seems to admit of no extenuation. With no clear evidence of a plot, with no proof of any preparations for an attempt on his life, he had the heart to slay his own flesh and blood. Men of the noblest presence, the darlings of all outside the family, proficient in their pursuits, whether hunting or military exercises or discourse on everyday topics—they had all these gifts, in particular Alexander, the elder of the two. Granted that he had actually found them guilty, it would have been punishment enough to confine them in prison or to banish them from the realm, without taking their lives; he had the sure shield of the power of the Roman Empire[1] to secure him from assault and violence. But to kill them out of hand to gratify an overmastering passion was a clear case of impiety beyond measure; this appalling crime was, moreover, the act of an old man. The long struggle and procrastination cannot be urged in his excuse. That a man taken by surprise should in a fit of excitement commit some monstrous crime, though distressing, is an event of common occurrence. But this deliberate and leisurely procedure—often to take the deed in hand and as often to postpone it, and then at last to undertake it and carry it through—that was the work of a murderous mind, rooted in depravity.
He displayed the same character in the sequel, when he did not stay his hand even from those whom he held dearest of the remaining members of his family.[2] In their case the justice of the sentence created less sympathy for the victims, but the barbarity was the same as was shown in his refusal of mercy to the others.—Ant. XVI. 11. 7 f. (394-404).
