Sisko

This cruel sentence changed the tone of Eponina.

She had hitherto humbly and warmly supplicated her husband’s pardon.

Now that he was dead she resolved not to survive him.

With the spirit and pride of a free-born princess she said to Vespasian, “Death has no terror for me.

I have lived happier underground than you upon your throne.

You have robbed me of all I loved, and I have no further use for life.

Bid your assassins strike their blow; with joy I leave a world which is peopled by such tyrants as you.

” She was taken at her word and ordered by the emperor for execution.

It was the darkest deed of Vespasian’s life, a blot upon his character which all his record for clemency cannot remove, and which has ever since lain as a dark stain upon his memory.

Plutarch, who has alone told this story of love unto death, concludes his tale by saying that there was nothing during Vespasian’s reign to match the horror of this atrocious deed, and that, in retribution for it, the vengeance of the gods fell upon Vespasian, and in a short time after wrought the extirpation of his entire family.

[Pg 293] THE SIEGE OF JERUSALEM.

Christ had not long passed away from the earth when the reign of peace and brotherly love which He had so warmly inculcated ceased to exist on the soil of Judæa.

Forty years after He foretold the destruction of the Temple of Jerusalem that noble edifice had ceased to exist, Jerusalem itself was burned to the ground, and a million of people perished by sword and flames.

It is this lamentable tale which we have now to tell.

Caligula, the mad emperor, first roused the indignation of the Jews, by demanding that his statue should be placed in that holy shrine in which no image of man had ever been permitted.

War would have followed, for the Jews were resolute against such an impious desecration of their Temple, had not the sword of the assassin removed the tyrant.

But the discontent of the Jews was not ended.

They were resolved that no image of the Cæsars should be brought into their land, and carried this so far that when the governor of Syria wished to march through a part of their territory to attack the Arabs, they objected that the standards of the legions were crowded with profane images, which their sacred laws did not permit to be seen in their country.

The[Pg 294] governor yielded to their remonstrance, and marched around the land of Judæa.

This concession did not allay the discontent.

Felix, a governor under Claudius, by oppression and cruelty aroused a general spirit of revolt.

Gessius Florus, appointed by Nero governor of Judæa, found his province in a state of irritation and tumult.

His avarice and robbery of the people ripened this to war.

The province broke into open rebellion.

It was quickly invaded by Gallus, the governor of Syria, who marched through the country to the walls of Jerusalem.

But he was not a soldier, and was quickly forced to abandon the siege and retreat in haste, losing six thousand men in his flight.

THE JEWS’ WAILING PLACE, JERUSALEM.

THE JEWS’ WAILING PLACE, JERUSALEM.

Nero now, finding that Rome had an obstinate struggle on its hands, chose Vespasian, a soldier of renown, to conduct the war.

This he did with the true Roman energy and thoroughness, subduing the whole country, and capturing every stronghold except Jerusalem, within two years.

He was called from this work to the struggle for the empire of Rome, leaving his able son Titus to complete the task.

The taking of Jerusalem was not to be easily performed.

The city was of immense strength.

It stood upon two hills, Mount Sion to the south, Mount Acra to the north.

The former, being the loftiest, was called the upper, and Acra the lower, city.

Each of these hills was surrounded by a wall of great strength and elevation, their bases washed by a rapid stream that ran through the valleys of Hinnom and Cedron, to the foot of the Mount of Olives.

A third[Pg 295] hill, Mount Moriah, was the seat of the famous Temple, an immense group of courts and edifices which looked more like a citadel than a sanctuary of religious faith.

The true temple stood separate, in the midst of these buildings, its interior being divided by a curtain into two parts, of which the inmost was the Holy of Holies.

The total group of edifices was nearly a mile in circumference.

Jerusalem, unfortunately for its defence, had, during the conquest of the country, become filled with fugitives.

To these the celebration of the Passover, now at hand, added other great numbers, so that when the army of Titus invested it, it was crowded with a vast multitude of human beings.

Filled with religious enthusiasm, accustomed to war, and believing that the Lord of Hosts would come to their aid, the garrison displayed a desperate resolution that the Romans were to find very difficult to overcome.

Yet it was as much due to themselves as to the Roman arms that the city at length fell.

Resolute as the Jews were in defence against the foreign foe, they were divided among themselves, the city being held by three factions bitterly hostile to each other.

One of these, known as the Zealots, under Eleazer, held the Temple.

Another, under John of Gisela, an artful orator but a man of infamous character, occupied another portion of the city.

A third, whose leader was named Simon, a man known for crime and courage, held still another section.

These three parties kept Jerusalem in tumult.

There were ferocious battles in the streets; houses were plundered,[Pg 296] families slain, and when Titus encamped before the walls, he had before him a city distracted by civil war and its streets filled with blood and carnage.

The story of the siege of Jerusalem is far too long a one to be told in detail.

Several times during the siege Titus offered terms of pardon and amnesty to the besieged, but all in vain.

Divided as they were among themselves, they were united in hostility to Rome.

The siege began and proceeded with the usual energy shown by a Roman army.

Mounds were erected, forts built, warlike engines constructed.

Darts and other weapons were rained into the city, great stones were flung from engines, every resource known to ancient war was practised.

A breach was at length made in the walls, the soldiers rushed in, sword in hand, and the section of the city known as Salem was captured.

Five days afterwards Bezetha, a hill to the north of the Temple, was taken by Titus, but he was here so furiously assailed by the garrison that he was forced to retreat to his camp.

Some days of quiet now followed, while the Romans prepared for a second attack.

The factions in the city, fancying that their foes had withdrawn in despair, at once resumed their feuds, and the streets again ran with blood.

John invaded the Temple precincts, overcame the party of Eleazer, and a general massacre followed which desecrated With slaughter every part of the holy place.

Soon the Romans advanced again, and the two remaining factions united in defence.

Now the Romans penetrated the city, now they were driven[Pg 297] out in a fierce charge, and their camp nearly taken.

And now famine came to add to the horrors of the siege, and made frightful havoc in the dense multitude with which every part of the city was thronged.

The dead and dying filled the streets, the wounded soldiers perished of starvation, groans and lamentations resounded in every quarter; to rid themselves of the hosts of dead John and Simon had them thrown from the walls, to fester in heaps before the Roman works.

Among the scenes of horror related, a woman was seen to kill and devour her own infant child.

At length the Romans made such progress that all the city was theirs except the Temple enclosure, into which the remainder of the garrison had gathered.

Titus wished to save this famous structure, and made a last effort to end the siege by peaceful measures.

Josephus, the Jewish historian, who had been taken prisoner during the war, and was now in his camp, was sent into the city, with an offer of amnesty if they would even now yield.

The offer was refused, and Titus saw that but one thing remained.

On the next day the assault on Mount Moriah began.

The Jews fought with fierce courage, but the close lines and steady discipline of the legions prevailed.

The defenders, after a bitter resistance, were forced back; the assailants furiously pursued; the inner court of the Temple was entered; in the uproar of the furious strife the orders of Titus and his officers to save the Temple were unheard; all was tumult, the roar of battle, the shedding of blood.

The Jews fought with frantic obstinacy, but their[Pg 298] undisciplined valor failed to affect the steady discipline or break the close array of the legions.

Many fled in despair to the sanctuary.

Here were gathered priests and prophets, who still declared the Lord of Hosts was on their side, and that He would protect His holy seat.

Even while these assurances were being given the assailants forced the gates.

The eyes of the avaricious Romans rested on the golden and glittering ornaments of the Temple, and they sought more fiercely than ever to hew their way through flesh and blood to these alluring treasures.

One soldier, frantic with the fury of the fight, snatched a flaming ember from some burning materials, and, lifted by a comrade, set fire to a gilded window of the Temple.

Almost in an instant the flames flared upward, and the despairing Jews saw that their holy house was doomed.

A great groan of agony burst from their lips.

Many occupied themselves in vain efforts to quench the flames; others flung themselves in despairing rage on the Romans, heedless of life now that all they lived for was perishing.

Titus, on learning what had been done, ran in all haste to the scene, and loudly ordered the soldiers to extinguish the flames, signalling to the same effect with his hand.

But his voice was drowned in the uproar and his signals were not understood, while the thirst for plunder carried the soldiers beyond all restraint.

The holy place of the Temple was still intact.

This Titus entered, and was so impressed with its beauty and splendor that he made a strenuous effort to save it from destruction.

In vain he begged[Pg 299] and threatened.

While some of the soldiery tore with wolfish fury at its gold, others fired its gates, and soon the Holy of Holies itself was in a blaze, and the whole Temple wrapped in devouring flames.

The rapacious soldiers raged through the buildings, rending from them everything of value which the fire had left untouched.

The defenders fell by thousands.

Great numbers perished in the flames.

A multitude of fugitives, including women and children, sought refuge in the outer cloisters.

These were set on fire by the furious soldiers, and thousands were swept away by the pitiless hand of death.

Word was brought to Titus that a number of priests stood on the outside wall, begging for their lives.

“It is too late,” he replied; “the priests ought not to survive their temple.

” Retiring to an outer fort, he gazed with deep regret on the devouring conflagration, saying, “The God of the Jews has fought against them: to him we owe our victory.

” Thus perished the Temple of Jerusalem, a magnificent structure, for ages the pride and glory of the Jews.

First erected by Solomon, eleven centuries before, it was burnt by the Babylonians five hundred years afterwards.

It was rebuilt by Haggai, in the reign of King Cyrus of Persia, and had now stood more than six hundred years, enlarged and adorned from time to time.

But Christ had said, “There shall not be left one stone upon another that shall not be thrown down.

” This prophetic utterance was now fulfilled.

Thenceforward there was no Temple of the Jews.

But more fighting remained.

The defenders made[Pg 300] their way into the upper city on Mount Sion, and here held out bitterly still, rejecting the terms offered them by Titus of unconditional surrender.

The place was strong, and defended by towers that were almost impregnable.

Better terms might have been extorted from Titus had John and Simon, the leaders of the party of defence, been as brave as they were blatant.

But after refusing surrender they lost heart, and hid themselves in subterranean vaults, leaving their deluded followers to their own devices.

The end came soon.

A breach was made in the walls.

The legions entered, sword in hand, and with the rage of slaughter in heart.

A dreadful carnage followed.

Neither sex nor age was spared.

According to Josephus, not less than one million one hundred thousand persons perished during this terrible siege.

Of those that remained alive the most flagrant were put to death, some were reserved to grace the victor’s triumph, and the others were sent to Egypt to be sold as slaves.

As for the city, it had been in great part consumed by flames.

Thus ended the rebellion of the Jews.

To rule or ruin was the terrible motto of Rome.

[Pg 301] THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII.

On the eastern margin of the Bay of Naples, where it serves as a striking background to the city of that name, stands the renowned Vesuvius, the most celebrated volcano in the world.

During many centuries before the Christian era it had been a dead and silent mountain.

Throughout the earlier period of Roman history the people of Campania treated it with the contempt of ignorance, planting their vineyards on its fertile slopes and building their towns and villages around its base.

Under the shadow of the silent mountain armies met and fought, and its crater was made the fort and lurking-place of Spartacus and his party of gladiators.

But the time was at hand in which a more terrible enemy than a band of vengeful rebels was to emerge from that threatening cavity.

The sleeping giant first showed signs of waking from his long slumber in 63 A.

D.

, when earthquake convulsions shook the surrounding lands.

These tremblings of the earth continued at intervals for sixteen years, doing much damage.

At length, on the 24th of August of the year 79, came the culminating event.

With a tremendous and terrible explosion the whole top of the mountain was torn out,[Pg 302] and vast clouds of steam and volcanic ashes were hurled high into the air, lit into lurid light by the crimson gleams of the boiling lava below.

The scene was a frightful one.

The vast, tree-like cloud, kindled throughout its length by almost incessant flashes of lightning; the fiery glare that gleamed upward from the glowing lava; the total darkness that overspread the surrounding country as the dense mass of volcanic dust floated outward, a darkness only relieved by the glare that attended each new explosion, formed a spectacle of terror to make the stoutest heart quail, and to fill the weak and ignorant with dread of a final overthrow of the earth and its inhabitants.

The elder Pliny, the famous naturalist, was then in command of a fleet at Misenum, in the vicinity.

Led by his scientific interest, he approached the volcano to examine the eruption more closely, and fell a victim to the falling ashes or the choking fumes of sulphur that filled the air.

His nephew, Pliny the younger, then only a boy of eighteen, has given a lucid account of what took place, in letters to the historian Tacitus.

After describing the journey and death of his uncle, he goes on to speak of the violent earthquakes that shook the ground during the night.

He continues with the story of the next day: “Though it was now morning, the light was exceedingly faint and languid; the buildings all around us tottered, and though we stood upon open ground, yet, as the place was narrow and confined, there was no remaining there without certain and great [Pg 303]danger; we therefore resolved to leave the town.

The people followed us in the utmost consternation, and, as to a mind distracted with terror every suggestion seems more prudent than its own, pressed in great crowds about us in our way out.

“Being got at a convenient distance from the houses, we stood still, in the midst of a most dangerous and dreadful scene.

The chariots which we had ordered to be drawn out were so agitated backward and forward, though upon the most level ground, that we could not keep them steady, even by supporting them with large stones.

The sea seemed to roll back upon itself, and to be driven from its banks by the convulsive motion of the earth; it is certain, at least, that the shore was considerably enlarged, and several sea-animals were left upon it.

At the other side a black and dreadful cloud, bursting with an igneous serpentine vapor, darted out a long train of fire, resembling flashes of lightning, but much larger.

.

.

.

“Soon afterwards the cloud seemed to descend and cover the whole ocean, as indeed it entirely hid the island of Capreæ and the promontory of Misenum.

My mother strongly conjured me to make my escape at any rate, which, as I was young, I might easily do; as for herself, she said, her age and corpulence rendered all attempts of that sort impossible.

However, she would willingly meet death if she could have the satisfaction of seeing that she was not the occasion of mine.

But I absolutely refused to leave her, and, taking her by the hand, I led her on; she complied with great reluctance, and not[Pg 304] without many reproaches to herself for retarding my flight.

“The ashes now began to fall on us, though in no great quantity.

I turned my head, and observed behind us a thick smoke, which came rolling after us like a torrent.

I proposed, while we yet had any light, to turn out of the high-road, lest she should be pressed to death in the dark by the crowd that followed us.

We had scarce stepped out of the path when darkness overspread us, not like that of a cloudy night or when there is no moon, but of a room when it is shut up and all the lights extinct.

Nothing then was to be heard but the shrieks of women, the screams of children, and the cries of men; some calling for their children, others for their parents, others for their husbands, and only distinguishing each other by their voices; one lamenting his own fate, another that of his family; some wishing to die from the very fear of dying; some lifting their hands to the gods; but the greater part imagining that the last and eternal night was come, which was to destroy the gods and the world together.

“Among these were some who augmented the real terrors by imaginary ones, and made the frightened multitude falsely believe that Misenum was in flames.

At length a glimmering light appeared, which we imagined to be rather the forerunner of an approaching burst of flames, as in truth it was, than the return of day.

However, the fire fell at a distance from us; then again we were immersed in thick darkness, and a heavy shower of ashes rained upon[Pg 305] us, which we were obliged every now and then to shake off, otherwise we should have been crushed and buried in the heap.

I might boast that during all this scene of horror not a sigh or expression of fear escaped from me, had not my support been found in that miserable, though strong, consolation, that all mankind were involved in the same calamity, and that I imagined I was perishing with the world itself.

“At last this dreadful darkness was dissipated by degrees, like a cloud of smoke; the real day returned, and even the sun appeared, though very faintly, and as when an eclipse is coming on.

Every object that presented itself to our eyes seemed changed, being covered over with white ashes, as with a deep snow.

” This graphic story repeats the experience of thousands on that fatal occasion, in which great numbers perished, while many lost their all.

Villas of wealthy Romans were numerous in the vicinity of the volcano, while among the several towns which surrounded it three were utterly destroyed,-Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Stabiæ.

Of these much the most famous is Pompeii, which, being buried in ashes, has proved far easier of exploration than Herculaneum, which was overwhelmed with torrents of mud, caused by heavy rains on the volcanic ash.

Pompeii was an old town, built more than six hundred years before, and occupied at the time of its destruction by the aristocracy of Rome.

Triumphal arches were erected there in honor of Caligula and Nero, who probably honored it by visits.

[Pg 306] It possessed costly temples, handsome theatres and other public buildings, luxurious residences, and all the ostentatious magnificence arising from the wealth of the proud patricians of Rome.

THE RUINS OF POMPEII.

THE RUINS OF POMPEII.

What Pompeii was in its best days we are not now able to estimate.

It was essentially, in its architecture, a Greek city, rich and artistic, gay and luxurious.

But on February 5, 63 A.

D.

, came the first of the long series of earthquakes, and when it ended nearly all of old Pompeii was levelled with the ground.

It was not yet a lost city, but was a thoroughly ruined one.

In the years that followed it was rapidly rebuilt, Roman architecture and decoration, of often tawdry and inferior character, replacing the chaste and artistic Greek.

Once more the city became a centre of gayety, ostentation, and licentiousness, when, in 79 A.

D.

, the eruption of Vesuvius came, and the overwhelming storm of ashes came down like a thick-descending fall of snow on the doomed city.

The description given by Pliny relates to a less endangered point.

Upon Pompeii the ashes settled down in seemingly unending volumes, continuing for three days, during which all was enveloped in darkness and gloom.

The citizens fled in terror, such as were able to, though many perished and were buried deep in their ruined homes.

On the fourth day the sun began to reappear, as if shining through a fog, and the bolder fugitives returned in search of their lost property.

What they saw must have been frightfully disheartening.

Where the busy city had stood was[Pg 307] now a level plain of white ashes, so deep that not a house-top could be seen, and only the upper walls of the great theatre and the amphitheatre were visible.

Digging into the fleecy ashes, many of them recovered articles of value, while thieves also may have reaped a rich harvest.

The emperor Titus even undertook to clear and rebuild the city, but soon abandoned the task as too costly a one, and for many centuries afterwards Pompeii remained buried in mud and ashes, lost to the world, its site forgotten, and the forms of many of its old inhabitants preserved intact in the bed of ashes in which they had perished.

It was only in 1748 that its site was recognized, and only since 1860 has there been a systematic effort to dig the old city out of its grave.

At present nearly one-half-the most important half-of Pompeii has been laid bare, and we are able to see for ourselves how the Romans lived.

The narrow streets, fourteen to twenty-four feet wide, are well paved with blocks of lava, which are cut into deep ruts by the wheels of chariots that rolled over them two thousand years ago.

On each side rise the walls of houses, two, and sometimes three, stories in height, and some of them richly painted and adorned, while walls and columns are brightly painted in red, blue, and yellow, which must have given the old city a gay and festive hue.

The ornaments, articles of furniture, and domestic utensils found in these houses go far to teach us the modes of life in Roman times, and reveal to us that the Romans possessed many comforts and conveniences[Pg 308] for which we had not given them credit.

Even the forms of the inhabitants have in many cases been recovered.

Though these forms have long vanished, the hollows made by their bodies in the hardened ashes in which they lay and slowly decayed have remained unchanged, and by pouring liquid plaster of Paris into these cavities perfect casts have been obtained, showing the exact shape of face and body, and even every fold of the clothes of these victims of Vesuvius eighteen hundred years ago.

They are not altogether pleasant to see, for they express the agony of those caught in the swift descending death of the falling volcanic shroud, but as tenants of an archæological museum they stand unrivalled in lifelike fidelity.

Herculaneum, which was buried to a depth of from forty to one hundred feet, and with wet material which has grown much harder than the ashes of Pompeii, has been but little explored.

It was the larger and more important city of the two, while none of its treasures could have been recovered by their owners.

The art relics found there far exceed in interest and value those of Pompeii, but the work is so difficult that as yet very little has been done in the task of restoring this “dead city of Campania” to the light of the modern day.

[Pg 309] AN IMPERIAL SAVAGE.

We have now reached the period in which began the decline and fall of the Roman empire.

Its story is crowded with events, but lacks those dramatic and romantic incidents which give such interest to the history of early Rome.

Now good emperors ruled, now bad ones followed, now peace prevailed, now war raged; the story grows monotonous as we advance.

The reigns of virtuous emperors yield much to commend but little to describe; those of wicked emperors repel us by their enormities and disgust us by their follies.

We must end our tales with a few selections from the long and somewhat dreary list.

EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF MARCUS AURELIUS.

EQUESTRIAN STATUE OF MARCUS AURELIUS.

After Vespasian came to the throne, a period of nearly two centuries elapsed during most of which Rome was governed by men of virtue and ability, though cursed for a time by the reigns of the cruel Domitian, the dissolute Commodus, the base Caracalla, and the foolish Elagabalus.

Fortunately, none of the monsters who disgraced the empire reigned long.

Assassination purified the throne.

The total length of reign of the cruel monarchs of Rome covered no long space of time, though they occupy a great space in history.

We have now to tell how the patrician families of[Pg 310] Rome lost their hold upon the throne, and a barbarian peasant became lord and master of this vast empire, of which his ancestors of a few generations before had perhaps scarcely heard.

The story is an interesting one, and well worth repeating.

Just after the year 200 A.

D.

the emperor Septimius Severus, father of the notorious Caracalla, while returning from an expedition to the East, halted in Thrace to celebrate, with military games, the birthday of Geta, his youngest son.

The spectacle was an enticing one, and the country-people for many miles round gathered in crowds to gaze upon their sovereign and behold the promised sports.

Among those who came was a young barbarian of such gigantic stature and great muscular development as to excite the attention of all who saw him.

In a rude dialect, which those who heard could barely understand, he asked if he might take part in the wrestling exercises and contend for the prize.

This the officers would not permit.

For a Roman soldier to be overthrown by a Thracian peasant, as seemed likely to be the result, would be a disgrace not to be risked.

But he might try, if he would, with the camp followers, some of the stoutest of whom were chosen to contend with him.

Of these he laid no less than sixteen, in succession, on the ground.

Here was a man worth having in the ranks.

Some gifts were given him, and he was told that he might enlist, if he chose; a privilege he was quick to accept.

The next day the peasant, happy in the thought of being a soldier, was seen among a crowd of recruits,[Pg 311] dancing and exulting in rustic fashion, while his head towered above them all.

The emperor, who was passing in the march, looked at him with interest and approval, and as he rode onward the new recruit ran up to his horse, and followed him on foot during a long and rapid journey without the least appearance of fatigue.

This remarkable endurance astonished Severus.

“Thracian,” he said, “are you prepared to wrestle after your race?” “Ready and willing,” answered the youth, with alacrity.

Some of the strongest soldiers of the army were now selected and pitted against him, and he overthrew seven of them in rapid succession.

The emperor, delighted with this matchless display of vigor and agility, presented him with a golden collar in reward, and ordered that he should be placed in the horse-guards that formed his personal escort.

The new recruit, Maximin by name, was a true barbarian, though born in the empire.

His father was a Goth, his mother of the nation of the Alani.

But he had judgment and shrewdness, and a valor equal to his strength, and soon advanced in the favor of the emperor, who was a good judge of merit.

Fierce and impetuous by nature, experience of the world taught him to restrain these qualities, and he advanced in position until he attained the rank of centurion.

After the death of Severus the Thracian served with equal fidelity under his son Caracalla, whose favor and esteem he won.

During the short reign[Pg 312] of the profligate and effeminate Elagabalus, Maximin withdrew from the court, but he returned when Alexander Severus, one of the noblest of Roman emperors, came to the throne.

The new monarch was familiar with his ability and the incidents of his unusual career, and raised him to the responsible post of tribune of the fourth legion, which, under his rigid care, soon became the best disciplined in the whole army.

He was the favorite of the soldiers under his command, who bestowed on their gigantic leader the names of Ajax and Hercules, and rejoiced as he steadily rose in rank under the discriminating judgment of the emperor.

Step by step he was advanced until he reached the highest rank in the army, and, but for the evident marks of his savage origin, the emperor might have given his own sister in marriage to the son of his favorite general.

The incautious emperor was nursing a serpent.

The favors poured upon the Thracian peasant failed to secure his fidelity, and only nourished his ambition.

He began to aspire to the highest place in the empire, which had been won by many soldiers before him.

Licentiousness and profligacy had sapped the strength of the army during the weak preceding reigns, and Alexander sought earnestly to overcome this corruption and restore the rigid ancient discipline.

It was too great a task for one of his lenient disposition.

The soldiers were furious at his restrictions, many mutinies broke out, his officers were murdered, his authority was widely insulted, he could scarcely repress the disorders that broke out in his immediate presence.

[Pg 313] This sentiment in the army offered the opportunity desired by Maximin.

He sent his emissaries among the soldiers to enhance their discontent.

For thirteen years, said these men, Rome had been governed by a weak Syrian, the slave of his mother and the senate.

It was time the empire had a man at its head, a real soldier, who could add to its glory and win new treasures for his followers.

Alexander had been engaged in a war with Persia.

He had no sooner returned than an outbreak in Germany forced him to hasten to the Rhine.

Here a large army was assembled, made up in part of new levies, whose training in the art of war was given to the care of Maximin.

The discipline exacted by Alexander was no more acceptable to the soldiers here than elsewhere, and the secret agents of the ambitious Thracian found fertile ground for their insinuations.

At length all was ripe for the outbreak.

One day-March 19, 239 A.

D.

-as Maximin entered the field of exercise, the troops suddenly saluted him as emperor, and silenced by violent exclamations his obstinate show of refusal.

The rebels rushed to the tent of Alexander and consummated their conspiracy by striking him dead.

His most faithful friends perished with him; others were dismissed from court and army; and some suffered the cruelest treatment from the unfeeling usurper.

Thus it was that the imperial dignity descended from the noblest citizens of Rome to a peasant of a distant province of barbarian origin.

It was one of the most striking steps in the decline of the empire.

[Pg 314] The new emperor was a man of extraordinary physical powers.

He is said to have been more than eight feet in height, while his strength and appetite were in accordance with his gigantic stature.

It is stated that he could drink seven gallons of wine and eat thirty or forty pounds of meat in a day, and could move a loaded wagon with his arms, break a horse’s leg with his fist, crumble stones in his hands, and tear up small trees by the roots.

His mental powers did not accord with his physical ones.

He was savage of aspect, ignorant of civilized arts, destitute of accomplishments, and ruthless in disposition.

He had the virtues of the camp, and these had endeared him to the soldiers, but his barbarian origin, his savage appearance, and his rudeness and ignorance were the contempt of cultivated people, and had gained him many rebuffs in his humbler days.

He was now in a position to revenge himself, not only on the haughty nobles who had treated him with contempt, but even on former friends who were aware of his mean origin,-of which he was heartily ashamed.

For both these crimes many were put to death, and the slaughter of several of his former benefactors has stained the memory of Maximin with the basest ingratitude.

Rome, in the strange progress of its history, had raised a savage to the imperial seat, and it suffered accordingly.

A scion of the despised barbarians of the northern forests was now its emperor, and he visited on the proud citizens of Rome the wrongs of his ancestors.

The suspicion and cruelty of Maximin[Pg 315] were unbounded and unrelenting.

A consular senator named Magnus was accused of a conspiracy against his life.

Without trial or opportunity for defence Magnus was put to death, with no less than four thousand supposed accomplices.

This was but an incident in a frightful reign of terror.

The emperor kept aloof from his capital, but he filled Rome, and the whole empire, in fact, with spies and informers.

The slightest accusation or suspicion was sufficient for the blood-thirsty tyrant.

On a mere unproved charge Roman nobles of the highest descent-men who had served as consuls, governed provinces, commanded armies, enjoyed triumphs-were seized, chained on the public carriages, and borne away to the distant camp of the low-born tyrant.

Here they found neither justice nor compassion.

Exile, confiscation, and ordinary execution were mild measures with Maximin.

Some of the unfortunates were clubbed to death, some exposed to wild beasts, some sewed in the hides of slaughtered animals and left to perish.

The worst enormities of Caligula and Nero were rivalled by this rude soldier, who, during the three years of his reign, disdained to visit either Rome or Italy, and permitted no men of high birth, elegant accomplishments, or knowledge of public business to approach his person.

His imperial seat shifted from a camp on the Rhine to one on the Danube, and his sole idea of government seems to have been the execution of the suspected.

It was the great that suffered, and to this the people were indifferent.

But they all felt his avarice.

[Pg 316] The soldiers demanded rewards, and the empire was drained to supply them.

By a single edict all the stored-up revenue of the cities was taken to supply Maximin’s treasury.

The temples were robbed of their treasures, and the statues of gods, heroes, and emperors were melted down and converted into coin.

A general cry of indignation against this impiety rose throughout the Roman world, and it was evident that the end of this frightful tyranny was approaching.

An insurrection broke out in Africa.

It was supported in Rome.

But it ended in failure, the Gordians, father and son, who headed it, were slain, and the senate and nobles of Rome fell into mortal terror.

They looked for a frightful retribution from the imperial monster.

With the courage of despair they took the only step that remained: two new emperors, Maximus and Balbinus, were appointed, and active steps taken to defend Italy and Rome.

There was no time to be lost.

News of these revolutionary movements had roused in Maximin the rage of a wild beast.

All who approached his person were in danger, even his son and nearest friends.

Under his command was a large, well-disciplined, and experienced army.

He was a soldier of acknowledged valor and military ability.

The rebels, with their hasty levies and untried commanders, had everything to fear.

They took judicious steps.

When the troops of Maximin, crossing the Julian Alps, reached the borders of Italy, they were terrified by the silence and desolation that prevailed.

The villages and open[Pg 317] towns had been abandoned, the bridges destroyed, the cattle driven away, the provisions removed, the country made a desert.

The people had gathered into the walled cities, which were plentifully provisioned and garrisoned.

The purpose of the senate was to weaken Maximin by famine and retard him by siege.

The first city assailed was Aquileia, It was fully provisioned and vigorously defended, the inhabitants preferring death on their walls to death by the tyrant’s order.

Yet Rome was in imminent danger.

Maximin might at any moment abandon the siege of a frontier city and march upon the capital.

There was no army capable of opposing him.

The fate of Rome hung upon a thread.

The hand of an assassin cut that thread.

The severity of the weather, the growth of disease, the lack of food, had spread disaffection through Maximin’s army.

Ignorant of the true state of affairs, many of the soldiers feared that the whole empire was in arms against them.

The tyrant, vexed at the obstinate defence of Aquileia, visited his anger on his men, and roused a stern desire for revenge.

The end came soon.

A party of Prætorian guards, in dread for their wives and children, who were in the camp of Alba, near Rome, broke into sudden revolt, entered Maximin’s tent, and killed him, his son, and the principal ministers of his tyranny.

The whole army sympathized with this impulsive act.

The heads of the dead, borne on the points of spears, were shown the garrison, and at once the gates were thrown open, the hungry troops supplied with[Pg 318] food, and a general fraternization took place.

Joy in the fall of the tyrant was universal throughout the empire, the two new emperors entered Rome in a triumphal procession, people and nobles alike went wild with enthusiasm, and the belief was entertained that a golden age was to succeed the age of iron that had come to an end.

Yet within three months afterwards both the new emperors were massacred in the streets of Rome, and the hoped-for era of happiness and prosperity vanished before the swelling tide of oppression, demoralization, and decline.

[Pg 319] THE DEEDS OF CONSTANTINE.

In the century that followed the reign of Maximin great changes came upon the empire of Rome.

The process of decline went steadily on.

The city of Rome sank in importance as the centre of the empire.

The armies were recruited from former barbarian tribes; many of the emperors reigned in the field; the savage inmates of the northern forests, hitherto sternly restrained, now began to gain a footing within the borders; the Goths plundered Greece; the Persians took Armenia; the day of the downfall of the great empire was coming, slowly but surely.

One important event during this period, the rebellion of Zenobia and the ruin of Palmyra, we have told in “Tales of Greece.

” There are two other events to be told: the rise of Christianity, and the founding of a new capital of the empire.

From the date of the death of Christ, the Christian religion made continual progress in the city and empire of Rome.

Despite the contempt with which its believers were viewed, despite the persecution to which they were subjected, despite frequent massacres and martyrdoms, their numbers rapidly increased, and the many superstitions of the empire gradually gave way before the doctrines of human[Pg 320] brotherhood, infinite love and mercy, and the eternal existence and happiness of those who believed in Christ and practised virtue.

By the time of the accession of the great emperor Constantine, 306 A.

D.

, the Christians were so numerous in the army and populace of the empire that they had to be dealt with more mercifully than of old, and their teachings were no longer confined to the lowly, but ascended to the level of the throne itself.

The traditional story handed down to us is that Constantine, in his struggle with Maxentius for the empire of the West, saw in the sky, above the mid-day sun, a great luminous cross, marked with the words, “In hoc signo vinces” (“In this sign conquer”).

The whole army beheld this amazing object; and during the following night Christ appeared to the emperor in a vision, and directed him to march against his enemies under the standard of the cross.

Another writer claims that a whole army of divine warriors were seen descending from the sky, and flying to the aid of Constantine.

ARCH OF TITUS, ROME.

ARCH OF TITUS, ROME.

It may be said that both these stories, though told by devout authors, greatly lack probability.

But, whatever the cause, Constantine became a professed Christian, and as such availed himself of the enthusiastic support of the Christians of his army.

By an edict issued at Milan, 313 A.

D.

, he gave civil rights and toleration to the Christians throughout the empire, and not long afterwards proclaimed Christianity the religion of the state, though the pagan worship was still tolerated.

This highly important act of Constantine was [Pg 321]followed by another of great importance, the establishment of a new capital of the Roman empire, one which was destined to keep alive some shadow of that empire for many centuries after Rome itself had become the capital of a kingdom of barbarians.

On the European bank of the Bosphorus, the channel which connects the Sea of Marmora with the Black Sea, had for ages stood the city of Byzantium, which played an important part in Grecian history.

On the basis of this old city Constantine resolved to build a new one, worthy his greatness.

The situation was much more central than that of Rome, and was admirably chosen for the government of an empire that extended as far to the east in Asia as to the west in Europe, while it was at once defended by nature against hostile attack and open to the benefits of commercial intercourse.

This, then, was the site chosen for the new capital, and here the city of Constantinople arose.

We have, in our first chapter, described how Romulus laid out the walls of Rome.

With equally impressive ceremonies Constantine traced those of the new capital of the empire.

Lance in hand, and followed by a solemn procession, the emperor walked over a route of such extent that his assistants cried out in astonishment that he had already exceeded the dimensions of a great city.

“I shall still advance,” said Constantine, “till He, the invisible guide who marches before me, thinks proper to stop.

” From the eastern promontory to that part of the Bosphorus known as the “Golden Gate,” the city[Pg 322] extended along the strait about three Roman miles.

Its circumference measured between ten and eleven, the space embraced equalling about two thousand acres.

Upon the five hills enclosed within this space, which, to those who approach Constantinople, rise above each other in beautiful order, was built the new city, the choicest marble and the most costly and showy materials being abundantly employed to add grandeur and splendor to the natural beauty of the site.

A great multitude of builders and architects were employed in raising the walls and building the edifices of the imperial city, while the treasures of the empire were spent without stint in the effort to make it an unequalled monument.

In that day the art of architecture had greatly declined, but for the adornment of the city there were to be had the noblest productions the world had ever known, the works of the most celebrated artists of the age of Pericles.

These were amply employed.

To adorn the new city, the cities of Greece and Asia were despoiled of their choicest treasures of art.

In the Forum was placed a lofty column of porphyry, one hundred and twenty feet in height, on whose summit stood a colossal statue of Apollo, supposed to be the work of Phidias.

In the stately circus or hippodrome, the space between the goals, round which the chariots turned in their swift flight, was filled with ancient statues and obelisks.

Here was also a trophy of striking historical value, the bodies of three serpents twisted into a pillar of brass, which once supported[Pg 323] the golden tripod that was consecrated by the Greeks in the temple of Delphi after the defeat of Xerxes.

It still exists, as the choicest antiquarian relic of the city.

The palace was a magnificent edifice, hardly surpassed by that of Rome itself.

The baths were enriched with lofty columns, handsome marbles, and more than threescore statues of brass.

The city contained numbers of other magnificent public buildings, and over four thousand noble residences, which towered above the multitude of plebeian dwellings.

As for its wealth and population, these, in less than a century, vied with those of Rome itself.

With such energy did Constantine push the work on his city that its principal edifices were finished in a few years,-or in a few months, as one authority states, though this statement seems to lack probability.

This done, the founder dedicated his new capital with the most impressive ceremonies, and with games and largesses to the people of the greatest pomp and cost.

An edict, engraved on a marble column, gave to the new city the title of Second or New Rome.

But this official title died, as the accepted name of the city, almost as soon as it was born.

Constantinople, the “city of Constantine,” became the popular name, and so it continues till this day in Christian acceptation.

In reality, however, the city has suffered another change of name, for its present possessors, the Turks, know it by the name of Stambol.

An interesting ceremony succeeded.

With every return of the birthday of the city, a statue of [Pg 324]Constantine, made of gilt wood and bearing in its right hand a small image of the genius of the city, was placed on a triumphal car, and drawn in solemn procession through the Hippodrome, attended by the guards, who carried white tapers and were dressed in their richest robes.

When it came opposite the throne of the reigning emperor, he rose from his seat, and, with grateful reverence, paid homage to the statue of the founder.

Thus it was that Byzantium was replaced by Constantinople, and thus was the founder of the new capital held in honor.

[Pg 325] THE GOTHS CROSS THE DANUBE.

The doom of Rome was at hand.

Its empire had extended almost inimitably to the east and west, had crossed the sea and deeply penetrated the desert to the south, but had failed in its advances to the north.

The Rhine and the Danube here formed its boundaries.

The great forest region which lay beyond these, with its hosts of blue-eyed and fair-skinned barbarians, defied the armies of Rome.

Here and there the forest was penetrated, hundreds of thousands of its tenants were slain, yet Rome failed to subdue its swarming tribes, and simply taught them the principle of combination and the art of war.

Early in the history of Rome it was taken and burnt by the Gauls.

Raids of barbarians across the border were frequent in its later history.

As Rome grew weaker, the tribes of the north grew bolder and stronger.

The armies of the empire were kept busy in holding the lines of the Rhine and the Danube.

At length Roman weakness and incompetency permitted this barrier to be broken, and the beginning of the end was at hand.

This is the important event which we have now to describe.

In the year 375 A.

D.

there existed a great Gothic kingdom in the north, extending from the Baltic to[Pg 326] the Black Sea, under the rule of an able monarch named Hermanric, who had conquered and combined numerous tribes into a single nation.

On this nation, just as assassination removed the Gothic conqueror, descended a vast and frightful horde from northern Asia, the mighty invasion of the Huns, which was to shake to its heart the empire of Rome.

The Ostrogoths (Eastern Goths) were conquered by this savage horde.

The Visigoths (Western Goths), stricken with mortal fear, hurried to the Danube and implored the Romans to save them from annihilation.

For many miles along the banks of the river extended the panic-stricken multitude, with outstretched arms and pathetic lamentations, praying for permission to cross.

If settled on the waste lands of Thrace they would pledge themselves to be faithful subjects of Rome, to obey its laws and guard its limits.

Sympathy and pity counselled the emperor to grant the request.

Political considerations bade him refuse.

To admit such a host of warlike barbarians to the empire was full of danger.

Finally they were permitted to cross, under two stringent conditions: they must deliver up their arms, and they must yield their children, who were to be taken to Asia, educated, and held as hostages.

Such was the first fatal step in the overthrow of Rome.

The task of crossing was a difficult one.

The Danube there was more than a mile wide, and had been swollen with rains.

A large fleet of boats and vessels was provided, but it took many days and nights to transport the mighty host, and numbers[Pg 327] of them were swept away and drowned by the rapid current.

Probably the whole multitude numbered nearly a million, of whom two hundred thousand were warriors.

Of the conditions made only one was carried out.

The children of the Goths were removed, and taken to the distant lands chosen for their residence.

But the arms were not given up.

The Roman officers were bribed to let the warriors retain their weapons, and in a short time a great army of armed barbarians was encamped on the southern bank of the Danube.

These new subjects of Rome were treated in a way well calculated to convert them into enemies.

The officials of Thrace disobeyed the orders of the emperor, sold the Goths the meanest food at extravagant prices, and by their rapacious avarice bitterly irritated them.

While this was going on, the Ostrogoths also appeared on the Danube, and solicited permission to cross.

Valens, the emperor, refused.

He was beginning to fear that he had already too many subjects of that race.

But the discontent of the Visigoths had drawn the soldiers from the stream and left it unguarded.

The Ostrogoths seized vessels and built rafts.

They crossed without opposition.

Soon a new and hostile army was encamped upon the territory of the Roman empire.

The discontent of the Visigoths was not long in breaking into open war.

They had marched to Marcianopolis, seventy miles from the Danube.

Here Lupicinus, one of the governors of Thrace, invited the Gothic chiefs to a splendid entertainment.

[Pg 328] Their guards remained under arms at the entrance to the palace.

But the gates of the city were closely guarded, and the Goths outside were refused the use of a plentiful market, to which they claimed admission as subjects of Rome.

The citizens treated them with insult and derision.

The Goths grew angry.

Words led to blows.

A sword was drawn, and the first blood shed in a long and ruinous war.

Lupicinus was told that many of his soldiers had been slain.

Heated with wine, he gave orders that they should be revenged by the death of the Gothic guards at the palace gates.

The shouts and groans in the street warned Fritigern, the Gothic king, of his danger.

At a word from him his comrades at the banquet drew their swords, forced their way from the palace and through the streets, and, mounting their horses, rode with all speed to their camp, and told their followers what had occurred.

Instantly cries of vengeance and warlike shouts arose, war was resolved upon by the chiefs, the banners of the host were displayed, and the sound of the trumpets carried afar the hostile warning.

Lupicinus hastily collected such troops as he could command and advanced against the barbarians; but the Roman ranks were broken and the legions slaughtered, while their guilty leader was forced to fly for his life.

“That successful day put an end to the distress of the barbarians and the security of the Romans,” says a Gothic historian.

The imprudence of Valens had introduced a nation of warriors into the heart of the empire; the venality[Pg 329] of the officials had converted them into enemies; Valens, instead of seeking to remove their causes of hostility, marched with an army against them.

We cannot here describe the various conflicts that took place.

It will suffice to say that other barbarians crossed the Danube, and that even some of the Huns joined the army of Fritigern.

The borders of the empire were effectually broken, and the forest myriads swarmed unchecked into the empire.

On August 9, 378, the Emperor Valens, inspired by ambition and moved by the demands of the ignorant multitude, left the strong walls of Adrianople and marched to attack the Goths, who were encamped twelve miles away.

The result was fatal.

The Romans, exhausted with their march, suffering from heat and thirst, confused and ill-organized, met with a complete defeat.

The emperor was slain on the field or burnt to death in a hut to which he had been carried wounded, hundreds of distinguished officers perished, more than two-thirds of the army were destroyed, and the darkness of the night only saved the rest.

Valens had been badly punished for his imprudence and the Romans for their venality.

This signal victory of the Goths was followed by a siege of Adrianople.

But the barbarians knew nothing of the art of attacking stone walls, and quickly gave up the impossible task.

From Adrianople they marched to Constantinople, but were forced to content themselves with ravaging the suburbs and gazing, with impotent desire, on the city’s distant splendor.

Then, laden with the rich spoils of the suburbs, they marched southward through[Pg 330] Thrace, and spread over the face of a fertile and cultivated country extending as far as the confines of Italy, their course being everywhere marked with massacre, conflagration, and rapine, until some of the fairest regions of the empire were turned almost into a desert.

It may be that the numbers of Romans who perished from this invasion equalled those of the Goths whom imprudent compassion had delivered from the Huns.

As regards the children of the Goths, who had been distributed in the provinces of Asia Minor, there remains a cruel story to tell.

Though given the education and taught the arts of the Romans, they did not forget their origin, and the suspicion arose that they were plotting to repeat in Asia the deeds of their fathers in Europe.

Julius, who commanded the troops after the death of Valens, took bloody measures to prevent any such calamity.

The youthful Goths were bidden to assemble, on a stated day, in the capital cities of their provinces, the hint being given that they were to receive gifts of land and money.

On the appointed day they were collected unarmed in the Forum of each city, the surrounding streets being occupied by Roman troops, and the roofs of the houses covered with archers and slingers.

At a fixed hour, in all the cities, the signal for slaughter was given, and in an hour more not one of these helpless wards of Rome remained alive.

The cruel treachery of this blood-thirsty act remains almost unparalleled in history.

[Pg 331] THE DOWNFALL OF ROME.

Theodosius, the great and noble emperor who succeeded Valens, pacified and made quiet subjects of the Goths.

He died in 395, and before the year ended the Gothic nation was again in arms.

At the first sound of the trumpet the warriors, who had been forced to a life of labor, deserted their fields and flocked to the standards of war.

The barriers of the empire were down.

Across the frozen surface of the Danube flocked savage tribesmen from the northern forests, and joined the Gothic hosts.

Under the leadership of an able commander, the famous Alaric, the barbarians swept from their fields and poured downward upon Greece, in search of an easier road to fortune than the toilsome one of industry.

Many centuries had passed since the Persians invaded Greece, and the men of Marathon and Thermopylæ were no more.

Men had been posted to defend the world-famous pass, but, instead of fighting to the death, like Leonidas and his Spartans of old, they retired without a blow, and left Greece to the mercy of the Goth.

Instantly a deluge of barbarians spread right and left, and the whole country was ravaged.

Thebes[Pg 332] alone resisted.

Athens admitted Alaric within its gates, and saved itself by giving the barbarian chief a bath and a banquet.

The other famous cities had lost their walls, and Corinth, Argos, and Sparta yielded without defence to the Goths.

The wealth of the cities and the produce of the country were ravaged without stint, villages and towns were committed to the flames, thousands of the inhabitants were borne off to slavery, and for years afterwards the track of the Goths could be traced in ruin throughout the land.

By a fortunate chance Rome possessed at that epoch a great general, the famous Stilicho, whose military genius has rarely been surpassed.

He had before him a mighty task, the forcing back of the high tide of barbarian overflow, but he did it well while he lived.

His death brought ruin on Rome.

Stilicho hastened to Greece and quickly drove the Goths from the Peloponnesus.

But jealousy between Constantinople and Rome tied his hands, he was recalled to Italy, and the weak emperor of the East rewarded the Gothic general for his destructive raid by making him master-general of Illyricum.

Alaric, fired by ambition, used his new power in forcing the cities of his dominion to supply the Goths with the weapons of war.

Then, Greece and the country to the north having been devastated, he turned his arms against Italy, and about 400 A.

D.

appeared at the foot of the Julian Alps, the first invader who had threatened Italy since the days of Hannibal, six hundred years before.

There were at that time two rulers of the Roman[Pg 333] empire,-Arcadius, emperor of the East, and Honorius, emperor of the West.

The latter, a coward himself, had a brave man to command his armies,-Stilicho, who had driven the Goths from Greece.

But Italy, though it had a general, was destitute of an army.

To meet the invading foe, Stilicho was forced to empty the forts on the Rhine, and even to send to England for the legion that guarded the Caledonian wall.

With the army thus raised he met the Gothic host at Pollentia, and defeated them with frightful slaughter, recovering from their camp many of the spoils of Greece.

Another battle was fought at Verona, and the Goths were again defeated.

They were now forced to retire from Italy, Stilicho and the emperor entered Rome, and that capital saw its last great triumph, and gloried in a revival of its magnificent ancient games.

THE LAST COMBAT OF THE GLADIATORS.

THE LAST COMBAT OF THE GLADIATORS.

In these games the cruel combat of gladiators was shown for the last time to the blood-thirsty populace of Rome.

The edict of Constantine had failed to stop these frightful sports.

The appeal of a Christian poet was equally without effect.

A more decisive action was necessary, and it came.

In the midst of these bloody contests an Asiatic monk, named Telemachus, rushed into the arena and attempted to separate the gladiators.

He paid for his rashness with his life, being stoned to death by the furious spectators, with whose pleasure he had dared to interfere.

But his death had its effect.

The fury of the people was followed by shame.

Telemachus was looked upon as a martyr, and the gladiatorial shows came to an end, the emperor abolishing forever[Pg 334] the spectacle of human slaughter and human cruelty in the amphitheatre of Rome.

Rome triumphed too soon.

Its ovation to victory was the expiring gleam in its long career of glory and dominion.

Its downfall was at hand.

Fight as it might in Italy, the gate-ways of the empire lay open in the north, and through them still poured barbarian hordes.

The myriads of the Huns, rushing in a devouring wave from the borders of China, made a mighty stir in the forest region of the Baltic and the Danube.

In the year 406 a vast host of Germans, known by the names of Vandals, Burgundians, and Suevi, under a leader named Rhodogast, or Radagaisus, crossed the Danube and made its way unopposed to Italy.

Multitudes of Goths joined them, till the army numbered not less than two hundred thousand fighting men.

As the flood of barbarians rushed southward through Italy, many cities were pillaged or destroyed, and the city of Florence sustained its first recorded siege.

Alaric and his Goths were Christians.

Radagaisus and his Germans were half-savage pagans.

Florence, which had dared oppose them, was threatened with utter ruin.

It was to be reduced to stones and ashes, and its noblest senators were to be sacrificed on the altars of the German gods.

The Florentines, thus threatened, fought bravely, but they were reduced to the last extremity before deliverance came.

Stilicho had not been idle during this destructive raid.

By calling troops from the frontiers, by arming slaves, and by enlisting barbarian allies, he was[Pg 335] at length able to take the field.

He led the last army of Rome, and dared not expose it to the wild valor of the savage foe.

On the contrary, he surrounded their camp with strong lines which defied their efforts to break through, and waited till starvation should force them to surrender.

Florence was relieved.

The besiegers were in their turn besieged.

Their bravest warriors were slain in efforts to break the Roman lines.

Radagaisus surrendered to Stilicho, and was instantly executed.

Such of his followers as had not been swept away by famine and disease were sold as slaves.

The great host disappeared, and Stilicho a second time won the proud title of Deliverer of Italy.

But the whole army of Radagaisus was not destroyed.

Half of it had remained in the north.

These were forced by Stilicho to retreat from Italy.

But Gaul lay open to their fury.

That great and rich section of the empire was invaded and frightfully ravaged, and its conquerors never afterwards left its fertile fields.

The empire of Rome ceased to exist in the countries beyond the Alps, those great regions which had been won by the arms of Marius and Cæsar.

And now the time had come for Rome to destroy itself.

The mind of the emperor was poisoned against Stilicho, the sole remaining bulwark of his power.

He had sought to tie the hands of Alaric with gifts of power and gold, and was accused of treason by his enemies.

The weak Honorius gave way, and Stilicho was slain.

His friends shared his fate, and the cowardly imbecile who ruled Rome cut down the only safeguard of his throne.

[Pg 336] The result was what might have been foreseen.

In a few months after the death of Stilicho, Alaric was again in Italy, exasperated by the bad faith of the court, which had promised and not performed.

There was no army and no general to meet him.

City after city was pillaged.

Avoiding the strong walls of Ravenna, behind which the emperor lay secure, he marched on Rome, led his army under the stately arches, adorned with the spoils of countless victories, and pitched his tents beneath the walls of the imperial city.

Six hundred and nineteen years had passed since a foreign foe had gazed upon those proud walls, within which lay the richest and most splendid city of the world, peopled by a population of more than a million souls.

But Rome was no longer the city which had defied the hosts of Hannibal, and had sold at auction, for a fair price, the very ground on which the great Carthaginian had pitched his tent.

Alaric was not a Hannibal, but much less were the Romans of his day the Romans of the past.

Instead of striking for the honor of Rome, they lay and starved within their walls until thousands had died in houses and streets.

No army came to their relief, and in despair the senate sent delegates to treat with the king of the Goths.

“We are resolved to maintain the dignity of Rome, either in peace or war,” said the envoys, with a show of pride and valor.

“If you will not yield us honorable terms, you may sound your trumpets and prepare to fight with myriads of men used to arms and with the courage of despair.

” [Pg 337] “The thicker the hay, the easier it is mowed,” answered Alaric, with a loud and insulting laugh.

He then named the terms on which he would retreat,-all the gold and silver in the city; all the rich and precious movables; all the slaves who were of barbarian origin.

“If such are your demands,” asked the envoys, now reduced to suppliant tones, “what do you intend to leave us?” “Your lives,” said Alaric, in haughty tones.

The envoys retired, trembling with fear.

But Alaric moderated his demands, and was bought off by the payment of five thousand pounds of gold, thirty thousand pounds of silver, four thousand robes of silk, three thousand pieces of scarlet cloth, and three thousand pounds of pepper, then a costly and favorite spice.

The gates were opened, the hungry multitude was fed, and the Gothic army marched away, but it left Rome poor.

What followed is too long to tell.

Alaric treated for peace with the ministers of the emperor.

But he met with such bad faith and so many insults that exasperation overcame all his desire for peace, and once more the army of the Goths marched upon Rome.

The crime and folly of the court of Honorius at Ravenna had at last brought about the ruin of the imperial city.

The senate resolved on defence; but there were traitors within the walls.

At midnight the Salarian Gate was silently opened, and a chosen band of barbarians entered the streets.

The tremendous sound of the Gothic trumpet aroused the[Pg 338] sleeping citizens to the fact that all was lost.

Eleven hundred and sixty-three years after the foundation of Rome, and eight hundred years after its capture by the Gauls, it had again become the prey of barbarians, and the imperial mistress of the world was delivered to the fury of the German and Gothic hordes.

Alaric, while permitting his followers to plunder at discretion, bade them to spare the lives of the unresisting; but thousands of Romans were slain, and the forty thousand slaves who had joined his ranks revenged themselves on their former masters with pitiless rage.

Conflagration added to the horrors, and fire spread far over the captured city.

The Goths held Rome only for six days, but in that time depleted it frightfully of its wealth.

The costly furniture, the massive plate, the robes of silk and purple, were piled without stint into their wagons, and numerous works of art were wantonly destroyed.

But Alaric and many of his followers were Christians, and the treasures of the Church escaped.

A Christian Goth broke into the dwelling of an aged woman, and demanded all the gold and silver she possessed.

To his astonishment, she showed him a hoard of massive plate, of the most curious workmanship.

As he looked at it with wonder and delight, she solemnly said,- “These are the consecrated vessels belonging to St.

Peter.

If you presume to touch them, your conscience must answer for the sacrilege.

For me, I dare not keep what I am not able to defend.

” [Pg 339] The Goth, struck with awe by her words, sent word to Alaric of what he had found, and received an order that all this consecrated treasure should be transported without damage to St.

Peter’s Church.

A remarkable spectacle, never before seen in a captured city, followed.

From the Quirinal Hill to the distant Vatican marched a long train of devout Goths, bearing on their heads the sacred vessels of gold and silver, and guarded on each side by a detachment of their armed companions, while the martial shouts of the barbarians mingled with the hymns of devotees.

A crowd of Christians flocked from the houses to join the procession, and through its sheltering aid a multitude of fugitives escaped to the secure retreat of the Vatican.

Not satisfied with plundering the city, the conquerors ended by selling its citizens, save those who could ransom themselves, for slaves.

Many of these were redeemed by the benevolent, but as a result of the taking of Rome hosts of indigent fugitives were scattered through the empire, from Italy to Syria.

From this time forward the Western Empire of Rome was the prey of barbarians.

In 451 the Huns under Attila invaded Gaul, besieged Orleans, and were defeated at Châlons in the last great victory of Rome.

In the following year Attila invaded Italy, and Rome was only saved from the worst of horrors by a large ransom.

Three years afterwards, in 455, an army of Vandals, who had invaded Africa, sailed to Italy, and Rome was again taken and sacked.

For fourteen days and nights the pillage continued, and when it ended Rome was stripped bare of[Pg 340] treasure; the Christian churches, which had been spared by the Goths, being mercilessly plundered by these heathen conquerors.

A few years more and the Western Empire of Rome came to an end.

In the year 476 or 479, Augustulus, the last emperor, was forced to resign, and Odoacer, a barbarian chief, assumed the title of King of Italy.

As for the Eastern Empire, it maintained a half-life for nearly a thousand years after, Constantinople being finally taken by the Turks, and made the capital of Turkey, in 1453.

Towards the close of the last century there stood in one of the Midland counties of England, in the centre of two cross-roads, a venerable hostelry, built in the reign of Elizabeth, and known by the sign of “Ye Headless Lady.

” Its ancient gables were shaded by luxuriant elms and beech trees.

The woodwork of the building and its weather-stained walls of brick were partially overgrown with thick ivy, while its high, dingy-red roof was tinted with every variety of lichen.

The windows were narrow, and the framework heavy, as is usual in houses of that period.

The host of this establishment, one Jack Hearty, was one of the old school of landlords-robust, jovial, and never above his business.

His fathers had owned the inn before him, and “he never wished to be a better man than his father, nor a worse either, for the matter of that,” as he would say.

All day long, when not engaged with his customers indoors, he was to be seen at the door of his inn, with his apron girt around him, and a “yard of clay” at his lips, straining his eyes down the long cross-roads for the first glimpse of a customer.

[6] Often after gazing long and intently into the distance he would turn back with a sigh, knock the ashes from his pipe, refill it, take a deep draught of his own home-brewed ale, then, if none of his customers required anything, and the affairs of his household permitted it, he would sally out again.

This time, perhaps, his eyes would be greeted by the sight of a solitary wayfarer, or, better still, the stage-coach.

Then it was that the honest landlord’s face would brighten up, as it was certain to bring him some of the “big-wigs” from town.

He would rub his hands and chuckle, while Dame Hearty would begin to bustle about to welcome the fresh arrivals.

It was not often, however, that the “Headless Lady” was entirely deserted.

A small clique or brotherhood, known as “The Wonder Club,” had been nightly in the habit of assembling here for years, and this served to bring grist to the mill.

Some of the eminent men from the neighbouring village, among whom were the doctor, the lawyer, an antiquary, an analytical chemist, and others, had formed among themselves a club, which was to consist only of very choice spirits, like themselves, and if any guest were introduced among them, it was only to be with a letter of introduction and the full consent of all parties.

By these strict rules they hoped to keep the club select.

A room at the inn was set apart for them, into which no one not belonging to the club ever presumed to enter, unless it was the landlord, who would be called every now and then to[7] replenish the bowl, and whom sometimes the guests of the club would “draw out,” as it was whispered in the village that the landlord of the “Headless Lady” knew a rare lot of stories, he did; also how to tell ‘em, too, my word! but these he generally reserved for his more intimate customers.

One strict law of the club that we have not yet mentioned was that no guest invited was to be a “business man.

” Should a commercial traveller ever have the hardihood to enter the sacred precincts of the club, he was assailed with a battery of glances from the members that must have completely cowed him, unless he were a man of more than usual strength of nerve; but as this rarely happened, all such outward manifestations of contempt were kept within due bounds.

Business was, of course, tabooed; even politics were only admitted on sufferance and by a special permission of the chairman.

There was one evening in the year, however, when the chairman never granted any such permission, and that was on the anniversary of the founding of the club.

On this evening such subjects as business and politics would have been cried down, and the daring introducer of the obnoxious themes would have been condemned to drink a cup of cold water on his bended knees by way of expiating his offence.

No subjects of public or private interest were tolerated on this evening, or, indeed, on any other.

The chief delight of this club was to tell or to listen to stories which were all more or less of the marvellous class, and which each took it by turn[8] to relate to the rest, the strictest silence and order being preserved during the recital.

The evening that we are about to describe to the reader was the tenth anniversary of the founding of the club.

This was a very grand event.

For any one of its members or guests, whether married or single, to have been absent, on this occasion would have been little less than an insult to the rest.

Let us try to give our readers a glimpse of the club room and its guests on this memorable evening.

Imagine, then, a large room with low ceiling and walls of dark oak panel, a large old-fashioned fireplace with dogs, and a Yule log blazing on the hearth.

The curtains are old and embroidered, and closely drawn.

The room is well lighted, and in the middle is a long table, at which, through a cloud of tobacco smoke, a party of nine-all lords of the creation-may be discovered.

A bowl of punch is in the centre of the table, at which every now and then each guest replenishes his glass.

Mr.

Oldstone, the antiquary, has been elected chairman.

Watch with what dignity he fills his post of honour.

Look! he rises and thumps the table.

He is going to make a speech.

The strictest silence reigns; you might hear a pin drop.

“Gentlemen,” began the worthy chairman, after one or two preliminary “hems,” “it is with feelings of mixed pride and pleasure that I feel myself called upon to-night to preside at this most honourable meeting.

” (Hear, hear!) The chairman resumed,[9] “This is the tenth anniversary of our club of choice spirits (cheers), and so shamefully nicknamed by our enemies ‘The Morbid Club.

‘ (Groans.

) Irritated at our exclusiveness, and envious at the reports of the superior talent that circulates nightly at our table, and which bursts into a halo of genius on our great saturnalias, what wonder, gentlemen, if the worthy members of our select club should make enemies out of their own circle? Only ‘birds of a feather flock together,’ and perhaps the contempt of our enemies is the best compliment they can pay us.

” (Hear, hear! and various shouts and yells of delight, amid clapping of hands, stamping, and rattling of glasses.

) Here the chairman paused to take breath, and then, after a preliminary sip at his glass of punch, proceeded.

“Gentlemen, I feel duly sensible of the honour conferred upon me this evening in being selected to preside at our meeting on this very important occasion, an honour which I feel unable to support, and for which I feel my abilities so inadequate.

(No, no!) Gentlemen, we are a company of nine this evening, the number of the muses-the omen is auspicious.

I see around me faces that were present at the inauguration of our club, ten years ago, though others, alas! have gone to their long rest.

” Here the speaker was visibly moved, and passed his hand over his eyes to wipe away an incipient tear.

Then, recovering himself, “Need I proceed, gentlemen? Need I trespass longer upon the time and patience of guests so[10] illustrious? (Yes, yes!) Then, gentlemen,” continued the speaker, “I would but detain you one moment longer, to propose the following toast, to be drunk with three times three.

(Hear, hear!) ‘Long live the “Wonder Club,” and all its choice members.

‘” Here the president, at the conclusion of his speech, held a bumper above his head, and repeated the toast with the rest of the company, with a “Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!” “May their brains be as fertile as the plains of Elysium, and may the fame of the ‘Wonder Club’ spread to the ends of the earth.

” This sentiment was followed by a burst of applause.

In the midst of the stamping, cheering, and rattling of glasses that ensued a knock was heard at the door.

Who could it be? The landlord? It was not his wont to disturb the club for a trifle.

He only made his appearance when called for.

What was it? Was the inn on fire? Who could venture to disturb the solemn meeting of the “Wonder Club” on their tenth anniversary? One of the members rose from his seat and opened the door ajar, still holding the handle in his hand.

“Who is it? What do you want at this hour?” he asked.

“I beg pardon, gentlemen,” said the voice of the honest landlord without, “for disturbing the company; but a gentleman has just brought a letter for the chairman, and I thought it might be important.

Leastways, I thought it wouldn’t be much harm to deliver it at[11] once.

The gentleman has sent in his card.

Excuse the interruption, sirs; I hope no offence.

” The letter was delivered to Mr.

Oldstone.

He glanced at the card.

“What, a visitor!” he said; “and at this time of night.

Let me tell you, landlord-ahem-that this is a most unwarrantable infringement of-er-er-of the rules laid down by-er-eh? Stay, what have we here? Excuse me, gentlemen, while I break the seal.

Ha! from my old friend Rustcoin.

You remember him, gentlemen-my brother antiquary, formerly a member of our club.

He writes from Rome: “‘My dear Friend,-I dare say you are surprised to hear from me again, after my long silence.

The fact is that I had put off writing to you, having some time ago formed a resolution of returning to England, when I hoped to surprise you by suddenly appearing unexpectedly in time for the tenth anniversary of the inauguration of our club.

Certain affairs, however, have prevented me from being present myself in the flesh, but I beg to introduce to your notice my young friend, Mr.

Vandyke McGuilp, an artist who has for some time past been prosecuting his studies here in Rome.

He is a young man of talent and genius, possessing a great fund of stories of the marvellous and supernatural order, such as your club particularly prides itself on.

He is quite one of our sort, and you would be doing me a great favour to introduce him to the rest of the members.

If he could arrive in[12] time for your grand saturnalia, I should be doubly pleased.

-Your old friend, “‘Charles Rustcoin.

‘” “Well, gentlemen,” said the president, “what do you say to that? Shall the neophyte be admitted? You see, he is not a commercial traveller, nor a business man, but an artist; one of those restless strivers after the ideal.

A traveller, too-a man full of stories, like one of us.

What do you say-shall he be admitted?” The guests gave an unanimous consent, and the next moment our host ushered the stranger into the club-room.

All eyes were directed towards the stranger.

He was a young man, bordering on thirty, about the middle height, who, contrary to the custom of the period, wore his own hair, which at that time was considered extremely vulgar.

He wore a slouch hat instead of the usual three-cornered shape, and an Italian cloak thrown over the left shoulder.

He doffed his hat with dignity and courtesy as he entered the apartment, and after shaking the snow from his cloak (for it had been snowing hard without that night, being in December), he handed cloak and hat to the landlord and accepted the offer of a chair that Mr.

Oldstone had placed for him near the fire.

“Here! mine host,” shouted Mr.

Oldstone, “bring another log, and see that you make this gentleman comfortable to-night, for I see without asking him any questions that he is one of our set.

” “Ay, ay, sir,” said the landlord, who was just leaving[13] the room.

“Never fear, sir, I’ll see to the gentleman’s wants, and my old woman will warm the bed, for it’s a nasty night to be out in.

My blessed eyes, how it snows! The gentleman must have had pressing business with you, sir, to bring him out here such a night as this.

” “No, my good host,” replied the artist; “nothing more than a desire to be present at the tenth anniversary of the club that I have heard so much about.

” The host looked astonished, and the guests felt flattered.

The landlord’s respect for the members of the club was augmented considerably.

“Well, well; to think of that, now,” he muttered to himself.

“To think that this gentleman should trouble himself to come from who knows how far off, just to be present at the tenth anniversary of our club, and on such a night as this, too.

” “By the by, Mr.

Hearty,” said the new comer to the landlord: “I believe that’s your name, is it not?” “The same, sir; Jack Hearty, at your service, sir.

” “Well, then, Jack Hearty, I have just come from foreign parts, where I have left an old customer of yours; one Mr.

Rustcoin, a great friend of Mr.

Oldstone’s.

Do you recollect him?” “Recollect him!” exclaimed the landlord.

“Ay, indeed, sir, do I; a pleasanter gentleman over his bottle of port or over his bowl of punch hasn’t crossed my threshold since he left it.

Many’s the good yarn we would have together.

I hope you left him very well, sir?”[14] “In excellent health, thank you, Jack,” said the stranger.

“He desired to be remembered to you.

” “Thank you, sir,” said the host.

“Yes; those slippers will do,” said the new guest.

“Draw near to the table, my friend,” said Mr.

Oldstone, “for I must introduce you to the other members and guests here to-night.

” “My friends,” said the chairman, “this gentleman is Mr.

Vandyke McGuilp, an artist from Rome, great friend of my old chum Rustcoin, whom most of you knew.

Mr.

McGuilp, this gentleman on my right is Mr.

Hardcase, the lawyer, who will be the first to relate a story to-night.

On his right is Dr.

Bleedem, one of our celebrated physicians; next to him is Mr.

Cyanite, professor of geology, and then comes Mr.

Blackdeed, one of our eminent tragedians; next to him is Mr.

Parnassus, a young poet of great promise; after him is Mr.

Crucible, analytical chemist, one of the oldest members of our club; next to him, as guest to-night, is Captain Toughyarn, commander of Her Majesty’s good ship the Dreadnought; then, next door neighbour to yourself is Mr.

Jollytoast, celebrated low comedian.

” The new visitor bowed to each guest at the table with urbanity, and the guests returned the salute cordially.

“Well, gentlemen,” began the president, “what do you say to a bumper to the health of our new guest?” “Hear, hear!” cried the guests, unanimously.

[15] Each filled up his glass from the punch-bowl, and our artist’s health was drunk with cheers, to which he responded in a short and modest speech.

(Applause.

) “And now, Mr.

Hardcase,” said the chairman, after the formalities were gone through, “I think it was arranged that you should tell the first story.

I hope you have one ready.

I am anxious for my young friend to hear a specimen of our far-famed recitals.

In this club,” said Mr.

Oldstone, addressing the artist, “we always esteem those stories the highest that are true, and especially if they are facts coming under the experience of the relater.

What sort of story may we expect from you to-night, Mr.

Hardcase?” “The story I intended to start the club with to-night is one that I myself took part in in my younger days, and which, although I never related to any of the club before, I have been upon the point of relating a hundred times, when I have been invariably interrupted by someone else who had some other tale to relate.

The story I have in store for you this evening, gentlemen, I propose to entitle ‘The Phantom Flea.

‘” “Ha, Bravo!” laughed the guests.

“The Phantom Flea! Ha! ha! ha!” “I assure you, gentlemen,” said the lawyer, gravely, “that the narrative I am about to relate is not one to provoke mirth.

It is of a solemn character, I can promise you.

No one felt less inclined to laugh than I did when I was reluctantly compelled to take part in this tragedy.

Though by no means a timid man, I,[16] nevertheless, experienced a sort of cold shiver all down my back when–” “Exactly so,” said the doctor.

“And each particular hair to stand on end like quills upon the fretful porcupine,” quoted Mr.

Blackdeed, the tragedian.

“Belay that,” roared Captain Toughyarn, from the depths of his stentorian lungs, “and make room on board for the ‘Phantom Flea.

‘” “Bedad, and sure I feel myself itching all over alriddy,” broke in Mr.

Jollytoast, assuming an Irish brogue, and scratching himself.

“Order, order! Chair, chair!” called out other guests.

“Silence! gentlemen,” said Mr.

Oldstone, with authority, thumping on the table; “the story is just about to commence.

” “The performance is just a-goin’ to begin,” broke in the incorrigible little comedian, assuming the air of a showman.

“Valk up, valk up, ladies and gentlemen.

” “Hush! Mr.

Jollytoast,” said the antiquary.

“Hush! gentlemen, for the ‘Phantom Flea.

‘” “Tremulous music, lights half down,” muttered the tragedian; but he was instantly silenced by the chairman.

Mr.

Oldstone gave one final authoritative thump on the table, and glanced severely at all the guests.

The silence that ensued was awful, while Mr.

Hardcase, after a sip at his glass and a puff at his long churchwarden, began his story in the following manner: [17] CHAPTER I.

The Phantom Flea.

-The Lawyer’s Story.

[1] One morning, many years ago, whilst sitting idly in my chambers in town, I received a letter from Baron — to come down for a few days to his country seat in –shire.

It was on business he wanted me; he had got involved in some quarrel.

The case was about to be brought before the court, and the Baron wanted a legal adviser.

[1] In the spirit world all those who have been bloodthirsty to excess inhabit the forms of fleas.

-William Blake, Poet and Visionary.

(Quoted from memory.

) Having heard much of my abilities, as he said, he thought he could not do better than write to me at once.

He regretted that business would prevent him from being at the Hall on my arrival, but he hoped to return home some time the next day.

In the meantime he had told his housekeeper to make up a bed for me at the Hall, and had left open his bookcase, lest the time might hang heavy on my hands.

Glad of an excuse to leave town, as it was getting very hot and I had nothing to do, I took the stage, and towards the middle of the next day found myself in front of the Baron’s country seat.

[18] It was a fine, stately mansion, surrounded by a moat.

I crossed the drawbridge, and inquired whether the Baron was at home.

A respectable matron answered the door.

She replied in the negative to my question.

Then, asking if I were Mr.

Hardcase, the lawyer, and learning that I was, she said “The Baron left word that he would be at home some time to-morrow, or the day after for certain; that in the meantime you were to make yourself quite at home, sir.

” “Oh, very well,” said I; “I am rather tired just at present.

Leave me here among the Baron’s books.

When I have sufficiently rested I should like to look over the house.

It seems a curious old place.

” “Yes, sir, it is a very old place,” said the housekeeper.

“But wouldn’t you like to take a little refreshment first?” Being then past one o’clock, and having had but a hurried breakfast, I thanked her and said I thought I could manage a little light refreshment.

She then left me alone, but soon returned with a tray containing what seemed to be the fag end of a sumptuous banquet.

There was venison pasty, a boiled leg of turkey, some ham, vegetables, bread and cheese, salad, raspberry and currant tart, a bottle of good old crusted port, some sherry, Burgundy, etc.

Having done justice to this light repast, I rang the bell for the things to be cleared away; after which I took down a great number of volumes from the bookcase, and throwing myself into an easy-chair, I deposited[19] the books in a heap upon the floor, and began examining their titles, and occasionally reading a passage here and there when it interested me.

The first book I laid hands on was “Fox’s Book of Martyrs,” with plates showing the various modes of torture by which the early Christians were put to death.

I passed on to the next.

This was a book of Chinese punishments, with Chinese illustrations.

I opened the book at a plate of a man being skinned alive.

Having little taste for these sort of horrors, I closed the book and passed on to the next.

The third book was a description of celebrated executions, with a plate as frontispiece of a man being hanged, drawn, and quartered.

“The Baron seems fond of the horrible,” I thought, and I took up another.

But the “boy” was ambitious, astute, and far-seeing, and Marc Antony was descending to ruin with every step he took in his career of folly and profligacy. The history of the succeeding years is long, but must here be made short. The two lords of Rome were changed from friends to enemies by the act of Fulvia, the wife of Antony. Octavius had married her daughter Claudia, and now divorced her. Anger at this, and a hope of winning Antony from the seductions of the Egyptian queen, caused her to organize a formidable revolt against Octavius. She succeeded in raising a large army, but Antony was still too absorbed in Cleopatra to come to her aid, and Agrippa, the able general of Octavius, soon put down the revolt. [Pg 230]

Then, when it was too late to help her, Antony awoke from his lethargy, and sailed to battle with Octavius. He besieged Brundusium. But Fulvia had died, the soldiers had no heart for civil war, and the great rivals again made peace. Antony married Octavia, the sister of Octavius, they divided the Roman world between them as before, and Rome was made happy by a grand round of games and festivities. THE GALLEY OF CLEOPATRA. THE GALLEY OF CLEOPATRA. For three years Antony remained true to his new wife, and aided Octavius in putting down the foes of Rome. Then, during a campaign in Syria, his old passion for the fascinating Egyptian returned, he called Cleopatra to him, dallied with her instead of prosecuting his march, and in the end was forced to retreat in haste from the barbarian foe. For three years now Antony was the willing slave of the enchanting queen. The courage and stoical endurance of the soldier vanished, and were replaced by the soft indulgence of the voluptuary. The rigid discipline of the camp was exchanged for the idle and often childish amusements of the Oriental court. Cleopatra enchained him with an endless round of pleasures and profligacies. Now, while in a fishing-boat on the Nile, the queen amused him by having salted fish fixed by divers on his hook, which he drew up amid the laughter of the party. Again she wagered that she would consume ten million sesterces at a meal, and won her wager by drinking vinegar in which she had dissolved a priceless pearl. All the enjoyments that the fancy of the cunning enchantress could devise were spread around him,[Pg 231]

and he let the world roll unheeded by while he yielded to their alluring charm. Antony posed at festive tables in the character of the god Osiris, while Cleopatra played the rôle of Isis. He issued coins which bore her head and his. He gave away kingdoms and principalities in the East to please her fancy. It was her hope and aim to lead her yielding lover to the conquest of Rome, and to rule as empress of that imperial city. But the madness of Antony led to destruction, not empire. The story of his doings was repeated at Rome, where the voluptuary lost credit as Octavius gained it. Antony’s friends urged him to dismiss Cleopatra and fight for the empire. Instead of this the infatuated madman divorced Octavia and clung to the Egyptian queen. This act led to an open rupture. Octavius, by authority of the senate, declared war, not against Antony, but against Cleopatra. Antony was at length roused. He gathered an army in haste, passed to Ephesus and Athens, and everywhere levied men and collected ships. A last and great struggle for the supreme headship of the Roman world was at hand. Octavius was not skilled in war, but he had in Agrippa one of the ablest of ancient generals, and was wise enough to trust all warlike operations to him. Antony had strongly fortified himself at Actium, on the west coast of Greece, while the strong fleet he had gathered lay in its spacious bay. Here took place one of the decisive battles of the world’s history. [Pg 232]

Antony had made the fatal mistake of bringing Cleopatra with him. Under her advice he played the part of a poltroon instead of a soldier. His chief officers, disgusted by his fascination, deserted him in numbers, and, yielding to her urgent fears, he resolved to fly with the fleet and abandon the army. In this act of folly he failed. A strong gale from the south kept the fleet for four days in the harbor. Then the ships of Octavius came up, and the two fleets joined battle off the headland of Actium. The ships of Antony were much larger and more powerful than those of Octavius. Little impression was made on them by the light Italian vessels, and had Antony been a soldier still, or Cleopatra possessed as much courage as guile, the victory might well have been theirs. But battle was no place for the pleasure-loving queen. Filled with terror, she took advantage of the first wind that came, and sailed hastily away, followed by sixty Egyptian ships. The moment Antony discovered her flight he gave up the world for love. Springing from his ship-of-war into a light galley, he hastened in wild pursuit after his flying mistress. Overtaking her vessel, he went on board, but seated himself in morose misery at a distance, and would have nothing to do with her. Ruin and despair were now his mistresses. Their commander fled, the ships fought on, and yielded not till the greater part of them were in flames. Before night they were all destroyed, and[Pg 233]

with them perished most of those on board, while all the treasure was lost. When the army heard of Antony’s desertion the legions went over to the conqueror. That brief sea-fight had ended the war. For a year Octavius did not trouble his rival. He spent the time in cementing his power in Greece and Asia Minor. Cleopatra tried her fascinations on him, as she had on Cæsar and Antony, but in vain. She sought to fly to some place beyond the reach of Rome, but Arabs destroyed her ships. At length Octavius came. Antony made some show of hostility, but Cleopatra betrayed the fleet to his rival and all resistance ended. Octavius entered the open gates of Alexandria as a conqueror. The queen shut herself up in a building which she had erected as a mausoleum. It had no door, being built to receive her body after death, and word was sent out that she was already dead. When these false tidings were brought to Antony all his anger against the fair traitress was replaced by a flood of his old tenderness. In despair he stabbed himself, bidding his attendants to lay his body beside that of Cleopatra. Still living, he was borne to the queen’s retreat, where, moved by pity, she had him drawn up by cords into an upper window. Here she threw herself in agony on his body, bathed his face with her tears, and continued to bemoan his fate until he was dead. She afterwards consented to receive Octavius. He spoke her fairly, but she was wise enough to see that all her charms were lost on him, and that he[Pg 234]

proposed to degrade her by making her walk as a captive in his triumph. With a cunning greater than his own, Cleopatra promised to submit. She had no apparent means of taking her life in the cell, every dangerous weapon was removed by his orders, and he left her, as he supposed, a safe victim of his wiles. He did not know Cleopatra. When his messengers returned, at the hour fixed, to conduct her away, they found only the dead body of Cleopatra stretched upon her couch, and by her side her two faithful attendants, Iris and Charmion. It is said that she died from the bite of an asp, a venomous Egyptian serpent, which had been secretly conveyed to her concealed in a basket of fruit;

but this story remains unconfirmed. Plutarch tells the story thus:

“But when they opened the doors they found Cleopatra stark dead, laid upon a bed of gold, attired and arrayed in her royal robes, and one of her two women, who was called Iris, dead at her feet, and the other woman (called Charmion) half dead, and trembling, trimming the diadem which Cleopatra wore upon her head. “One of the soldiers, seeing her, angrily said to her, ‘Is that well done, Charmion?’ ‘Very well,’ said she again, ‘and meet for a princess descended from the race of so many noble kings.’ She said no more, but fell down dead, hard by the bed. “Now Cæsar, though he was marvellous sorry for the death of Cleopatra, yet he wondered at her noble mind and courage, and therefore commanded that she should be nobly buried and laid by Antony.” [Pg 235]

Thus ends the story of these two famous lovers of old. Octavius, afterwards known as Cæsar Augustus, reigned sole emperor of Rome, and the republic was at an end. He was not formally proclaimed emperor, but liberty and independence were thereafter forgotten words in Rome. He ended the old era of Roman history by closing the Temple of Janus, for the third time since it was built, and by freely forgiving all the friends of Antony. He had nothing to fear and had no thirst for blood and misery. Base as he had shown himself in his youth, his reign was a noble one, and during it Rome reached its highest level of literary and military glory. [Pg 236]

AN IMPERIAL MONSTER. A being, half monster, half madman, had come to empire in Rome. This was Caius Cæsar, great-grandson of Augustus, who in his short career as emperor displayed a malignant cruelty unsurpassed by the worst of Roman emperors, and a mad folly unequalled by any. The only conceivable excuse for him is mental disease;

but insanity which takes the form of thirst for blood, and is combined with unlimited power, is a spectacle to make the very gods weep. We describe his career as the most exaggerated instance on record of mingled folly and malignity. Brought up in the camp, he was christened by the soldiers Caligula, from the soldier’s boots (caligæ) which he wore. By shrewd dissimulation he preserved his life through the reign of Tiberius, and was left heir to the throne along with the emperor’s grandson. But, deceiving the senate by his pretended moderation, he was appointed by that body sole emperor. They little knew what they did. Tiberius, who appears to have read him truly, spoke of educating him “for the destruction of the Roman people,” and Caligula seemed eager to make these words good.[Pg 237]

At first, indeed, he seemed generous and merciful, mingling this affectation with a savage profligacy and voluptuousness. Illness, however, apparently affected his brain or destroyed what little moral nature he possessed, and he quickly embarked on a career of frightful excess and barbarity. The great wealth left by Tiberius-over twenty-five million dollars-was expended by him in a single year, and to gain new funds he taxed and robbed his subjects to an incredible extent. One of his methods of finance was to force wealthy citizens to gamble with him for enormous sums, and when they lost their all (they dared not win), he would make their lives the stake and bid their friends redeem them. In addition to this open robbery of the rich, taxes of all sorts were laid and unlimited oppressions enforced. The new edicts of the emperor were written so small and posted so high as to be unreadable, yet no excuse of ignorance of the law was admitted in extenuation of a fault. The funds obtained by such oppressive means were lavished on the most extravagant follies. We are told of loaves of solid gold set before his guests, and the prows of galleys adorned with diamonds. His favorite horse was kept in an ivory stable and fed from a golden manger, and when invited to a banquet at his own table was regaled with gilded oats, served in a golden basin of exquisite workmanship. In addition to these domestic follies, he built villas and laid out gardens without regard to cost;

and, that he might vie with Xerxes, he constructed a bridge of ships three miles long, from Baiæ to[Pg 238]

Puteoli, on which he built houses and planted trees. This madness was concluded by throwing a great many of his guests from the bridge into the sea, and by driving recklessly with his war-galley through the throng of boats that had gathered to witness the spectacle. These cruelties were mild compared with his more deliberate ones. Rome was filled with executions, the estates of his victims being confiscated;

and it was his choice delight to have these victims tortured and slain in his presence while at dinner, the officers being bidden to protract their sufferings, that they might “feel themselves die.” On one occasion he expressed the mad wish that all the Roman people had but one neck, that he might strike it off at a blow. Priding himself on the indifference with which he could gaze on human torture, it was one of his enjoyments to witness criminals torn to pieces by wild beasts, and if criminals proved scarce he did not hesitate to order some of the spectators to be thrown into the arena. In the same manner, if a full supply of gladiators was wanting, he would command Roman knights to battle in the arena, taking delight in the fact that this was viewed as an infamous pursuit. He kept two lists containing names of knights and senators whom he intended to put to death, and these contained the majority of both those bodies of Roman patricians. He is said to have put one man to death for being better dressed than himself, and another for being better looking. He married more wives than he had years of [Pg 239]

empire;

but when one of these wives, Drusilla by name, died, he affected the bitterest grief, exiling himself to Sicily, and letting his beard and hair grow into wild disorder. On his return to Rome his subjects found themselves in a dangerous quandary. Those who made a show of sadness were declared guilty of disrespect to the memory of the queen, who had been translated to the joys of heaven. Those who seemed glad were adjudged equally guilty for not mourning her loss. And those who showed neither joy nor sorrow were accused of criminal indifference to his feelings. One man, who sold warm water in the streets, was sentenced to death for daring to pursue his occupation on so solemn an occasion. At a loss, as it would appear, in what madness next to indulge, Caligula finally not only declared himself a god, but erected a temple to his own divinity, and created a college of priests to serve at his altar. Among these were some of the first senators of Rome, who vied with each other in adulation to this impious wretch. Not content with these, he made his wife a priest, then his horse, and at length became a priest to himself. He played with the dignities of the realm in the same manner as with its religion, raised the ministers of his lusts to the highest offices, and finally went so far as to make his horse a consul of Rome. In his position as a deity he pretended to be equal to and on friendly terms with Jupiter, and would whisper in the ears of his statue as if they were in familiar intercourse. He had a machine constructed[Pg 240]

to vie with Jupiter’s thunder, and during the lightning of a storm would challenge the god to mortal combat by hurling stones into the air. This succession of mad frolics and ruthless cruelties should, it would seem, have satisfied even a Caligula, but he managed to overtop them all by a supreme piece of folly, which stands alone among human freaks. Hitherto his doings had been those of peace;

he now resolved to gain glory in war, and show the Romans what a man of soldierly mettle they had in their emperor. There were no particular wars then afoot, but he would make one, and resolved on an invasion of Germany, whose people were at that time quiet subjects or allies of Rome. To decide with him was to act. The army was ordered to prepare with the utmost haste, and was driven so fiercely that all was in confusion, the roads everywhere being blocked up with hurrying troops and great convoys of provisions, all converging rapidly on the line of march. Not waiting their arrival, he put himself at the head of the first legions gathered, and set out on the march with such furious speed that the legionaries were utterly exhausted with fatigue. Then, suddenly changing his mood, he affected the slow progress and military pomp of an Oriental king. On reaching the borders of Germany the emperor found no foes and showed no fancy for fighting. Concealing some boys in a wood, he got up a mock battle with them, and at its end congratulated the troops on their valor and felicitated himself on his success. Next, the British island being still under[Pg 241]

process of conquest, he marched his army, two hundred thousand strong, to the sea-shore of Gaul, and drew them up in line of battle. The legionaries stolidly obeyed, wondering in their stern souls what new madness the emperor had in mind. They were soon to know. He bade them to fill their helmets with sea-shells, “the spoils of the ocean due to the Capitol and the palace.” Then he distributed large sums of money among the troops, giving a reward for valor to each, and bidding them “henceforth to be happy and rich.” This was all well for the army, but the people of Rome must be impressed with the glory and victorious success of their emperor. Such a career was worthy a triumph;

and to the German hostages and criminals, destined to figure in the procession to the Capitol, he added a number of tall and martial Gauls, chosen without regard to rank or condition, whom he ordered to learn German, that they might pass for German captives. And now, his military expedition having ended without shedding the blood of a foe, Caligula’s insane thirst for blood arose, and he determined to glut it out of the ranks of his own army. There were in it some regiments which had mutinied against his father on the death of Augustus. He ordered these to be slaughtered for their crime. Some of his higher officers representing to him the danger of such a proceeding, he changed his mind, and gave orders that these legions should be decimated. But the whole army showed such symptoms of discontent with this cruel order that Caligula[Pg 242]

was seized with consternation, and fled in a panic to Rome. On reaching the city the senate proved bold enough to vote him an ovation instead of the triumph on which he had set his mind. Incensed at this, he met the advances of the patricians with stinging insults, and perhaps determined in his mind to be deeply revenged for this premeditated slight. Whatever he had in view, he did not live much longer to afflict mankind. Four months more brought him to the end of his flagitious career. There was a brave soldier of the palace guard, Cassius Chærea by name, who happened to have a weak voice, and whom Caligula frequently insulted in public for this fault of nature. These insults in time grew heavier and viler than the veteran could bear, and he organized a conspiracy with a few others against the emperor’s life. Meeting him without guards, the conspirators assailed him with their daggers and put an end to his base life. Thus died, after twenty-nine years of life and four years of power, one of the vilest, cruellest, and maddest of the imperial demons who so long made Rome a slaughter-house and an abomination among the nations. [Pg 243]

THE MURDER OF AN EMPRESS. Nero was lord of Rome. Chance had placed a weak and immoral boy in unlimited control of the greatest of nations. Utterly destitute of principle, he gradually descended into the deepest vice and profligacy, which was soon succeeded by the basest cruelty and treachery. And one of the first victims of his treachery was his own mother, who had murdered her husband, the Emperor Claudius, to place him on the throne, and had now committed the deeper fault of attempting to control her worthless and faithless son. She had threatened to replace him on the throne with his half-brother Britannicus, and Nero had escaped this difficulty by poisoning Britannicus. She then opposed his vicious passions, and made a bitter foe of his mistress Poppæa, who by every artifice incensed the weak-minded emperor against his mother, representing her as the only obstacle to his full enjoyment of power and pleasure. At length the detestable son was wrought up to the resolution of murdering her to whom he owed his life. But how? He was too cowardly and irresolute to take open means. Should he remove her by poison or the poignard? The first was doubtful.[Pg 244]

Agrippina was too practised in guilt, too accustomed to vile deeds, to be easily deceived, and had, moreover, by taking poisons, hardened her frame against their effect. Nor could she be killed by the knife and the murder concealed. The murder-seeking wretch, who had no plan, and no stronger person than himself in whom he could confide, was at a loss how to carry out his wicked purpose. At this juncture his tutor Anicetus came to his aid. This villain, who bitterly hated Agrippina, was now in command of the fleet that lay at Misenum. He proposed to Nero to have a vessel built in such a manner that it might give way in the open sea, and plunge to the bottom with all not prepared to escape. If Agrippina could be lured on board such a vessel, her drowning would seem one of the natural disasters of the open sea. This suggestion filled with joy the mind of the unnatural son. The court was then at Baiæ, celebrating the festival called the Quinquatria. Agrippina was invited to attend, and Nero, pretending a desire for reconciliation, went to the sea-shore to meet her on her arrival, embraced her tenderly, and conducted her to a villa in a pleasant situation, looking out on a charming bay of the Mediterranean. On the waters of the bay floated a number of vessels, among which was one superbly decorated, being prepared, as she was told, in her honor as the emperor’s mother. This was intended to convey her to Baiæ, where a banquet was to be given to her that evening. [Pg 245]

Agrippina was fond of sailing. She had frequently joined coasting parties and made pleasure trips of her own. But for some reason, perhaps through suspicion of Nero’s dark project, she now took a carriage in preference, and arrived safely at Baiæ, much to the discomfiture of her worthless son. Nero, however, was cunning enough to conceal his disappointment. He gave her the most gracious reception, placed her at table above himself, and by his affectionate attentions and his easy flow of talk succeeded in dispelling any suspicions his mother may have entertained. The banquet was continued till a late hour, and when Agrippina rose to go Nero attended her to the shore, where lay the sumptuously decorated vessel ready to convey her back to her villa. Here he lavished upon her marks of fond affection, clasped her warmly to his bosom, and bade her adieu in words of tender regret, disguising his fell purpose under the utmost show of tenderness. Agrippina went on board, attended by only two of her train, one of whom, a maid named Acerronia, lay at the foot of her mistress’s couch, and gladly expressed her joy at the loving reconciliation which she had just perceived. The night was calm and serene. The stars shone with their brightest lustre. The sea extended with an unruffled surface. The vessel moved swiftly, at no great distance from the shore, under the regular sweep of the rowers’ oars. Yet little way had been made when there came a disastrous change. A signal was given, and suddenly the deck over [Pg 246]

Agrippina’s cabin sank in, borne down by a great weight of lead. One of the attendants of the empress was crushed to death, but the posts of Agrippina’s couch proved strong enough to bear the weight, and she and Acerronia escaped and made their way hastily to the deck. Here confusion and consternation reigned. The plot had failed. The vessel had not fallen to pieces at once, as intended. Those who were not in the plot rushed wildly to and fro, hampering, by their distracted movements, the operations of the guilty. These sought to sink the vessel at once, but in spite of their efforts the ship sank but slowly, giving the intended victims an opportunity to escape. Acerronia, with instinctive devotion to her mistress, or a desire to save her own life, cried out that she was Agrippina, and pathetically implored the mariners to save her life. She won death instead. The assassins attacked her with oars and other weapons, and beat her down to the sinking deck. Agrippina, on the contrary, kept silent, and, with the exception of a wound on her shoulder, remained unhurt. Dashing into the dark waters of the bay, she swam towards the shore, and managed to keep herself afloat till taken up by a boat, in which some persons who had witnessed the accident from the shore had hastily put out. Telling her rescuers who she was, they conveyed her up the bay to her villa. Agrippina had been concerned in too many crimes of her own devising to be deceived. The treachery of her son was too evident. Without touching a rock, and in complete calm, the vessel had suddenly[Pg 247]

broken down, as if constructed for the purpose. Her own wound and the murder of her maid were further proofs of a preconcerted plot. Yet she was too shrewd to make her suspicions public. The plot had failed, and she was still alive. She at once despatched a messenger to her son, saying that by the favor of the gods and his good auspices she had escaped shipwreck, and that she thus hastened to quiet his affectionate fears. She then retired to her couch. Meanwhile Nero waited impatiently for the news of his mother’s death. When word was at length brought him that she had escaped, his craven soul was filled with terror. If this should get abroad;

if she should call on her slaves, on the army, on the senate;

if the people should learn of the plot of murder, and rise in riot;

if any of a dozen contingencies should happen, all might be lost. The terrified emperor was in a frightful quandary. He sent in all haste for his advisers, but none of them cared to offer any suggestions. At length the villanous Anicetus came to his aid. While they talked the messenger of Agrippina had arrived, and was admitted to give his message to the prince. As he was speaking Anicetus foxily let fall a dagger between his legs. He instantly seized him, snatched up the dagger and showed it to the company, and declared that the wretch had been sent by Agrippina to assassinate her son. The guards were called in, the man was ordered to be dragged away and put in fetters, and the story of the discovered plot of Agrippina was made public. [Pg 248]

“Death to the murderess!

” cried Anicetus. “Let me hasten at once to her punishment.” Nero gladly assented, and Anicetus hurried from the room, empowered to carry out his murderous intent. Meanwhile the news of the peril and escape of the empress had spread far and wide. A dreadful accident had occurred, it was said. The people rushed in numbers to the shore, crowded the piers, filled the boats, and gave voice to a medley of cries of alarm. The uproar was at length allayed by some men with lighted torches, who assured the excited multitude that Agrippina had escaped and was now safe in her villa. While they were speaking a body of soldiers, led by Anicetus, arrived, and with threats of violence dispersed the peasant throng. Then, planting a guard round the mansion, Anicetus burst open its doors, seized the slaves who appeared, and forced his way to the apartment of the empress. Here Agrippina waited in fear and agitation the return of her messenger. Why came he not? Was new murder in contemplation? She heard the tumult and confusion on the shore, and learned from her attendants what it meant. But the noise was suddenly hushed;

a dismal silence prevailed;

then came new noises, then loud tones of command, and violent blows on the outer doors. In dread of what was coming, the unhappy woman waited still, till loud steps sounded in the passage, the attendants at her door were thrust aside, and armed men entered her chamber. [Pg 249]

The room was in deep shadow, only the pale glimmer of a feeble light breaking the gloom. A single maid remained with the empress, and she, too, hastened to the door on hearing the tramp of warlike feet. “Do you, too, desert me?” cried Agrippina, in deep reproach. At that moment Anicetus entered the room, followed by two other ruffians. They approached her bed. She rose to receive them. “If you come from the prince,” she said, “tell him I am well. If your intents are murderous, you are not sent by my son. The guilt of parricide is foreign to his heart.” Her words were checked by a blow on the head with a club. A sword-thrust followed, and she expired under a number of mortal wounds. Thus died the niece, the wife, and the mother of an emperor, the daughter of the celebrated soldier Germanicus, herself so stained with vice that none can pity her fate, particularly as she had committed the further unconscious crime of giving birth to the monster named Nero. [Pg 250]

BOADICEA, THE HEROINE OF BRITAIN. Prasutagus, the king of the Icenians, a tribe of the ancient Britons, had amassed much wealth in the course of a long reign. On his death, in order to secure the favor of the Romans, now masters of the island, he left half his wealth by will to the emperor and half to his two daughters. This well-judged action of the barbarian king did not have the intended effect. No sooner was he dead than the Romans in the vicinity claimed the whole estate as theirs, ruthlessly pillaged his house, and seized all his effects. This base brigandage roused Boadicea, the widowed queen, to a vigorous protest, but with the sole result of bringing a worse calamity upon her head. She was seized and cruelly scourged by the ruthless Romans, her two daughters were vilely maltreated, and the noblest of the Icenians were robbed of their possessions by the plunderers, who went so far as to reduce to slavery the near relatives of the deceased king. Roused to madness by this inhuman treatment, the Icenians broke into open revolt. They were joined by a neighboring state, while the surrounding Britons, not yet inured to bondage, secretly resolved[Pg 251]

to join the cause of liberty. There had lately been planted a colony of Roman veterans at Camalodunum (Colchester), who had treated the Britons cruelly, driven them from their houses, and insulted them with the names of slaves and captives;

while the common soldiers, a licentious and greedy crew, still further degraded and robbed the owners of the land. The invaders went too far for British endurance, and brought a terrible retribution upon themselves. Paulinus Suetonius, an able officer, who then commanded in Britain, was absent on an expedition to conquer the island of Mona. Of this expedition the historian Tacitus gives a vivid account. As the boats of the Romans approached the island they beheld on the shore the Britons prepared to receive them, while through their ranks rushed their women in funereal attire, their hair flying loose in the wind, flaming torches in their hands, and their whole appearance recalling the frantic rage of the fabled Furies. Near by, ranged in order, stood the venerable Druids, or Celtic priests, with uplifted hands, at once invoking the gods and pouring forth imprecations upon the foe. The novelty and impressiveness of this spectacle filled the Romans with awe and wonder. They stood in stupid amazement, riveted to the spot, and a mark for the foe had they been then attacked. From this brief paralysis the voice of their general recalled them, and, ashamed of being held in awe by a troop of women and a band of fanatic priests, they rushed to the assault, cut down all before them, and set fire to the edifices and the sacred groves of the island[Pg 252]

with the torches which the Britons themselves had kindled. But Suetonius had chosen a perilous time for this enterprise. During his absence the wrongs of the Icenians and the exhortations of Boadicea had roused a formidable revolt, and the undefended colonies of the Romans were in danger. In addition to the actual peril the Romans were frightened with dire omens. The statue of victory at Camalodunum fell without any visible cause, and lay prostrate on the ground. Clamors in a foreign accent were heard in the Roman council chamber, the theatres were filled with the sound of savage howlings, the sea ran purple as with blood, the figures of human bodies were traced on the sands, and the image of a colony in ruins was reflected from the waters of the Thames. These omens threw the Romans into despair and filled the minds of the Britons with joy. No effort was made by the soldiers for defence, no ditch was dug, no palisade erected, and the assault of the Britons found the colonists utterly unprepared. Taken by surprise, the Romans were overpowered, and the colony was laid waste with fire and sword. The fortified temple alone held out, but after a two days’ siege it also was taken, and the legion which marched to its relief was cut to pieces. Boadicea was now the leading spirit among the Britons. Her wrongs had stirred them to revolt, and her warlike energy led them to victory and revenge. But she was soon to have a master-spirit to meet. Suetonius, recalled from the island of Mona[Pg 253]

by tidings of rebellion and disaster, marched hastily as far as London, which was even then the chief residence of the merchants and the centre of trade and commerce of the island. His army was small, not more than ten thousand men in all. That of the Britons was large. The interests of the empire were greater than those of any city, and Suetonius found himself obliged to abandon London to the barbarians, despite the supplications of its imperilled citizens. All he would agree to was to take under his protection those who chose to follow his banner. Many followed him, but many remained, and no sooner had he marched out than the Britons fell in rage on the settlement, and killed all they found. In like manner they ravaged Verulamium (St. Albans). Seventy thousand Romans are said to have been put to the sword. Meanwhile Suetonius marched through the land, and at length the two armies met. The skilled Roman general drew up his force in a place where a thick forest sheltered the rear and flanks, leaving only a narrow front open to attack. Here the Britons, twenty times his number, and confident of victory, approached. The warlike Boadicea, tall, stern of countenance, her hair hanging to her waist, a spear in her hand, drove along their front in a warlike car, with her two daughters by her side, and eloquently sought to rouse her countrymen to thirst for revenge. Telling them of the base cruelty with which she and her daughters had been treated, and painting in vivid words the arrogance and insults of the Romans,[Pg 254]

she besought them to fight for their country and their homes. “On this spot we must either conquer or die with glory,” she said. “There is no alternative. Though I am a woman, my resolution is fixed. The men, if they prefer, may survive with infamy and live in bondage. For me there is only victory or death.” Stirred to fury by her words, the British host poured like a deluge on their foes. But the Roman arms and discipline proved far too much for barbarian courage and ferocity. The British were repulsed, and, rushing forward in a wedge shape, the legions cut their way with frightful carnage through the disordered ranks. The cavalry seconded their efforts. Thousands fell. The rest took to flight. But the wagons of the British, which had been massed in the rear, impeded their flight, and a dreadful slaughter, in which neither sex nor age was spared, ensued. Tacitus tells us that eighty thousand Britons fell, while the Roman slain numbered no more than four hundred men. Boadicea, who had done her utmost to rally her flying hosts, kept to her resolution. When all was lost, she took poison, and perished upon the field where she had vowed to seek victory or death. With her decease the success of the Britons vanished. Though they still kept the field, they gradually yielded to the Roman arms, and Britain became in time a quiet and peaceful part of the great empire of Rome. [Pg 255]

ROME SWEPT BY FLAMES. Nero, the cruel coward under whom Rome for its sins was made to suffer, could scarcely devise follies and atrocities enough to please his profligate fancy. He offended the pride and sense of decorum of Rome by forcing senators and women of the highest rank to appear as gladiators in the arena. He exposed himself to ridicule by appearing as an actor in the theatre at Naples, which theatre, as soon as the audience dispersed, tumbled to pieces,-a little late so far as Nero himself was concerned. Returning to Rome, he indulged in every species of vice and folly, lavishing the wealth of the state with the utmost prodigality. On the lake of Agrippa he had a pavilion erected on a great floating platform, which was moved from point to point by the aid of boats superbly decorated with gold and ivory, while to furnish the banquet here given, animals of the chase were sought in the whole country round, and fish were brought from every sea and even from the distant ocean. When night descended a sudden illumination burst forth from all sides, and music resounded from every grove. These are the mentionable parts of the festival. Vile scenes were exhibited of which nothing can be said. [Pg 256]

Finally, at a loss in what deeper excess of vice and ostentation to indulge, the crowned reprobate set fire to Rome that he might enjoy the spectacle of an unlimited conflagration. This wickedness, it is true, is doubted by some historians, but we are told that during the prevalence of the flames a crew of incendiaries threatened anyone with death who should seek to extinguish them, and flung flaming torches into the dwellings, crying that they acted under orders. In all the history of Rome this fire was far the most violent and destructive. Breaking out in a number of shops stored with combustible goods, and driven by the winds, it raged with the utmost fury, neither the thick walls of the houses nor the enclosures of the temples sufficing to stay its frightful progress. The form of the streets, long, narrow, and winding, added to the mischief, and the flames swiftly sped alike through the humblest and the stateliest quarters of the mighty capital. “The shrieks and lamentations of women, the infirmities of age, and the weakness of the young and tender,” says Tacitus, “added misery to the dreadful scene. Some endeavored to provide for themselves, others to save their friends, in one part dragging along the lame and impotent, in another waiting to receive the tardy, or expecting relief themselves;

they hurried, they lingered, they obstructed one another;

they looked behind, and the fire broke out in front;

they escaped from the flames, and in their place of refuge found no safety;

the fire raged in every quarter;

all were involved in one general conflagration. [Pg 257]

“The unhappy wretches fled to places remote, and thought themselves secure, but soon perceived the flames raging round them. Which way to turn, what to avoid, or what to seek, no one could tell. They crowded the streets;

they fell prostrate on the ground;

they lay stretched in the fields, in consternation and dismay resigned to their fate. Numbers lost their whole substance, even the tools and implements by which they gained their livelihood, and, in that distress, did not wish to survive. Others, wild with affliction for their friends and relations whom they could not save, embraced voluntary death, and perished in the flames.” The story goes that, while the city was in its intensest blaze, Nero watched it with high enjoyment from a tower in the house of Mæcenas, and finally went to his own theatre, where in his scenic dress he mounted the stage, tuned his harp, and sang the destruction of Troy. How far Nero was guilty and to what extent the stories told of him were true will never be known, but he was destined to feel the calamity himself, for in time the devouring flames reached the imperial palace, and laid it with all its treasures and surrounding buildings in ruins. For six days the fire raged uncontrolled, and then, when it seemed subdued, a new conflagration broke out and burned with all the old fury, spreading still more widely the area of ruin and devastation. The number of buildings destroyed cannot be ascertained. Not only dwellings and shops, but temples, porticos, and other public buildings, were[Pg 258]

destroyed, among them the most venerable monuments of antiquity, which the worship of ages had rendered sacred;

and with these the trophies of uncounted victories, the inimitable works of the great artists of Greece, and precious monuments of literature and ancient genius, were irrecoverably lost. Whether or not this fire took place through Nero’s orders, and was played to by him on the harp, he showed more feeling for the people and more good sense in the rebuilding of the city than could have been expected from one of his weak and vicious character. By his orders the Field of Mars, the magnificent buildings erected by Agrippa, and even the imperial gardens were thrown open to the houseless people, and sheds for their shelter were erected with all possible haste. Household utensils and all kinds of useful implements were brought from Ostia and other neighboring cities, and the price of grain was reduced. But all this failed to gain the good-will of the people, who were exasperated by the story that Nero had exulted in the grandeur of the flames, and harped over burning Rome. When the fire was at length subdued, of the fourteen quarters of Rome only four were left entire;

the remainder presented more or less utter ruin. The conflagration in the time of the Gauls had been little more complete, while the wealth now consumed was incomparably greater. The whole world had been robbed of its treasures to feed the flames of Rome. But the haste and ill-judged confusion with which the city was rebuilt after the irruption of the[Pg 259]

Gauls was not now repeated. A regular plan was formed;

the new streets were made wide and straight;

the elevation of the houses was defined, and each was given an open area before the door, and was adorned with porticos. The expense of these porticos Nero took upon himself. He ordered also that the new houses should not be contiguous, but that each should be surrounded by its own enclosure;

and, in order to hurry the work, he offered rewards to those who should finish their buildings in a fixed period. As for the refuse of the fire, it was removed at Nero’s expense to the marshes of Ostia in the ships that brought corn up the Tiber. These regulations, while they must have made much confusion among the rival claimants of building sites, added greatly to the beauty and comfort of the new city, and the Rome which rose from the ruins was far more stately and handsome than the Rome which had vanished in ashes and smoke. But Nero, while showing some passing feeling for the people and some wisdom in the rebuilding of the city, did not hesitate to use a generous portion of the devastated space for his own advantage. His palace had been destroyed, and he built a new and most magnificent one on the Palatine Hill, the famous “golden house,” which after-ages beheld with unstinted admiration. But he did not confine his ostentation to the palace itself. A great space around it was converted into pleasure-grounds for his amusement, in which, as Tacitus says, “expansive lakes and fields of vast extent were intermixed with pleasing variety;

woods[Pg 260]

and forests stretched to an immeasurable length, presenting gloom and solitude amid scenes of open space, where the eye wandered with surprise over an unbounded prospect.” But nothing that Nero could do sufficed to remove from men’s minds the belief that on him rested the infamy of the fire. This public sentiment troubled and frightened him, and to remove it he sought to lay the burden of guilt on others. It was now the year 64 A.D., and for at least thirty years the new sect of the Christians had been spreading in Rome, where it had gained many adherents among the humbler and more moral section of the population. The Christians were far from popular. They were accused of secret and evil practices and debasing superstitions, and on this despised sect Nero determined to turn the fury of the populace. THE TOMB OF HADRIAN. THE TOMB OF HADRIAN. With his usual artifice he induced a number of abandoned wretches to confess themselves guilty, and on their purchased evidence numbers of the Christians were seized and convicted, mainly on the plea of their sullen hatred of the whole human race. A frightful persecution followed, Nero perhaps hoping, by an exhibition of human suffering, so dear to the rabble of Rome, to turn the thoughts of the people from their own losses. The captives were put to death with every cruelty the emperor could devise, and to their sufferings he added mockery and derision. Many were nailed to the cross;

others were covered with the skins of wild beasts, and left to be devoured by dogs;

numbers were burned alive, many of these, covered with[Pg 261]

inflammable matter, being set on fire to serve as torches during the night. That the public might see this tragic spectacle with the more satisfaction, it was given in the imperial gardens. The sports of the circus were added to the tortures of the victims, Nero himself driving his chariot in the races, or mingling with the rabble in his coachman’s dress. These cruel proceedings continued until even the hardened Roman heart became softened with compassion, spectators failed to come, and Nero felt obliged to yield to a general demand that the persecutions should cease. While all this went on at Rome, the people of the whole empire suffered with those of the capital city. Italy was ravaged and the provinces plundered to supply the demand for the rebuilding of the city and palace and the unbounded prodigality of the emperor. The very gods were taxed, their temples being robbed of golden treasures which had been gathering for ages through the gifts of pious devotees;

while in Greece and Asia not alone the treasures of the temples but the statues of the deities were seized. Nero was preparing for himself a load of infamy worthy of the most frightful retribution, and which would not fail soon to reap its fitting reward. [Pg 262]

THE DOOM OF NERO. We have perhaps paid too much attention to the enormities of Caligula and Nero. Yet the mad freakishness of the one and the cowardly dissimulation of the other give to their stories a dramatic interest which seems to render them worth repeating. Nero, one of the basest and cruelest of the Roman emperors, is one of the best known to readers, and the interest felt in him is not alone due to the story of his life, but as well to that of his death, which we therefore here give. A conspiracy against him among some of the noblest citizens of Rome was discovered and punished with revengeful fury. It was followed, a few years afterwards, by a revolt of the armies in Gaul and Spain. This was in its turn quelled, and Nero triumphed in imagination over all his enemies. But he had lost favor alike with the army and the people, and an event now happened that threw the whole city into a ferment of anger against him. Food was scarce, and the arrival of a ship from Alexandria, supposed to be loaded with corn, filled the people with joy. It proved instead to be loaded with sand for the arena. In their disappointment the people broke at first into scurrilous jests against[Pg 263]

Nero, and then into rage and fury. A wild clamor filled the streets. On all sides rose the demand to be delivered from a monster. Even the Prætorian guards, who had hitherto supported the emperor, began to show signs of disaffection, and were wrought to a spirit of revolt by two of the choice companions of Nero’s iniquities, who now deserted him as rats desert a sinking ship. The senate was approached and told that Nero was no longer supported by his friends, and that they might now regain the power of which they had been deprived. Some whisper of what was afloat reached Nero’s ears. Filled with craven fury, he resolved to massacre the senate, to set fire again to the city, and to let loose his whole collection of wild beasts. He proposed to fly to Egypt during the consternation that would prevail. A trusted servant, to whom he told this design, revealed it to the senate. It filled them with fear and rage. Yet even in so dire a contingency they could not be prevailed upon to act with vigor, and all might have been lost by their procrastination and timidity but for the two men who had organized the revolt. These men, Nymphidius and Tigellinus by name, went to the palace, and with a show of deep affliction informed Nero of his danger. “All is lost,” they said:

“the people call aloud for vengeance;

the Prætorian guards have abandoned your cause;

the senate is ready to pronounce a dreadful judgment. Only one hope remains to you, to fly for your life, and seek a retreat in Egypt.” It was as they said;

revolt was everywhere in the[Pg 264]

air, and affected the armies near and far. Nero sought assistance, but sought it in vain. The palace, lately swarming with life, was now deserted. Nero wandered through its empty chambers, and found only solitude and gloom. Conscience awoke in his seared heart, and he was filled with horror and remorse. Of all his late crowd of courtiers only three friends now remained with him,-Sporus, a servant;

Phaon, a freedman;

and Epaphroditus, his secretary. “‘My wife, my father, and my mother doom me dead!

‘” he bitterly cried, quoting a line from a Greek tragedy. With a last hope he bade the soldiers on duty to hasten to Ostia and prepare a ship, on which he might embark for Egypt. The men refused. “‘Is it, then, so wretched a thing to die?’” said one of them, quoting from Virgil. This refusal threw Nero into despair. He hurried to the Servilian gardens, with a vial of deadly poison, which, on getting there, he had not the courage to take. He returned to the palace and threw himself on his bed. Then, too agitated to lie, he sprang up and called for some friendly hand to end his wretched life. No one consented, and in his wild despair he called out, in doleful accents, “My friends desert me, and I cannot find an enemy.” The world had suddenly fallen away from the despicable Nero. A week before he had ordered it at his will, now “none so poor to do him reverence.” His craven terror would have been pitiable in any one to whom the word pity could apply. In frantic dread he rushed from the palace, as if with intent to fling[Pg 265]

himself into the Tiber. Then as hastily he returned, saying that he would fly to Spain, and yield himself to the mercy of Galba, who commanded the revolted army. But no ship was to be had for either Spain or Egypt, and this plan was abandoned as quickly as formed. These and other projects passed in succession through his distracted brain. One of the most absurd of them was to go in a mourning garb to the Forum, and by his powers of eloquence seek to win back the favor of the people. If they would not have him as emperor, he might by persuasive oratory obtain from them the government of Egypt. Full of hope in this new project, he was about to put it into effect, when a fresh reflection filled his soul with horror. What if the populace should, without waiting to hear his harmonious accents and unequalled oratory, break out in sudden rage and rend him limb from limb? Might they not assail him in the palace? Might not a seditious mob be already on its way thither, bent on bloody work? Whither should he fly? Where find refuge? Turning in despair to his companions, he asked them, wildly, “Is there no hiding-place, no safe retreat, where I may have leisure to consider what is to be done?” Phaon, his freedman, told him that he owned an obscure villa, at a distance of about four miles from Rome, where he might remain for a time in concealment. This suggestion, in Nero’s state of distraction, was eagerly embraced,-in such haste, indeed, that he left[Pg 266]

the palace without an instant’s preparation, his feet destitute of shoes, and no garment but his close tunic, his outer garments and imperial robe having been discarded in his distraction. The utmost he did was to snatch up an old rusty robe as a disguise, covering his head with it, and holding a handkerchief before his face. Thus attired, he mounted his horse and fled in frantic fear, attended only by the three men we have mentioned, and a fourth named Neophytus. Meanwhile, the revolt in the city was growing more and more decided. When the coming day showed its first faint rays, the Prætorian guards, who had been on duty in the palace, left their post and marched to the camp. Here, under the influence of Nymphidius, Galba was nominated emperor. This was an important innovation in the government of Rome. Hitherto the imperial dignity had remained in the family of Cæsar, descending by hereditary transmission. Nero was the last of that family to wear the crown. Henceforth the army and its generals controlled the destinies of the empire. The nomination of Galba by the Prætorian guard signalized the new state of things, in which the emperors would largely be chosen by that guard or by some army in the field. The action of the Prætorian guard was supported by the senate. That body, awaking from its late timidity, determined to mark the day with a decree worthy of its past history. With unanimous decision they pronounced Nero a tyrant who had trampled on all laws, human and divine, and [Pg 267]

condemned him to suffer death with all the rigor of the ancient laws. While this revolution was taking place in the city the terror-stricken Nero was still in frantic flight. He passed the Prætorian camp near enough to hear loud acclamations, among which the name of Galba reached his ear. As the small cavalcade hastened by a man early at work in the fields, he looked up and said, “These people must be hot in pursuit of Nero.” A short distance farther another hailed them, asking, “What do they say of Nero in the city?” A more alarming event occurred soon. As they drew near Phaon’s house the horse of Nero started at a dead carcass beside the road, shaking down the handkerchief by which he had concealed his face. The movement revealed him to a veteran soldier, then on his way to Rome, and ignorant of what was taking place in the city. He recognized and saluted the emperor by name. This incident increased Nero’s fear. His route of flight would now be known. He pressed his horse to the utmost speed until Phaon’s house was close at hand. They now halted and Nero dismounted, it being thought unsafe for him to enter the house publicly. He crossed a field overgrown with reeds, and, being tortured with thirst, scooped up some water from a muddy ditch and drank it, saying, dolefully, “Is this the beverage which Nero has been used to drink?” Phaon advised him to conceal himself in a neighboring sand-pit, from which could be opened for him[Pg 268]

a subterraneous passage to the house, but Nero refused, saying that he did not care to be buried alive. His companions then made an opening in the wall on one side of the house, through which Nero crept on his hands and knees. Entering a wretched chamber, he threw himself on a mean bed, which was covered with a tattered coverlet, and asked for some refreshment. All they could offer him was a little coarse bread, so black that the sight of it sickened his dainty taste, and some warm and foul water, which thirst forced him to drink. His friends meanwhile were in little less desperation than himself. They saw that no hope was left and that his place of concealment would soon be known, and entreated him to avoid a disgraceful death by taking his own life. Nero promised to do so, but still sought reasons for delay. His funeral must be prepared for, he said, and bade them to dig a grave, to prepare wood for a funeral pile, and bring marble to cover his remains. Meanwhile he piteously bewailed his unhappy lot;

sighed and shed tears copiously;

and said, with a last impulse of vanity, “What a musician the world will lose!

” While he thus in cowardly procrastination delayed the inevitable end, a messenger, whom Phaon had ordered to bring news from Rome, arrived with papers. These Nero eagerly seized and read. He found himself dethroned, declared a public enemy, and condemned to suffer death with the rigor of ancient usage. Such was the decree of the senate, which hitherto had been his subservient slave. [Pg 269]

“Ancient usage?” he asked. “What do they mean? What kind of death is that?” “It is this,” they told him. “Every traitor, by the law of the old republic, with his head fastened between two stakes, and his body stripped naked, was slowly flogged to death by the lictors’ rods.” Dread of this terrible and ignominious punishment roused the trembling wretch to some semblance of courage. He produced two daggers, which he had brought with him, and tried their points. Then he replaced them in their scabbards, saying, “The fatal moment is not yet come.” Turning to Sporus, he said, “Sing the melancholy dirge, and offer the last obsequies to your friend.” Then, rolling his eyes wildly around, he exclaimed, “Why will not some one of you kill himself, and teach me how to die?” He paused a moment. No one seemed inclined to adopt his suggestion. A flood of tears burst from his eyes. Starting up, he cried, in a tone of wild despair, “Nero, this is infamy;

you linger in disgrace;

this is no time for dejected passions;

this moment calls for manly fortitude.” These words were hardly spoken when the sound of horses was heard advancing rapidly towards the house. Theatrical to the end, he repeated a line from Homer which the noise of hoofs recalled to his mind. At length, driven to desperation, he seized his dagger and stabbed himself in the throat,-but cowardice made the stroke too feeble. Epaphroditus now lent his aid, and the next thrust was a mortal one. [Pg 270]

It was time. The horses were those of pursuers. The senate, informed of his probable place of refuge, had sent soldiers in haste to bring him back to Rome, there to suffer the punishment decreed. In a minute afterwards a centurion entered the room, and, seeing Nero prostrate and bleeding, ran to his aid, saying that he would bind the wound and save his life. Nero looked up languidly, and said, in faint tones, “You come too late. Is this your fidelity?” In a moment more he expired. In the words of Tacitus, “The ferocity of his nature was still visible in his countenance. His eyes fixed and glaring, and every feature swelled with warring passions, he looked more stern, more grim, more terrible than ever.” Nero was in his thirty-second year. He had reigned nearly fourteen years. Tacitus says of him, “The race of Cæsars ended with Nero;

he was the last, and perhaps the worst, of that illustrious house.” The tidings of his death filled Rome with joy. Men ran wildly about the streets, their heads covered with liberty caps. Acclamations of gladness resounded in the Forum. Icelus, Galba’s freedman and agent in Rome, whom Nero had thrown into prison, was released and took control of affairs. He ordered that Nero’s body should be burned where he had died, and this was done so quickly and secretly that many would not believe that he was dead. The report got abroad that he had escaped to Asia or Egypt, and from time to time impostors appeared claiming to be Nero. The Parthians were deluded[Pg 271]

by one of these impostors and offered to defend his cause. Another made trouble in the Greek islands. Nero’s profligate companions in Rome, who alone mourned his death, while affecting to believe him still alive raised a tomb to his memory, which for several years they annually dressed with the flowers of spring and summer. But the world at large rejoiced in its delivery from the rule of a monster of iniquity. [Pg 272]

THE SPORTS OF THE AMPHITHEATRE. In no other nation upon the earth and no other period of history has enjoyment taken so cruel and brutal a shape as in the Roman empire. The fierce people of the imperial city seemed to have a native thirst for blood and misery, which no amount of slaughter in the arena, of the sufferings of captives and slaves, or of the torments of persecuted Christians sufficed to assuage. The love of theatrical representations, which has proved so potent and unceasing with other nations, had but a brief period of prevalence in Rome, its milder enjoyment vanishing before the wild excitement of the gladiatorial struggle and the spectacle of rending beasts and slaughtered martyrs. It was not in the theatre, but in the amphitheatre, that the Romans sought their chief enjoyment, and few who wished the favor of the Roman people failed to seek it by the easy though costly means of gladiatorial shows. The amphitheatre differed from the theatre in forming a complete circle or oval instead of a semicircle, with an arena in the centre instead of a stage at the side. It also greatly surpassed the theatre in size, the purpose being to see, not to hear. [Pg 273]

These buildings were at first temporary edifices of wood, but of enormous size, since one which collapsed at Fidenæ, during the reign of Tiberius, is said to have caused the death of fifty thousand spectators. The first of stone was built by the command of Augustus. But the great amphitheatre of Rome, the Flavian, whose mighty ruins we possess in the Colosseum, was that begun by Vespasian, and finished by Titus ten years after the destruction of Jerusalem. This vast building is elliptical in shape and covers about five acres of ground, being six hundred and twelve feet in its greatest length and five hundred and fifteen in greatest breadth. It is based on rows of arches, eighty in number, and rises in four different orders of architecture to a height of about one hundred and sixty feet. The outside of this great edifice was encrusted with marble and decorated with statues. Interiorly its vast slopes presented sixty or eighty rows of marble seats, covered with cushions, and capable of seating more than eighty thousand spectators. There were sixty-four doors of entrance and exit, and the entrances, passages, and stairs were so skilfully constructed that every person could with ease and safety reach and leave his place. Nothing was omitted that could add to the pleasure and convenience of the spectators. An ample canopy, drawn over their heads, protected them from the sun and the rain. Fountains refreshed the air with cooling moisture, and aromatics profusely perfumed the air. In the centre was the arena or stage, strewn with fine sand, and capable[Pg 274]

of being changed to suit varied spectacles. Now it appeared to rise out of the earth, like the gardens of the Hesperides;

now it was made to represent the rocks and caverns of Thrace. Water was abundantly supplied by concealed pipes, and the sand-strewn plain might at will be converted into a wide lake, sustaining armed vessels, and displaying the swimming monsters of the deep. In these spectacles the Roman emperors loved to display their wealth. On various occasions the whole furniture of the amphitheatre was of amber, silver, or gold, and in one display the nets provided for defence against wild beasts were of gold wire, the porticos were gilded, and the belt or circle that divided the several ranks of spectators was studded with a precious mosaic of beautiful stones. In the dedication of this mighty edifice five thousand wild beasts were slain in the arena, the games lasting one hundred days. The first show of gladiators in Rome was one given by Marcus and Decius Brutus, on the occasion of the death of their father, 264 B.C. Three pairs of gladiators fought in this first contest. This gladiatorial spectacle was continued on funeral occasions, but afterwards lost its religious character and became a popular amusement, there being schools for the training of gladiators, whose pupils were recruited from the captives of Rome, from condemned criminals, and from vigorous men desirous of fame. As time went on the magnificence of these spectacles increased. Julius Cæsar gave one in which three hundred and twenty combatants fought. Trajan[Pg 275]

far surpassed this with a show that lasted for one hundred and twenty-three days, and in which ten thousand men fought with each other or with wild beasts for the pleasure of the Roman populace. The gladiators were variously armed, some with sword, shield, and body armor;

some with net and trident;

some with noose or lasso. The disarmed or overthrown gladiator was killed or spared in response to signals made by the thumbs of the spectators;

while the successful combatant was rewarded at first with a palm branch, afterwards with money and rich and valuable presents. ROMAN CHARIOT RACE. ROMAN CHARIOT RACE. The gladiators were not always passive instruments of Roman cruelty. We have elsewhere described the revolt of Spartacus and his brave struggle for liberty. Other outbreaks took place. During the reign of Probus a revolt of about eighty gladiators out of a school of some six hundred filled Rome with death and alarm. Killing their keepers, they broke into the streets, which they set afloat with blood, and only after an obstinate resistance and ample revenge were they at length overpowered and cut to pieces by the soldiers of the city. But such outbreaks were but few, and the Roman multitude usually enjoyed its cruel sports in safety. We cannot here describe the many remarkable displays made by successive emperors, and which grew more lavish as time went on. Probus, about 280 A.D., gave a show in which the arena was transformed into a forest, large trees, dug up by the roots, being transported and planted throughout its space. In this miniature forest were set free a thousand[Pg 276]

ostriches, and an equal number each of stags, fallow deer, and wild boars. These were given to the multitude to assail and slay at their will. On the following day, the populace being now safely screened from danger, there were slain in the arena a hundred lions, as many lionesses, two hundred leopards, and three hundred bears. The younger Gordian, in his triumphal games, astonished the Romans by the strangeness of the animals displayed, in search of which the whole known world was ransacked. The curious mob now beheld the graceful forms of twenty zebras, and the remarkable stature of ten giraffes, brought from remote African plains. There were shown, in addition, ten elks, as many tigers from India, and thirty African hyenas. To these were added a troop of thirty-two elephants, and the uncouth forms of the hippopotamus of the Nile and the rhinoceros of the African wilds. These animals, familiar to us, were new to their observers, and filled the minds of their spectators with wonder and awe. Gladiators, as we have said, were not confined to slaves, captives, and criminals. Roman citizens, emulous of the fame and rewards of the successful combatant, entered their ranks, and men of birth and fortune, thirsting for the excitement of the arenal strife, were often seen in the lists. In the reign of Nero, senators, and even women of high birth, appeared as combatants;

and Domitian arranged a battle between dwarfs and women. As late as 200 A.D. an edict forbidding women to fight became necessary. [Pg 277]

The emperors, as a rule, were content with sending their subjects to death in those frightful shows;

but one of them, Commodus, proud of his strength and skill, himself entered the lists as a combatant. He was at first content with displaying his remarkable skill as an archer against wild animals. With arrows whose head was shaped like a crescent, he cut asunder the long neck of the ostrich, and with the strength of his bow pierced alike the thick skin of the elephant and the scaly hide of the rhinoceros. A panther was let loose and a slave forced to act as its prey. But at the instant when the beast leaped upon the man the shaft of Commodus flew, and the animal fell dead, leaving its prey unhurt. No less than a hundred lions were let loose at once in the arena, and the death-dealing darts of the emperor hurtled among them until they all were slain. During this exhibition of skill the emperor was securely protected against any chance danger from his victims. But later, to the shame and indignation of the people, he entered the arena as a gladiator, and fought there no less than seven hundred and thirty-five times. He was well protected, wearing the helmet, shield, and sword of the Secutor, while his antagonists were armed with the net and trident of the Retiarius. It was the aim of the latter to entangle his opponent in the net and then despatch him with the trident, and if he missed he was forced to fly till he had prepared his net for a second throw. As may be imagined, in these contests Commodus was uniformly successful. His opponents were[Pg 278]

schooled not to put forth their full skill, and were usually given their lives in reward. But the emperor claimed the prize of the successful gladiator, and himself fixed this reward at so high a price that to pay it became a new tax on the Roman people. Commodus, we may say here, met with the usual fate of the base and cruel emperors of Rome, falling by the hands of assassins. The gladiatorial shows were not without their opponents in Rome. Under the republic efforts were made to limit the number of combatants and the frequency of the displays, and the Emperor Augustus forbade more than two shows in a year. They were prohibited by Constantine, the first Christian emperor, in 325 A.D., but continued at intervals till 404. In that year Telemachus, an Asiatic monk, filled with horror at the cruelty of the practice, made his way to Rome, and during a contest rushed into the arena and tried to part two gladiators. The spectators, furious at this interruption of their sport, stoned the monk to death. But the Emperor Honorius proclaimed him a martyr, and issued an edict which finally brought such exhibitions to an end. There was another form of spectacle at Rome, in its way as significant of cruelty and ruthlessness, the Triumph, each occasion of which signified some nation conquered or army defeated, and thousands slain or plunged into misery and destitution. The victorious general to whom the senate granted the honor of a triumph was not allowed to enter the[Pg 279]

city in advance, and Lucullus, on his return from victory in Asia, waited outside Rome for three years, until the desired honor was granted him. Starting from the Field of Mars, outside the city walls, the procession passed through the gayly garlanded streets to the Capitol. It was headed by the magistrates and senate of Rome, who were followed by trumpeters, and then by the spoils of war, consisting not only of treasures and standards, but of representations of battles, towns, fortresses, rivers, etc. Next came the victims intended for sacrifice, largely composed of white oxen with gilded horns. They were followed by prisoners kept to grace the triumph, and who were put to death when the Capitol was reached. Afterwards came the gorgeous chariot of the conqueror, crowned with laurel and drawn by four horses. He wore robes of purple and gold taken from the temple of Jupiter, carried a laurel branch in his right hand, and in his left a sceptre of ivory with an eagle at its tip. After him came the soldiers, singing Io triumphe and other songs of victory. On reaching the Capitol the victor placed the laurel branch on the cap of the seated Jupiter, and offered the thank-offerings. A feast of the dignitaries, and sometimes of the soldiers and people, followed. The ceremony at first occupied one day only, but in later times was extended through several days, and was frequently attended with gladiatorial shows and other spectacles for the greater enjoyment of the Roman multitude. [Pg 280]

THE REIGN OF A GLUTTON. The death of Nero cut all the reins of order in Rome. Until now, as stated in a preceding tale, some form of hereditary succession had been followed, the emperors being of the family of Cæsar, though not his direct descendants. Now confusion reigned supreme. The army took upon itself the task of nominating the emperor, and within less than two years four emperors came in succession to the royal seat, each the general of one of the armies of Rome. Galba, who headed the revolt against Nero, and succeeded him on the throne, reigned but seven months, being overthrown by Otho, who conspired against him with the Prætorian guards. The new emperor reigned only three months. The army of Germany proclaimed their general-Vitellius-emperor, marched against Otho, and defeated him. He ended the contest by committing suicide. Vitellius reigned less than a year. The army of the East rebelled against him, proclaimed their general-Vespasian-emperor, and a new civil war broke out, which was closed by the speedy downfall of Vitellius. It is the story of this man, emperor for less than a year, which we have here to describe. The three men named were alike unfit to reign[Pg 281]

over Rome. Galba was very old and very incompetent, Otho was a declared profligate, and Vitellius was a glutton of such extraordinary powers that his name has become a synonyme for voracity. He had by his arts and his skill as a courtier made himself a favorite with four emperors of widely differing character,-Tiberius, Caligula, Claudius, and Nero. The suicide of Otho had now made him emperor himself, and he gave way without stint to the peculiar vice which has made his name despicable, that of inordinate love of the pleasures of the table. After the death of Otho, says Tacitus, “Vitellius, sunk in sloth, and growing every day more contemptible, advanced by slow marches towards the city of Rome. In all the villas and municipal towns through which he passed, carousing festivals were sufficient to retard a man abandoned to his pleasures. He was followed by an unwieldy multitude, not less than sixty thousand men in arms, all corrupted by a life of debauchery. The number of retainers and followers of the army was still greater, all disposed to riot and insolence, even beyond the natural bent of the vilest slaves. “The crowd was still increased by a conflux of senators and Roman knights, who came from Rome to greet the prince on his way;

some impelled by fear, others to pay their court, and numbers, not to be thought sullen or disaffected. All went with the current. The populace rushed forth in crowds, accompanied by an infamous band of pimps, players, buffoons, and charioteers, by their utility in vicious pleasures all well known and dear to Vitellius. [Pg 282]

“To supply so vast a body with provisions the colonies and municipal cities were exhausted;

the fruits of the earth, then ripe and fit for use, were carried off;

the husbandman was plundered;

and his land, as if it were an enemy’s country, was laid waste and ruined.” THE COLISEUM AT ROME. THE COLISEUM AT ROME. The followers of Vitellius were many of them Germans and Gauls, so savage of aspect as to create consternation in Rome. “Covered with the skins of savage beasts, and wielding large and massive spears, the spectacle which they exhibited to the Roman citizens was fierce and hideous.” They were as savage as they looked, and many conflicts took place both outside and inside of Rome, in which numbers of citizens were slaughtered. In fact, the march of Vitellius to Rome was almost like that of a conqueror through a captive province. The conduct of Vitellius and his army in Rome was an abhorrent spectacle of sloth and licentiousness. All discipline vanished. The Germans and Gauls entered into the vilest habits of the city, and by their disorderly lives brought on an epidemic disease which swept thousands of them away. Vitellius, lost in sluggishness and gluttony, wasted the funds of the state on his pleasures, and laid severe taxes to raise new funds. “To squander with wild profusion,” says Tacitus, “was the only use of money known to Vitellius. He built a set of stables for the charioteers, and kept in the circus a constant spectacle of gladiators and wild beasts;

in this manner dissipating with prodigality, as if his treasury overflowed with riches.” [Pg 283]

While the Vitellian army was indulging in riot, bloodshed, and vice, and the populace was kept amused by the frightful gladiatorial shows, the emperor spent his days in a sloth and gluttony that stand unrivalled in imperial records. We may quote from Whyte-Melville’s romance of “The Gladiators” a sketch of a Vitellian banquet whose characteristic features are taken from exact history:

“A banquet with Vitellius was no light and simple repast. Leagues of sea and miles of forest had been swept to furnish the mere groundwork of the entertainment. Hardy fishermen had spent their nights on the heaving wave, that the giant turbot might flap its snowy flakes on the emperor’s table broader than its broad dish of gold. Many a swelling hill, clad in the dark oak coppice, had echoed to ringing shout of hunter and deep-mouthed bay of hound, ere the wild boar yielded his grim life by the morass, and the dark, grisly carcass was drawn off to provide a standing dish that was only meant to gratify the eye. Even the peacock roasted in its feathers was too gross a dainty for epicures who studied the art of gastronomy under Cæsar;

and that taste would have been considered rustic in the extreme which could partake of more than the mere fumes and savor of so substantial a dish. A thousand nightingales had been trapped and killed, indeed, for this one supper, but brains and tongues were all they contributed to the banquet;

while even the wing of a roasted hare would have been considered far too coarse and common food for the imperial board. [Pg 284]

“It would be useless to go into the details of such a banquet as that which was placed before the guests of Cæsar. Wild boar, pasties, goats, every kind of shell-fish, thrushes, beccaficoes, vegetables of all descriptions, and poultry, were removed to make way for the pheasant, the guinea-hen, the capon, venison, ducks, woodcocks, and turtle-doves. Everything that could creep, fly, or swim, and could boast a delicate flavor when cooked, was pressed into the service of the emperor;

and when appetite was appeased and could do no more, the strongest condiments and other remedies were used to stimulate fresh hunger and consume a fresh supply of superfluous dainties.” Deep drinking followed, merely to stimulate fresh hunger. The disgusting story is even told that the imperial glutton was in the habit of taking an emetic to empty his stomach, that he might begin a fresh course of gluttony. Certain artists in the preparation of original dishes employed themselves in devising new and appetizing compounds of food for the table of Vitellius. They were sure of an ample reward if they should succeed in pleasing the imperial palate. Failure, however, was attended by a severe penance. The artist was not permitted to eat any food but his own unsuccessful dish until he had atoned for his failure by a success. While Vitellius was thus sunk in sloth and gluttony his destiny was on its march. A terrible and disgraceful retribution awaited him. He had never been emperor of all the Roman empire. The army of Syria had declared for Vespasian, its general;

and[Pg 285]

while Vitellius had been wasting his means and ruining his army by permitting it to indulge in every vice and excess, his rival in the East was carefully laying his plans to insure success. He finally seized Alexandria, thus being able at will to starve Rome, by cutting off its food-supply;

and sent Antonius Primus, his principal general, with a strong force to Italy. The progress of Antonius in Italy was rapid. City after city fell into his hands. The fleet at Ravenna declared for Vespasian. The general of Vitellius sought to carry his whole army over to Antonius, but found his men more faithful than himself. The Vitellians were defeated in two battles;

Cremona was taken and destroyed;

all was at risk;

and yet Vitellius remained absorbed in luxury. “Hid in the recess of his garden, he indulged his appetite, forgetting the past, the present, and all solicitude about future events;

like those nauseous animals that know no care, and, while they are supplied with food, remain in one spot, torpid and insensible.” At length awakened from his stupor, Vitellius took some steps for defence. He was too late. His men deserted their ranks;

the army of Antonius steadily advanced. Filled with terror, the emperor called an assembly of the people and offered to resign. The people in violent uproar refused to accept his resignation. He then proposed to seek a retreat in his brother’s house. This the populace also opposed and forced him to return to the palace. This attempted abdication brought civil war into the city. Sabinus, the brother of Vespasian, raised[Pg 286]

a force and took possession of the Capitol. He was besieged here, and in the conflict that ensued the Capitol was set on fire and burned to the ground. It was the second time this venerable edifice had been consumed by the flames. Sabinus was taken prisoner, and was murdered by the mob. News of this revolt and its disastrous end hastened the march of Antonius. Once more, as in the far-off days of the Gaulish invasion, Rome was to be attacked and taken by a hostile army. It was assailed at three points, each of which was obstinately defended. Finally an entrance was made at the Collinian gate, and the battle was transferred to the open streets, in which the Vitellians defended themselves as obstinately as before. And now was seen an extraordinary spectacle. While two armies-one from the East, one from the North-contended fiercely for the possession of Rome, the populace of that city flocked to behold the fight, as if it was a gladiatorial struggle got up for their diversion, and nothing in which they had any personal interest. Tacitus says,- “Whenever they saw the advantage inclining to either side, they favored the contestants with shouts and theatrical applause. If the men fled from their ranks, to take shelter in shops or houses, they roared to have them dragged forth and put to death like gladiators for their diversion. While the soldiers were intent on slaughter, these miscreants were employed in plundering. The greatest part of the booty fell to their share. Rome presented a scene truly shocking, a medley of savage slaughter and[Pg 287]

monstrous vice;

in one place war and desolation;

in another bathing, riot, and debauchery. The whole city seemed to be inflamed with frantic rage, and at the same time intoxicated with bacchanalian pleasures. In the midst of rage and massacre, pleasure knew no intermission. A dreadful carnage seemed to be a spectacle added to the public games.” It was a spectacle certainly without its like in the history of nations. The battle ended in the complete overthrow of the army of Vitellius. The camp was taken, and all that defended it were slain. And now took place a scene which recalls that of the last days of Nero. Vitellius, seeing that all was lost, was in an agony of apprehension. He left the palace by a private way to seek shelter in his wife’s house on the Aventine. Then irresolution brought him back to the palace, which he found deserted. The slaves had fled. The dead silence that reigned filled him with terror. All was solitude and desolation. He wandered pitiably from room to room, and finally, weary and utterly wretched, sought a humble hiding-place. Here he was discovered and dragged forth. And now the populace, who had lately refused his deposition, turned upon him with the bitterest insults and contumely. With his hands bound behind him and his garment torn, the obese old glutton was dragged through crowds who treated him with scoffs and words of contempt, not a voice of pity or sympathy being heard. A German soldier struck at him with his sword, and, missing his aim, cut off the ear of a tribune. He was killed on the spot. [Pg 288]

As Vitellius was thus dragged onward, his captors, with swords pointed at his throat, forced him to raise his head and expose his bloated face to scorn and derision. They made him look at his statues, which were being tumbled to the ground. They pointed out to him the place where Galba had perished. They pricked his body with their weapons. With endless contumely they brought him to the public charnel, where the body of Sabinus had been thrown among those of the vilest malefactors. A single expression is recorded as coming from his lips. “And yet,” he said, to a tribune who insulted his misery, “I have been your sovereign.” His torment soon ended. The rabble fell on him with swords and clubs and he died under a multitude of wounds. Even after his death those who had worshipped him in the height of his power continued to shower marks of rage and contempt upon his remains. Thus perished one of the most despicable of all the emperors who disgraced Rome, to make room for one whose wisdom and virtue would make still more contemptible the excesses of his gluttonous predecessor. [Pg 289]

THE FAITHFUL EPONINA. Though Rome had extended its conquests over numerous tribes and nations of barbarians, and reduced them to subjection, much of the old love of liberty remained, and many of the later Roman wars were devoted to the suppression of outbreaks among these unwilling subjects. In the reign of Vespasian occurred such a rebellion, followed by so remarkable an instance of womanly devotion that it has since enlisted the sympathy of the world. Julius Sabinus, a leading chief among the Ligones, a tribe of the Gauls, led by ambition and daring, and stirred by hatred of the Roman dominion, resolved to shake off the yoke of conquest, and by his arts and eloquence kindled the flame of rebellion among his countrymen. Gathering an army, he drove the Romans from the territory of his own people, and then marched into the country of the Sequani, whom he hoped to bring into the revolt. But the discomfiture of the Romans lasted only until they could bring their forces together. A battle ensued between the hastily-levied followers of Sabinus and a disciplined Roman army, with the inevitable result. The barbarians were defeated with great slaughter, the death of most, the flight of the others, bringing the rebellion to a disastrous end. [Pg 290]

Sabinus was among those who escaped the general carnage. He sought shelter from his pursuers in an obscure cottage, and, being hotly and closely tracked, he set fire to his lurking-place and caused a report to be spread that he had perished in the flames. He had been attended in his flight by two faithful freedmen, and one of these, Martialis by name, sought Eponina, the loving wife of the chief, and told her that her husband was no more, that he had perished in the flames of the burning hut. Giving full credit to the story, Eponina was thrown into a transport of grief which went far to convince the spies of Rome that she must have received sure tidings of her husband’s death, and that Sabinus had escaped the vengeance of Rome. For several days her grief continued unabated, and then the same messenger returned and told her that her husband still lived, having spread the report of his death to throw his pursuers off his track. This information brought Eponina as lively joy as the former news had brought her sorrow;

but knowing that she was watched, she affected as deep grief as before, going about her daily duties with all the outward manifestations of woe. When night came she visited Sabinus secretly in his new hiding-place, and was received in his arms with all the joy of which loving souls are capable. Before the dawn of day she returned to her home, from which her absence had not been known. During seven months the devoted wife continued these clandestine visits, softening by caresses and brave words her husband’s anxious care, and supplying[Pg 291]

his wants as far as she was capable. At the end of that time she grew hopeful of obtaining a pardon for the fugitive chief. For this purpose she induced him to disguise himself in a way that made detection impossible and accompany her on a long and painful journey to Rome. Here the earnest and faithful woman made every possible effort to gain the ear and favor of the emperor and to obtain influence in high places. She unhappily found that Roman officials had no time or thought to waste on fugitive rebels, and that compassion for those who dared oppose the supremacy of Rome was a sentiment that could find no place in the imperial heart. Repelled, disappointed, hopeless, the unhappy woman and her disguised husband retraced their long and weary journey, and Sabinus again sought shelter in the dens and caves which formed his only secure places of refuge. And now the faithful wife, abandoning her home, joined him in his lurking-place, and for nine long years the devoted couple lived as homeless fugitives, mutual love their only comfort, obtaining the necessaries of life by means of which we are not aware. By the tenderest affection Eponina softened the anxieties of her husband, the birth of two sons served still more to alleviate the misery of their distressful situation, and all the happiness that could possibly come to two so circumstanced attended the pair in their straitened place of refuge. At the end of nine years the hiding-place of the fugitives was discovered by their enemies, and they were seized and sent in chains to Rome. Here [Pg 292]

Vespasian, who had gained a reputation for kindness and clemency, acted with a cruelty worthy of the worst emperors of Rome.