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 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, 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 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 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 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 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.
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, 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 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 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 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. 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.
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 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 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.
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.
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 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, 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 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.
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.
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 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. 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 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 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.
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 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.
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 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 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 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 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.
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 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 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. 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 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 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.
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 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 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.