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 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.
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 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 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 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 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 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 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.
"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.
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 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.
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.
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 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 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.
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 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.
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 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 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.
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 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.
"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 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."
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.
"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 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 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 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.
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.
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.
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 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 Vespasian, who had gained a reputation for kindness and clemency, acted with a cruelty worthy of the worst emperors of Rome. The pitiable tale of the captives had no effect upon him; the devotion of the wife roused no sympathy in his heart; Sabinus had dared rebel against Rome, no time nor circumstance could soften that flagitious crime; without hesitation the chief was condemned to death, and instant execution ordered.
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.
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 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.