In those sayings, I think, you get the man:  perhaps a disciple only, and never actually a Master; perhaps never absolutely sure of himself, but only of his capacity and determination to do his duty day by day:  his own duty, and not other men’s:—­never setting himself on a level with his Teacher; or thinking himself able, of his own abilities, to run the world, as Augustus had had the power and the mission to do,—­but as probably no man might have had the power to do in Tiberius’ time;—­and by virtue of that faith, that high concentration on duty, carrying the world (but not Rome) through in spite of Rome, which had become then a thing incurable, nothing more than an infection and lamentable scab.

He left it altogether in his last years; its atmosphere and bitterness were too much for him.  Form the quiet at Capri he continued to rule his provinces until the end; ever hoping that if he did his duty, someone or some spirit might arise in the senate to do theirs.  Tacitus explains his retirement—­as Roman society had explained it when it happened,—­thus:  Being then seventy-two years old, Tiberius, whose life up to that time had been irreproachable and untouched by gossip, went to Capri to have freedom and privacy for orgies of personal vice.  But why did he not stay at Rome for his orgies:  doing at Rome as the Romans did, and thereby perhaps earning a measure of popularity?

Over the bridge Augustus, western humanity had made the crossing; but on the further shore, there had to be a sacrifice to the Fates.  Tiberius was the sacrifice.  And that sacrifice was not in vain.  We get one glimpse through provincial (and therefore undiseased) eyes of the empire he built up in the provinces.  It is from Philo Judaeus, a Jewish Theosophist of Alexandria, who came to Rome in the reign of Caligula, Tiberius’ successor.  (Tiberius, it must be said, appointed no successor; there was none for him to appoint.) Caligula, says Philo,

“....succeeded to an empire that was well organized, tending everywhere to conceed—­north, south, east, and west brought into friendship; Greeks and barbarians routed, soldiers and civilians linked together in the bonds of a happy peace.”

That was the work of Tiberius.

In the Gospel narrative, Jesus is once made to allude to him; in the words quoted at the head of this paper:  “Render unto Caesar”—­who was Tiberius—­“the things which are Caesar’s” I think it is about time it should be done:  that the wreath of honor should at last be laid on the memory of this brave, just, sane, and merciful man; this silent duty-doer, who would speak no word in his own defense; this Agent of the Gods, who endured all those years of crucifixion, that he might build up the Unity of Mankind.

Says Mr. Baring-Gould: 

“In the galleries of Rome, of Naples, Florence, Paris, one sees the beautiful face of Tiberius, with that intellectual brow and sensitive mouth, looking pleadingly at the passer-by, as though seeking for someone who would unlock the secret of his story and vindicate his much aspersed memory.”