiers to assert the violated majesty of the Roman empire.
The public discontent was soon diffused from the centre to the frontiers of the empire. The armies of Britain, of Syria, and of Illyricum, lamented the death of Pertinax, in whose company, or under whose command, they had so often fought and conquered. They received with surprises with indignation, and perhaps with envy, the extraordinary intelligence that the Praetorians had disposed of the empire by public auction; and they sternly refused to ratify the ignominious bargain. Their immediate and unanimous revolt was fatal to Julian, but it was fatal at the same time to the public peace; as the generals of the respective armies, Clodius Albinus, Pescennius Niger, and Septimius Severus, were still more anxious to succeed than to revenge the murdered Pertinax.
Through a series of events, Severus gained the upper hand and essentially marched on the Emperor. The Praetorian Guard was subjected to military drills to defend the Emperor, but they were so used to being pampered they were all but ineffective.
Fear and shame prevented the guards from deserting his standard; but they trembled at the name of the Pannonian legions...They quitted, with a sigh, the pleasures of the baths and theatres, to put on arms, whose use they had almost forgotten, and beneath the weight of which they were oppressed. The unpractised elephants, whose uncouth appearance, it was hoped, would strike terror into the army of the north, threw their unskilful riders; and the awkward evolutions of the marines, drawn from the fleet of Misenum, were an object of ridicule to the populace; whilst the senate enjoyed, with secret pleasure, the distress and weakness of the usurper.
In the meantime, Didius Julianus was panicking:
Every motion of Julian betrayed his trembling perplexity. He insisted that Severus should be declared a public enemy by the senate. He intreated that the Pannonian general might be associated to the empire. He sent public ambassadors of consular rank to negotiate with his rival; he dispatched private assassins to take away his life. He designed that the Vestal virgins, and all the colleges of priests, in their sacerdotal habits, and bearing before them the sacred pledges of the Roman religion, should advance, in solemn procession, to meet the Pannonian legions; and, at the same time, he vainly tried to interrogate, or to appease, the fates, by magic ceremonies, and unlawful sacrifices.
Eventually a bargain was made, and the Praetorian Guard was promised to be untouched provided they turned on Didius Julianus and turned over the murderers of Pertinax.
The faithless Praetorians, whose resistance was supported only by sullen obstinacy, gladly complied with the easy conditions, seized the greatest part of the assassins, and signified to the senate that they no longer defended the cause of Julian. That assembly, convoked by the consul, unanimously acknowledged Severus as lawful emperor, decreed divine honours to Pertinax, and pronounced a sentence of deposition and death against his unfortunate successor.
His fate was sealed by the deal.
Julian was conducted into a private apartment of the baths of the palace, and (A.D. 193, June 2) beheaded as a common criminal, after having purchased, with an immense treasure, an anxious and precarious reign of only sixty-six days.
The deplorables of this nation have gotten used to their privilege and are not happy with it being taken away. I hope they enjoy supporting their Emperor, the one who has no clothes, now. They may wind up being Trump’s very own Praetorian Guard.