by the solemnity of an oath before the altar of the
Capitoline Jupiter, [110] would have proved a feeble restraint on the
fierce temper of Maximian, whose passion was the love of power, and
who neither desired present tranquility nor future reputation. But he
yielded, however reluctantly, to the ascendant which his wiser colleague
had acquired over him, and retired, immediately after his abdication,
to a villa in Lucania, where it was almost impossible that such an
impatient spirit could find any lasting tranquility.

[Footnote 109: The difficulties as well as mistakes attending the dates
both of the year and of the day of Diocletian's abdication are perfectly
cleared up by Tillemont, Hist. des Empereurs, tom. iv. p 525, note 19,
and by Pagi ad annum.]

[Footnote 110: See Panegyr. Veter. vi. 9. The oration was pronounced
after Maximian had resumed the purple.]

Diocletian, who, from a servile origin, had raised himself to the
throne, passed the nine last years of his life in a private condition.
Reason had dictated, and content seems to have accompanied, his retreat,
in which he enjoyed, for a long time, the respect of those princes to
whom he had resigned the possession of the world. [111] It is seldom that
minds long exercised in business have formed the habits of conversing
with themselves, and in the loss of power they principally regret the
want of occupation. The amusements of letters and of devotion, which
afford so many resources in solitude, were incapable of fixing the
attention of Diocletian; but he had preserved, or at least he soon
recovered, a taste for the most innocent as well as natural pleasures,
and his leisure hours were sufficiently employed in building, planting,
and gardening. His answer to Maximian is deservedly celebrated. He was
solicited by that restless old man to reassume the reins of government,
and the Imperial purple. He rejected the temptation with a smile of
pity, calmly observing, that if he could show Maximian the cabbages
which he had planted with his own hands at Salona, he should no longer
be urged to relinquish the enjoyment of happiness for the pursuit
of power. [112] In his conversations with his friends, he frequently
acknowledged, that of all arts, the most difficult was the art of
reigning; and he expressed himself on that favorite topic with a degree
of warmth which could be the result only of experience. "How often," was
he accustomed to say, "is it the interest of four