[Illustration:
The History and
Romance of
Crime
FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES
TO THE PRESENT DAY
colophon
THE GROLIER SOCIETY
LONDON]
[Illustration: _Alexander VI and Machiavelli_
_From the painting by Francesco Iacovacci In the National Gallery, Rome_
The distinguished author Machiavelli holding conversation with Pope
Alexander VI, in whose reign a contemporary writer says: “There is
nothing so wicked or so criminal as not to be done publicly at
Rome.” Machiavelli was imprisoned and put to the torture in 1513,
but was released and seems to have escaped the fate of many.
Alexander VI died by poison, which he and his son Cesare Borgia had
prepared for a cardinal, who was invited to dine with them in their
garden.
]
Italian Prisons
ST. ANGELO--THE PIOMBI--THE VICARIA
PRISONS OF THE ROMAN INQUISITION
_by_
MAJOR ARTHUR GRIFFITHS
_Late Inspector of Prisons in Great Britain_
_Author of
“The Mysteries of Police and Crime,”
“Fifty Years of Public Service,” etc._
[Illustration: colophon]
THE GROLIER SOCIETY
EDITION NATIONALE
Limited to one thousand registered and numbered sets.
NUMBER 307
INTRODUCTION
The Tomb of Hadrian, or Castle of St. Angelo, as it has been called
since the famous vision of Gregory the Great, is a familiar object to
every stranger in Rome. It stands above the yellow Tiber facing the
ancient Aelian Bridge, now called also the Bridge of St. Angelo on the
main road to St. Peter’s and the Vatican. It is connected with the
latter by a subterranean passage built by Pope Alexander VI in 1500, and
used by his successors as a path of retreat to the fortress in times of
internal revolt or foreign attack. The great fortress prison, although
dismantled of the marble that once covered its stones, is still a most
imposing edifice and is second to none in the world in its historic
memories, replete with strange and terrible interest. It is an epitome
of Roman history, closely associated from the beginning of the Christian
era down to the fall of the temporal power of the Popes, with the storms
and struggles that have rent the Eternal City. Any account of Italian
prisons must thus centre about this grim old relic of the Cæsars,--“this
massive mausoleum, by turns a tomb, a fortress, a prison and a palace, a
chapel and a treasure-house; now threatening the liberty of Rome, now
defending its very existence; now the refuge of the Republic, now the
hiding place of the Popes; through war and peace, from the Imperial days
on through the Gothic and Mediæval epochs, down to the present hour
never ceasing to be a living part of the history of Rome.” Since 1890 it
has been used as barracks for a branch of the Italian army, but visitors
may yet see the apartments of the Popes and those horrible dungeons into
which, in former days, no ray of light could penetrate. Until the French
occupation of Rome, when doors were cut into them, they were entered
through holes in the vaulted ceiling. Through these the wretched
prisoners were let down into the fetid depths of these “sepulchres
without the peace of the dead.” In them languished Benvenuto Cellini,
the wizard Cagliostro, beautiful, unhappy Beatrice Cenci, and many
others famous in song and story.
The records of this fortress-prison are largely the history of early and
mediæval Rome, and in the severity of its punishments and the ruthless
cruelty of its methods it stands as the type “writ large” of the prisons
of Italy, for which, as it were, it set the pace.
For centuries before its unification under Victor Emanuel I, Italy had
been split into many small, independent, and ever-warring states, each
with its own penal code and methods of punishment, but each emulating
the other in the arbitrariness of its methods and the diabolical
cruelty of its punishments. When the prisons were taken over by the
present government, they were unspeakably foul and ill-ventilated, and
frightfully overcrowded. When Mr. Gladstone, moved by the rumours of
their condition at the time of the imprisonment of the Neapolitan
patriots, Paerio and Settembrini, penetrated into them in disguise, “he
found the prisoners, men of stainless life, ex-cabinet ministers,
authors, barristers, chained to common criminals and living in hideous
degradation.” In St. Angelo, subterranean cells, which could be entered
only by crawling on all fours, often held thrice the number for which
they were destined. Here were huddled the innocent and the guilty, the
untried and convicted. At this time ordinary prisoners were often
employed beyond the gaol, compelled to drag their chains as they worked
in the streets or private houses. Within, they were hired out to
contractors who were fined for every idle man. Discipline was maintained
by confinement in a black hole, or by resort to starvation, irons or the
stick. Many such instruments may still be seen by the visitor to St.
Angelo. In the Roman prison food was very scarce, and to provide it and
otherwise alleviate the sufferings of the wretched inmates, was the
special vocation of many pious confraternities, of which some account is
given in these pages.
In marked contrast was the treatment of clerical offenders. For them a
special building, beautifully located at Carneto, was set apart. Here
the inmates were lodged in separate cells, were allowed to raise flowers
in the garden, and, if so disposed, to pass their days together.
In Mr. Gladstone’s denunciation of the Neapolitan prisons he referred to
them as “a self-governed community in which the real authority was
vested in the worst members,”--those, in fact, who had been guilty of
the most atrocious crimes. At that time, as at the present, these
prisons were ruled by that powerful associated body of evil-doers, the
“Camorra,” that hideous offspring of the union of Bourbon tyranny with
Neapolitan want and depravity, which continues to terrorise the lower
classes of southern Italy. The Mafia is of Sicilian origin and much
older than the Camorra. A chapter is devoted to these great criminal
societies.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTION v
I. THE CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO 9
II. THE LEONINE CITY 35
III. THE GREAT SIEGE OF ST. ANGELO 61
IV. ADVENTURES OF CELLINI 83
V. SIXTUS THE FIFTH 105
VI. THE STORY OF THE CENCI 132
VII. THE ROMAN INQUISITION 157
VIII. LATER DAYS IN ROME 187
IX. THE PIOMBI OF VENICE 208
X. THE VICARIA OF NAPLES 248
XI. THE CAMORRA AND THE MAFIA 262
List of Illustrations
ALEXANDER VI AND MACHIAVELLI _Frontispiece_
THE CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO IN 1490 _Page_ 18
LUCREZIA BORGIA DANCING “ 58
SIXTUS V “ 106
BEATRICE CENCI “ 142
THE GRAND DUCAL PALACE “ 210
ITALIAN PRISONS
CHAPTER I
THE CASTLE OF ST. ANGELO
St. Angelo a living part of the history of Rome--Its origin and
uses--Preceded in date by the Mamertine Prison--Mausoleum of
Hadrian--Other ancient monuments in Rome--Description of
mausoleum--Hadrian, his life and work--Antinous--Funeral
procession--Antoninus Pius--Marcus Aurelius--Severus--The mausoleum
as a fortress--Struggles with the Barbarians.
A prison of great antiquity still exists in Rome and claims precedence
in date over St. Angelo. This is the Mamertine Prison, situated just
below the Capitol and on the way to the Forum, in which by common
tradition St. Peter was confined A.D. 62. The pillar to which he is said
to have been chained is still on view, and the well of water is shown
which sprang up miraculously for use in the baptism of the converted
gaoler and St. Peter’s forty-seven fellow prisoners. It is an appalling
place even to-day when the light of heaven creeps down the stairs
leading to its subterranean recesses. These were two cellars, one below
the other, and access to them was only gained through a small aperture
in the roof of the upper cellar, while a similar hole in the floor led
down into the cell underneath; neither had any staircase. The upper
prison was twenty-seven feet long by twenty wide, the lower, elliptical
in shape, was twenty feet long by ten feet wide; the height of the
former was fourteen feet and of the latter seven feet. They were used
originally as state prisons and lodged only persons of distinction,
Jugurtha being among the number. We read in Sallust: “In the prison
called Tullian when you have gone a little way down, a place on the left
is found sunk twenty feet; it is surrounded by walls on all sides, and
above is a room vaulted with stone, but from uncleanliness, darkness and
a foul smell the appearance of it is disgusting and terrific.” Livy
tells us that this prison was built by Ancus Martius, and like the
Cloacae, of large uncemented stones; it was also called “Robur” and
seems to be identical with the _carcer lautumiarum_ or the “prison of
the stone quarries,” suggesting that after the excavation the empty
space was utilised for the construction of a prison. The quarries at
Syracuse were used for the same purpose. The Mamertine prison was
constantly used for the confinement of the early Christian martyrs. A
chapel was eventually built above it, consecrated to St. Peter.
The site occupied by the castle of St. Angelo is identical with that of
the tomb, mausoleum or mole erected by the Emperor Hadrian, A.D. 135,
for himself and his family. Powerful rulers from the earliest ages have
been greatly concerned to raise fitting receptacles for their ashes. The
famous pyramids of Egypt are perhaps the most striking illustration of
this vanity, and the influence was felt in other countries, especially
in Rome. Many fine monuments survive, some in still recognisable ruins,
some in ever green memory, perpetuating this desire. We may instance the
tomb of Caius Cestius--the only specimen of a pyramid existing in
Rome--which still stands near the Porta San Paolo, partly within the
walls, partly without, for the Emperor Aurelian ran his wall exactly
across it. It is 125 feet high, built of brick cased in white marble,
now become black with age; and its chief modern interest is that the
English cemetery is close at hand, the last resting place of the poets
Shelley and Keats. The Cestian family was distinguished, but nothing
very positive is known of this Caius except that he held office as
praetor of the people in the seventh century B.C.
Another tomb is that of Bibulus, who was also a tribune. It is still
extant and to be found at the foot of the Capitoline Bridge. The tomb of
Cecilia Metella is a very beautiful and well preserved monument of
circular form, standing on the Appian Way near the Circus of Caracalla;
she was a daughter of the Q. C. Metellus who conquered Crete, and was
probably wife to Crassus who fell in the Parthian war. The most notable
of all was the mausoleum of Augustus, once a magnificent structure, a
small portion of which still remains, much built in, and hidden away in
the Via Rippeta. It was originally of circular form crowned with a dome
and surmounted with a statue of Augustus. Strabo records that “it was
particularly worth noticing, built upon immense foundations of white
marble and covered with evergreens.” It is probable that the Emperor
Hadrian desired to imitate and rival Augustus in the erection of the
mausoleum to himself. He was inspired also, it is believed, by his
admiration of the magnificent monument erected by Artemisia to her
brother and husband Mausolus, who originated the word mausoleum, and was
king of Caria 377 B.C. This splendid tomb erected at Halicarnassus was
the outcome of her inconsolable grief and ardent affection, which was
further displayed by her drinking his ashes dissolved in fluid. This
famous monument was counted one of the seven wonders of the world. The
statue of Mausolus may be seen to-day among the art treasures preserved
in the British Museum.
Hadrian’s work was undertaken A.D. 135 but he did not live to complete
it, and it was finished by his successor, Antoninus Pius. The first
detailed description of the mausoleum is to be found in the history of
the Gothic wars written by Procopius in the sixth century. “Beyond the
Aurelian Gate,” he says, “a stone’s throw from the walls is the tomb of
Hadrian, a wonderful and remarkable work, built of large blocks of
Parian marble, superposed and closely fitted together without cement or
clamps to bind them. The four sides are equal, each about a stone’s
throw in length, and the height is greater than the walls of the city.
On the summit are admirable statues of men and horses of the same
material, and as this tomb formed a defence to the city thrown out
beyond the walls, it was joined to them by the ancients (the Roman
emperors) by two arms built out to it, so that it seemed to rise out of
them like a lofty turret.”
To this brief description John of Antioch, the author of a book of
antiquities in the eighth century, adds the fact that the mausoleum was
surmounted by a statue of Hadrian in a car drawn by four horses and so
large that a full grown man might pass through one of the horses’ eyes.
And yet he says, that in consequence of the great height of the
mausoleum, the horses as well as the statue of Hadrian, seen from below,
have the effect of being quite small. This would seem to indicate that
the horses were hollow, and if so, they must have been cast in bronze
and not made of marble as stated by Procopius, and as were those on the
tomb of Mausolus.
Hadrian’s mausoleum was constructed of brickwork and square blocks of
peperino-stone laid with such care and exactness that lightning, battles
and earthquakes have failed to shake it from its perfect solidity.
Inside and outside it was faced with courses of Parian marble. The
basement was a square of about 340 feet each way and about 75 feet
high. Above this rose a circular tower of some 235 feet in diameter and
140 in height, divided into two or three stories and ornamented with
columns. Between these columns were statues executed by the ablest
artists of the period; and as Hadrian was devoted to the fine arts and
especially to that of sculpture, there can be little doubt that the
statues and bas-reliefs which adorned this splendid structure were among
the noblest works in Rome. Above the circular tower was a dome or a
curvilinear roof which must have risen to the height of some 300 feet.
This was probably crowned by the colossal group, above mentioned,
representing Hadrian in a chariot drawn by four horses, after the plan
of the tomb of Mausolus, its Grecian prototype. Rich friezes girdled it
around, some storied with figures, some architectural with heads of oxen
and festoons of flowers. On each of the four sides of the square
basement was a massive door of gilt bronze and at each of these doors
were four horses also of gilt bronze. Between the doors on the basement
were large tablets, on which were inscribed the names and titles of the
emperors who were buried within it.
The walls were of immense thickness; not filled up in the centre with
rubbish, but throughout of the most solid workmanship, as may be seen by
a breach made for temporary purposes long after it was built. In the
centre were two chambers in the shape of a Greek cross, one above the
other, each cased in rich Paconazetto marble and illuminated by two
openings which pierced the thickness of the giant walls. Here the ashes
of the emperors were deposited, the post assigned to the porphyry
sarcophagus of Hadrian being under the large arch on the southern side.
Some of the art treasures bestowed upon the mausoleum by its founder are
still to be traced. The colossal busts of Hadrian now in the Vatican are
supposed to have come from it, and the porphyry basin which forms the
baptismal font at St. Peter’s. None of the many other admirable
sculptures are in existence with the exception of the Barberini Faun in
the museum of Munich.
A word or two about Hadrian and his immediate successors who found
sepulture in his mausoleum. The emperor himself was not the first to be
laid to rest in his gorgeous tomb. He was preceded by Ælius Verus, whose
original name had been L. Ceionius Commodus, and whom he had adopted as
son and heir, a gay and voluptuous nobleman whose uncommon good looks
recommended him to the Emperor Hadrian, but who was sickly and in
failing health. Ælius Verus at his death left an only son Lucius, who
later was adopted by Antoninus Pius, and later still shared the imperial
purple with the famous philosopher-emperor, Marcus Aurelius.
Hadrian was a man of brilliant parts, a far-seeing and astute statesman,
a good soldier, who yet preferred peace to war. He was of restless
disposition and a confirmed wanderer, ever on the move through his wide
empire, the greater part of which he perambulated, literally, on foot.
He visited Britain, and the great wall between the Solway Firth and the
Tyne was his work. He lingered long at Athens for he was a devoted lover
of art, a munificent patron who constantly acquired paintings and
sculptures at home and abroad. “Under his reign,” as Gibbon tells us,
“the empire flourished in peace and prosperity. He encouraged the arts,
reformed the laws, asserted military discipline and visited all his
provinces in person.” There were features in his private life, however,
repugnant to commonly accepted social ethics, and his deification of his
favourite Antinous must ever dishonour his name.
Yet Antinous sacrificed his life voluntarily to save his master. The
augurs had told Hadrian that his destiny was inscribed on the entrails
of a youth who was very dear to him, upon which Antinous offered to
solve the mystery and drowned himself in the Nile. Hadrian built a city
on the spot, named it after his favourite and ordered that he should
receive divine honours throughout the empire. Towards the end of his
life Hadrian suffered tortures from a mortal malady, and in the
paroxysms of pain was addicted to outbursts of savage cruelty. Weary of
life, he begged a gladiator to end it, but in vain. At last he
succumbed to dropsy at the age of seventy-two, according to one
account, in the arms of his successor, Antoninus Pius. Some say that his
body was burned and afterward buried at Pozzuoli; others that his ashes
were conveyed to Rome for interment in the family vault.
The striking picture which W. W. Story has drawn of the funeral
ceremony, in his “Castle of St. Angelo,” deserves quotation. “The
magnificent Ælian Bridge (Hadrian’s work), resting on massive arches and
adorned with statues, formed the splendid stone avenue by which the
mausoleum was approached.... Facing the bridge was one of the great
golden gates, which swinging open let through the train into a long dark
sloping corridor arched above, cased in marble at the sides and paved in
black and white mosaic. Over this gentle rise the train passed in, its
torches flaring, its black robed _praeficae_ chanting the dirge of the
dead and its wailing trumpets echoing and pealing down the hollow
vaulted tunnel. Next came the _mimes_ declaiming solemn passages from
the tragic poets and followed by waxen figures borne aloft representing
ancestors of the dead emperor and clad in the robes they had worn in
life. Behind them streamed great standards blazoned with the records of
the emperor’s deeds and triumphs. Last came the funeral couch of ivory
draped with Attalic vestments embroidered with gold, over which a black
veil was cast. It was borne on the shoulders of his nearest relatives
and friends, and followed by the crowd of slaves made free by his will,
and wearing the _pilleus_[1] in token of the fact. Over the bridge they
slowly passed, in at the golden gate and up the hollow sounding corridor
till, after making the complete interior circuit of the walls, they
entered the vast cavernous chamber where they laid at last the ashes of
him who, living, had ruled the world.”
The third occupant of the imperial tomb was Antoninus Pius, who had been
named by Hadrian as his successor after the disappointing death of Ælius
Verus. He had been deeply desirous to find some man of exalted merit to
ascend the Roman throne, and his choice fell upon a senator of
irreproachable character and blameless life, Titus Antoninus Pius, the
elder of the two Antonines, under whom the empire enjoyed good
government for forty-two years. As a condition of this appointment
Antoninus Pius was ordered to associate with himself a youth of
seventeen in whom Hadrian had discovered marked promise of noble virtues
and profound ability. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, the youth in question,
more than fulfilled the high expectations he had thus raised. As he grew
in years, he steadily improved his natural qualifications and cultivated
his mental gifts by unremitting study and the earnest adoption of the
highest philosophical principles. “The united reigns of the two
Antonines,”
[Illustration: _The Castle of St. Angelo in 1490 The Meeting of St.
Ursula and the Pope_
_From the painting by Carpaccio, In the Academy of Fine Arts, Venice_
St. Ursula and her bridegroom are kneeling to receive the benediction of
the Pope, who stands in the foreground, his train of cardinals and
bishops stretching behind him. This ancient castle is intimately
connected with the criminal history of Rome from the earliest days, by
turns a tomb, a chapel, a prison and a fortress.]
says Gibbon, “are probably the only periods of history in which the
happiness of a great people was the sole object of government.”
Antoninus Pius “has been justly denominated a second Numa. The same love
of religion, justice and peace was the distinguishing characteristic of
both princes. But the situation of the latter opened a much larger field
for the exercise of these virtues. Numa could only prevent a few
neighbouring villages from plundering each other’s harvests; Antoninus
diffused order and tranquillity over the greater part of the earth....
In private life he was an amiable as well as a good man. The native
simplicity of his virtue was a stranger to vanity and affectation. He
enjoyed with moderation the conveniences of his fortune and the innocent
pleasures of society; he was fond of the theatre and not insensible to
the charms of the fair sex, and the benevolence of his soul displayed
itself in a cheerful serenity of temper.”
The manner of his death was of a piece with his life. He had fallen ill
at his villa and “after ordering the golden statue of fortune to be
transferred to his successor, he gave the countersign ‘Equanimity’ to
the tribune of his guard, turned over as to sleep and passed calmly out
of life at the ripe age of seventy-four--a cheerful, dignified man, the
calm and noble philosopher, the generous and clement ruler, who said to
himself ‘_Malle se unum civem servare quam mille hostes occidere_.’ ‘I
had rather save one citizen than kill a thousand enemies.’”
At the death of Antoninus Pius, Marcus Aurelius took Lucius Verus into
partnership with him as emperor. This Lucius Verus was the son of the
Ælius Verus already mentioned, who died prematurely. Lucius married
Lucilla, the eldest daughter of Antoninus Pius. He was a vicious,
unworthy creature, sunk in dissipation and self-indulgence, but he
possessed one cardinal virtue, that of dutiful reverence for his wiser
colleague, to whom he willingly abandoned the onerous cares of ruling.
He was wholly unlike his colleague, being entirely given over to luxury
and ease, averse to strenuous labour, a fop and voluptuary; he dressed
extravagantly, sprinkled his hair with gold dust and took his midday
siesta on a couch stuffed with rose leaves, with lilies strewn over him.
He prefigured that notorious sybarite Heliogabalus, who liberally
rewarded the inventor of a new sauce, and if it failed to please him,
ordered its author to eat nothing else until he had discovered another
more agreeable to the imperial palate. The highest aim of Lucius Verus
seemed to be the concoction of a pasty which should become a favourite
dish at the imperial table. Nevertheless, when occasion arose he
acquitted himself well as a soldier, showing courage and skill as a
leader in the field. Marcus Aurelius, to wean him from his consuming
passion for debauchery, employed him at the head of the Pannonian
legions at a distance from Rome, but after the few first successes, his
vicious cravings regained their ascendency, and this although Marcus
Aurelius surrounded him with wise senators and competent comrades.
Lucius Verus preferred to leave the conduct of operations to his
generals. While they won victories in the East, he went slowly through
Greece and Lesser Asia dancing and feasting and revelling at Corinth,
Athens, and the various pleasure-loving cities he found by the way. He
spent his summers at Daphne and his winters at Laodicea. The dissolute
life he lived in Syria was checked but not cured by his marriage with
Lucilla, who came to Ephesus to meet him: he still loved his old
debauched life; passed whole nights at the gaming table or in rambling
through the streets disguised, frequenting the lowest haunts or the
worst quarters. He was passionately devoted to the sports of the circus
and was a noted chariot driver. An ardent worshipper of horses, he was
fond of feeding a favourite horse with raisins and nuts. He took the
horse everywhere with him, gorgeously bedecked with purple trappings,
until its death, when he buried it with great solemnity in the Vatican
and raised a golden statue to its memory. When he returned from the East
he was accompanied by a train of actors, musicians and buffoons, and
shared a great triumph and all its attendant honours, to which he had no
claim, with his brother emperor. He brought also from the East the
pestilence we now know as the plague, which ravaged Rome and greatly
weakened the Roman army. Lucius Verus died suddenly of apoplexy on his
return from a campaign against the Marcomanni which had been far from
successful. Beyond doubt he paid the last penalty for his excesses which
had become more and more shameless and ungovernable. Marcus Aurelius
strongly disapproved of his conduct but did not go beyond silent
reproof; he must be quite exonerated from the charge that was laid
against Lucilla, who was said to have poisoned her worthless husband
from shame at his misconduct, not unmixed with jealousy of Faustina, the
base wife of Marcus Aurelius, whose amours were barefaced and
innumerable. Lucius Verus died at Altinun in Venetia, but his ashes were
brought to Rome for interment in the mausoleum of Hadrian.
Marcus Aurelius afterwards reigned alone, and with prudent energy faced
successfully many serious trials,--insurrections in distant provinces,
pestilence at home, inundations and earthquakes which devastated large
sections of the Imperial City and ruined the great granaries on which
depended the food supply of the teeming population. Fierce, intractable
enemies threatened the empire closely and persistently throughout his
life. Although by predilection a man of peace, he was a resolute soldier
who fought many strenuous campaigns and brought many savage races into
absolute submission. He could act with the sternest severity, but he
showed extraordinary magnanimity to one insubordinate lieutenant, and
treated rebellious provinces with extreme gentleness. He was so mild and
merciful that under no provocation did he lose his temper, and his
humanity showed itself in his concern for his fellow creatures; even for
the gladiators whom he would not allow to practise fencing with sharp
swords. His labours were incessant; his campaigns most arduous. For
eight successive winters he warred upon the frozen banks of the Danube,
and seriously injured his originally weak constitution by the hardships
and unending anxieties he endured.
With all his great achievements and the conspicuous services he rendered
to his country, his fame rests mainly on that delightful book of
meditations embodying his serene philosophy which is still read and
admired by the whole world. This “noblest, wisest, purest, most virtuous
and self-denying gentleman that ever in any age wore the imperial
robes,” died at Vienna A.D. 180, after a reign of twenty years. He met
death quietly and with dignity, not as a calamity but as a blessing:
“Turn me to the rising sun for I am setting,” he said to his attendants,
and covering his head he composed himself for sleep. No man bore crosses
with more fortitude and no man was more sorely tried.
Faustina, the wife of Marcus Aurelius, lives in history as the most
abandoned of her sex, and his son, Commodus, although educated with the
utmost solicitude, was one of the most glaring instances of wasted
effort. “The monstrous vices of the son,” says Gibbon, “have cast a
shade on the purity of the father’s virtues.” It has been said that he
sacrificed the happiness of millions to a fond partiality for a
worthless boy, when he chose a successor in his own family rather than
in the republic. Nothing, however, was neglected by the anxious father,
and by the men of virtue and learning whom he summoned to his
assistance, to expand the narrow mind of young Commodus, to correct his
growing vices and to render him worthy of the throne for which he was
designed. But the power of instruction is seldom of much efficacy except
in those happy dispositions where it is almost superfluous. The
distasteful lesson of a grave philosopher was, in a moment, obliterated
by the whisper of a profligate favourite, and Marcus himself blasted the
fruits of this laboured education by admitting his son at the age of
fourteen or fifteen to a full participation of the imperial powers. Yet
Commodus was not as he has been represented, a tiger, born with an
insatiate thirst for human blood and capable from his infancy of the
most inhuman actions. “Nature had formed him of a weak rather than a
wicked disposition. His simplicity and timidity rendered him the slave
of his attendants, who gradually corrupted his mind. His cruelty, which
at first obeyed the dictates of others, degenerated into habit and at
length became the ruling passion of his soul.” He was wasteful and
weakly extravagant, prodigal in his expenditure on his personal
amusements, especially in gladiatorial exhibitions in which he himself
engaged. He liked to pose as the Roman Hercules, and entered the arena
to slay ostriches and panthers, the camel, leopard, elephant and the
rhinoceros; he fought hundreds of times as a _retiarius_ in combat with
a _secutor_ and stooped to receive a salary from the common fund for the
gladiators in proof of his preëminence. He was slavishly fond of
singing, dancing and playing the buffoon; he was a glutton and
profligate who wallowed in the most sensuous abominations, and after the
life of this monster and madman had been threatened by many plots, he
was at last poisoned in his own palace by Marcia, his mistress, who,
finding the drug too slow in action, caused him to be strangled by one
of his gladiators. His body was refused burial by the Senate and thrown
into the Tiber, but the Emperor Pertinax recovered it and had it
secretly conveyed to the mausoleum. The memory of Commodus was branded
with eternal infamy; it was ordered that his honours should be reversed;
his titles erased from the public monuments; his statues thrown down;
his body dragged with a hook into the stripping room of the gladiators
and exposed to public contumacy.
The last occasion on which the tomb was used was for the interment of
the Emperor Septimus Severus A.D. 211, an able, vigorous and just ruler
who fought his way to the throne against two competitors; all three of
them were generals of armies which supported their pretensions. Severus
was at the head of the Pannonian legions, and occupied the country
between the Danube and the Adriatic. He was nearest to Rome, so that, by
using almost incredible expedition, he made successful head against his
competitors, and was the first to advance and seize the city. He secured
his position by many acts of cruelty, but when once safe, governed with
justice and showed himself a man of character. He took Marcus Aurelius
for his model, and was devoted to philosophy and study, but not averse
to war. His last campaign was in Britain, and he undertook it in the
vain hope of putting an end to the fierce quarrels existing between his
two sons, Caracalla and Geta, who hated each other almost from birth.
They were both poor commonplace creatures, devoid of talent and
implacably jealous of each other, although their father treated them
with studied impartiality and associated both with him on the throne so
that Rome had three emperors at one and the same time. He carried both
sons with him into Britain, where at an advanced age and suffering
acutely from gout, he laid himself out for the complete conquest of the
islands, even to their most northern extremities, but death overtook him
at York. His remains were taken back to Rome to be honoured with a
magnificent funeral and his ashes were laid in Hadrian’s tomb.
With the burial of Septimus Severus ended the first purpose which this
great monument was intended to serve. When next it appears in authentic
writings, it is in a military character, as part and parcel of the
defences of Rome. Troublous times were at hand for the Eternal City and
its very existence was threatened by the rising tide of more stalwart
peoples. Hordes of barbarians from northern and central Europe were
about to overflow the remote barriers and far flung frontiers of the
empire; Goths, Visigoths, Franks, Lombards and Huns swept south in an
irrepressible stream of invasion. The mausoleum became a fortress and
was incorporated in the circumvallation given to the city by Aurelian in
271 A.D., when he enclosed the Campus Martius within its limits and the
left bank of the Tiber. The strength and commanding position of the
mausoleum constituted it a place of great importance, a citadel and
central point in the city walls. It was to play a great part now in the
many fierce struggles for the possession of Rome. By this time the
separation had taken place between East and West and Byzantium had
become the seat of empire in the East, while in the West the court was
fixed at Milan. Rome, deserted and neglected, saw ruin impending, and
only escaped destruction at the hands of the barbarians by the victories
of Stilicho, a distinguished general of the Western emperor,
Theodosius. Honorius, his son, made a triumphal entry into Rome and
sought to revive its splendours; but the barbarian menace drove him to
strengthen the fortifications.
Ere long the Goths under Alaric advanced in great force to besiege the
city. After three distinct and determined attacks the Goths at length
captured and sacked it, but voluntarily withdrew with the spoils of war.
The fall of Rome horrified the whole world and the shock was repeated
when the Hun, Attila, the “scourge of God,” descended upon it in all his
brutal fury. He retreated, it was said, impelled by superstitious
terrors. Rome yielded, however, to Genseric, the wild and terrible king
of the African Vandals, who pillaged the defenceless city for fourteen
days, making frightful havoc and sweeping away all that the Goths had
spared.
The damage inflicted in these devastating attacks was incalculable. Rome
was nearly depopulated; within forty-five years she lost through
slaughter, flight and slavery some 150,000 inhabitants. Many ancient
families entirely disappeared, others only survived to lead a miserable
existence, falling, like the deserted temples, rapidly into decay. Huge
palaces stood forsaken and empty, and the people stalked like spectres
through the silent and nearly deserted streets of the desolate city.
Rome recovered slowly, but the Western Empire was surely dying; feeble
emperors reigned like shadows, and at length the throne fell to an
adventurous barbarian soldier, Odoacer, a king of mercenaries, who
ruled wisely and gave Rome thirteen years of tranquillity and peaceful
progress. He was nevertheless a usurper, a foreign soldier hated and
feared by the people, to be set aside as soon as a stronger man
appeared. This was Theodoric, leader of the war-like Austro-Goths, a
heroic people who had assimilated the civilising processes of East and
West.
Theodoric invaded Italy and made himself king; but he did not interfere
with existing institutions and ere long won the respect, if not the
affection, of the Roman people. He was not a Christian but he esteemed
the Catholic faith; he knelt at the great basilica of St. Peter,
approaching it in a triumphal procession across Hadrian’s bridge. He fed
the populace with free food, amused them with games and spectacles in
the Amphitheatre and Circus Maximus, and was deeply anxious to restore
and care for the ancient monuments and buildings of the city. He was the
noblest barbarian that ever ruled Italy, and his memory still lingers in
the great cities he founded or restored. He endowed the capital with
many great works, such as the restoration of the Appian Way and the
drainage of the Pontine marshes. It is sufficient for my purpose to
record that he made the mausoleum of Hadrian the model for his own tomb,
which he erected at Ravenna and was at great pains to strengthen. The
Roman castle was known for centuries as the house or prison of
Theodoric, owing the second title no doubt to the security its walls
afforded. Rome was undoubtedly a strong place of arms when the Goths
under Vitiges, after the death of Theodoric, again attacked it. They
were met and repelled by Belisarius, the great general appointed by the
emperor Justinian, who had already won fame in Persian wars and who made
very strenuous preparations to meet the attack, repairing the walls of
Rome, which in spite of Theodoric’s restorations were still damaged and
in parts ruinous. He added trenches and provided flank defence by a
projecting guard house; above all, he filled the public granaries and
fully victualled the place.
Vitiges when he arrived saw that he could not take the city by a _coup
de main_ and must make a regular siege. The skill of the Goths,
accustomed to fight in the open field, was of little avail in laying
siege to a city, and Vitiges, overlooking this fact, staked his entire
kingdom against the walls of Rome, with the result that his heroic
people here found their overthrow. The Goths formed six entrenched camps
before these defences, all on the left side of the river; a seventh they
erected on the right bank of the Tiber on the Neronian Field, or the
plain which stretches under Monte Mario from the Vatican Hill as far as
the Milvian bridge. They thus not only protected the bridge itself but
at the same time threatened the bridge of Hadrian and the entrance to
the city through the inner gate of Aurelian. This gate, already named
St. Peter’s, stood outside the bridge of Hadrian and beyond the wall
which, from the Porta Flaminia on the inner side of the river,
surrounded the field of Mars. Vitiges at length was ready to deliver a
decisive assault. Wooden towers sufficiently high to overlook the
defences, were set on strong wheels; projecting battering rams of iron
were hung by chains to be thrust against the walls, each manned by fifty
men, and long scaling ladders were constructed to be attached to the
battlements. To these preparations (at the rude simplicity of which
modern military science may smile) Belisarius opposed measures all his
own. He set upon the walls skilfully contrived catapults or balistae,
and great stone slings (_onagri_) called “wild asses” were constructed
to throw a bolt with such force as to pin a mail-clad man fast to a
tree. The gates were themselves defended with so-called “wolves” or
drawbridges fashioned out of heavy beams and furnished with iron pins
which were to be released at a given moment to fall on the assailants
with overwhelming force.
Belisarius had entrusted the guard of the mausoleum to his most valued
lieutenant, Constantinus, ordering him also to cover the neighbouring
walls of the city, which (perhaps on the left of the Aurelian Gate)
remained undefended save by small outposts, the river in itself
affording some protection. Meanwhile the Goths attempted to cross the
Tiber in boats and Constantinus, leaving the more numerous forces in
the Aurelian Gate and at the mausoleum as garrison, was forced to appear
in person on the menaced spot. The Goths next advanced against the
mausoleum. Should they be able to take this main work, they might hope
to make themselves masters of the bridge and gate. They brought no
machines, nothing but scaling ladders which they covered with their
broad shields. A portico or covered colonnade led to the Vatican
basilica from the neighbourhood of the tomb, and in this colonnade the
approaching party sheltered themselves from the missiles rained down by
the men stationed in the mausoleum. They crept along the narrow streets
which surrounded the ruined circus of Hadrian so cautiously that the
besieged in the fortress were unable to use the catapults against them.
Then dashing forward, they shot a cloud of arrows on the battlements of
the tomb and leaned their scaling ladders against it. Pressing forward
on all sides they had nearly surrounded and scaled the mausoleum when
despair suggested to the defenders to make use, as projectiles, of the
many statues with which it was decorated, and forthwith they hurled
these statues down upon the Goths. The broken masterpieces, statues of
emperors, gods and heroes, dropped in heavy fragments upon the devoted
heads of the assailants who were routed utterly. This wild scene around
the grave of an emperor--a conflict which recalls the mythic battles of
the giants--ended the struggle by the Aurelian Gate. His unsuccessful
attack cost Vitiges the flower of his army.
The cost to Rome was terrible. The mausoleum was robbed for ever of her
rich and incomparable artistic treasures. Priceless statues chiselled by
the hands of Praxiteles and Polycletus, things of great beauty, divine
creations of gods and heroes, had been used as mere projectiles with
which to crush barbarian soldiers, and lay broken and blood-bespattered
beneath the rescued walls. They remained for long years where they fell,
untouched, unearthed even, until in the seventeenth century Pope Urban
VII, a Barberini, designing to improve the fortifications, deepened the
ditch of the castle of St. Angelo, and the workmen discovered the famous
statue of the Barberini Faun, now in the Glyptothek of Munich, where it
still remains to prove how richly Hadrian had originally endowed and
adorned his tomb.
History repeats itself, and ten years later Belisarius again defended
Rome, now against the Goths under Totila, a masterful soldier who
ascended the throne of Theodoric in 541 and renewed the war against the
Byzantine Empire. He in turn besieged Rome and took it before it could
be relieved. The great monuments were spared, although he had threatened
to “turn the whole city into pasture for cattle,” and he presently
withdrew to return and reoccupy it a second and a third time. A brave
soldier, Paulus, trained by Belisarius, had retired into the mausoleum,
which he held obstinately till reduced by famine, when he and his
followers resolved to cut their way out, preferring death to surrender.
Totila, however, offered them liberal terms if they would lay down their
arms, and took them into his service. Then, having suffered severely
himself in the fight, he entered the mausoleum, renewed its defences,
stored his valuables within and sallied forth to face a new attack from
the side of Ravenna. He was killed there and the tomb reverted to the
Byzantine emperor.