A Noble Ruin: Mark Antony, Civil War,

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A Noble Ruin
 A Noble Ruin
Mark Antony, Civil War, and the Collapse of the
Roman Republic
W. JEFFREY TATUM
 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the
University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing
worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and
certain other countries.
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press
198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America.
© Oxford University Press 2024
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in
writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under
terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning
reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department,
Oxford University Press, at the address above.

You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same
condition on any acquirer.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Tatum, W. Jeffrey, author.
Title: A noble ruin : Mark Antony, civil war, and the collapse of the Roman republic / W.
Jeffrey Tatum.
Description: New York, NY : Oxford University Press, [2024] |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2023020435 (print) | LCCN 2023020436 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780197694909 (hardback) | ISBN 9780197694923 (epub) |
ISBN 9780197694930
Subjects: LCSH: Antonius, Marcus, 83 B.C.?–30 B.C. |
Statesmen—Rome—Biography. | Nobility—Rome—Biography. |
Rome—History—Civil War, 43–31 B.C.
Classification: LCC DG260 .A6 T38 2024 (print) | LCC DG260 .A6 (ebook) |
DDC 937/.05092 [B]—dc23/eng/20230516
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023020435
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023020436
DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197694909.001.0001
for Chris Pelling
 Contents

Acknowledgements
Preface

I. Beginning
II. Fighting for empire
III. Quaestor, tribune, and guardian of Italy
IV. Caesar’s master of the horse
V. The Ides of March
VI. A consul and an Antony
VII. Civil fury and civil war
VIII. The domination of the triumvirs
IX. Athens to Alexandria
X. My brother’s keeper
XI. Enforce no further the griefs between ye
XII. Fierce wars and faithful loves
XIII. Dissolution
XIV. Ending

Notes
Abbreviations
Bibliography
Index
 Acknowledgements

It was Stefan Vranka who first suggested to me that I should write a

biography of Mark Antony. In the long interval since then, he has
remained a model of patience. And in his role as editor—after I
finally disgorged a manuscript—he has been nothing less than
invaluable. Others, too, have helped me with this book. I am grateful
to audiences in the Americas, Australasia, and Europe who allowed
me to try out some of my ideas, and I owe special thanks to my
hosts on these occasions: Patricia Baker, Catalina Balmaceda,
Henriette van der Blom, James Chlup, Robert Cowan, Monica Cyrino,
Mary Ann Eaverly, John Marincola, Daniel Osland, Francisco Pina
Polo, Daniel Pullen, James Rives, Cristina Rosillo-López, Lea Stirling,
Frances Titchener, and Kathryn Welch. I also benefited from the
Working Group in Roman History organized amid the COVID crisis by
Celia Schultz; its members—Jane Chaplin, Evan Jewell, Rose
Maclean, Gwynaeth McIntyre, Carlos Noreña, Josiah Osgood,
Andrew Riggsby, Amy Russell, and Kathryn Welch—very kindly and
helpfully discussed a draft of my chapter on the Perusine War.
Robert Morstein-Marx allowed me to read, in advance of its
publication, his fascinating book Julius Caesar and the Roman
People, which teems with ideas. Tim Smith graciously answered
multiple questions about aediles and the aedileship. David Levenson,
Frederik Vervaet, and Hendrikus van Wijlick shared with me evidence
I might easily have overlooked. My colleagues at Victoria University
of Wellington, always encouraging, allowed me to teach (more than
once) an undergraduate course on Antony and Cleopatra: the
students in these classes, by way of reactions and discussions, did
much to aid me in shaping this account of Antony’s life. My research
also received practical support from the Joint Research Committee
and the Joint Leave Committee of the Faculty of Humanities and
Social Sciences at Victoria University. And I was fortunate enough
both to begin this book and, later, complete it in the congenial
setting of the Institute for Classical Studies at the University of
London.
My greatest debts are owed to Diana Burton, Jon Hall, Chris
Pelling, and Robin Seager: they each of them read the whole of a
draft of this book, were generous with their erudition, offered
numerous valuable suggestions, and saved me from multiple
blunders. I cannot thank them enough. As for local support, my New
Zealand in-laws, nephews, and niece kept things lively. Likewise Jo
and Jason and all the denizens of 14 Ingestre Street. Most of all, I
am grateful to Diana Burton: her learning and generosity improved
this book considerably; more importantly, she made life outside it
and beyond it so much fun.
Few scholars have done more to advance our understanding of
the sources for Antony and therefore our grasp of the man and his
times than Chris Pelling. And from the beginning he has sustained a
lively interest in the development of this biography. That is partly
why this book is dedicated to him. Mostly, however, it is because he
is my friend.
 Preface

In his lifetime, Mark Antony was a famous man—and he played a

leading role in the transformation of the Roman world. The fall of
the Roman republic and the imposition of the Augustan age
articulate a truly crucial epoch in European and Mediterranean
history and culture. Antony was a central figure in this
transformation. Consequently, he remains famous, or infamous, and
an object of recurring academic study. His life—variegated,
passionate, sensual, bold, tragic (in a sense)—inspires vigorous
reactions. Nearly everyone has a view on Antony, and the habit
began early. For Cicero, Antony was distasteful, a talented man who
was also a bad man—and Cicero said so in vitriolic speeches, the
Philippics, which soon became central to the ancient world’s
curriculum in oratory. Antony’s enemies, not least Octavian, put
Cicero’s vituperation to work in fashioning him a dangerous failure, a
Roman noble corrupted by his appetites and his lust for Cleopatra.
Later historians adopted and adapted these themes, delivering their
readers an Antony who was irresistibly depraved, startlingly brave,
sometimes cunning, but almost always constitutionally incapable of
choosing the right side of history. The biographer Plutarch, relying
on the same material, crafted a life whose protagonist was great-
natured but too philosophically inept—too simple and naive—to
resist temptation, be it food and drink, levity, luxury, or feminine
beauty: Plutarch’s Cleopatra enduringly embodies all these
dangerous attractions. She, and the deceptions lurking in what the
Greek biographer deplores as oriental ostentation, lead Antony
fatally astray. Plutarch’s influence is nothing less than formidable—
his Antony is very much the chivalrous and unstudied Antony of
Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra and Ronald Syme’s The Roman
Revolution—and in reacting to it by emphasizing Antony’s acumen
and sophistication there is always a danger of forgetting that, in the
end, Octavian won and Antony lost.
Investigations of Antony or topics involving Antony are legion. Nor
can any fair-minded person complain there are too few biographies
of the man. Which raises the question: is another one otiose?
Obviously, I hope not. Justifying a new account of Antony’s life by
cataloguing deficiencies in one’s predecessors, however, is an
exercise which is both unattractive and unfair. Indeed, many are
superb. No biographer of Antony will ever excel the clarity and
charm of Chamoux. The cleverness of Rossi and the acumen of
Halfmann inspire admiration. English readers have long relied on Huz
ar’s Mark Antony: A Biography. This book will soon be half a century
old, which means that, through no fault of its own, its account
misses recent discoveries and is unaffected by the many changes in
our ways of thinking about the late republic that have taken place
since its appearance. A new biography presents a fresh opportunity
for taking advantage of what are undeniable advances in our
understanding of the fall of the republic and the triumviral period
which followed—and in our appreciation of the dynamics of Rome’s
government of the eastern Mediterranean, where Antony, for the last
decade of his life, was master.
This biography is written for more than one audience. It is
accessible to any reader, or at least I hope it is. In the body of the
text, all Latin and Greek is translated or explained, and throughout
this volume there is more than one excursion aimed at clarifying
technical matters essential for understanding Antony’s career. These
are by no means digressions, but classicists and ancient historians
may prefer to skip them. As for the apparatus of scholarship, that is
reserved for the notes (some notes, however, furnish explanations
and clarifications designed for the aid of general readers). I mostly
eschew polemics and doxographies, which means I do not regularly
point it out when I depart from prior assumptions or approaches. For
each section of the biography, however, I furnish references to works
which I regard as fundamental or which are both recent and
important. Routinely included in these citations is a selection of
standard, frequently cited biographies of Antony, where different
takes on Antony are often to be found. By way of these references,
the curious or conscientious can pursue earlier, sometimes quite
different discussions on any matter in Antony’s career. I confess that
I have not read everything there is to read which is pertinent to
Mark Antony. Nor, of what I have read, have I cited everything here.
The omission of any previous scholarly work should not be viewed as
an implicit criticism of it. Ancient historians, I hope, will find things in
this book which they judge to be both new and true, but I do not
expect mine to be the final word on Antony or the times in which he
lived. The study of the past is always a work in progress and very
little in Roman history is settled business. Most of what I have to say
about Antony is necessarily provisional.
No biography of an ancient figure can furnish a reader with the
kind of psychological depth one expects in modern life writing. We
know too little of Antony’s private world to try to unpack his
personality by way of detailed descriptions of specific episodes or by
way of applying sophisticated methodologies as a means of filling in
the gaps. His inner being and its urges, so important for
contemporary biographers, elude us and there is little we can do
about it. Perhaps this is not such a bad thing after all. In John
Lanchester’s splendid novel Capital, one of its more adept
operatives, a man who shares the company of many notable people,
is keenly aware of the gap between celebrities and their public:
‘Mickey knew plenty of things that people were desperate to know—
most of them variations on the theme of “what is X really like?”—as
if there were a special category of knowledge called “really
likeness”—as if it were somehow the ultimate question’.1 As if,
indeed. What Antony was really like we shall never know, which puts
us in the same position as the bulk of his contemporaries. Still, in
trying to make sense of his career, we can certainly get glimpses of
the person who played the part.
 I
Beginning

Noble Antony
Mark Antony was a nobilis, a Roman noble. The Latin word means
noted or famous, but nobilitas refers to fame of a distinctive brand.
All Roman senators were distinguished men—by definition they were
optimi, the best men of the city—but few were nobles.1 Orators and
jurists, and especially triumphant generals, garnered glory in
abundance, celebrity which remained within the reach of any
senator, if he was good enough. Nobility, however, was a property of
birth. Although scholars still squabble over the exact definition of
nobilitas, all agree that individuals descending from consuls or
dictators were esteemed by the Roman public as nobiles.2 Nobility,
then, was an aristocracy of birth but one predicated on exceptional
individual achievement in the service of the republic, an origin that
imbued the nobility with a legitimacy grounded in what we might
describe as a myth of meritocracy.3
Central to any Roman’s claim to greatness was virtus, a word
which fundamentally means manliness—and in patriarchal Rome that
sense of the word was never lost—but virtus gathered to itself every
facet of individual excellence in public life. Consequently, the concept
was central to the ideology of the aristocracy. As one modern scholar
has put it, for the Roman aristocrat virtus ‘consisted in the winning
of personal eminence and glory by the commission of great deeds in
the service of the Roman state’.4 It designated the right stuff,
something possessed only by a few. And it ran in families: everyone
in Rome tended towards the belief that virtus was hereditary. Hence
the natural conclusion that the descendants of great men were
possessed of a fibre superior to others even among the aristocracy.
The fame of a nobilis was not mere glamour: it resided in the
conviction of others that he was exactly the kind of man the republic
needed.
The noble’s excellence, a consequence of his birth, was manifest
in his actions.5 Industria, hard work, was also an aristocratic virtue
in Rome, and all grandees were obliged to devote themselves to
aiding their friends and dependents—by way of legal advice or
advocacy, gifts to the needy, and sometimes by offering protection
to anyone beleaguered by dangerous foes. A Roman aristocrat
sought to become the refuge of many and exhibited his grandeur by
holding court in his mansion: each day began with a morning levee
called a salutatio at which all were welcome and no visitor’s request
too trivial to be heard.6 Whereas the modern habit is to
communicate one’s importance to others by throwing up barriers
and insisting on inaccessibility—and by exhibiting an inclination to
say no—at Rome the great and the good acted otherwise, indeed so
much so that ordinary people expected their betters to be available
whenever they needed them and were angry on those occasions
when their petitions were rejected.7 Even as a young man, an
aristocrat and a noble most of all was expected to be active in
assisting others in the Forum, where trials and other legal business
were transacted.8 In exchange for this industry, an aristocrat
expected esteem.
Roman aristocrats, and nobles especially, were rich men.9 This
wealth, which was principally landed wealth, set them apart for all
the obvious reasons but also because it enabled its owner to devote
himself to lavishing attention and benefactions on individuals at
every level of society. Through what the historian Sallust called ‘the
might of their kindred and the multitude of their dependents’, a
noble, by being helpful in a way no one else could be, put himself in
the centre of an extensive network of freedmen and clients,
neighbours, friends, foreign connections, aristocratic clubs, even
financiers and businessmen—each of whom owed him a favour, or
more likely many favours.10 A grandee’s good works were by no
means selfless: every benefaction shackled its recipient with an
inevasible debt of gratitude, of gratia. Romans were obsessed with
the practical and moral claims of gratitude—and ingratitude was
abominated. It was very nearly impossible for anyone to deny a
request from a man or woman to whom he owed a favour. Gratia,
for this reason, was a key foundation of aristocratic clout.11
Glory and honour were earned not only by way of personal
favours but also, indeed principally, through benefactions to the
republic. The many civic labours undertaken by aristocrats—pleading
or advising in the courts, serving in the legions as an officer—were
acts of public service: these men did not take a salary, they strove
for fame. Likewise when they held magistracies or sat in the senate:
this, too, was a civic duty, not a job. A senator’s recompense was
power and admiration by a grateful public. Roman grandees relished
their crowded levees, and boasted about them, and they invidiously
observed any applause received by their peers. In everything they
did, they strained themselves in seeking recognition for it. Prestige,
dignitas, for most in the aristocracy, was their ultimate concern. This
was truer for a noble than for anyone. A classic statement of the
values and ambitions animating the Roman noble was the panegyric
delivered by the noble Quintus Metellus at the funeral of his noble
father, Lucius Metellus. Lucius, we learn, achieved ‘the ten greatest
distinctions in pursuit of which men with sound judgement devote
their lives’. He made it his aim to be ‘the best of warriors, the finest
orator, the bravest general, the magistrate under whose auspices the
greatest deeds are accomplished, holder of the republic’s highest
magistracy, to be supremely intelligent, to be recognised as the most
distinguished senator, to obtain great wealth by honourable means,
to leave behind many sons, and to be the most famous citizen in
Rome’.12 The noble, in this formulation, is not like anyone else and
endeavours to be better even than his peers. His aim is to be
recognized by all as the best man—the most valorous, the best
educated, the most eloquent, the most statesmanlike—in the
republic.
 This noble pose is as idealized as it is ambitious. There were ugly
sides to the nobility. Jealous rivals often depicted the nobility as an
inert class, the abundant legacies of which permitted its members an
easy ascent to greatness. Cicero can say of the noble Lucius
Domitius Ahenobarbus that he had spent the whole of his life as a
consul-designate.13 Rivals of the nobility, especially politicians who
lacked illustrious antecedents, grumbled over a noble’s advantages:
he was shielded by family fame, by credit for the deeds—the
triumphs and the consulships—of his ancestors, by an abundance of
wealth and personal connections, all of it inherited, none of it
earned.14 Some denounced the nobility for its pretensions. Sallust
spoke for many when he complained how, for all their claims to
virtus, too many nobles lacked real courage or even experience in
warfare.15 Instead, they devoted their energies towards decadent
ends. Luxury and greed and debauchery were their true pursuits.16
Worst of all, he complained, nobles were insufferably arrogant and
even savage when protecting their paramountcy. In a letter to a
provincial governor, Cicero urges him not to offend Antony’s brother
Lucius: slighting a young man who is formidable and a noble, he
warns, will incite the enmity of many.17 The orator was not alone in
reckoning arrogance and condescension as hallmarks of noble
conduct.18 Indeed, aspersions of this kind reflected a widely shared
view of the nobility. Rhetorical handbooks, for instance, put these
negative premises to work when instructing an orator on the best
means of stirring a jury’s resentment against a Roman noble: a
pleader is advised to draw attention to his ‘overbearingness
bordering on violence, clout, alliances, riches, his complete lack of
inhibition in asserting superiority over others, his nobility, clients,
contacts, networks, and kinsmen’.19 Like the heroic figure emerging
from Metellus’ panegyric, this dark portrayal of the noble is also a
stereotype. It will not do to split the difference, but doubtless many
nobles in various ways combined qualities from both paradigms.
The Roman people were willing to take the bad with the good.
Clearly, Roman voters accepted the claim that their nobles were
superior men, the proof of which is that, during the last two
centuries of the republic, the vast majority of consulships, Rome’s
highest magistracy, went only to men who were nobiles.20 Only
rarely did anyone from outside the nobility make it to the top. And it
was even more uncommon for a man who was the first in his family
to attain the rank of a senator, a novus homo or new man, to
become a consul. In the view of the nobility, the anomaly of a new
man’s holding the consulship was nothing short of sacrilege: the
office, they complained, was polluted by its association with any
novus homo, however impressive his accomplishments.21 Even after
Cicero, a new man, reached this office—in the teeth of prevailing
prejudices and outpolling his noble colleague, Gaius Antonius, Mark
Antony’s uncle—he was admired by the nobility but never really
accepted by them.22 And yet he ennobled his family. Great man
though he was, Cicero remained a novus homo all his life. His son,
by contrast, was nobly born—and he notoriously despised the
glorious Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, a new man.23
For all the success of the nobility, nobilitas was not and must
never become a magic word. Most consuls were nobles, yes, but
most nobles failed to make it to the consulship, so steep was the
competition. Roman history is littered with noble failures, and it was
actually remarkably rare for a noble family to preserve its political
eminence over several generations.24 Misadventure, misfortune,
sloth, or sheer incompetence could blight even a noble’s future.
Which is why a noble, like everyone else in the aristocracy and
notwithstanding his undeniable advantages, had to work very hard
to hang on to his place at the top.25 The demands of his heritage
rendered it impossible for a noble to remain undisgraced by
mediocrity: he must attain the consulship in the teeth of competition
from his peers as well as ambitious and talented inferiors. For this
reason, nobles were ferocious when defending their prestige. This
was as true of Mark Antony as it was of any noble. In his fierce
contest with Octavian, who was the son of a novus homo, Antony
savagely ridiculed his enemy’s obscure origins: his great-grandfather,
he sneered, was a freedman from the countryside who made ropes,
and his grandfather was a sordid money changer.26 None of this was
true: Octavian’s family derived from the local aristocracy of Velitrae.
But the point of Antony’s acerbity was not accuracy but rather to
underline with graphic brutality the enormous social gulf separating
him from his upstart rival. In Rome, this gulf mattered very much.

Rome’s Political Aristocracy

The civic life of Rome was animated by its two dynamic principles,
the people’s majesty and the senate’s authority.27 Only the people, in
their various assemblies, were competent to pass legislation, and it
was the people who elected the executive magistrates who went on
to become senators. The people were, in a very real sense,
sovereign. ‘It is fitting’, even Cicero concedes, ‘that all powers, all
commands, all commissions are granted by the Roman people’.28
The people did not, however, draft or deliberate legislative proposals.
Nor were the people responsible for supervising Rome’s financial
affairs, or its civic religion, or its foreign policy. These were matters
that, by custom or law, had been handed over to the senate, the
body of former magistrates who, by dint of their collective
experience and wisdom, were deemed best equipped for addressing
the realities of statecraft. Thus the senate’s dominating influence
resided principally in its prestige, its auctoritas: it tendered its advice
to the people and the people’s magistrates not by way of laws but by
way of decrees. It was traditional, which is to say, it was very much
a moral obligation, for both magistrates and the public to defer.
Neither the senate nor the people could act without the
leadership of the magistrates. Only magistrates possessed the
capacity for summoning and addressing the senate, for summoning
and addressing the people, or for putting forward legislative
proposals. In dealing with the people, a magistrate needed
eloquence and social confidence. When he spoke before the public,
and the administration of the republic often demanded these face-
to-face encounters, he did so at an assembly known as a contio.
Anyone could attend, and every speaker’s audience enjoyed the
liberty of cheering or jeering—or simply departing. Sometimes they
threw things. In Rome, popular sovereignty was not an abstraction
diluted by the realities of representative government. In the courts,
which also operated outdoors and in public, in the provinces, and in
warfare, magisterial leadership was indispensable and its
responsibilities exacting. Their specific duties and powers varied.
Aediles, for instance, maintained the fabric of the city and produced
important religious festivals. Praetors presided over the courts and
governed provinces. Consuls held sway in the city, sustained order,
and presided over the senate. Tenure of these magistracies was
limited to a single year, and a minimum age was prescribed for each.
These offices could be held only in a prescribed sequence, nor could
they be held in successive years—a rule designed to prevent any
individual from holding unbroken power.
By Antony’s day, a man animated by political aspirations stood for
the quaestorship at around thirty or, in his early thirties, the office of
tribune of the plebs. These were highly responsible positions. A
tribune had the power to stymie any magisterial or governmental
activity he deemed harmful to a citizen or detrimental to the good of
the republic. Even popular legislation could be blocked if he forbade
it through his veto. At the same time, tribunes could convoke the
senate or propose and carry legislation. These offices offered a
Roman entry into the senate. The most important of the
magistrates, however, were the praetors and consuls: these men
were invested with imperium, the capacity to command armies or
administer justice.29 The consulship was Rome’s highest and most
prestigious office, ‘the supreme glory of a public career’, as Cicero
heralds it.30 Only two men in each year were elected consuls, and
only after they had advanced through the quaestorship and
praetorship with enough distinction to surpass their rivals. Reaching
the consulship was so momentous an achievement that ex-consuls,
the consulares, enjoyed the first rank in the senate.31 For a noble
like Antony, this supreme glory was the object of his public career.
Not every Roman aristocrat aimed at a senatorial career. Those
who did not remained members of the equestrian order.32 They were
the equites, or knights, the wealthy class who, the Romans believed,
originally furnished the city with its cavalry. The differences between
a senator and an equestrian were very real: a senator, employed in
civic service, enjoyed greater prestige and superior honour. But
despite these distinctions, senators and equestrians belonged to the
same class. They inhabited the same social world, were products of
the same brand of education, shared the same cultural pursuits.
Both senators and equestrians could look back on younger days
when both served as officers and held minor offices. Indeed, a
senator was an equestrian at the start. It was only after he was
elected quaestor or tribune and entered the senate that he
surrendered his equestrian status. It was at that point in his career
that his life diverged in important ways from his equestrian coevals.
Still, they were hardly separate species. The relationship between
senators and equites has been encapsulated neatly: ‘there was more
to unite the two orders than to divide them’.33
Eschewing a public career, an equestrian was free to spend his
time as he liked. Some became fabulously wealthy financiers. Many,
like Cicero’s friend Atticus, invested widely, grew richer, and offered
practical aid to busy senators, whose careers they helped to foster.
Most remained devoted agriculturalists, even those who also
engaged in manufacture or trade or finance. The individual
contentiousness that characterized senatorial competition was
unnecessary and often unhelpful for this branch of the aristocracy,
which is not to say equestrians were unpolitical or irresponsible in
civic affairs: every Roman jury, for instance, included a panel of
knights, and collectively the equestrian order mattered a great deal
in Roman elections. As individuals, moreover, because they were
close, sometimes indispensable, to their senatorial friends and
relations, they enjoyed considerable personal influence but were
often, for this same reason, very much affected by senatorial
politics. Equestrian actors are not always visible to us in our ancient
sources: Atticus is the most conspicuous owing to Cicero’s letters
and Nepos’ biography of the man. If his views and activities are any
guide to the sentiments and preoccupations of his peers, then at
least some equestrians remained close to the centres of power in
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The Project Gutenberg eBook of Canaries
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Title: Canaries
their care and management

Author: Alexander Wetmore

Release date: December 2, 2023 [eBook #72289]

Language: English

Original publication: Washington, D.C: U.S. Dept. of Agriculture,

1923

Credits: Bob Taylor, Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/American Libraries.)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CANARIES

***
 U. S. DEPARTMENT OF
AGRICULTURE
FARMERS’ BULLETIN No. 1327

CANARIES
THEIR CARE AND
MANAGEMENT

UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF AGRICULTURE

T O MEET the requests continually
received for information on the care of
canaries in sickness and health, this bulletin
has been compiled from numerous sources,
including personal experiences and
observations of the author. It is intended for
all who are interested in canaries.
This bulletin is a revision of and
supersedes Farmers’ Bulletin 770.

Washington, D. C. Issued May, 1923.

CANARIES: THEIR CARE AND MANAGEMENT.
By Alexander Wetmore, Assistant Biologist, Division of Biological
Investigations, Bureau of Biological Survey.
 CONTENTS.

Page.
Introduction 1
History 2
Varieties 3
Cages 5
Care of cages 7
Indoor and outdoor aviaries 8
Food 9
Bathing 10
Molt 11
Color feeding 12
Breeding 13
Sex and age 15
Vermin 16
Care of feet and bill 17
Diseases and injuries 17
Broken limbs 18
Loss of feathers about head 18
Respiratory troubles 19
Intestinal complaints 19
Bibliography 20
 INTRODUCTION.

A MONG THE BIRDS kept for household pets none is more

common or better known than the canary. So simple are its
requirements in the way of food and care that it needs little attention,
and because of its pleasing songs and interesting habits it is a
universal favorite. Readily adaptable to cage life, canaries display
little of the fear shown by wild birds in captivity, and the ease with
which they may be induced to nest and rear young adds to their
popularity.
Canaries have been domesticated for several hundred years and,
though more common in western Europe and the United States than
elsewhere, have been carried over practically the entire civilized
world. In England and Germany there are hundreds of canary
breeders and many avicultural societies. Several periodicals dealing
solely with cage birds are published there, and in the larger cities
bird exhibitions are held annually. Similar activities in the United
States, while of younger growth, are making considerable progress.
During the 10-year period prior to 1915 more than 3,250,000
canaries were imported into the United States, mainly from Germany
and England. With the continuance of the World War the number
brought in decreased steadily, until it fell from an average of more
than 1,000 birds per day in 1914 to about 10,000 for the year 1918.
Importations from Germany practically ceased, and comparatively
few birds were to be obtained from England, so that dealers were
forced to look to the Orient, mainly to China, for the small number
secured. This depression continued until 1920, but with return to
more normal conditions in 1921, about 70,000 were imported, and in
1922 more than 150,000, largely from the former sources in Europe
as well as the Orient.
Canaries seem to thrive in any climate where not exposed to too
severe weather conditions, and in spite of the long period they have
been protected and held in captivity they are capable of enduring a
surprising degree of cold when hardened to it. In England it is not
unusual to find them in outdoor aviaries throughout the year, and in
the comparatively mild climate of California they thrive under these
conditions. They seem able to establish themselves again in a wild
state under favorable circumstances. A brood of domestic canaries
released in 1909 on Midway Island, a sandy islet in the Hawaiian
group, had increased by 1914 until it was estimated that it numbered
about 1,000.
 HISTORY.

The origin of the canary as a cage bird is as obscure as is the

early history of other domesticated animals. It seems probable that
captive canaries were first secured from the Canary Islands, a group
with which they have long been popularly associated. There are in
the Old World, however, two closely allied forms from which the
domesticated canary may have come. One of these, the bird now
recognized as the “wild canary,” is found in the Canary Islands (with
the exception of the islands of Fuerteventura and Lanzarote),
Madeira, and the Azores. This form is illustrated in Figure 1. The
other form, the serin finch,[1] ranges through southern Europe and
northern Africa, extending eastward into Palestine and Asia Minor. In
a wild state these two forms are very similar in color and to a novice
are hardly distinguishable.

Fig. 1.—Wild canary.

If, as is supposed, the original supply of canaries came from the

Canary Islands, it may be considered doubtful that the stock thus
secured has furnished the ancestors of all our canaries. The slight
differences in color between the serin finch and the canary would
probably have passed unnoticed by early ornithologists and bird
lovers. With bird catching a widespread practice in middle and
southern Europe, the serin would often be made captive and be
accepted without question as a canary. In this way serins and wild
canaries may have been interbred until all distinguishable
differences were lost.
The original canary, whether serin or true wild canary, in its native
haunt was much different in color from its modern pure-bred
descendant. The back of the wild bird is, in general, gray, tinged with
olive-green, especially on the rump, with dark shaft streaks on the
feathers. Underneath it is yellowish, streaked on sides and flanks
with dusky. Wild canaries from the Canary Islands, the Azores, and
Madeira differ from the Continental serins in being slightly grayer
with less of yellowish green in the plumage above. In addition, the
rump is duller yellow and the bill is distinctly larger. All the wild birds
have the feet and legs (tarsi) horn brown, the upper half of the bill
dark brown or horn color, and the lower half paler.
Both of the wild varieties inhabit vineyards, thickets, and more
open country where bordered by trees. At times, during fall and
winter, great flocks are found together. The birds feed upon various
seeds and occasionally eat figs or other small fruits in season. In a
wild state they nest early in spring and again later, rearing two
broods. The nest, made of plant stems and grasses and lined with
hair and plant downs, is placed in bushes or low trees. The eggs are
clear green in color, spotted and clouded with deep wine red and
reddish brown. From three to five eggs are deposited.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The scientific name of the serin is Serinus serinus serinus.

The wild canary is known as Serinus s. canarius. Both were first
described by Linnaeus.
 VARIETIES.

Variation among domesticated canaries began early, as

Hernandez, in 1587, speaks of the canary as wholly yellow in color
save for the tips of the wings. The various forms have had their
origin in distinct geographic areas, and though some are almost
extinct at present, all at one time or another have had a devoted
following of fanciers. At present at least 14 distinct strains, with a
large number of varieties, are known.
The common canary is reared primarily for its song, and from it
probably came the roller, or song canary, a great favorite in Germany
and, more recently, in England and the United States. In rearing
song canaries attempt is made to produce males with clear, soft,
pleasing songs with long rolls or trills, and no attention whatever is
paid to other characters. These birds, therefore, may be nondescript
as regards color and appearance, and in mating care is taken only to
secure males that are good singers and females from good stock.
The young birds when fledged are put in rooms with males noted
for their soft song, and here, through imitation, they develop their
own vocal powers. Careful watch is kept over them, and any bird that
develops harsh notes is removed at once to prevent his corrupting
the purity of tone in the song of his brothers. A mechanical
instrument known as a bird organ, that produces liquid trills, is
frequently utilized in training, usually when the adult birds are silent
during molt. Ordinarily the room where song canaries are being
trained is darkened, and frequently the cages containing the young
birds are screened with cloth to lessen a tendency to objectionable
loudness of song. In six months or less, their education completed,
these songsters may be sold or in their turn utilized in training others
still younger. It is common to teach these birds some simple strain or
air, through its constant repetition by whistling or by means of an
instrument. Well-trained birds are popular pets and frequently bring
high prices.
 In the class of exhibition birds, perhaps none is more striking than
the Belgian canary, pictured in Figure 2. Formerly known as the “king
of the fancy,” it was reared extensively in Belgium, but of late years
its popularity has been on the decline, so that as late as 1911 it was
said that few pure-bred Belgians were to be found. The typical
Belgian canary is a large bird with a small head, long, slender neck,
large shoulders, and a long, tapering body. It is primarily a bird of
“position.” When assuming the peculiar and desired attitude the bird
throws its shoulders up and brings the head down well below their
level; the back and tail form a perpendicular line and the feet are
held close together.
Another bird of position is the Scotch fancy canary, illustrated in
Figure 3. This variety resembles the Belgian, but when in position
throws the tail in under the perch until its outline in profile is almost a
semicircle.

Fig. 2.—Belgian fancy canary.

 Fig. 3.—Scotch fancy canary.

Another well-marked variety is the cinnamon canary, one of the

earliest forms to appear, but one whose origin is wholly unknown. Its
true color is a dun or dull brown that has been likened to cinnamon.
In exhibition birds the color is usually intensified by color feeding
(see p. 14). The cinnamon canary is peculiar also in possessing red
or pink eyes, a character that denotes cinnamon blood even in a
yellow or buff bird. The cinnamon inheritance is transmitted only by
the male; young reared from a cinnamon mother and a male of any
other form lacking cinnamon blood never show signs of their
cinnamon parentage.
Among the old-established varieties that now are in decadence
none is more striking than the lizard canary. Lizard canaries are
known as “gold” or “silver,” according as the body color is yellow or
silvery gray. The wings and tail are black and the back is spangled
with numerous somewhat triangular black spots. The crown in pure-
bred birds is unspotted and light in color, as shown in Figure 4.
 Fig. 4.—Lizard canary.

The crested canary, pictured in Figure 5, is another unusual form,

with a long crest that extends down around the head below the level
of the eyes. Another, the frill or Dutch frill canary, is a large bird with
long curling feathers. The Lancashire is the largest of known
varieties of the canary, standing head and shoulders above all
others. These “giant” canaries may be crested or smooth headed.
Other forms that may be mentioned are the Border Fancy, a small
bird; and the Norwich, or Norwich plain-head, from which come
many of the common canaries.

Fig. 5.—Crested canary.

 It must not be supposed that the varieties of canaries enumerated
above cover the entire field. For each of the main forms there are
almost endless groups or divisions that have been developed on
color peculiarities. To obtain pure-bred birds requires constant care
and supervision, and with any slackness of method hosts of
mongrels appear. Interbreeding between various forms, even though
they differ widely in color, results in reversion to the original type,
which was a spotted or striped greenish bird, certain proof of the
common origin of all.
 CAGES.

When choosing cages in which to keep canaries, the primary

consideration should be the comfort of the birds, and this should not
be sacrificed to any desire for ornate appearance. There are several
types on the market, any of which may serve. So far as shape is
concerned, a square cage is best, as it affords more room for
exercise than one that is round.
For one bird, the cage should not be less than 9½ inches long, 6½
inches wide, and 9 inches high. A larger size is to be preferred. The
ordinary cages obtained from dealers in this country are made of
wire and are open on all sides. Each is fitted with receptacles for
food and water, usually at opposite ends. A fine-mesh wire screen
may be bought from the dealer and fastened around the lower half of
the cage to prevent the scattering of seeds and seed hulls. A
common substitute for this is a simple muslin bag, held in place by a
drawstring fastening tightly about the middle of the cage.
In a cage of ordinary size three perches are sufficient. One may be
placed at either end at a distance that will allow easy access to the
food and water receptacles, and the third elevated above the middle
of the cage at its center. Another convenient arrangement is to run
one perch lengthwise of the cage, in such way that the bird may
reach the feeding receptacles from it, and to place the two other
perches transversely above it near either end. A bird confined in
small quarters is dependent for exercise on hopping about from
perch to perch, and this arrangement will give the maximum freedom
of movement. In larger cages four perches may be advisable. These
should not be placed so that they interfere with the free movement of
the bird, and for reasons of cleanliness one perch should not be
directly above another. In small wire cages, if the swing perch
usually found suspended in the center is removed, the bird will have
more room, and in hopping back and forth will not be continually
striking head or wings. In larger cages this perch may remain.
Perches should be large enough for the toes of the bird to grasp
them readily and encircle them for three-fourths of their
circumference. If they are too small they cramp the foot, while if too
large they may cause malformed toes or claws, especially in young
birds. Perches should be elliptical in shape, about three-eighths of
an inch in the long diameter, which should be horizontal. If those
furnished with the cage do not meet these requirements, others may
be made from soft wood without much trouble.
Cages in which canaries are to breed must be large and roomy in
comparison with those intended for single occupants. An English
authority gives the standard size for breeding cages as 22 inches
long, 12 inches wide, and 16 inches high. Several types of open
breeding cages made of wire may be obtained, or a box with a
removable wire front may be made. If it is planned to use wooden
cages for several seasons they should be enameled or whitewashed
inside to permit thorough cleaning. Such cages should be smooth
inside and any with cracked or warped boards should be avoided, as
crevices may harbor dirt or mites. Though cages may be made of
wire screen this is not advised, as cages so constructed become
very dirty, and there is danger that birds may catch their claws in the
wire and become injured.
Where numbers of canaries are kept box cages with wire fronts
are convenient, as they may be placed in racks one above another
or arranged on a series of shelves along the wall of the bird room.
They are provided with a sand tray three-fourths of an inch deep that
slides in and out from the front and facilitates cleaning. Perches for
these cages may be adjusted in the following manner: One end is
notched and the other has a brad driven in it filed to a sharp point.
The sharpened brad is pressed against the back of the cage and a
wire on the front is slipped into the notch. If made the right length the
pressure of the wire will hold the perch in position.
For shipping birds the small wicker cages in which canaries come
to dealers are best. These are fitted with deep, narrow-necked food
and water receptacles that do not readily spill, so that there is a
minimum of waste during the journey. A small packet or sack of seed
should be tied to the outside of the cage in order that the bird’s
supply may be replenished en route.
 CARE OF CAGES.

Though canaries when acclimated can endure a great degree of

cold without discomfort, they are susceptible to sudden changes in
temperature, and cold drafts may soon prove fatal. This should be
borne in mind in choosing a place for the cage. Direct exposure to a
strong draft of cold air must always be avoided. A cage may be
placed on a small shelf along the wall or suspended from a bracket
attached to the wall or window casing. Swinging brackets are
inexpensive and are convenient for use when it is impracticable to
fasten hooks in the ceiling. When one or two canaries are kept as
pets, it is usual to suspend their cages before a window, where the
birds may enjoy light and sunshine, a good practice where the
window is kept closed during cool or stormy weather and the joints
are tight. It may be necessary to line the edges of the window frame
and the junction of the upper and lower halves of the window with
weather stripping to prevent drafts, and it is best to suspend the
cage so that it will hang opposite or below the junction of the two
halves of the window frame. The room must remain at a fairly even
temperature day and night, and in cold weather it is well to cover the
cage with a towel or other light cloth at night. A cage should never be
suspended directly above a radiator, and it is best to avoid keeping
birds in small kitchens, as the fluctuations in heat are perhaps more
marked there than in any other part of the house. Exposure to damp
air may prove fatal, another reason for avoiding the steam-laden air
of small kitchens.
Wherever placed, the cage must be kept scrupulously clean if the
canary is to remain in good health and free from vermin. The supply
of water should be renewed daily, and the seed cup replenished at
least every other day. The receptacles for these necessities should
be cleaned and washed carefully at short intervals. Cages that have
removable bases should have the tray in the bottom covered with
several thicknesses of paper, or the heavy coarse-grained
sandpaper, known as gravel paper, that may be secured from
dealers in cage-bird supplies, may be used. This should be renewed