About half a century after this date, one of these descendants, also named Appius Claudius, was a principal actor in one of the most dramatic events of ancient Rome. The trouble which had long existed between the patricians and the plebeians now grew so pronounced, and the demand for a reform in the laws so great, that in the year 451 B.C. a commission was sent to the city of Athens, to report on the system of government they found there and elsewhere in Greece. After this commission had returned and given its report, a body of ten patricians was appointed, under the title of Decemvirs (or ten men), to prepare a new code of laws for Rome. They were chosen for one year, and took the place of the consuls, tribunes, and all the chief officials of Rome.
At the head of this body was Appius Claudius. The laws of Rome had previously been only partly written, the remainder being held in memory or transmitted as traditions. A complete code of written laws was desired, and to this work the decemvirs set themselves diligently. After a few months they prepared a code of laws, which was accepted by nobles and people alike as fair and satisfactory, and it was ordered that these laws should be engraved upon ten tables of brass and hung up in the comitium, or place of assembly of the people, where all might read them and learn under what laws they lived. It is probable that the plebeian demand for reform was so great that the decemvirs did not dare to disregard it.
At the end of the year of office of these officials it was felt that they had done so well that it was thought wise to continue them in power for another year. But when the time for election came round, Appius Claudius managed to have his nine associates defeated, he alone being re-elected. The other nine chosen were men whom he felt sure he could control. And now, having a year's rule assured him, he threw off the cloak of moderation he had worn, and began a career of oppression of the plebeians, aided by his subservient associates. The first step taken was to add two new laws to the code, which became known, therefore, as the "Twelve Tables." These new laws proved so distasteful to the people that they almost broke into open rebellion. It was evident that the haughty decemvirs were seeking to increase the power of their class.
The decemvirs did not confine themselves to passing oppressive laws. They began a career of outrage and oppression that filled Rome with woe. The youthful patricians followed their lead, and insult and murder became common incidents in Rome. When the second year of the decemvirate expired, Appius and his colleagues, knowing that they could not be elected again, showed no intention of yielding up their authority. They were supported by the senate and the patricians, and had gained such power that they defied the plebeians. Those of the people who were active in opposition were quietly disposed of, and so intolerable became the tyranny that numbers of the plebeian party fled from Rome.
While this was going on war broke out with the Sabines and the Æquians. Of the armies sent against these nations, one was commanded by Lucius Sicinius Dentatus, among the bravest of the Romans, and who had fought in one hundred and twenty battles and was covered with the scars of old wounds. On his way to his post this veteran was murdered by bravos sent by Appius Claudius. Decemvirs were now appointed to command the armies, Appius and one of his colleagues remaining in Rome to look after the safety of the city.
The story goes that both armies were beaten by their foes, and forced to retreat within Roman territory. While they lay encamped, not many miles from Rome, an event occurred in the city which gave them new work to do, and proved that the worst enemies of Rome were not without, but within, her walls.
In the army sent against the Æquians was a centurion named Lucius Virginius, who had a beautiful daughter named Virginia, whom he had betrothed to Lucius Icilius, recently one of the tribunes of Rome. But the tyranny of the decemvirs was directed against the wives and daughters as well as the men of the plebeians, as was now to be strikingly shown.
One day, as the beautiful maiden was on her way, attended by her nurse, to school in the Forum (around which the schools were placed), she was seen by Appius Claudius, who was so struck by her beauty that he determined to gain possession of her, and sought to win her by insidious words. The innocent girl repelled his advances, but this only increased his desire to possess her, and he determined, as she was not to be had by fair means, to have her by foul. He therefore laid a wicked plot for her capture.
Marcus Claudius, one of his clients, instigated by him, seized the girl as she entered the Forum, claiming that she was his slave. The nurse screamed for help, and a crowd quickly gathered. Many of these well knew the maiden, her father, and her betrothed, and vowed to protect her from wrong. But the villain declared that he meant no harm, and that he only claimed his own, and was quite willing to submit his claim to the decision of the law.
Followed by the crowd, he led the weeping maiden to where Appius Claudius occupied the judgment-seat, and demanded justice at his hands. He declared that the wife of Virginius, being childless, had got this child from its mother and presented it to Virginius as her own, and said that the real mother had been his slave, and that, therefore, the daughter was his slave also. This he would prove to Virginius on his return to Rome. Meanwhile it was but just that the master should keep possession of his slave.
This specious appeal was earnestly combated by the friends of the maiden, many of whom were present in the throng. Virginius, they said, was absent from Rome in the service of the commonwealth. To take such action in his absence was unjust. They would send him word at once, and in two days he would be in the city.
"Let the case stand until he can appear," they demanded. "The law expressly declares that in cases like this every one shall be considered free till proved a slave. The maiden, therefore, should legally be left with her friends till the day of trial. Put not her fair fame in peril by giving up a free-born maiden into the hands of a man whom she knows not."
To this reasonable appeal Appius, with a show of judicial moderation, replied,—
"Truly, I know the law you speak of, and hold it just and good, for it was enacted by myself. But this maiden cannot in any case be free; she belongs either to her father or to her master. And as her father is not here, who but her master can have any claim to her? I decide, therefore, that M. Claudius shall keep her till Virginius comes, and shall require him to give sureties to bring her before my judgment-seat when the day comes for hearing the case between them."
This illegal decision was far from satisfying the multitude. The decemvirs and their adherents had gained an unholy reputation for dishonorable treatment of the wives and daughters of the people, and it was not safe to trust a maiden in their hands. Word had been hastily sent to Numitorius, the uncle of Virginia, and Icilius, her betrothed, and they now came up in great haste, and protested so vigorously against the sentence, that the surrounding people became roused to fury. Appius, seeing the temper of the throng, and fearing a riotous demonstration, felt forced to change his decision. He said, therefore, that, in view of the rights of fathers over their children, he would let the case rest till the next day.
"If, then," he said, with a show of stern dignity, "Virginius does not appear, I plainly tell Icilius and his fellows that I will support the laws which I have made. Violence shall not prevail over justice at this tribunal."
Obliged to be content with this, the friends of Virginia conducted her home, and Icilius sent messengers in all haste to the camp, to bid Virginius come without an hour's delay to Rome. Surety was given that the maiden should appear before Appius the next day.
It was fortunate that the army in which Virginius was a centurion had been obliged to retreat, and then lay not many miles from Rome. The messengers sent reached the camp that same evening, and told Virginius of the peril of his daughter. Appius had also sent messengers to his colleagues in command of the army, secretly instructing them not to let Virginius leave the camp on any pretence. But the messengers of right outstripped those of wrong, and when word came from the decemvirs in command to restrain Virginius he had already been given leave of absence, and was speeding on the road to Rome, spurred by love and indignation.
Morning came, and Appius resumed his judgment-seat, under the delusion that his vile scheme was safe. To his surprise and dismay, he saw Virginius, whom he supposed detained in camp, dressed in mean attire, like a suppliant, and leading his daughter into the Forum. With him came a body of Roman matrons and a great troop of friends, for the affair had roused the people almost to the point of revolt.
"This is not my cause only, but the cause of all," said Virginius, in moving accents, to the people. "If my daughter shall be robbed from me, what father and mother among you all is safe?"
Icilius earnestly seconded this appeal, and the mothers who stood by wept with pity, their tears moving the people even more than the words of the father and lover.
But Appius was not to be moved by tears or appeals. Bent on gaining his unholy ends, he did not even give Virginius time to address the tribunal, but before Claudius had done speaking he hastened to give sentence. The maiden, he said, should be considered a slave until proved to be free-born. In the mean time she should remain in the custody of her master Claudius.
This monstrous decision, a perversion of all law, natural and civil, filled the people with astonishment. Could the maker of the laws of Rome thus himself set them at defiance? They stood as if stunned, until Claudius approached to lay hands on the maiden, when the women and her friends gathered around her and kept him off, while Virginius broke out in passionate threats that he would not tamely submit to so great a wrong.
Appius had prepared for this. He had brought with him a body of armed patricians, and, supported by them, he bade his lictors to drive back the crowd. Before their threatening axes the unarmed people fell back, and the weeping maiden was left standing alone. Virginius looked on in despair. Was he to be robbed of his daughter in the face of Rome, and in defiance of all justice and honor? There was one way still to save her, and only one.
With an aspect of humility he asked Appius to let him speak one word to the nurse in the maiden's hearing, that he might learn whether she were really his child or not. "If I am not indeed her father, I shall bear her loss the lighter," he said.
Appius, with a show of moderation, consented, and the distracted father drew the nurse and his daughter aside to a spot where stood some butchers' booths, for the Forum of Rome was then a place of trade as well as of justice. Here he snatched a knife from a butcher, and, holding the poor girl in his arm, he cried, "This is the only way, my child, to keep thee free," and plunged the weapon to her heart.
Then, turning to Appius, he cried, in threatening accents, "On you and on your head be the curse of this blood!"
"Seize the madman!" yelled Appius.
But, brandishing the bloody knife, Virginius broke through the multitude, which readily made way for his passage, and flew to the city gates, where, seizing a horse, he rode with wild haste to the camp of Tusculum.
Meanwhile Icilius and Numitorius held up the maiden's body, and bade the people see the bloody result of the decemvir's unholy purpose. A tumult instantly arose, the people rushing in such fury upon the tribunal that the lictors and armed patricians were driven back, and Appius, stricken with fear, covered his face with his robe and fled into a neighboring house.
Never had Rome been so stirred to fury. The colleague of Appius rushed with his followers to the Forum, but the people were too strong for all the force he could gather. The senate met, but could do nothing in the excited state of public feeling. An attempt to support the decemvirs now might cause the commons once more to secede to the Sacred Hill.
While this was going on in the city, Virginius, followed by many citizens, had reached the camp. Here the encrimsoned knife he held, the blood on his face and body, and the many unarmed citizens who followed him, brought the soldiers crowding round to learn what all this meant.
The tale was told in moving accents. On hearing it the whole army burst into a storm of indignation. Heedless of the orders of their generals, they rushed excitedly to arms, pulled up their standards, and put themselves in hasty march for Rome. The only leader they recognized was Virginius, who, knife in hand, led the way in the van.
Reaching the city, the soldiers called on the commons to assert their liberties and elect new tribunes, the decemvirs having deprived them of these officials. They then marched to the Aventine Hill, where they selected ten military tribunes. The senate sent to them to know what they wanted, but they replied that they had no answer to give except to their own friends.
The other army had also heard of the outrage, and soon appeared at the Aventine, led by Icilius and Numitorius, who had hastened with the dreadful story to its camp. It, too, elected ten tribunes, and waited to hear what the senate had to propose. They waited in vain. No word came to them. The senate, distracted by the sudden occurrence, sought to temporize, but the people were in too deadly earnest to be thus dealt with. In the end the armies left the Aventine, marched through the city, and made their way to the Sacred Hill, where the seceding commoners had established themselves on a famous occasion long before. Men, women, and children followed them in multitudes. Once more the city was deserted by the plebeians, and the patricians were left to keep Rome together as they could.
This brought the senate to terms. The decemvirs agreed to resign. Deputies were sent to ask what the people demanded. They replied that they wanted their tribunes and the right of appeal restored, full indemnity for all the leaders in the secession, and the punishment of their oppressors.
"These decemvirs," said Icilius, "are public enemies, and we will have them die the death of such. Give them up to us, that they may be burnt with fire, as they have richly deserved."
This blood-thirsty desire, however, was not insisted on. All their other requests were granted, and the people returned to Rome. The decemvirs had resigned. Ten tribunes were chosen, among them Virginius and Icilius. The people of Rome had regained the liberty of which they had been robbed by their late oppressors.
But though the decemvirs had been spared from death by fire, they were not forgiven. Virginius, as a tribune, impeached Appius for having given a decision in defiance of the law. The proud patrician appeared in the Forum surrounded by a body of young nobles, but he gained nothing by this bravado. He refused to go before the judge, appealed to the people, and demanded to be released on bail. This Virginius refused. He could not be trusted at liberty. He was therefore thrown into prison, to await the judgment of the people.
This judgment he did not live to hear. Whether he killed himself in prison, or was killed by order of his accusers, we do not know. We only know that he died. His colleague, who had come to his aid on that fatal day, was also thrown into prison, on the charge of having wantonly scourged an old and distinguished soldier. He also died there. The other decemvirs, with M. Claudius, who had claimed Virginia as his slave, were allowed to give bail, and all fled from Rome. The property of all of them was confiscated and sold.
Rome had experienced enough of decemvirate rule. The tribunes of the people were restored, and thereafter they were both freely chosen by the people, which had not been the case before.
And thus it was that Virginia was revenged and justice once more reigned in Rome.
We have now to tell the story of another dictator of Rome. Like Cincinnatus, Camillus is largely a creature of legend, but he plays an active part in old Roman annals, and the tale of his doings is well worth repeating.
Rome was at war with the city of Veii, a large and strong city beyond the Tiber, and not many miles away. In the year of Rome 350 (or 403 B.C.) the siege of Veii began, and was continued for seven years. We are told that the Romans surrounded the city, five miles in circumference, with a double wall, but it could not have been complete, or the Veientians could not have held out against starvation so long. For the end of the siege and the taking of the city we must revert to the legendary tale.
For seven years and more, so the legend says, the Romans had been besieging Veii. During the last year of the siege, in late summer, the springs and rivers all ran low; but of a sudden the waters of the Lake of Alba began to rise, and the flood continued until the banks were overflowed and the fields and houses by its side were drowned. Still higher and higher the waters swelled till they reached the tops of the hills which rose like a wall around the lake. In the end they overflowed these hills at their lowest points, and poured in a mighty torrent into the plain beyond.
The prayers and sacrifices of the Romans had failed to check the flood, which threatened their city and fields, and despairing of any redress from their own gods they sent to Delphi, in Greece, and applied there to the famous oracle of Apollo. While the messengers were on their way, it chanced that a Roman centurion talked with an old Veientian on the walls whom he had known in times of peace, and knew to be skilled in the secrets of Fate. The Roman condoled with his friend, and hoped that no harm would come to him in the fall of Veii, sure to happen soon. The old man laughed in reply, and said,—
"You think, then, to take Veii. You shall not take it till the waters of the Lake of Alba are all spent, and flow out into the sea no more."
This remark troubled the Roman, who knew the prophetic foresight of his friend. The next day he talked with him again, and finally enticed him to leave the city, saying that he wished to meet him at a certain secret place and consult with him on a matter of his own. But on getting him in this way out of the city, he seized and carried him off to the camp, where he brought him before the generals. These, learning what the old man had said, sent him to the senate at Rome.
The prisoner here spoke freely. "If the lake overflow," he said, "and its waters run out into the sea, woe unto Rome; but if it be drawn off, and the waters reach the sea no longer, then it is woe unto Veii."
This he gave as the decree of the Fates; but the senate would not accept his words, and preferred to wait until the messengers should return from Delphi with the reply of the oracle.
When they did come, they confirmed what the old prophet had said. "See that the waters be not confined within the basin of the lake," was the message of Apollo's priestess: "see that they take not their own course and run into the sea. Thou shalt take the water out of the lake, and thou shalt turn it to the watering of the fields, and thou shalt make courses for it till it be spent and come to nothing."
What all this could possibly have to do with the siege of Veii the oracle did not say. But the people of the past were not given to ask such inconvenient questions. The oracle was supposed to know better than they, so workmen were sent with orders to bore through the sides of the hills and make a passage for the water. This tunnel was made, and the waters of the lake were drawn off, and divided into many courses, being given the duty of watering the fields of the Romans. In this way the water of the lake was all used up, and no drop of it flowed to the sea. Then the Romans knew that it was the will of the gods that Veii should be theirs.
Despite all this, the army of Rome must have met with serious difficulties and dangers at Veii, for the senate chose a dictator to conduct the war. This was their ablest and most famous man, Marcus Furius Camillus, a leader among the aristocrats, and a statesman of distinguished ability.
Under the command of Camillus the army hotly pressed the siege. So straitened became the Veientians that they sent envoys to Rome to beg for peace. The senate refused. In reply, one of the chief men of the embassy, who was a skilled prophet, rebuked the Romans for their arrogance, and predicted coming retribution.
"You heed neither the wrath of the gods nor the vengeance of men," he said. "Yet the gods shall requite you for your pride; as you destroy our country, so shall you shortly after lose your own."
This prediction was verified before many years in the invasion of the Gauls and the destruction of Rome,—a tale which we have next to tell.
Camillus, finding that Veii was not to be taken by assault over its walls, began to approach it from below. Men were set to dig an underground tunnel, which should pass beneath the walls, and come to the surface again in the Temple of Juno, which stood in the citadel of Veii. Night and day they worked, and the tunnel was in course of time completed, though the ground was not opened at its inner extremity.
Then many Romans came to the camp through desire to have a share in the spoil of Veii. A tenth part of this spoil was vowed by Camillus to Apollo, in reward for his oracle; and the dictator also prayed to Juno, the goddess of Veii, begging her to desert this city and follow the Romans home, where a temple worthy of her dignity should be built.
All being ready, a fierce assault was made on the city from every side. The defenders ran to the walls to repel their foes, and the fight went vigorously on. While it continued the king of Veii repaired to the Temple of Juno, where he offered a sacrifice for the deliverance of the city. The prophet who stood by, on seeing the sacrifice, said, "This is an accepted offering. There is victory for him who offers the entrails of this victim upon the altar."
The Romans who were in the secret passage below heard these words. Instantly the earth was heaved up above them, and they sprang, arms in hand, from the tunnel. The entrails were snatched from the hands of those who were sacrificing, and Camillus, the Roman dictator, not the Veientian king, offered them upon the altar. While he did so his followers rushed from the citadel into the streets, flung open the city gates, and let in their comrades. Thus both from within and without the army broke into the town, and Veii was taken and sacked.
From the height of the citadel Camillus looked down upon the havoc in the city streets, and said in pride of heart, "What man's fortune was ever so great as mine?" But instantly the thought came to him how little a thing can bring the highest fortune down to the lowest, and he prayed that if some evil should befall him or his country it might be light.
As he prayed he veiled his head, according to the Roman custom, and turned toward the right. In doing so his foot slipped, and he fell upon his back on the ground. "The gods have heard my prayer," he said. "For the great fortune of my victory over Veii they have sent me only this little evil."
He then bade some young men, chosen from the whole army, to wash themselves in pure water, and clothe themselves in white, so that there would be about them no stain or sign of blood. This done, they entered the Temple of Juno, bowing low, and taking care not to touch the statue of the goddess, which only the priest could touch. They asked the goddess whether it was her pleasure to go with them to Rome.
Then a wonder happened; from the mouth of the image came the words "I will go." And when they now touched it, it moved of its own accord. It was carried to Rome, where a temple was built and consecrated to Juno on the Aventine Hill.
On his return to Rome Camillus entered the city in triumph, and rode to the Capitol in a chariot drawn by four white horses, like the horses of Jupiter or those of the sun. Such was his ostentation that wise men shook their heads. "Marcus Camillus makes himself equal to the blessed gods," they said. "See if vengeance come not on him, and he be not made lower than other men."
There is one further legend about Camillus. After the fall of Veii he besieged Falerii. During this siege a school-master, who had charge of the sons of the principal citizens, while walking with his boys outside the walls, played the traitor and led them into the Roman camp.
But the villain received an unexpected reward. Camillus, justly indignant at the act, put thongs in the boys' hands and bade them flog their master back into the town, saying that the Romans did not war on children. On this the people of Falerii, overcome by his magnanimity, surrendered themselves, their city, and their country into the hands of this generous foe, assured of just treatment from so noble a man.
But trouble came upon Camillus, as the wise men had predicted. He was an enemy of the commons and was to feel their power. It was claimed that he had kept for himself part of the plunder of Veii, and on this charge he was banished from Rome. But the time was near at hand when his foes would have to pray for his return. The next year the Gauls were to come, and Camillus was to be revenged upon his ungrateful country. This story we have next to tell.
We have related in the preceding tale how a Veientian prophet predicted the ruin of Rome, in retribution for the cruelty of the Romans to the people of Veii. It is the story of this disaster which we have now to tell. While the Romans were assailing Veii and making other conquests among the neighboring cities, a new people had come into Central Italy, a fair-faced, light-haired, great-bodied tribe of barbarians, fierce in aspect, warlike in character, the first contingent of that great invasion from the north which, centuries afterwards, was to overthrow the empire of Rome.
These were the Gauls, barbarian tribes from the region now known as France, who had long before crossed the Alps and made themselves lords of much of Northern Italy. Just when this took place we do not know, but about the time with which we are now concerned they pushed farther south, overthrew the Etruscans, and in the year 389 B.C. crossed the Apennines and penetrated into Central Italy.
And now the proud city of Rome was to come face to face with an enemy more powerful and courageous than any it had hitherto known. In the year named the Gauls besieged the city of Clusium, in Etruria, the city of Lars Porsenna, who in former years had aided Tarquin against Rome. The Roman senate, alarmed at their approach, sent three deputies to observe these barbarian bands. What follows is the story as told in Roman annals. It cannot be accepted as the exact truth, though no one questions the destruction of Rome by the Gauls.
The story goes, then, that the deputies sent to the barbarians, and asked by what right they sought to take a part of the territory of Clusium, a city in alliance with Rome. Brennus, the leader of the Gauls, who knew little and cared less about Rome, replied, with insolent pride, that all things belonged to the brave, and that their right lay in their swords.
Soon after, in a sortie that was made from the city, one of the Roman deputies joined the soldiers, and killed a Gaulish champion of great size and stature. On this being reported to Brennus he sent messengers to Rome, demanding that the man who had slain one of his chiefs, when no war existed between the Gauls and Romans, should be delivered into his hands for punishment. The senate voted to do so, as the demand seemed reasonable; but an appeal was made to the people, and they declared that the culprit should not be given up. On this answer being taken to Brennus, he at once ordered that the siege of Clusium should be abandoned, and marched with his whole army upon Rome.
A Roman army, forty thousand strong, was hastily raised, and crossed the Tiber, marching towards Veii, where they expected to meet the advancing enemy. But they reckoned wrongly: the Gauls came down the left bank of the river, plundering and burning as they marched. This threw the Romans into the greatest alarm. For many miles above Rome the Tiber could not be forded, there were no bridges, and boats could not be had to convey so large an army. The Romans were forced to march back with all speed to the city, cross the river there, and hasten to meet their foes before they got too near at hand. But when they came within sight of the Gauls the latter were already within twelve miles of Rome.
The Roman army was drawn up behind the Alia, a little stream whose deep bed formed a line of defence. But the Gauls made their attack upon the weakest section of the Roman army, hewing them down with their great broadswords, and assailing their ears with frightful yells. The Roman right wing, formed of new recruits, gave way before this vigorous charge, and in its flight threw the regular legions of the left wing into disorder. The Gauls pursued so fiercely that in a short time the whole army was in total rout, and flying as Roman army had never fled before.
Many plunged into the river, in hope of escaping by swimming across it. But of these the Gauls slew multitudes on the banks, and killed most of those in the stream with their javelins. Others took refuge in a dense wood near the road, where they lay hidden till nightfall. The remainder fled back to the city, where they brought the frightful tidings of the utter ruin of the Roman army.
The news threw Rome into a panic. Of those who escaped from the battle, the majority had crossed the river and made their way to Veii. No other army could be raised. Most of the other inhabitants left the city, as the people of Athens had done when the army of Xerxes approached. It was resolved to abandon the city to the barbarians, but to maintain the citadel, the home of the gods of Rome. The holy articles in the temples were buried or removed, the Vestal Virgins sent away, and the flower of the patricians took refuge in the Capitol, determined to defend to the last that abiding-place of the guardian gods of Rome.
But there were aged members of the senate, old patricians who had filled the highest offices in the state, and venerable ministers of the gods, who felt that they had a different duty to perform. They could not serve their country by their deeds; they might by their death. They devoted themselves and the army of the Gauls, in solemn invocations, to the spirits of the dead and to the earth, the common grave of man. Then, attiring themselves in their richest robes of office, each took his seat on his ivory chair of magistracy in the gate-way of his house.
Meanwhile the Gauls had delayed for a day their attack on the city, fearing that the silence portended some snare. When they did enter, the people had escaped with such valuables as they could carry. The Capitol was provisioned and garrisoned, and the aged senators awaited death in solemn calm.
On seeing these venerable men, sitting in motionless silence amid the confusion of the sack of the city, the Gauls viewed them with awe, regarding them at first as more than human. One of the soldiers approached M. Papirius, and began reverently to stroke his long white beard. Papirius was a minister of the gods, and looked on this touch of a barbarian hand as profanation. With an impulse of anger he struck the Gaul on the head with his ivory sceptre. Instantly the barbarian, breaking into rage, cut him down with his sword. This put an end to the feeling of awe. All the old men were attacked and slain, their vow being thus fulfilled.
Rome, except its Capitol, was now in the hands of the Gauls. The sack and ruin of the city went mercilessly on. But the Capitol defied their efforts. It stood on a hill which, except at a single point, presented precipitous sides. The Gauls tried to storm it by this single approach, but were driven back with loss. They then blockaded the hill, and spent their time in devastating the city and neighboring country.
While this was going on the fugitives from Rome had gathered at Veii, where they daily became more reorganized. And now they turned in their distress to a man whom they had injured in their prosperity. Camillus, the conqueror of Veii, had been exiled from Rome on a charge of having been dishonest in distributing the spoils of the conquered city. He was now living at Ardea, whither messengers were sent, begging him to come to the aid of Rome. He sent word back that he had been condemned for an offence of which he was not guilty, and would not return unless requested to do so by the senate.
But the senate was shut up in the Capitol. How could it be reached? In this dilemma a young man, Pontius Cominius, volunteered for the adventure. He swam the Tiber at night, climbed the hill by the aid of shrubs and projecting stones, obtained for Camillus the appointment as dictator, and returned by the same route.
The feat of Cominius, whatever its real purpose, came near being a fatal one to Rome. He had left his marks on the cliff. Here the soil had been trodden away and stones loosened; there bushes had been broken or torn from the soil. The sharp eyes of the Gauls saw, in the morning light, these proofs that some one had climbed or descended the hill. The cliff, then, could be climbed. Some Roman had climbed it; why not they? The spot, supposed to be inaccessible, was not guarded. There was no wall at its top. Here was an open route to that stubborn citadel. They resolved to attempt it as soon as night should fall.
It was midnight when the Gauls began to make their way slowly and with difficulty up the steep cliff. The moon may have aided them with its rays, but, if so, it revealed them to no sentinel above. The very watch-dogs failed to scent and signal their approach. They reached the summit, and, to their gratification, no alarm had been given. The Romans slept on.
The fate of Rome in that hour hung in the balance. Had the citadel been taken and its defenders slain, Rome might never have recovered from the blow. The whole course of history might have been changed. It was the merest chance that saved the city from this impending disaster.
It chanced that on this part of the hill stood the temple of the guardian gods of Rome,—Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva,—and in this temple were kept a number of geese, sacred to Juno. Though food was not abundant, the garrison had spared these sacred geese. They were now to be amply repaid, for the geese alone heard the noise of the ascending Gauls, and in alarm began a loud screaming and flapping of wings.
The noise aroused Marcus Manlius, who slept near. Hastily seizing his sword and shield, he called to his comrades and ran to the edge of the cliff. He reached there just in time to see the head and shoulders of a burly Gaul, who had nearly attained the summit. Dashing the rim of his shield into the face of the barbarian, Manlius tumbled him down the rock, and with him those who followed in his track. The others, dismayed, dropped their arms to cling more closely to the rocks. Unable to ascend or descend, they were easily slaughtered by the guards who followed Manlius. The Capitol was saved. As for the captain of the watch, from whose neglect of duty this peril had come, he was punished the next morning by being hurled down the cliff upon the slaughtered Gauls.
Manlius was rewarded, says the story, by each man giving him from his scanty store a day's allowance of food,—namely, half a pound of corn and five ounces in weight of wine. As for the real defenders of Rome, the geese of the Capitol, they were ever after held in the highest honor and veneration.
As the Capitol could not be taken by assault or surprise, there remained only the slow process of siege. For six or eight months the Gauls blockaded the hill. So says the story, but it was probably not so long. However, in the end the Romans were brought to the point of famine, and offered to ransom their city by paying a large sum of gold. Brennus, the Gaulish king, was ready to accept the offer. His men were suffering from the Roman fever; food had grown scarce; he agreed, if paid a thousand pounds' weight of gold, to withdraw his army from Rome.
Much gold had been brought by the fugitive patricians into the Capitol. From this the delegates brought down and placed in the scales a sufficient quantity. But while they found the gold, the Gauls found the weights, and it was soon discovered that the wily barbarians were cheating. Their weights were too heavy. Complaint of this fraud was made by the Roman tribune of the soldiers. In reply Brennus drew his heavy broadsword and threw it into the scale with the weights.
"What does this mean?" asked the tribune.
"It means," answered the barbarian, haughtily, "woe to the vanquished!" "Væ victis esse!"
While this was going on, says the legend, Camillus, the dictator, was marching to Rome with the legions he had organized at Veii. He appeared at the right minute for the dramatic interest of the story, entered the Forum while the gold was being weighed, bade the Romans take back their gold, threw the weights to the Gauls, and told Brennus proudly that it was the Roman custom to pay their debts in iron, not in gold.
A fight ensued, as might be expected. The Gauls were driven from the city. The next day Camillus attacked them in their camp, eight miles from Rome, and defeated them so utterly that not a man was left alive to carry home the tale of the slaughter.
This story of the coming of Camillus is too much like the last act of a stage-play, or the dénouement of a novel, to be true. Most likely the Gauls marched off with their gold, though they may have been attacked on their retreat, and most or all of the gold regained.
Camillus, however, is said to have saved Rome in still another way. The old city was in ashes. Most of the citizens were at Veii, where they had found or built new homes. They were loath to come back to rebuild a ruined city. This Camillus induced them to do. Every appeal was made to the local pride and the religious sentiments of the people. A centurion, marching with his company, and being obliged to halt in front of the senate-house, called to the standard-bearer, "Pitch your standard here, for this is the best place to stop at." This casual remark was looked upon as an omen from heaven, and by this and the like means the people were induced to return.
Then the rebuilding of Rome began. The sites of the temples were retraced as far as could be done in the ruins. The laws of the twelve tables and some other records were recovered, but the mass of the historical annals of Rome had been destroyed. Some relics were said to have been miraculously preserved, among them the shepherd's crook of Romulus.
But the bulk of the possessions of the Romans had vanished in the flames; the streets were mere heaps of ashes; the very walls had been in part pulled down; rubbish and ruin lay everywhere. Rome, like the phœnix, had to be born again from its ashes. Men built wherever they could find a clear spot. Stones and roofing-material were brought from Veii, and one city was dismantled that another might be restored. Stones and timber were supplied to any man from the public lands. The city rapidly rose again. But it was an irregular city; the streets ran anywhere; no effort was made at rule or system in the making of the new Rome.
As for Camillus, he came to be honored as the second founder of Rome. While the Romans were at work on their new homes they were harassed by their foes, and he was kept busy with the army in the field. He lived for twenty-five years longer, and in the year 367 B.C., when some eighty years of age, he marched again to meet the Gauls in a new assault upon Rome, and defeated them with such slaughter that they left Rome alone for many years afterwards.
Marcus Manlius, the preserver of the Capitol, was not so fortunate. He came forward as the patron of the poor, who began to suffer again from the severe laws against debtors. Finally he began to use his large fortune to relieve suffering debtors, and is said to have paid the debts of four hundred debtors, thus saving them from bondage. This generosity won him the unbounded affection of the people, who called him the "Father of the Commons." But it aroused the suspicion of the patricians, and some of these, against whom he had used violent language, had him arrested on a charge of treason, perhaps with good reason. Though he showed the many honors he had received for services to his country, he was condemned to death and his house razed to the ground. Thus the patricians dealt with the benefactors of the poor.
During three years—363 to 361 B.C.—Rome was ravaged by the plague, which was so violent and fatal as to carry off the citizens by hundreds. In its first year it found a noble victim in Camillus, the conqueror of Veii and the second founder of Rome, who four years before had a second time defeated the Gauls. He was the last of the old heroes of Rome, those whose glory belongs to romance rather than history. The Gauls had destroyed the records of old Rome, and left only legend and romance. With the new Rome history fairly began.
But we have another romantic tale to tell before we bid adieu to the story of early Rome. In the second year of the pestilence a strange and portentous event occurred. The Tiber rose to an unusual height, overflowed with its waters the great circus (Circus Maximus), and put a stop to the games then going on, which were intended to propitiate the wrath of heaven, and induce the gods to relieve man from the evil of the plague.
And now, in the midst of the Forum, there yawned open a fearful gulf, so wide and deep that the superstitious Romans viewed it with awe and affright. Whether it was due to an earthquake or the wrath of the gods is not for us to say. The Romans believed the latter; those who prefer may believe the former. But, so we are told, it seemed bottomless. Throw what they would in it, it stood unfilled, and the feeling grew that no power of man could ever fill its yawning depths.
Man being powerless, the oracles of the gods were consulted. Must this gaping wound always stand open in the soil of Rome? or could it in any way be filled and the offended deities who had caused it be propitiated? From the oracle came the reply that it must stand open till that which constituted the best and true strength of the Roman commonwealth was cast as an offering into the gulf. Then only would it close, and thereafter forever would the state live and flourish.