Chapter XXIX: Division Of Roman Empire Between Sons Of

Produced by David Reed, Dale R. Fredrickson and David Widger

HISTORY OF THE DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE Edward Gibbon,

Esq. With notes by the Rev. H. H. Milman Vol. 3 1782 (Written), 1845

(Revised)

CONTENTS

Chapter XXVII: Civil Wars, Reign Of Theodosius.—Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV Part V.

Death Of Gratian.—Ruin Of Arianism.—St. Ambrose.—

First Civil War, Against Maximus.—Character,

Administration, And Penance Of Theodosius.—Death Of

Valentinian II.—Second Civil War, Against Eugenius.—

Death Of Theodosius.

Chapter XXVIII: Destruction Of Paganism.—Part I. Part II. Part III.

Final Destruction Of Paganism.—Introduction Of The

Worship Of Saints, And Relics, Among The Christians.

Chapter XXIX: Division Of Roman Empire Between Sons Of Theodosius.—Part I. Part II.

Final Division Of The Roman Empire Between The Sons Of

Theodosius.—Reign Of Arcadius And Honorius—

Administration Of Rufinus And Stilicho.—Revolt And Defeat

Of Gildo In Africa.

Chapter XXX: Revolt Of The Goths.—Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V.

Revolt Of The Goths.—They Plunder Greece.—Two Great

Invasions Of Italy By Alaric And Radagaisus.—They Are

Repulsed By Stilicho.—The Germans Overrun Gaul.—Usurpation

Of Constantine In The West.—Disgrace And Death Of Stilicho.

Chapter XXXI: Invasion Of Italy, Occupation Of Territories By Barbarians.—Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI. Part VII.

Invasion Of Italy By Alaric.—Manners Of The Roman Senate

And People.—Rome Is Thrice Besieged, And At Length

Pillaged, By The Goths.—Death Of Alaric.—The Goths

Evacuate Italy.—Fall Of Constantine.—Gaul And Spain Are

Occupied By The Barbarians.—Independence Of Britain.

Chapter XXXII: Emperors Arcadius, Eutropius, Theodosius II.—Part I. Part II. Part III.

Arcadius Emperor Of The East.—Administration And Disgrace

Of Eutropius.—Revolt Of Gainas.—Persecution Of St. John

Chrysostom.—Theodosius II. Emperor Of The East.—His Sister

Pulcheria.—His Wife Eudocia.—The Persian War, And Division

Of Armenia.

Chapter XXXIII: Conquest Of Africa By The Vandals.—Part I. Part II.

Death Of Honorius.—Valentinian III.—Emperor Of The East.—

Administration Of His Mother Placidia—Ætius And Boniface.—

Conquest Of Africa By The Vandals.

Chapter XXXIV: Attila.—Part I. Part II. Part III.

The Character, Conquests, And Court Of Attila, King Of The

Huns.—Death Of Theodosius The Younger.—Elevation Of

Marcian To The Empire Of The East.

Chapter XXXV: Invasion By Attila.—Part I. Part II. Part III.

Invasion Of Gaul By Attila.—He Is Repulsed By Ætius And The

Visigoths.—Attila Invades And Evacuates Italy.—The Deaths

Of Attila, Ætius, And Valentinian The Third.

Chapter XXXVI: Total Extinction Of The Western Empire.—Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V.

Sack Of Rome By Genseric, King Of The Vandals.—His Naval

Depredations.—Succession Of The Last Emperors Of The West,

Maximus, Avitus, Majorian, Severus, Anthemius, Olybrius,

Glycerius, Nepos, Augustulus.—Total Extinction Of The

Western Empire.—Reign Of Odoacer, The First Barbarian King

Of Italy.

Chapter XXXVII: Conversion Of The Barbarians To Christianity.—Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV.

Origin Progress, And Effects Of The Monastic Life.—

Conversion Of The Barbarians To Christianity And Arianism.—

Persecution Of The Vandals In Africa.—Extinction Of

Arianism Among The Barbarians.

Chapter XXXVIII: Reign Of Clovis.—Part I. Part II. Part III. Part IV. Part V. Part VI.

Reign And Conversion Of Clovis.—His Victories Over The

Alemanni, Burgundians, And Visigoths.—Establishment Of The

French Monarchy In Gaul.—Laws Of The Barbarians.—State Of

The Romans.—The Visigoths Of Spain.—Conquest Of Britain By

The Saxons.

Chapter XXVII: Civil Wars, Reign Of Theodosius.—Part I.

Death Of Gratian.—Ruin Of Arianism.—St. Ambrose.—

First Civil War, Against Maximus.—Character,

Administration, And Penance Of Theodosius.—Death Of

Valentinian II.—Second Civil War, Against Eugenius.—

Death Of Theodosius.

The fame of Gratian, before he had accomplished the twentieth year of

his age, was equal to that of the most celebrated princes. His gentle

and amiable disposition endeared him to his private friends, the

graceful affability of his manners engaged the affection of the people:

the men of letters, who enjoyed the liberality, acknowledged the taste

and eloquence, of their sovereign; his valor and dexterity in arms were

equally applauded by the soldiers; and the clergy considered the humble

piety of Gratian as the first and most useful of his virtues. The

victory of Colmar had delivered the West from a formidable invasion; and

the grateful provinces of the East ascribed the merits of Theodosius to

the author of his greatness, and of the public safety. Gratian survived

those memorable events only four or five years; but he survived his

reputation; and, before he fell a victim to rebellion, he had lost, in a

great measure, the respect and confidence of the Roman world.

The remarkable alteration of his character or conduct may not be imputed

to the arts of flattery, which had besieged the son of Valentinian from

his infancy; nor to the headstrong passions which that gentle youth

appears to have escaped. A more attentive view of the life of Gratian

may perhaps suggest the true cause of the disappointment of the public

hopes. His apparent virtues, instead of being the hardy productions of

experience and adversity, were the premature and artificial fruits of

a royal education. The anxious tenderness of his father was continually

employed to bestow on him those advantages, which he might perhaps

esteem the more highly, as he himself had been deprived of them; and the

most skilful masters of every science, and of every art, had labored

to form the mind and body of the young prince. The knowledge which they

painfully communicated was displayed with ostentation, and celebrated

with lavish praise. His soft and tractable disposition received the fair

impression of their judicious precepts, and the absence of passion might

easily be mistaken for the strength of reason. His preceptors gradually

rose to the rank and consequence of ministers of state: and, as

they wisely dissembled their secret authority, he seemed to act with

firmness, with propriety, and with judgment, on the most important

occasions of his life and reign. But the influence of this elaborate

instruction did not penetrate beyond the surface; and the skilful

preceptors, who so accurately guided the steps of their royal pupil,

could not infuse into his feeble and indolent character the vigorous and

independent principle of action which renders the laborious pursuit

of glory essentially necessary to the happiness, and almost to the

existence, of the hero. As soon as time and accident had removed those

faithful counsellors from the throne, the emperor of the West insensibly

descended to the level of his natural genius; abandoned the reins of

government to the ambitious hands which were stretched forwards to grasp

them; and amused his leisure with the most frivolous gratifications. A

public sale of favor and injustice was instituted, both in the court and

in the provinces, by the worthless delegates of his power, whose merit

it was made sacrilege to question. The conscience of the credulous

prince was directed by saints and bishops; who procured an Imperial

edict to punish, as a capital offence, the violation, the neglect, or

even the ignorance, of the divine law. Among the various arts which had

exercised the youth of Gratian, he had applied himself, with singular

inclination and success, to manage the horse, to draw the bow, and to

dart the javelin; and these qualifications, which might be useful to a

soldier, were prostituted to the viler purposes of hunting. Large parks

were enclosed for the Imperial pleasures, and plentifully stocked with

every species of wild beasts; and Gratian neglected the duties, and even

the dignity, of his rank, to consume whole days in the vain display of

his dexterity and boldness in the chase. The pride and wish of the

Roman emperor to excel in an art, in which he might be surpassed by the

meanest of his slaves, reminded the numerous spectators of the examples

of Nero and Commodus, but the chaste and temperate Gratian was a

stranger to their monstrous vices; and his hands were stained only

with the blood of animals. The behavior of Gratian, which degraded his

character in the eyes of mankind, could not have disturbed the security

of his reign, if the army had not been provoked to resent their peculiar

injuries. As long as the young emperor was guided by the instructions of

his masters, he professed himself the friend and pupil of the soldiers;

many of his hours were spent in the familiar conversation of the camp;

and the health, the comforts, the rewards, the honors, of his faithful

troops, appeared to be the objects of his attentive concern. But,

after Gratian more freely indulged his prevailing taste for hunting

and shooting, he naturally connected himself with the most dexterous

ministers of his favorite amusement. A body of the Alani was received

into the military and domestic service of the palace; and the admirable

skill, which they were accustomed to display in the unbounded plains

of Scythia, was exercised, on a more narrow theatre, in the parks and

enclosures of Gaul. Gratian admired the talents and customs of these

favorite guards, to whom alone he intrusted the defence of his person;

and, as if he meant to insult the public opinion, he frequently showed

himself to the soldiers and people, with the dress and arms, the long

bow, the sounding quiver, and the fur garments of a Scythian warrior.

The unworthy spectacle of a Roman prince, who had renounced the dress

and manners of his country, filled the minds of the legions with grief

and indignation. Even the Germans, so strong and formidable in the

armies of the empire, affected to disdain the strange and horrid

appearance of the savages of the North, who, in the space of a few

years, had wandered from the banks of the Volga to those of the Seine. A

loud and licentious murmur was echoed through the camps and garrisons of

the West; and as the mild indolence of Gratian neglected to extinguish

the first symptoms of discontent, the want of love and respect was not

supplied by the influence of fear. But the subversion of an established

government is always a work of some real, and of much apparent,

difficulty; and the throne of Gratian was protected by the sanctions of

custom, law, religion, and the nice balance of the civil and military

powers, which had been established by the policy of Constantine. It is

not very important to inquire from what cause the revolt of Britain

was produced. Accident is commonly the parent of disorder; the seeds

of rebellion happened to fall on a soil which was supposed to be more

fruitful than any other in tyrants and usurpers; the legions of that

sequestered island had been long famous for a spirit of presumption and

arrogance; and the name of Maximus was proclaimed, by the tumultuary,

but unanimous voice, both of the soldiers and of the provincials. The

emperor, or the rebel,—for this title was not yet ascertained by

fortune,—was a native of Spain, the countryman, the fellow-soldier,

and the rival of Theodosius whose elevation he had not seen without some

emotions of envy and resentment: the events of his life had long

since fixed him in Britain; and I should not be unwilling to find some

evidence for the marriage, which he is said to have contracted with the

daughter of a wealthy lord of Caernarvonshire. But this provincial rank

might justly be considered as a state of exile and obscurity; and if

Maximus had obtained any civil or military office, he was not invested

with the authority either of governor or general. His abilities, and

even his integrity, are acknowledged by the partial writers of the age;

and the merit must indeed have been conspicuous that could extort such

a confession in favor of the vanquished enemy of Theodosius. The

discontent of Maximus might incline him to censure the conduct of his

sovereign, and to encourage, perhaps, without any views of ambition, the

murmurs of the troops. But in the midst of the tumult, he artfully, or

modestly, refused to ascend the throne; and some credit appears to have

been given to his own positive declaration, that he was compelled to

accept the dangerous present of the Imperial purple.

But there was danger likewise in refusing the empire; and from the

moment that Maximus had violated his allegiance to his lawful sovereign,

he could not hope to reign, or even to live, if he confined his moderate

ambition within the narrow limits of Britain. He boldly and wisely

resolved to prevent the designs of Gratian; the youth of the island

crowded to his standard, and he invaded Gaul with a fleet and

army, which were long afterwards remembered, as the emigration of a

considerable part of the British nation. The emperor, in his peaceful

residence of Paris, was alarmed by their hostile approach; and the darts

which he idly wasted on lions and bears, might have been employed more

honorably against the rebels. But his feeble efforts announced his

degenerate spirit and desperate situation; and deprived him of the

resources, which he still might have found, in the support of his

subjects and allies. The armies of Gaul, instead of opposing the march

of Maximus, received him with joyful and loyal acclamations; and the

shame of the desertion was transferred from the people to the prince.

The troops, whose station more immediately attached them to the service

of the palace, abandoned the standard of Gratian the first time that it

was displayed in the neighborhood of Paris. The emperor of the West fled

towards Lyons, with a train of only three hundred horse; and, in the

cities along the road, where he hoped to find refuge, or at least a

passage, he was taught, by cruel experience, that every gate is shut

against the unfortunate. Yet he might still have reached, in safety,

the dominions of his brother; and soon have returned with the forces

of Italy and the East; if he had not suffered himself to be fatally

deceived by the perfidious governor of the Lyonnese province. Gratian

was amused by protestations of doubtful fidelity, and the hopes of a

support, which could not be effectual; till the arrival of Andragathius,

the general of the cavalry of Maximus, put an end to his suspense. That

resolute officer executed, without remorse, the orders or the intention

of the usurper. Gratian, as he rose from supper, was delivered into the

hands of the assassin: and his body was denied to the pious and pressing

entreaties of his brother Valentinian. The death of the emperor was

followed by that of his powerful general Mellobaudes, the king of the

Franks; who maintained, to the last moment of his life, the ambiguous

reputation, which is the just recompense of obscure and subtle policy.

These executions might be necessary to the public safety: but the

successful usurper, whose power was acknowledged by all the provinces of

the West, had the merit, and the satisfaction, of boasting, that, except

those who had perished by the chance of war, his triumph was not stained

by the blood of the Romans.

The events of this revolution had passed in such rapid succession, that

it would have been impossible for Theodosius to march to the relief of

his benefactor, before he received the intelligence of his defeat and

death. During the season of sincere grief, or ostentatious mourning,

the Eastern emperor was interrupted by the arrival of the principal

chamberlain of Maximus; and the choice of a venerable old man, for an

office which was usually exercised by eunuchs, announced to the court

of Constantinople the gravity and temperance of the British usurper.

The ambassador condescended to justify, or excuse, the conduct of his

master; and to protest, in specious language, that the murder of

Gratian had been perpetrated, without his knowledge or consent, by the

precipitate zeal of the soldiers. But he proceeded, in a firm and equal

tone, to offer Theodosius the alternative of peace, or war. The speech

of the ambassador concluded with a spirited declaration, that although

Maximus, as a Roman, and as the father of his people, would choose

rather to employ his forces in the common defence of the republic,

he was armed and prepared, if his friendship should be rejected, to

dispute, in a field of battle, the empire of the world. An immediate

and peremptory answer was required; but it was extremely difficult for

Theodosius to satisfy, on this important occasion, either the feelings

of his own mind, or the expectations of the public. The imperious voice

of honor and gratitude called aloud for revenge. From the liberality

of Gratian, he had received the Imperial diadem; his patience would

encourage the odious suspicion, that he was more deeply sensible of

former injuries, than of recent obligations; and if he accepted the

friendship, he must seem to share the guilt, of the assassin. Even the

principles of justice, and the interest of society, would receive a

fatal blow from the impunity of Maximus; and the example of successful

usurpation would tend to dissolve the artificial fabric of government,

and once more to replunge the empire in the crimes and calamities of

the preceding age. But, as the sentiments of gratitude and honor

should invariably regulate the conduct of an individual, they may

be overbalanced in the mind of a sovereign, by the sense of superior

duties; and the maxims both of justice and humanity must permit the

escape of an atrocious criminal, if an innocent people would be involved

in the consequences of his punishment. The assassin of Gratian had

usurped, but he actually possessed, the most warlike provinces of the

empire: the East was exhausted by the misfortunes, and even by the

success, of the Gothic war; and it was seriously to be apprehended,

that, after the vital strength of the republic had been wasted in a

doubtful and destructive contest, the feeble conqueror would remain an

easy prey to the Barbarians of the North. These weighty considerations

engaged Theodosius to dissemble his resentment, and to accept the

alliance of the tyrant. But he stipulated, that Maximus should content

himself with the possession of the countries beyond the Alps. The

brother of Gratian was confirmed and secured in the sovereignty of

Italy, Africa, and the Western Illyricum; and some honorable conditions

were inserted in the treaty, to protect the memory, and the laws, of the

deceased emperor. According to the custom of the age, the images of

the three Imperial colleagues were exhibited to the veneration of the

people; nor should it be lightly supposed, that, in the moment of a

solemn reconciliation, Theodosius secretly cherished the intention of

perfidy and revenge.

The contempt of Gratian for the Roman soldiers had exposed him to the

fatal effects of their resentment. His profound veneration for the

Christian clergy was rewarded by the applause and gratitude of a

powerful order, which has claimed, in every age, the privilege of

dispensing honors, both on earth and in heaven. The orthodox bishops

bewailed his death, and their own irreparable loss; but they were soon

comforted by the discovery, that Gratian had committed the sceptre of

the East to the hands of a prince, whose humble faith and fervent zeal,

were supported by the spirit and abilities of a more vigorous character.

Among the benefactors of the church, the fame of Constantine has been

rivalled by the glory of Theodosius. If Constantine had the advantage

of erecting the standard of the cross, the emulation of his successor

assumed the merit of subduing the Arian heresy, and of abolishing the

worship of idols in the Roman world. Theodosius was the first of the

emperors baptized in the true faith of the Trinity. Although he was born

of a Christian family, the maxims, or at least the practice, of the

age, encouraged him to delay the ceremony of his initiation; till he

was admonished of the danger of delay, by the serious illness which

threatened his life, towards the end of the first year of his reign.

Before he again took the field against the Goths, he received the

sacrament of baptism from Acholius, the orthodox bishop of Thessalonica:

and, as the emperor ascended from the holy font, still glowing with

the warm feelings of regeneration, he dictated a solemn edict, which

proclaimed his own faith, and prescribed the religion of his subjects.

"It is our pleasure (such is the Imperial style) that all the nations,

which are governed by our clemency and moderation, should steadfastly

adhere to the religion which was taught by St. Peter to the Romans;

which faithful tradition has preserved; and which is now professed

by the pontiff Damasus, and by Peter, bishop of Alexandria, a man of

apostolic holiness. According to the discipline of the apostles, and the

doctrine of the gospel, let us believe the sole deity of the Father, the

Son, and the Holy Ghost; under an equal majesty, and a pious Trinity. We

authorize the followers of this doctrine to assume the title of Catholic

Christians; and as we judge, that all others are extravagant madmen, we

brand them with the infamous name of Heretics; and declare that their

conventicles shall no longer usurp the respectable appellation of

churches. Besides the condemnation of divine justice, they must expect

to suffer the severe penalties, which our authority, guided by heavenly

wisdom, shall think proper to inflict upon them." The faith of a soldier

is commonly the fruit of instruction, rather than of inquiry; but as

the emperor always fixed his eyes on the visible landmarks of orthodoxy,

which he had so prudently constituted, his religious opinions were never

affected by the specious texts, the subtle arguments, and the

ambiguous creeds of the Arian doctors. Once indeed he expressed a faint

inclination to converse with the eloquent and learned Eunomius, who

lived in retirement at a small distance from Constantinople. But

the dangerous interview was prevented by the prayers of the empress

Flaccilla, who trembled for the salvation of her husband; and the mind

of Theodosius was confirmed by a theological argument, adapted to the

rudest capacity. He had lately bestowed on his eldest son, Arcadius,

the name and honors of Augustus, and the two princes were seated on

a stately throne to receive the homage of their subjects. A bishop,

Amphilochius of Iconium, approached the throne, and after saluting, with

due reverence, the person of his sovereign, he accosted the royal youth

with the same familiar tenderness which he might have used towards a

plebeian child. Provoked by this insolent behavior, the monarch gave

orders, that the rustic priest should be instantly driven from his

presence. But while the guards were forcing him to the door, the

dexterous polemic had time to execute his design, by exclaiming, with a

loud voice, "Such is the treatment, O emperor! which the King of heaven

has prepared for those impious men, who affect to worship the Father,

but refuse to acknowledge the equal majesty of his divine Son."

Theodosius immediately embraced the bishop of Iconium, and never forgot

the important lesson, which he had received from this dramatic parable.

Chapter XXVII: Civil Wars, Reign Of Theodosius.—Part II.

Constantinople was the principal seat and fortress of Arianism; and, in

a long interval of forty years, the faith of the princes and prelates,

who reigned in the capital of the East, was rejected in the purer

schools of Rome and Alexandria. The archiepiscopal throne of Macedonius,

which had been polluted with so much Christian blood, was successively

filled by Eudoxus and Damophilus. Their diocese enjoyed a free

importation of vice and error from every province of the empire; the

eager pursuit of religious controversy afforded a new occupation to the

busy idleness of the metropolis; and we may credit the assertion of an

intelligent observer, who describes, with some pleasantry, the effects

of their loquacious zeal. "This city," says he, "is full of mechanics

and slaves, who are all of them profound theologians; and preach in

the shops, and in the streets. If you desire a man to change a piece of

silver, he informs you, wherein the Son differs from the Father; if you

ask the price of a loaf, you are told by way of reply, that the Son is

inferior to the Father; and if you inquire, whether the bath is ready,

the answer is, that the Son was made out of nothing." The heretics, of

various denominations, subsisted in peace under the protection of the

Arians of Constantinople; who endeavored to secure the attachment of

those obscure sectaries, while they abused, with unrelenting severity,

the victory which they had obtained over the followers of the council

of Nice. During the partial reigns of Constantius and Valens, the

feeble remnant of the Homoousians was deprived of the public and private

exercise of their religion; and it has been observed, in pathetic

language, that the scattered flock was left without a shepherd to wander

on the mountains, or to be devoured by rapacious wolves. But, as

their zeal, instead of being subdued, derived strength and vigor from

oppression, they seized the first moments of imperfect freedom, which

they had acquired by the death of Valens, to form themselves into a

regular congregation, under the conduct of an episcopal pastor. Two

natives of Cappadocia, Basil, and Gregory Nazianzen, were distinguished

above all their contemporaries, by the rare union of profane eloquence

and of orthodox piety. These orators, who might sometimes be compared,

by themselves, and by the public, to the most celebrated of the ancient

Greeks, were united by the ties of the strictest friendship. They had

cultivated, with equal ardor, the same liberal studies in the schools of

Athens; they had retired, with equal devotion, to the same solitude in

the deserts of Pontus; and every spark of emulation, or envy, appeared

to be totally extinguished in the holy and ingenuous breasts of Gregory

and Basil. But the exaltation of Basil, from a private life to the

archiepiscopal throne of Cæsarea, discovered to the world, and perhaps

to himself, the pride of his character; and the first favor which he

condescended to bestow on his friend, was received, and perhaps was

intended, as a cruel insult. Instead of employing the superior talents

of Gregory in some useful and conspicuous station, the haughty prelate

selected, among the fifty bishoprics of his extensive province, the

wretched village of Sasima, without water, without verdure, without

society, situate at the junction of three highways, and frequented

only by the incessant passage of rude and clamorous wagoners. Gregory

submitted with reluctance to this humiliating exile; he was ordained

bishop of Sasima; but he solemnly protests, that he never consummated

his spiritual marriage with this disgusting bride. He afterwards

consented to undertake the government of his native church of Nazianzus,

of which his father had been bishop above five-and-forty years. But as

he was still conscious that he deserved another audience, and another

theatre, he accepted, with no unworthy ambition, the honorable

invitation, which was addressed to him from the orthodox party of

Constantinople. On his arrival in the capital, Gregory was entertained

in the house of a pious and charitable kinsman; the most spacious

room was consecrated to the uses of religious worship; and the name of

Anastasia was chosen to express the resurrection of the Nicene faith.

This private conventicle was afterwards converted into a magnificent

church; and the credulity of the succeeding age was prepared to believe

the miracles and visions, which attested the presence, or at least the

protection, of the Mother of God. The pulpit of the Anastasia was the

scene of the labors and triumphs of Gregory Nazianzen; and, in the

space of two years, he experienced all the spiritual adventures which

constitute the prosperous or adverse fortunes of a missionary. The

Arians, who were provoked by the boldness of his enterprise, represented

his doctrine, as if he had preached three distinct and equal Deities;

and the devout populace was excited to suppress, by violence and tumult,

the irregular assemblies of the Athanasian heretics. From the cathedral

of St. Sophia there issued a motley crowd "of common beggars, who had

forfeited their claim to pity; of monks, who had the appearance of goats

or satyrs; and of women, more terrible than so many Jezebels." The doors

of the Anastasia were broke open; much mischief was perpetrated, or

attempted, with sticks, stones, and firebrands; and as a man lost his

life in the affray, Gregory, who was summoned the next morning before

the magistrate, had the satisfaction of supposing, that he publicly

confessed the name of Christ. After he was delivered from the fear

and danger of a foreign enemy, his infant church was disgraced and

distracted by intestine faction. A stranger who assumed the name of

Maximus, and the cloak of a Cynic philosopher, insinuated himself into

the confidence of Gregory; deceived and abused his favorable opinion;

and forming a secret connection with some bishops of Egypt, attempted,

by a clandestine ordination, to supplant his patron in the episcopal

seat of Constantinople. These mortifications might sometimes tempt the

Cappadocian missionary to regret his obscure solitude. But his fatigues

were rewarded by the daily increase of his fame and his congregation;

and he enjoyed the pleasure of observing, that the greater part of his

numerous audience retired from his sermons satisfied with the eloquence

of the preacher, or dissatisfied with the manifold imperfections of

their faith and practice.

The Catholics of Constantinople were animated with joyful confidence

by the baptism and edict of Theodosius; and they impatiently waited the

effects of his gracious promise. Their hopes were speedily accomplished;

and the emperor, as soon as he had finished the operations of the

campaign, made his public entry into the capital at the head of a

victorious army. The next day after his arrival, he summoned Damophilus

to his presence, and offered that Arian prelate the hard alternative of

subscribing the Nicene creed, or of instantly resigning, to the orthodox

believers, the use and possession of the episcopal palace, the cathedral

of St. Sophia, and all the churches of Constantinople. The zeal of

Damophilus, which in a Catholic saint would have been justly applauded,

embraced, without hesitation, a life of poverty and exile, and his

removal was immediately followed by the purification of the Imperial

city. The Arians might complain, with some appearance of justice, that

an inconsiderable congregation of sectaries should usurp the hundred

churches, which they were insufficient to fill; whilst the far greater

part of the people was cruelly excluded from every place of religious

worship. Theodosius was still inexorable; but as the angels who

protected the Catholic cause were only visible to the eyes of faith, he

prudently reënforced those heavenly legions with the more effectual

aid of temporal and carnal weapons; and the church of St. Sophia was

occupied by a large body of the Imperial guards. If the mind of Gregory

was susceptible of pride, he must have felt a very lively satisfaction,

when the emperor conducted him through the streets in solemn triumph;

and, with his own hand, respectfully placed him on the archiepiscopal

throne of Constantinople. But the saint (who had not subdued the

imperfections of human virtue) was deeply affected by the mortifying

consideration, that his entrance into the fold was that of a wolf,

rather than of a shepherd; that the glittering arms which surrounded his

person, were necessary for his safety; and that he alone was the object

of the imprecations of a great party, whom, as men and citizens, it was

impossible for him to despise. He beheld the innumerable multitude of

either sex, and of every age, who crowded the streets, the windows, and

the roofs of the houses; he heard the tumultuous voice of rage, grief,

astonishment, and despair; and Gregory fairly confesses, that on the

memorable day of his installation, the capital of the East wore the

appearance of a city taken by storm, and in the hands of a Barbarian

conqueror. About six weeks afterwards, Theodosius declared his

resolution of expelling from all the churches of his dominions the

bishops and their clergy who should obstinately refuse to believe, or at

least to profess, the doctrine of the council of Nice. His lieutenant,

Sapor, was armed with the ample powers of a general law, a special

commission, and a military force; and this ecclesiastical revolution was

conducted with so much discretion and vigor, that the religion of

the emperor was established, without tumult or bloodshed, in all the

provinces of the East. The writings of the Arians, if they had been

permitted to exist, would perhaps contain the lamentable story of the

persecution, which afflicted the church under the reign of the impious

Theodosius; and the sufferings of their holy confessors might claim the

pity of the disinterested reader. Yet there is reason to imagine, that

the violence of zeal and revenge was, in some measure, eluded by the

want of resistance; and that, in their adversity, the Arians displayed

much less firmness than had been exerted by the orthodox party under the

reigns of Constantius and Valens. The moral character and conduct of the

hostile sects appear to have been governed by the same common principles

of nature and religion: but a very material circumstance may be

discovered, which tended to distinguish the degrees of their theological

faith. Both parties, in the schools, as well as in the temples,

acknowledged and worshipped the divine majesty of Christ; and, as we are

always prone to impute our own sentiments and passions to the Deity,

it would be deemed more prudent and respectful to exaggerate, than to

circumscribe, the adorable perfections of the Son of God. The disciple

of Athanasius exulted in the proud confidence, that he had entitled

himself to the divine favor; while the follower of Arius must have been

tormented by the secret apprehension, that he was guilty, perhaps, of

an unpardonable offence, by the scanty praise, and parsimonious honors,

which he bestowed on the Judge of the World. The opinions of Arianism

might satisfy a cold and speculative mind: but the doctrine of the

Nicene creed, most powerfully recommended by the merits of faith and

devotion, was much better adapted to become popular and successful in a

believing age.

The hope, that truth and wisdom would be found in the assemblies of the

orthodox clergy, induced the emperor to convene, at Constantinople,

a synod of one hundred and fifty bishops, who proceeded, without much

difficulty or delay, to complete the theological system which had been

established in the council of Nice. The vehement disputes of the fourth

century had been chiefly employed on the nature of the Son of God; and

the various opinions which were embraced, concerning the Second, were

extended and transferred, by a natural analogy, to the Third person

of the Trinity. Yet it was found, or it was thought, necessary, by the

victorious adversaries of Arianism, to explain the ambiguous language of

some respectable doctors; to confirm the faith of the Catholics; and to

condemn an unpopular and inconsistent sect of Macedonians; who freely

admitted that the Son was consubstantial to the Father, while they were

fearful of seeming to acknowledge the existence of Three Gods. A final

and unanimous sentence was pronounced to ratify the equal Deity of

the Holy Ghost: the mysterious doctrine has been received by all the

nations, and all the churches of the Christian world; and their grateful

reverence has assigned to the bishops of Theodosius the second rank

among the general councils. Their knowledge of religious truth may

have been preserved by tradition, or it may have been communicated

by inspiration; but the sober evidence of history will not allow much

weight to the personal authority of the Fathers of Constantinople. In an

age when the ecclesiastics had scandalously degenerated from the model

of apostolic purity, the most worthless and corrupt were always the most

eager to frequent, and disturb, the episcopal assemblies. The conflict

and fermentation of so many opposite interests and tempers inflamed the

passions of the bishops: and their ruling passions were, the love

of gold, and the love of dispute. Many of the same prelates who now

applauded the orthodox piety of Theodosius, had repeatedly changed,

with prudent flexibility, their creeds and opinions; and in the various

revolutions of the church and state, the religion of their sovereign

was the rule of their obsequious faith. When the emperor suspended his

prevailing influence, the turbulent synod was blindly impelled by the

absurd or selfish motives of pride, hatred, or resentment. The death of

Meletius, which happened at the council of Constantinople, presented

the most favorable opportunity of terminating the schism of Antioch,

by suffering his aged rival, Paulinus, peaceably to end his days in the

episcopal chair. The faith and virtues of Paulinus were unblemished. But

his cause was supported by the Western churches; and the bishops of

the synod resolved to perpetuate the mischiefs of discord, by the hasty

ordination of a perjured candidate, rather than to betray the imagined

dignity of the East, which had been illustrated by the birth and death

of the Son of God. Such unjust and disorderly proceedings forced the

gravest members of the assembly to dissent and to secede; and the

clamorous majority which remained masters of the field of battle, could

be compared only to wasps or magpies, to a flight of cranes, or to a

flock of geese.

A suspicion may possibly arise, that so unfavorable a picture of

ecclesiastical synods has been drawn by the partial hand of some

obstinate heretic, or some malicious infidel. But the name of the

sincere historian who has conveyed this instructive lesson to

the knowledge of posterity, must silence the impotent murmurs of

superstition and bigotry. He was one of the most pious and eloquent

bishops of the age; a saint, and a doctor of the church; the scourge of

Arianism, and the pillar of the orthodox faith; a distinguished member

of the council of Constantinople, in which, after the death of Meletius,

he exercised the functions of president; in a word—Gregory Nazianzen

himself. The harsh and ungenerous treatment which he experienced,

instead of derogating from the truth of his evidence, affords an

additional proof of the spirit which actuated the deliberations of the

synod. Their unanimous suffrage had confirmed the pretensions which the

bishop of Constantinople derived from the choice of the people, and the

approbation of the emperor. But Gregory soon became the victim of malice

and envy. The bishops of the East, his strenuous adherents, provoked

by his moderation in the affairs of Antioch, abandoned him, without

support, to the adverse faction of the Egyptians; who disputed the

validity of his election, and rigorously asserted the obsolete canon,

that prohibited the licentious practice of episcopal translations. The

pride, or the humility, of Gregory prompted him to decline a contest

which might have been imputed to ambition and avarice; and he publicly

offered, not without some mixture of indignation, to renounce the

government of a church which had been restored, and almost created,

by his labors. His resignation was accepted by the synod, and by the

emperor, with more readiness than he seems to have expected. At the

time when he might have hoped to enjoy the fruits of his victory,

his episcopal throne was filled by the senator Nectarius; and the new

archbishop, accidentally recommended by his easy temper and venerable

aspect, was obliged to delay the ceremony of his consecration, till

he had previously despatched the rites of his baptism. After this

remarkable experience of the ingratitude of princes and prelates,

Gregory retired once more to his obscure solitude of Cappadocia;

where he employed the remainder of his life, about eight years, in the

exercises of poetry and devotion. The title of Saint has been added

to his name: but the tenderness of his heart, and the elegance of

his genius, reflect a more pleasing lustre on the memory of Gregory

Nazianzen.

It was not enough that Theodosius had suppressed the insolent reign

of Arianism, or that he had abundantly revenged the injuries which

the Catholics sustained from the zeal of Constantius and Valens. The

orthodox emperor considered every heretic as a rebel against the supreme

powers of heaven and of earth; and each of those powers might exercise

their peculiar jurisdiction over the soul and body of the guilty.

The decrees of the council of Constantinople had ascertained the

true standard of the faith; and the ecclesiastics, who governed the

conscience of Theodosius, suggested the most effectual methods of

persecution. In the space of fifteen years, he promulgated at least

fifteen severe edicts against the heretics; more especially against

those who rejected the doctrine of the Trinity; and to deprive them of

every hope of escape, he sternly enacted, that if any laws or rescripts

should be alleged in their favor, the judges should consider them as the

illegal productions either of fraud or forgery. The penal statutes were

directed against the ministers, the assemblies, and the persons of

the heretics; and the passions of the legislator were expressed in the

language of declamation and invective. I. The heretical teachers, who

usurped the sacred titles of Bishops, or Presbyters, were not only

excluded from the privileges and emoluments so liberally granted to the

orthodox clergy, but they were exposed to the heavy penalties of

exile and confiscation, if they presumed to preach the doctrine, or to

practise the rites, of their accursed sects. A fine of ten pounds of

gold (above four hundred pounds sterling) was imposed on every person

who should dare to confer, or receive, or promote, an heretical

ordination: and it was reasonably expected, that if the race of pastors

could be extinguished, their helpless flocks would be compelled, by

ignorance and hunger, to return within the pale of the Catholic church.

II. The rigorous prohibition of conventicles was carefully extended to

every possible circumstance, in which the heretics could assemble with

the intention of worshipping God and Christ according to the dictates of

their conscience. Their religious meetings, whether public or secret, by

day or by night, in cities or in the country, were equally proscribed

by the edicts of Theodosius; and the building, or ground, which had been

used for that illegal purpose, was forfeited to the Imperial domain.

III. It was supposed, that the error of the heretics could proceed only

from the obstinate temper of their minds; and that such a temper was a

fit object of censure and punishment. The anathemas of the church were

fortified by a sort of civil excommunication; which separated them

from their fellow-citizens, by a peculiar brand of infamy; and this

declaration of the supreme magistrate tended to justify, or at least to

excuse, the insults of a fanatic populace. The sectaries were gradually

disqualified from the possession of honorable or lucrative employments;

and Theodosius was satisfied with his own justice, when he decreed,

that, as the Eunomians distinguished the nature of the Son from that

of the Father, they should be incapable of making their wills or of

receiving any advantage from testamentary donations. The guilt of the

Manichæan heresy was esteemed of such magnitude, that it could be

expiated only by the death of the offender; and the same capital

punishment was inflicted on the Audians, or Quartodecimans, who should

dare to perpetrate the atrocious crime of celebrating on an improper day

the festival of Easter. Every Roman might exercise the right of public

accusation; but the office of Inquisitors of the Faith, a name so

deservedly abhorred, was first instituted under the reign of Theodosius.

Yet we are assured, that the execution of his penal edicts was seldom

enforced; and that the pious emperor appeared less desirous to punish,

than to reclaim, or terrify, his refractory subjects.

The theory of persecution was established by Theodosius, whose justice

and piety have been applauded by the saints: but the practice of it, in

the fullest extent, was reserved for his rival and colleague, Maximus,

the first, among the Christian princes, who shed the blood of his

Christian subjects on account of their religious opinions. The cause

of the Priscillianists, a recent sect of heretics, who disturbed the

provinces of Spain, was transferred, by appeal, from the synod of

Bordeaux to the Imperial consistory of Treves; and by the sentence of

the Prætorian præfect, seven persons were tortured, condemned, and

executed. The first of these was Priscillian himself, bishop of Avila,

in Spain; who adorned the advantages of birth and fortune, by the

accomplishments of eloquence and learning. Two presbyters, and two

deacons, accompanied their beloved master in his death, which they

esteemed as a glorious martyrdom; and the number of religious victims

was completed by the execution of Latronian, a poet, who rivalled the

fame of the ancients; and of Euchrocia, a noble matron of Bordeaux,

the widow of the orator Delphidius. Two bishops who had embraced the

sentiments of Priscillian, were condemned to a distant and dreary exile;

and some indulgence was shown to the meaner criminals, who assumed

the merit of an early repentance. If any credit could be allowed

to confessions extorted by fear or pain, and to vague reports, the

offspring of malice and credulity, the heresy of the Priscillianists

would be found to include the various abominations of magic, of impiety,

and of lewdness. Priscillian, who wandered about the world in the

company of his spiritual sisters, was accused of praying stark naked in

the midst of the congregation; and it was confidently asserted, that the

effects of his criminal intercourse with the daughter of Euchrocia

had been suppressed, by means still more odious and criminal. But

an accurate, or rather a candid, inquiry will discover, that if

the Priscillianists violated the laws of nature, it was not by the

licentiousness, but by the austerity, of their lives. They absolutely

condemned the use of the marriage-bed; and the peace of families was

often disturbed by indiscreet separations. They enjoyed, or recommended,

a total abstinence from all anima food; and their continual prayers,

fasts, and vigils, inculcated a rule of strict and perfect devotion. The

speculative tenets of the sect, concerning the person of Christ, and the

nature of the human soul, were derived from the Gnostic and Manichæan

system; and this vain philosophy, which had been transported from

Egypt to Spain, was ill adapted to the grosser spirits of the West.

The obscure disciples of Priscillian suffered languished, and gradually

disappeared: his tenets were rejected by the clergy and people, but his

death was the subject of a long and vehement controversy; while some

arraigned, and others applauded, the justice of his sentence. It is

with pleasure that we can observe the humane inconsistency of the most

illustrious saints and bishops, Ambrose of Milan, and Martin of Tours,

who, on this occasion, asserted the cause of toleration. They pitied

the unhappy men, who had been executed at Treves; they refused to hold

communion with their episcopal murderers; and if Martin deviated from

that generous resolution, his motives were laudable, and his repentance

was exemplary. The bishops of Tours and Milan pronounced, without

hesitation, the eternal damnation of heretics; but they were surprised,

and shocked, by the bloody image of their temporal death, and the honest

feelings of nature resisted the artificial prejudices of theology.

The humanity of Ambrose and Martin was confirmed by the scandalous

irregularity of the proceedings against Priscillian and his adherents.

The civil and ecclesiastical ministers had transgressed the limits of

their respective provinces. The secular judge had presumed to receive

an appeal, and to pronounce a definitive sentence, in a matter of faith,

and episcopal jurisdiction. The bishops had disgraced themselves, by

exercising the functions of accusers in a criminal prosecution. The

cruelty of Ithacius, who beheld the tortures, and solicited the death,

of the heretics, provoked the just indignation of mankind; and the vices

of that profligate bishop were admitted as a proof, that his zeal

was instigated by the sordid motives of interest. Since the death of

Priscillian, the rude attempts of persecution have been refined and

methodized in the holy office, which assigns their distinct parts to

the ecclesiastical and secular powers. The devoted victim is regularly

delivered by the priest to the magistrate, and by the magistrate to the

executioner; and the inexorable sentence of the church, which declares

the spiritual guilt of the offender, is expressed in the mild language

of pity and intercession.

Chapter XXVII: Civil Wars, Reign Of Theodosius.—Part III.

Among the ecclesiastics, who illustrated the reign of Theodosius,

Gregory Nazianzen was distinguished by the talents of an eloquent

preacher; the reputation of miraculous gifts added weight and dignity to

the monastic virtues of Martin of Tours; but the palm of episcopal vigor

and ability was justly claimed by the intrepid Ambrose. He was descended

from a noble family of Romans; his father had exercised the important

office of Prætorian præfect of Gaul; and the son, after passing

through the studies of a liberal education, attained, in the regular

gradation of civil honors, the station of consular of Liguria, a

province which included the Imperial residence of Milan. At the age

of thirty-four, and before he had received the sacrament of baptism,

Ambrose, to his own surprise, and to that of the world, was suddenly

transformed from a governor to an archbishop. Without the least

mixture, as it is said, of art or intrigue, the whole body of the

people unanimously saluted him with the episcopal title; the concord

and perseverance of their acclamations were ascribed to a præternatural

impulse; and the reluctant magistrate was compelled to undertake a

spiritual office, for which he was not prepared by the habits and

occupations of his former life. But the active force of his genius soon

qualified him to exercise, with zeal and prudence, the duties of his

ecclesiastical jurisdiction; and while he cheerfully renounced the vain

and splendid trappings of temporal greatness, he condescended, for the

good of the church, to direct the conscience of the emperors, and to

control the administration of the empire. Gratian loved and revered him

as a father; and the elaborate treatise on the faith of the Trinity

was designed for the instruction of the young prince. After his tragic

death, at a time when the empress Justina trembled for her own safety,

and for that of her son Valentinian, the archbishop of Milan was

despatched, on two different embassies, to the court of Treves.

He exercised, with equal firmness and dexterity, the powers of his

spiritual and political characters; and perhaps contributed, by his

authority and eloquence, to check the ambition of Maximus, and to

protect the peace of Italy. Ambrose had devoted his life, and his

abilities, to the service of the church. Wealth was the object of his

contempt; he had renounced his private patrimony; and he sold, without

hesitation, the consecrated plate, for the redemption of captives. The

clergy and people of Milan were attached to their archbishop; and he

deserved the esteem, without soliciting the favor, or apprehending the

displeasure, of his feeble sovereigns.

The government of Italy, and of the young emperor, naturally devolved to

his mother Justina, a woman of beauty and spirit, but who, in the

midst of an orthodox people, had the misfortune of professing the Arian

heresy, which she endeavored to instil into the mind of her son. Justina

was persuaded, that a Roman emperor might claim, in his own dominions,

the public exercise of his religion; and she proposed to the archbishop,

as a moderate and reasonable concession, that he should resign the use

of a single church, either in the city or the suburbs of Milan. But

the conduct of Ambrose was governed by very different principles. The

palaces of the earth might indeed belong to Cæsar; but the churches

were the houses of God; and, within the limits of his diocese, he

himself, as the lawful successor of the apostles, was the only minister

of God. The privileges of Christianity, temporal as well as spiritual,

were confined to the true believers; and the mind of Ambrose was

satisfied, that his own theological opinions were the standard of truth

and orthodoxy. The archbishop, who refused to hold any conference,

or negotiation, with the instruments of Satan, declared, with modest

firmness, his resolution to die a martyr, rather than to yield to the

impious sacrilege; and Justina, who resented the refusal as an act

of insolence and rebellion, hastily determined to exert the Imperial

prerogative of her son. As she desired to perform her public devotions

on the approaching festival of Easter, Ambrose was ordered to appear

before the council. He obeyed the summons with the respect of a faithful

subject, but he was followed, without his consent, by an innumerable

people; they pressed, with impetuous zeal, against the gates of

the palace; and the affrighted ministers of Valentinian, instead of

pronouncing a sentence of exile on the archbishop of Milan, humbly

requested that he would interpose his authority, to protect the person

of the emperor, and to restore the tranquility of the capital. But the

promises which Ambrose received and communicated were soon violated by

a perfidious court; and, during six of the most solemn days, which

Christian piety had set apart for the exercise of religion, the city

was agitated by the irregular convulsions of tumult and fanaticism. The

officers of the household were directed to prepare, first, the Portian,

and afterwards, the new, Basilica, for the immediate reception of the

emperor and his mother. The splendid canopy and hangings of the royal

seat were arranged in the customary manner; but it was found necessary

to defend them by a strong guard, from the insults of the populace. The

Arian ecclesiastics, who ventured to show themselves in the streets,

were exposed to the most imminent danger of their lives; and Ambrose

enjoyed the merit and reputation of rescuing his personal enemies from

the hands of the enraged multitude.

But while he labored to restrain the effects of their zeal, the pathetic

vehemence of his sermons continually inflamed the angry and seditious

temper of the people of Milan. The characters of Eve, of the wife of

Job, of Jezebel, of Herodias, were indecently applied to the mother

of the emperor; and her desire to obtain a church for the Arians was

compared to the most cruel persecutions which Christianity had endured

under the reign of Paganism. The measures of the court served only to

expose the magnitude of the evil. A fine of two hundred pounds of gold

was imposed on the corporate body of merchants and manufacturers: an

order was signified, in the name of the emperor, to all the officers,

and inferior servants, of the courts of justice, that, during the

continuance of the public disorders, they should strictly confine

themselves to their houses; and the ministers of Valentinian imprudently

confessed, that the most respectable part of the citizens of Milan was

attached to the cause of their archbishop. He was again solicited to

restore peace to his country, by timely compliance with the will of

his sovereign. The reply of Ambrose was couched in the most humble and

respectful terms, which might, however, be interpreted as a serious

declaration of civil war. "His life and fortune were in the hands of the

emperor; but he would never betray the church of Christ, or degrade the

dignity of the episcopal character. In such a cause he was prepared

to suffer whatever the malice of the dæmon could inflict; and he only

wished to die in the presence of his faithful flock, and at the foot of

the altar; he had not contributed to excite, but it was in the power of

God alone to appease, the rage of the people: he deprecated the scenes

of blood and confusion which were likely to ensue; and it was his

fervent prayer, that he might not survive to behold the ruin of

a flourishing city, and perhaps the desolation of all Italy." The

obstinate bigotry of Justina would have endangered the empire of her

son, if, in this contest with the church and people of Milan, she could

have depended on the active obedience of the troops of the palace. A

large body of Goths had marched to occupy the Basilica, which was

the object of the dispute: and it might be expected from the Arian

principles, and barbarous manners, of these foreign mercenaries, that

they would not entertain any scruples in the execution of the most

sanguinary orders. They were encountered, on the sacred threshold,

by the archbishop, who, thundering against them a sentence of

excommunication, asked them, in the tone of a father and a master,

whether it was to invade the house of God, that they had implored the

hospitable protection of the republic. The suspense of the Barbarians

allowed some hours for a more effectual negotiation; and the empress

was persuaded, by the advice of her wisest counsellors, to leave the

Catholics in possession of all the churches of Milan; and to dissemble,

till a more convenient season, her intentions of revenge. The mother of

Valentinian could never forgive the triumph of Ambrose; and the royal

youth uttered a passionate exclamation, that his own servants were ready

to betray him into the hands of an insolent priest.

The laws of the empire, some of which were inscribed with the name of

Valentinian, still condemned the Arian heresy, and seemed to excuse the

resistance of the Catholics. By the influence of Justina, an edict of

toleration was promulgated in all the provinces which were subject to

the court of Milan; the free exercise of their religion was granted to

those who professed the faith of Rimini; and the emperor declared, that

all persons who should infringe this sacred and salutary constitution,

should be capitally punished, as the enemies of the public peace.

The character and language of the archbishop of Milan may justify the

suspicion, that his conduct soon afforded a reasonable ground, or at

least a specious pretence, to the Arian ministers; who watched the

opportunity of surprising him in some act of disobedience to a law which

he strangely represents as a law of blood and tyranny. A sentence of

easy and honorable banishment was pronounced, which enjoined Ambrose to

depart from Milan without delay; whilst it permitted him to choose the

place of his exile, and the number of his companions. But the authority

of the saints, who have preached and practised the maxims of passive

loyalty, appeared to Ambrose of less moment than the extreme and

pressing danger of the church. He boldly refused to obey; and his

refusal was supported by the unanimous consent of his faithful people.

They guarded by turns the person of their archbishop; the gates of

the cathedral and the episcopal palace were strongly secured; and the

Imperial troops, who had formed the blockade, were unwilling to risk the

attack, of that impregnable fortress. The numerous poor, who had been

relieved by the liberality of Ambrose, embraced the fair occasion

of signalizing their zeal and gratitude; and as the patience of the

multitude might have been exhausted by the length and uniformity of

nocturnal vigils, he prudently introduced into the church of Milan the

useful institution of a loud and regular psalmody. While he maintained

this arduous contest, he was instructed, by a dream, to open the earth

in a place where the remains of two martyrs, Gervasius and Protasius,

had been deposited above three hundred years. Immediately under the

pavement of the church two perfect skeletons were found, with the heads

separated from their bodies, and a plentiful effusion of blood. The holy

relics were presented, in solemn pomp, to the veneration of the people;

and every circumstance of this fortunate discovery was admirably adapted

to promote the designs of Ambrose. The bones of the martyrs, their

blood, their garments, were supposed to contain a healing power; and the

præternatural influence was communicated to the most distant objects,

without losing any part of its original virtue. The extraordinary cure

of a blind man, and the reluctant confessions of several dæmoniacs,

appeared to justify the faith and sanctity of Ambrose; and the truth

of those miracles is attested by Ambrose himself, by his secretary

Paulinus, and by his proselyte, the celebrated Augustin, who, at that

time, professed the art of rhetoric in Milan. The reason of the present

age may possibly approve the incredulity of Justina and her Arian court;

who derided the theatrical representations which were exhibited by

the contrivance, and at the expense, of the archbishop. Their effect,

however, on the minds of the people, was rapid and irresistible; and

the feeble sovereign of Italy found himself unable to contend with the

favorite of Heaven. The powers likewise of the earth interposed in

the defence of Ambrose: the disinterested advice of Theodosius was the

genuine result of piety and friendship; and the mask of religious zeal

concealed the hostile and ambitious designs of the tyrant of Gaul.

The reign of Maximus might have ended in peace and prosperity, could

he have contented himself with the possession of three ample countries,

which now constitute the three most flourishing kingdoms of modern

Europe. But the aspiring usurper, whose sordid ambition was not

dignified by the love of glory and of arms, considered his actual forces

as the instruments only of his future greatness, and his success was the

immediate cause of his destruction. The wealth which he extorted from

the oppressed provinces of Gaul, Spain, and Britain, was employed in

levying and maintaining a formidable army of Barbarians, collected, for

the most part, from the fiercest nations of Germany. The conquest of

Italy was the object of his hopes and preparations: and he secretly

meditated the ruin of an innocent youth, whose government was abhorred

and despised by his Catholic subjects. But as Maximus wished to occupy,

without resistance, the passes of the Alps, he received, with perfidious

smiles, Domninus of Syria, the ambassador of Valentinian, and pressed

him to accept the aid of a considerable body of troops, for the service

of a Pannonian war. The penetration of Ambrose had discovered the snares

of an enemy under the professions of friendship; but the Syrian Domninus

was corrupted, or deceived, by the liberal favor of the court of Treves;

and the council of Milan obstinately rejected the suspicion of danger,

with a blind confidence, which was the effect, not of courage, but of

fear. The march of the auxiliaries was guided by the ambassador; and

they were admitted, without distrust, into the fortresses of the Alps.

But the crafty tyrant followed, with hasty and silent footsteps, in the

rear; and, as he diligently intercepted all intelligence of his motions,

the gleam of armor, and the dust excited by the troops of cavalry, first

announced the hostile approach of a stranger to the gates of Milan. In

this extremity, Justina and her son might accuse their own imprudence,

and the perfidious arts of Maximus; but they wanted time, and force, and

resolution, to stand against the Gauls and Germans, either in the field,

or within the walls of a large and disaffected city. Flight was their

only hope, Aquileia their only refuge; and as Maximus now displayed his

genuine character, the brother of Gratian might expect the same fate

from the hands of the same assassin. Maximus entered Milan in triumph;

and if the wise archbishop refused a dangerous and criminal connection

with the usurper, he might indirectly contribute to the success of his

arms, by inculcating, from the pulpit, the duty of resignation, rather

than that of resistance. The unfortunate Justina reached Aquileia in

safety; but she distrusted the strength of the fortifications: she

dreaded the event of a siege; and she resolved to implore the protection

of the great Theodosius, whose power and virtue were celebrated in all

the countries of the West. A vessel was secretly provided to transport

the Imperial family; they embarked with precipitation in one of the

obscure harbors of Venetia, or Istria; traversed the whole extent of the

Adriatic and Ionian Seas; turned the extreme promontory of Peloponnesus;

and, after a long, but successful navigation, reposed themselves in the

port of Thessalonica. All the subjects of Valentinian deserted the cause

of a prince, who, by his abdication, had absolved them from the duty of

allegiance; and if the little city of Æmona, on the verge of Italy, had

not presumed to stop the career of his inglorious victory, Maximus would

have obtained, without a struggle, the sole possession of the Western

empire.

Instead of inviting his royal guests to take the palace of

Constantinople, Theodosius had some unknown reasons to fix their

residence at Thessalonica; but these reasons did not proceed from

contempt or indifference, as he speedily made a visit to that city,

accompanied by the greatest part of his court and senate. After the

first tender expressions of friendship and sympathy, the pious emperor

of the East gently admonished Justina, that the guilt of heresy was

sometimes punished in this world, as well as in the next; and that the

public profession of the Nicene faith would be the most efficacious step

to promote the restoration of her son, by the satisfaction which it must

occasion both on earth and in heaven. The momentous question of peace or

war was referred, by Theodosius, to the deliberation of his council; and

the arguments which might be alleged on the side of honor and justice,

had acquired, since the death of Gratian, a considerable degree of

additional weight. The persecution of the Imperial family, to which

Theodosius himself had been indebted for his fortune, was now aggravated

by recent and repeated injuries. Neither oaths nor treaties could

restrain the boundless ambition of Maximus; and the delay of vigorous

and decisive measures, instead of prolonging the blessings of peace,

would expose the Eastern empire to the danger of a hostile invasion. The

Barbarians, who had passed the Danube, had lately assumed the character

of soldiers and subjects, but their native fierceness was yet untamed:

and the operations of a war, which would exercise their valor, and

diminish their numbers, might tend to relieve the provinces from

an intolerable oppression. Notwithstanding these specious and solid

reasons, which were approved by a majority of the council, Theodosius

still hesitated whether he should draw the sword in a contest which

could no longer admit any terms of reconciliation; and his magnanimous

character was not disgraced by the apprehensions which he felt for the

safety of his infant sons, and the welfare of his exhausted people. In

this moment of anxious doubt, while the fate of the Roman world depended

on the resolution of a single man, the charms of the princess Galla most

powerfully pleaded the cause of her brother Valentinian. The heart of

Theodosius was softened by the tears of beauty; his affections were

insensibly engaged by the graces of youth and innocence: the art of

Justina managed and directed the impulse of passion; and the celebration

of the royal nuptials was the assurance and signal of the civil war. The

unfeeling critics, who consider every amorous weakness as an indelible

stain on the memory of a great and orthodox emperor, are inclined,

on this occasion, to dispute the suspicious evidence of the historian

Zosimus. For my own part, I shall frankly confess, that I am willing to

find, or even to seek, in the revolutions of the world, some traces of

the mild and tender sentiments of domestic life; and amidst the crowd

of fierce and ambitious conquerors, I can distinguish, with peculiar

complacency, a gentle hero, who may be supposed to receive his armor

from the hands of love. The alliance of the Persian king was secured by

the faith of treaties; the martial Barbarians were persuaded to follow

the standard, or to respect the frontiers, of an active and liberal

monarch; and the dominions of Theodosius, from the Euphrates to the

Adriatic, resounded with the preparations of war both by land and sea.

The skilful disposition of the forces of the East seemed to multiply

their numbers, and distracted the attention of Maximus. He had reason

to fear, that a chosen body of troops, under the command of the intrepid

Arbogastes, would direct their march along the banks of the Danube, and

boldly penetrate through the Rhætian provinces into the centre of Gaul.

A powerful fleet was equipped in the harbors of Greece and Epirus, with

an apparent design, that, as soon as the passage had been opened by a

naval victory, Valentinian and his mother should land in Italy, proceed,

without delay, to Rome, and occupy the majestic seat of religion and

empire. In the mean while, Theodosius himself advanced at the head of a

brave and disciplined army, to encounter his unworthy rival, who, after

the siege of Æmona, had fixed his camp in the neighborhood of Siscia,

a city of Pannonia, strongly fortified by the broad and rapid stream of

the Save.

Chapter XXVII: Civil Wars, Reign Of Theodosius.—Part IV

The veterans, who still remembered the long resistance, and successive

resources, of the tyrant Magnentius, might prepare themselves for the

labors of three bloody campaigns. But the contest with his successor,

who, like him, had usurped the throne of the West, was easily decided in

the term of two months, and within the space of two hundred miles. The

superior genius of the emperor of the East might prevail over the feeble

Maximus, who, in this important crisis, showed himself destitute of

military skill, or personal courage; but the abilities of Theodosius

were seconded by the advantage which he possessed of a numerous and

active cavalry. The Huns, the Alani, and, after their example, the

Goths themselves, were formed into squadrons of archers; who fought on

horseback, and confounded the steady valor of the Gauls and Germans, by

the rapid motions of a Tartar war. After the fatigue of a long march, in

the heat of summer, they spurred their foaming horses into the waters

of the Save, swam the river in the presence of the enemy, and instantly

charged and routed the troops who guarded the high ground on the

opposite side. Marcellinus, the tyrant's brother, advanced to support

them with the select cohorts, which were considered as the hope and

strength of the army. The action, which had been interrupted by the

approach of night, was renewed in the morning; and, after a sharp

conflict, the surviving remnant of the bravest soldiers of Maximus threw

down their arms at the feet of the conqueror. Without suspending his

march, to receive the loyal acclamations of the citizens of Æmona,

Theodosius pressed forwards to terminate the war by the death or

captivity of his rival, who fled before him with the diligence of fear.

From the summit of the Julian Alps, he descended with such incredible

speed into the plain of Italy, that he reached Aquileia on the evening

of the first day; and Maximus, who found himself encompassed on all

sides, had scarcely time to shut the gates of the city. But the gates

could not long resist the effort of a victorious enemy; and the despair,

the disaffection, the indifference of the soldiers and people, hastened

the downfall of the wretched Maximus. He was dragged from his throne,

rudely stripped of the Imperial ornaments, the robe, the diadem, and

the purple slippers; and conducted, like a malefactor, to the camp and

presence of Theodosius, at a place about three miles from Aquileia.

The behavior of the emperor was not intended to insult, and he showed

disposition to pity and forgive, the tyrant of the West, who had never

been his personal enemy, and was now become the object of his contempt.

Our sympathy is the most forcibly excited by the misfortunes to which we

are exposed; and the spectacle of a proud competitor, now prostrate at

his feet, could not fail of producing very serious and solemn thoughts

in the mind of the victorious emperor. But the feeble emotion of

involuntary pity was checked by his regard for public justice, and the

memory of Gratian; and he abandoned the victim to the pious zeal of

the soldiers, who drew him out of the Imperial presence, and instantly

separated his head from his body. The intelligence of his defeat and

death was received with sincere or well-dissembled joy: his son Victor,

on whom he had conferred the title of Augustus, died by the order,

perhaps by the hand, of the bold Arbogastes; and all the military plans

of Theodosius were successfully executed. When he had thus terminated

the civil war, with less difficulty and bloodshed than he might

naturally expect, he employed the winter months of his residence at

Milan, to restore the state of the afflicted provinces; and early in the

spring he made, after the example of Constantine and Constantius, his

triumphal entry into the ancient capital of the Roman empire.

The orator, who may be silent without danger, may praise without

difficulty, and without reluctance; and posterity will confess, that the

character of Theodosius might furnish the subject of a sincere and ample

panegyric. The wisdom of his laws, and the success of his arms, rendered

his administration respectable in the eyes both of his subjects and of

his enemies. He loved and practised the virtues of domestic life, which

seldom hold their residence in the palaces of kings. Theodosius was

chaste and temperate; he enjoyed, without excess, the sensual and social

pleasures of the table; and the warmth of his amorous passions was

never diverted from their lawful objects. The proud titles of Imperial

greatness were adorned by the tender names of a faithful husband, an

indulgent father; his uncle was raised, by his affectionate esteem,

to the rank of a second parent: Theodosius embraced, as his own, the

children of his brother and sister; and the expressions of his regard

were extended to the most distant and obscure branches of his numerous

kindred. His familiar friends were judiciously selected from among those

persons, who, in the equal intercourse of private life, had appeared

before his eyes without a mask; the consciousness of personal and

superior merit enabled him to despise the accidental distinction of

the purple; and he proved by his conduct, that he had forgotten all

the injuries, while he most gratefully remembered all the favors and

services, which he had received before he ascended the throne of the

Roman empire. The serious or lively tone of his conversation was adapted

to the age, the rank, or the character of his subjects, whom he admitted

into his society; and the affability of his manners displayed the

image of his mind. Theodosius respected the simplicity of the good and

virtuous: every art, every talent, of a useful, or even of an innocent

nature, was rewarded by his judicious liberality; and, except the

heretics, whom he persecuted with implacable hatred, the diffusive

circle of his benevolence was circumscribed only by the limits of the

human race. The government of a mighty empire may assuredly suffice

to occupy the time, and the abilities, of a mortal: yet the diligent

prince, without aspiring to the unsuitable reputation of profound

learning, always reserved some moments of his leisure for the

instructive amusement of reading. History, which enlarged his

experience, was his favorite study. The annals of Rome, in the long

period of eleven hundred years, presented him with a various and

splendid picture of human life: and it has been particularly observed,

that whenever he perused the cruel acts of Cinna, of Marius, or of

Sylla, he warmly expressed his generous detestation of those enemies

of humanity and freedom. His disinterested opinion of past events was

usefully applied as the rule of his own actions; and Theodosius has

deserved the singular commendation, that his virtues always seemed to

expand with his fortune: the season of his prosperity was that of his

moderation; and his clemency appeared the most conspicuous after the

danger and success of a civil war. The Moorish guards of the tyrant had

been massacred in the first heat of the victory, and a small number of

the most obnoxious criminals suffered the punishment of the law. But the

emperor showed himself much more attentive to relieve the innocent than

to chastise the guilty. The oppressed subjects of the West, who would

have deemed themselves happy in the restoration of their lands, were

astonished to receive a sum of money equivalent to their losses; and the

liberality of the conqueror supported the aged mother, and educated the

orphan daughters, of Maximus. A character thus accomplished might almost

excuse the extravagant supposition of the orator Pacatus; that, if

the elder Brutus could be permitted to revisit the earth, the stern

republican would abjure, at the feet of Theodosius, his hatred of kings;

and ingenuously confess, that such a monarch was the most faithful

guardian of the happiness and dignity of the Roman people.

Yet the piercing eye of the founder of the republic must have discerned

two essential imperfections, which might, perhaps, have abated his

recent love of despotism. The virtuous mind of Theodosius was often

relaxed by indolence, and it was sometimes inflamed by passion. In the

pursuit of an important object, his active courage was capable of the

most vigorous exertions; but, as soon as the design was accomplished,

or the danger was surmounted, the hero sunk into inglorious repose;

and, forgetful that the time of a prince is the property of his people,

resigned himself to the enjoyment of the innocent, but trifling,

pleasures of a luxurious court. The natural disposition of Theodosius

was hasty and choleric; and, in a station where none could resist, and

few would dissuade, the fatal consequence of his resentment, the humane

monarch was justly alarmed by the consciousness of his infirmity and

of his power. It was the constant study of his life to suppress, or

regulate, the intemperate sallies of passion and the success of his

efforts enhanced the merit of his clemency. But the painful virtue which

claims the merit of victory, is exposed to the danger of defeat; and the

reign of a wise and merciful prince was polluted by an act of cruelty

which would stain the annals of Nero or Domitian. Within the space of

three years, the inconsistent historian of Theodosius must relate the

generous pardon of the citizens of Antioch, and the inhuman massacre of

the people of Thessalonica.

The lively impatience of the inhabitants of Antioch was never satisfied

with their own situation, or with the character and conduct of their

successive sovereigns. The Arian subjects of Theodosius deplored the

loss of their churches; and as three rival bishops disputed the throne

of Antioch, the sentence which decided their pretensions excited the

murmurs of the two unsuccessful congregations. The exigencies of the

Gothic war, and the inevitable expense that accompanied the conclusion

of the peace, had constrained the emperor to aggravate the weight of

the public impositions; and the provinces of Asia, as they had not been

involved in the distress were the less inclined to contribute to the

relief, of Europe. The auspicious period now approached of the tenth

year of his reign; a festival more grateful to the soldiers, who

received a liberal donative, than to the subjects, whose voluntary

offerings had been long since converted into an extraordinary and

oppressive burden. The edicts of taxation interrupted the repose, and

pleasures, of Antioch; and the tribunal of the magistrate was besieged

by a suppliant crowd; who, in pathetic, but, at first, in respectful

language, solicited the redress of their grievances. They were gradually

incensed by the pride of their haughty rulers, who treated their

complaints as a criminal resistance; their satirical wit degenerated

into sharp and angry invectives; and, from the subordinate powers of

government, the invectives of the people insensibly rose to attack

the sacred character of the emperor himself. Their fury, provoked by

a feeble opposition, discharged itself on the images of the Imperial

family, which were erected, as objects of public veneration, in the

most conspicuous places of the city. The statues of Theodosius, of his

father, of his wife Flaccilla, of his two sons, Arcadius and Honorius,

were insolently thrown down from their pedestals, broken in pieces, or

dragged with contempt through the streets; and the indignities which

were offered to the representations of Imperial majesty, sufficiently

declared the impious and treasonable wishes of the populace. The tumult

was almost immediately suppressed by the arrival of a body of archers:

and Antioch had leisure to reflect on the nature and consequences of her

crime. According to the duty of his office, the governor of the province

despatched a faithful narrative of the whole transaction: while the

trembling citizens intrusted the confession of their crime, and the

assurances of their repentance, to the zeal of Flavian, their bishop,

and to the eloquence of the senator Hilarius, the friend, and most

probably the disciple, of Libanius; whose genius, on this melancholy

occasion, was not useless to his country. But the two capitals, Antioch

and Constantinople, were separated by the distance of eight hundred

miles; and, notwithstanding the diligence of the Imperial posts, the

guilty city was severely punished by a long and dreadful interval of

suspense. Every rumor agitated the hopes and fears of the Antiochians,

and they heard with terror, that their sovereign, exasperated by the

insult which had been offered to his own statues, and more especially,

to those of his beloved wife, had resolved to level with the ground the

offending city; and to massacre, without distinction of age or sex,

the criminal inhabitants; many of whom were actually driven, by their

apprehensions, to seek a refuge in the mountains of Syria, and the

adjacent desert. At length, twenty-four days after the sedition, the

general Hellebicus and Cæsarius, master of the offices, declared the

will of the emperor, and the sentence of Antioch. That proud capital

was degraded from the rank of a city; and the metropolis of the East,

stripped of its lands, its privileges, and its revenues, was subjected,

under the humiliating denomination of a village, to the jurisdiction of

Laodicea. The baths, the Circus, and the theatres were shut: and,

that every source of plenty and pleasure might at the same time be

intercepted, the distribution of corn was abolished, by the severe

instructions of Theodosius. His commissioners then proceeded to inquire

into the guilt of individuals; of those who had perpetrated, and of

those who had not prevented, the destruction of the sacred statues. The

tribunal of Hellebicus and Cæsarius, encompassed with armed soldiers,

was erected in the midst of the Forum. The noblest, and most wealthy, of

the citizens of Antioch appeared before them in chains; the examination

was assisted by the use of torture, and their sentence was pronounced or

suspended, according to the judgment of these extraordinary magistrates.

The houses of the criminals were exposed to sale, their wives and

children were suddenly reduced, from affluence and luxury, to the most

abject distress; and a bloody execution was expected to conclude

the horrors of the day, which the preacher of Antioch, the eloquent

Chrysostom, has represented as a lively image of the last and universal

judgment of the world. But the ministers of Theodosius performed, with

reluctance, the cruel task which had been assigned them; they dropped

a gentle tear over the calamities of the people; and they listened with

reverence to the pressing solicitations of the monks and hermits, who

descended in swarms from the mountains. Hellebicus and Cæsarius were

persuaded to suspend the execution of their sentence; and it was agreed

that the former should remain at Antioch, while the latter returned,

with all possible speed, to Constantinople; and presumed once more to

consult the will of his sovereign. The resentment of Theodosius had

already subsided; the deputies of the people, both the bishop and the

orator, had obtained a favorable audience; and the reproaches of the

emperor were the complaints of injured friendship, rather than the stern

menaces of pride and power. A free and general pardon was granted to

the city and citizens of Antioch; the prison doors were thrown open;

the senators, who despaired of their lives, recovered the possession of

their houses and estates; and the capital of the East was restored

to the enjoyment of her ancient dignity and splendor. Theodosius

condescended to praise the senate of Constantinople, who had generously

interceded for their distressed brethren: he rewarded the eloquence of

Hilarius with the government of Palestine; and dismissed the bishop of

Antioch with the warmest expressions of his respect and gratitude. A

thousand new statues arose to the clemency of Theodosius; the applause

of his subjects was ratified by the approbation of his own heart; and

the emperor confessed, that, if the exercise of justice is the most

important duty, the indulgence of mercy is the most exquisite pleasure,

of a sovereign.

The sedition of Thessalonica is ascribed to a more shameful cause, and

was productive of much more dreadful consequences. That great city, the

metropolis of all the Illyrian provinces, had been protected from

the dangers of the Gothic war by strong fortifications and a numerous

garrison. Botheric, the general of those troops, and, as it should seem

from his name, a Barbarian, had among his slaves a beautiful boy, who

excited the impure desires of one of the charioteers of the Circus.

The insolent and brutal lover was thrown into prison by the order

of Botheric; and he sternly rejected the importunate clamors of the

multitude, who, on the day of the public games, lamented the absence of

their favorite; and considered the skill of a charioteer as an object

of more importance than his virtue. The resentment of the people was

imbittered by some previous disputes; and, as the strength of the

garrison had been drawn away for the service of the Italian war, the

feeble remnant, whose numbers were reduced by desertion, could not save

the unhappy general from their licentious fury. Botheric, and several

of his principal officers, were inhumanly murdered; their mangled bodies

were dragged about the streets; and the emperor, who then resided at

Milan, was surprised by the intelligence of the audacious and wanton

cruelty of the people of Thessalonica. The sentence of a dispassionate

judge would have inflicted a severe punishment on the authors of the

crime; and the merit of Botheric might contribute to exasperate the

grief and indignation of his master. The fiery and choleric temper of

Theodosius was impatient of the dilatory forms of a judicial inquiry;

and he hastily resolved, that the blood of his lieutenant should

be expiated by the blood of the guilty people. Yet his mind still

fluctuated between the counsels of clemency and of revenge; the zeal of

the bishops had almost extorted from the reluctant emperor the promise

of a general pardon; his passion was again inflamed by the flattering

suggestions of his minister Rufinus; and, after Theodosius had

despatched the messengers of death, he attempted, when it was too late,

to prevent the execution of his orders. The punishment of a Roman city

was blindly committed to the undistinguishing sword of the Barbarians;

and the hostile preparations were concerted with the dark and perfidious

artifice of an illegal conspiracy. The people of Thessalonica were

treacherously invited, in the name of their sovereign, to the games of

the Circus; and such was their insatiate avidity for those amusements,

that every consideration of fear, or suspicion, was disregarded by the

numerous spectators. As soon as the assembly was complete, the soldiers,

who had secretly been posted round the Circus, received the signal,

not of the races, but of a general massacre. The promiscuous carnage

continued three hours, without discrimination of strangers or natives,

of age or sex, of innocence or guilt; the most moderate accounts state

the number of the slain at seven thousand; and it is affirmed by some

writers that more than fifteen thousand victims were sacrificed to the

names of Botheric. A foreign merchant, who had probably no concern in

his murder, offered his own life, and all his wealth, to supply the

place of one of his two sons; but, while the father hesitated with equal

tenderness, while he was doubtful to choose, and unwilling to condemn,

the soldiers determined his suspense, by plunging their daggers at the

same moment into the breasts of the defenceless youths. The apology of

the assassins, that they were obliged to produce the prescribed number

of heads, serves only to increase, by an appearance of order and design,

the horrors of the massacre, which was executed by the commands of

Theodosius. The guilt of the emperor is aggravated by his long and

frequent residence at Thessalonica. The situation of the unfortunate

city, the aspect of the streets and buildings, the dress and faces of

the inhabitants, were familiar, and even present, to his imagination;

and Theodosius possessed a quick and lively sense of the existence of

the people whom he destroyed.

The respectful attachment of the emperor for the orthodox clergy, had

disposed him to love and admire the character of Ambrose; who united

all the episcopal virtues in the most eminent degree. The friends and

ministers of Theodosius imitated the example of their sovereign; and

he observed, with more surprise than displeasure, that all his secret

counsels were immediately communicated to the archbishop; who acted from

the laudable persuasion, that every measure of civil government may

have some connection with the glory of God, and the interest of the true

religion. The monks and populace of Callinicum, an obscure town on the

frontier of Persia, excited by their own fanaticism, and by that of

their bishop, had tumultuously burnt a conventicle of the Valentinians,

and a synagogue of the Jews. The seditious prelate was condemned, by the

magistrate of the province, either to rebuild the synagogue, or to repay

the damage; and this moderate sentence was confirmed by the emperor. But

it was not confirmed by the archbishop of Milan. He dictated an epistle

of censure and reproach, more suitable, perhaps, if the emperor had

received the mark of circumcision, and renounced the faith of his

baptism. Ambrose considers the toleration of the Jewish, as the

persecution of the Christian, religion; boldly declares that he himself,

and every true believer, would eagerly dispute with the bishop of

Callinicum the merit of the deed, and the crown of martyrdom; and

laments, in the most pathetic terms, that the execution of the sentence

would be fatal to the fame and salvation of Theodosius. As this private

admonition did not produce an immediate effect, the archbishop, from

his pulpit, publicly addressed the emperor on his throne; nor would he

consent to offer the oblation of the altar, till he had obtained from

Theodosius a solemn and positive declaration, which secured the impunity

of the bishop and monks of Callinicum. The recantation of Theodosius was

sincere; and, during the term of his residence at Milan, his affection

for Ambrose was continually increased by the habits of pious and

familiar conversation.

When Ambrose was informed of the massacre of Thessalonica, his mind was

filled with horror and anguish. He retired into the country to

indulge his grief, and to avoid the presence of Theodosius. But as

the archbishop was satisfied that a timid silence would render him

the accomplice of his guilt, he represented, in a private letter, the

enormity of the crime; which could only be effaced by the tears of

penitence. The episcopal vigor of Ambrose was tempered by prudence;

and he contented himself with signifying an indirect sort of

excommunication, by the assurance, that he had been warned in a

vision not to offer the oblation in the name, or in the presence, of

Theodosius; and by the advice, that he would confine himself to the

use of prayer, without presuming to approach the altar of Christ, or

to receive the holy eucharist with those hands that were still polluted

with the blood of an innocent people. The emperor was deeply affected by

his own reproaches, and by those of his spiritual father; and after he

had bewailed the mischievous and irreparable consequences of his rash

fury, he proceeded, in the accustomed manner, to perform his devotions

in the great church of Milan. He was stopped in the porch by the

archbishop; who, in the tone and language of an ambassador of Heaven,

declared to his sovereign, that private contrition was not sufficient

to atone for a public fault, or to appease the justice of the offended

Deity. Theodosius humbly represented, that if he had contracted the

guilt of homicide, David, the man after God's own heart, had been

guilty, not only of murder, but of adultery. "You have imitated David in

his crime, imitate then his repentance," was the reply of the undaunted

Ambrose. The rigorous conditions of peace and pardon were accepted; and

the public penance of the emperor Theodosius has been recorded as one of

the most honorable events in the annals of the church. According to the

mildest rules of ecclesiastical discipline, which were established in

the fourth century, the crime of homicide was expiated by the penitence

of twenty years: and as it was impossible, in the period of human life,

to purge the accumulated guilt of the massacre of Thessalonica, the

murderer should have been excluded from the holy communion till the hour

of his death. But the archbishop, consulting the maxims of religious

policy, granted some indulgence to the rank of his illustrious penitent,

who humbled in the dust the pride of the diadem; and the public

edification might be admitted as a weighty reason to abridge the

duration of his punishment. It was sufficient, that the emperor of the

Romans, stripped of the ensigns of royalty, should appear in a mournful

and suppliant posture; and that, in the midst of the church of Milan, he

should humbly solicit, with sighs and tears, the pardon of his sins. In

this spiritual cure, Ambrose employed the various methods of mildness

and severity. After a delay of about eight months, Theodosius was

restored to the communion of the faithful; and the edict which

interposes a salutary interval of thirty days between the sentence and

the execution, may be accepted as the worthy fruits of his repentance.

Posterity has applauded the virtuous firmness of the archbishop; and

the example of Theodosius may prove the beneficial influence of those

principles, which could force a monarch, exalted above the apprehension

of human punishment, to respect the laws, and ministers, of an invisible

Judge. "The prince," says Montesquieu, "who is actuated by the hopes and

fears of religion, may be compared to a lion, docile only to the voice,

and tractable to the hand, of his keeper." The motions of the royal

animal will therefore depend on the inclination, and interest, of the

man who has acquired such dangerous authority over him; and the priest,

who holds in his hands the conscience of a king, may inflame, or

moderate, his sanguinary passions. The cause of humanity, and that of

persecution, have been asserted, by the same Ambrose, with equal energy,

and with equal success.

Chapter XXVII: Civil Wars, Reign Of Theodosius.—Part V.

After the defeat and death of the tyrant of Gaul, the Roman world was in

the possession of Theodosius. He derived from the choice of Gratian his

honorable title to the provinces of the East: he had acquired the West

by the right of conquest; and the three years which he spent in Italy

were usefully employed to restore the authority of the laws, and

to correct the abuses which had prevailed with impunity under the

usurpation of Maximus, and the minority of Valentinian. The name of

Valentinian was regularly inserted in the public acts: but the tender

age, and doubtful faith, of the son of Justina, appeared to require the

prudent care of an orthodox guardian; and his specious ambition might

have excluded the unfortunate youth, without a struggle, and

almost without a murmur, from the administration, and even from the

inheritance, of the empire. If Theodosius had consulted the rigid maxims

of interest and policy, his conduct would have been justified by his

friends; but the generosity of his behavior on this memorable occasion

has extorted the applause of his most inveterate enemies. He seated

Valentinian on the throne of Milan; and, without stipulating any present

or future advantages, restored him to the absolute dominion of all the

provinces, from which he had been driven by the arms of Maximus. To

the restitution of his ample patrimony, Theodosius added the free and

generous gift of the countries beyond the Alps, which his successful

valor had recovered from the assassin of Gratian. Satisfied with the

glory which he had acquired, by revenging the death of his benefactor,

and delivering the West from the yoke of tyranny, the emperor returned

from Milan to Constantinople; and, in the peaceful possession of

the East, insensibly relapsed into his former habits of luxury and

indolence. Theodosius discharged his obligation to the brother, he

indulged his conjugal tenderness to the sister, of Valentinian; and

posterity, which admires the pure and singular glory of his elevation,

must applaud his unrivalled generosity in the use of victory.

The empress Justina did not long survive her return to Italy; and,

though she beheld the triumph of Theodosius, she was not allowed to

influence the government of her son. The pernicious attachment to

the Arian sect, which Valentinian had imbibed from her example and

instructions, was soon erased by the lessons of a more orthodox

education. His growing zeal for the faith of Nice, and his filial

reverence for the character and authority of Ambrose, disposed the

Catholics to entertain the most favorable opinion of the virtues of the

young emperor of the West. They applauded his chastity and temperance,

his contempt of pleasure, his application to business, and his tender

affection for his two sisters; which could not, however, seduce his

impartial equity to pronounce an unjust sentence against the meanest

of his subjects. But this amiable youth, before he had accomplished the

twentieth year of his age, was oppressed by domestic treason; and the

empire was again involved in the horrors of a civil war. Arbogastes, a

gallant soldier of the nation of the Franks, held the second rank in the

service of Gratian. On the death of his master he joined the standard

of Theodosius; contributed, by his valor and military conduct, to

the destruction of the tyrant; and was appointed, after the victory,

master-general of the armies of Gaul. His real merit, and apparent

fidelity, had gained the confidence both of the prince and people; his

boundless liberality corrupted the allegiance of the troops; and, whilst

he was universally esteemed as the pillar of the state, the bold and

crafty Barbarian was secretly determined either to rule, or to ruin, the

empire of the West. The important commands of the army were distributed

among the Franks; the creatures of Arbogastes were promoted to all

the honors and offices of the civil government; the progress of

the conspiracy removed every faithful servant from the presence of

Valentinian; and the emperor, without power and without intelligence,

insensibly sunk into the precarious and dependent condition of a

captive. The indignation which he expressed, though it might arise only

from the rash and impatient temper of youth, may be candidly ascribed

to the generous spirit of a prince, who felt that he was not unworthy

to reign. He secretly invited the archbishop of Milan to undertake the

office of a mediator; as the pledge of his sincerity, and the guardian

of his safety. He contrived to apprise the emperor of the East of his

helpless situation, and he declared, that, unless Theodosius could

speedily march to his assistance, he must attempt to escape from the

palace, or rather prison, of Vienna in Gaul, where he had imprudently

fixed his residence in the midst of the hostile faction. But the hopes

of relief were distant, and doubtful: and, as every day furnished some

new provocation, the emperor, without strength or counsel, too hastily

resolved to risk an immediate contest with his powerful general. He

received Arbogastes on the throne; and, as the count approached with

some appearance of respect, delivered to him a paper, which dismissed

him from all his employments. "My authority," replied Arbogastes, with

insulting coolness, "does not depend on the smile or the frown of a

monarch;" and he contemptuously threw the paper on the ground. The

indignant monarch snatched at the sword of one of the guards, which he

struggled to draw from its scabbard; and it was not without some degree

of violence that he was prevented from using the deadly weapon against

his enemy, or against himself. A few days after this extraordinary

quarrel, in which he had exposed his resentment and his weakness, the

unfortunate Valentinian was found strangled in his apartment; and some

pains were employed to disguise the manifest guilt of Arbogastes, and

to persuade the world, that the death of the young emperor had been the

voluntary effect of his own despair. His body was conducted with decent

pomp to the sepulchre of Milan; and the archbishop pronounced a funeral

oration to commemorate his virtues and his misfortunes. On this occasion

the humanity of Ambrose tempted him to make a singular breach in his

theological system; and to comfort the weeping sisters of Valentinian,

by the firm assurance, that their pious brother, though he had not

received the sacrament of baptism, was introduced, without difficulty,

into the mansions of eternal bliss.

The prudence of Arbogastes had prepared the success of his ambitious

designs: and the provincials, in whose breast every sentiment of

patriotism or loyalty was extinguished, expected, with tame resignation,

the unknown master, whom the choice of a Frank might place on the

Imperial throne. But some remains of pride and prejudice still opposed

the elevation of Arbogastes himself; and the judicious Barbarian thought

it more advisable to reign under the name of some dependent Roman. He

bestowed the purple on the rhetorician Eugenius; whom he had already

raised from the place of his domestic secretary to the rank of master of

the offices. In the course, both of his private and public service, the

count had always approved the attachment and abilities of Eugenius;

his learning and eloquence, supported by the gravity of his manners,

recommended him to the esteem of the people; and the reluctance with

which he seemed to ascend the throne, may inspire a favorable prejudice

of his virtue and moderation. The ambassadors of the new emperor were

immediately despatched to the court of Theodosius, to communicate, with

affected grief, the unfortunate accident of the death of Valentinian;

and, without mentioning the name of Arbogastes, to request, that

the monarch of the East would embrace, as his lawful colleague, the

respectable citizen, who had obtained the unanimous suffrage of the

armies and provinces of the West. Theodosius was justly provoked, that

the perfidy of a Barbarian, should have destroyed, in a moment, the

labors, and the fruit, of his former victory; and he was excited by the

tears of his beloved wife, to revenge the fate of her unhappy brother,

and once more to assert by arms the violated majesty of the throne. But

as the second conquest of the West was a task of difficulty and danger,

he dismissed, with splendid presents, and an ambiguous answer, the

ambassadors of Eugenius; and almost two years were consumed in the

preparations of the civil war. Before he formed any decisive resolution,

the pious emperor was anxious to discover the will of Heaven; and as the

progress of Christianity had silenced the oracles of Delphi and Dodona,

he consulted an Egyptian monk, who possessed, in the opinion of the age,

the gift of miracles, and the knowledge of futurity. Eutropius, one

of the favorite eunuchs of the palace of Constantinople, embarked for

Alexandria, from whence he sailed up the Nile, as far as the city of

Lycopolis, or of Wolves, in the remote province of Thebais. In the

neighborhood of that city, and on the summit of a lofty mountain, the

holy John had constructed, with his own hands, an humble cell, in which

he had dwelt above fifty years, without opening his door, without seeing

the face of a woman, and without tasting any food that had been prepared

by fire, or any human art. Five days of the week he spent in prayer and

meditation; but on Saturdays and Sundays he regularly opened a small

window, and gave audience to the crowd of suppliants who successively

flowed from every part of the Christian world. The eunuch of Theodosius

approached the window with respectful steps, proposed his questions

concerning the event of the civil war, and soon returned with a

favorable oracle, which animated the courage of the emperor by the

assurance of a bloody, but infallible victory. The accomplishment of

the prediction was forwarded by all the means that human prudence could

supply. The industry of the two master-generals, Stilicho and Timasius,

was directed to recruit the numbers, and to revive the discipline of

the Roman legions. The formidable troops of Barbarians marched under

the ensigns of their national chieftains. The Iberian, the Arab, and the

Goth, who gazed on each other with mutual astonishment, were enlisted in

the service of the same prince; and the renowned Alaric acquired, in

the school of Theodosius, the knowledge of the art of war, which he

afterwards so fatally exerted for the destruction of Rome.

The emperor of the West, or, to speak more properly, his general

Arbogastes, was instructed by the misconduct and misfortune of Maximus,

how dangerous it might prove to extend the line of defence against a

skilful antagonist, who was free to press, or to suspend, to contract,

or to multiply, his various methods of attack. Arbogastes fixed

his station on the confines of Italy; the troops of Theodosius were

permitted to occupy, without resistance, the provinces of Pannonia, as

far as the foot of the Julian Alps; and even the passes of the mountains

were negligently, or perhaps artfully, abandoned to the bold invader.

He descended from the hills, and beheld, with some astonishment, the

formidable camp of the Gauls and Germans, that covered with arms and

tents the open country which extends to the walls of Aquileia, and the

banks of the Frigidus, or Cold River. This narrow theatre of the war,

circumscribed by the Alps and the Adriatic, did not allow much room for

the operations of military skill; the spirit of Arbogastes would have

disdained a pardon; his guilt extinguished the hope of a negotiation;

and Theodosius was impatient to satisfy his glory and revenge, by the

chastisement of the assassins of Valentinian. Without weighing the

natural and artificial obstacles that opposed his efforts, the emperor

of the East immediately attacked the fortifications of his rivals,

assigned the post of honorable danger to the Goths, and cherished a

secret wish, that the bloody conflict might diminish the pride and

numbers of the conquerors. Ten thousand of those auxiliaries, and

Bacurius, general of the Iberians, died bravely on the field of battle.

But the victory was not purchased by their blood; the Gauls maintained

their advantage; and the approach of night protected the disorderly

flight, or retreat, of the troops of Theodosius. The emperor retired to

the adjacent hills; where he passed a disconsolate night, without sleep,

without provisions, and without hopes; except that strong assurance,

which, under the most desperate circumstances, the independent mind may

derive from the contempt of fortune and of life. The triumph of Eugenius

was celebrated by the insolent and dissolute joy of his camp; whilst the

active and vigilant Arbogastes secretly detached a considerable body of

troops to occupy the passes of the mountains, and to encompass the

rear of the Eastern army. The dawn of day discovered to the eyes

of Theodosius the extent and the extremity of his danger; but his

apprehensions were soon dispelled, by a friendly message from the

leaders of those troops who expressed their inclination to desert the

standard of the tyrant. The honorable and lucrative rewards, which

they stipulated as the price of their perfidy, were granted without

hesitation; and as ink and paper could not easily be procured, the

emperor subscribed, on his own tablets, the ratification of the treaty.

The spirit of his soldiers was revived by this seasonable reenforcement;

and they again marched, with confidence, to surprise the camp of a

tyrant, whose principal officers appeared to distrust, either the

justice or the success of his arms. In the heat of the battle, a violent

tempest, such as is often felt among the Alps, suddenly arose from the

East. The army of Theodosius was sheltered by their position from the

impetuosity of the wind, which blew a cloud of dust in the faces of the

enemy, disordered their ranks, wrested their weapons from their hands,

and diverted, or repelled, their ineffectual javelins. This accidental

advantage was skilfully improved, the violence of the storm was

magnified by the superstitious terrors of the Gauls; and they yielded

without shame to the invisible powers of heaven, who seemed to militate

on the side of the pious emperor. His victory was decisive; and the

deaths of his two rivals were distinguished only by the difference of

their characters. The rhetorician Eugenius, who had almost acquired

the dominion of the world, was reduced to implore the mercy of the

conqueror; and the unrelenting soldiers separated his head from his body

as he lay prostrate at the feet of Theodosius. Arbogastes, after the

loss of a battle, in which he had discharged the duties of a soldier and

a general, wandered several days among the mountains. But when he was

convinced that his cause was desperate, and his escape impracticable,

the intrepid Barbarian imitated the example of the ancient Romans, and

turned his sword against his own breast. The fate of the empire was

determined in a narrow corner of Italy; and the legitimate successor

of the house of Valentinian embraced the archbishop of Milan, and

graciously received the submission of the provinces of the West. Those

provinces were involved in the guilt of rebellion; while the inflexible

courage of Ambrose alone had resisted the claims of successful

usurpation. With a manly freedom, which might have been fatal to any

other subject, the archbishop rejected the gifts of Eugenius, declined

his correspondence, and withdrew himself from Milan, to avoid the

odious presence of a tyrant, whose downfall he predicted in discreet and

ambiguous language. The merit of Ambrose was applauded by the conqueror,

who secured the attachment of the people by his alliance with the

church; and the clemency of Theodosius is ascribed to the humane

intercession of the archbishop of Milan.

After the defeat of Eugenius, the merit, as well as the authority, of

Theodosius was cheerfully acknowledged by all the inhabitants of the

Roman world. The experience of his past conduct encouraged the most

pleasing expectations of his future reign; and the age of the emperor,

which did not exceed fifty years, seemed to extend the prospect of the

public felicity. His death, only four months after his victory, was

considered by the people as an unforeseen and fatal event, which

destroyed, in a moment, the hopes of the rising generation. But the

indulgence of ease and luxury had secretly nourished the principles of

disease. The strength of Theodosius was unable to support the sudden

and violent transition from the palace to the camp; and the increasing

symptoms of a dropsy announced the speedy dissolution of the emperor.

The opinion, and perhaps the interest, of the public had confirmed the

division of the Eastern and Western empires; and the two royal youths,

Arcadius and Honorius, who had already obtained, from the tenderness of

their father, the title of Augustus, were destined to fill the thrones

of Constantinople and of Rome. Those princes were not permitted to share

the danger and glory of the civil war; but as soon as Theodosius had

triumphed over his unworthy rivals, he called his younger son, Honorius,

to enjoy the fruits of the victory, and to receive the sceptre of the

West from the hands of his dying father. The arrival of Honorius at

Milan was welcomed by a splendid exhibition of the games of the Circus;

and the emperor, though he was oppressed by the weight of his disorder,

contributed by his presence to the public joy. But the remains of his

strength were exhausted by the painful effort which he made to assist at

the spectacles of the morning. Honorius supplied, during the rest of the

day, the place of his father; and the great Theodosius expired in the

ensuing night. Notwithstanding the recent animosities of a civil

war, his death was universally lamented. The Barbarians, whom he had

vanquished and the churchmen, by whom he had been subdued, celebrated,

with loud and sincere applause, the qualities of the deceased emperor,

which appeared the most valuable in their eyes. The Romans

were terrified by the impending dangers of a feeble and divided

administration, and every disgraceful moment of the unfortunate reigns

of Arcadius and Honorius revived the memory of their irreparable loss.

In the faithful picture of the virtues of Theodosius, his imperfections

have not been dissembled; the act of cruelty, and the habits of

indolence, which tarnished the glory of one of the greatest of the Roman

princes. An historian, perpetually adverse to the fame of Theodosius,

has exaggerated his vices, and their pernicious effects; he boldly

asserts, that every rank of subjects imitated the effeminate manners

of their sovereign; and that every species of corruption polluted the

course of public and private life; and that the feeble restraints of

order and decency were insufficient to resist the progress of that

degenerate spirit, which sacrifices, without a blush, the consideration

of duty and interest to the base indulgence of sloth and appetite. The

complaints of contemporary writers, who deplore the increase of luxury,

and depravation of manners, are commonly expressive of their peculiar

temper and situation. There are few observers, who possess a clear and

comprehensive view of the revolutions of society; and who are capable of

discovering the nice and secret springs of action, which impel, in the

same uniform direction, the blind and capricious passions of a multitude

of individuals. If it can be affirmed, with any degree of truth, that

the luxury of the Romans was more shameless and dissolute in the reign

of Theodosius than in the age of Constantine, perhaps, or of Augustus,

the alteration cannot be ascribed to any beneficial improvements, which

had gradually increased the stock of national riches. A long period of

calamity or decay must have checked the industry, and diminished the

wealth, of the people; and their profuse luxury must have been the

result of that indolent despair, which enjoys the present hour, and

declines the thoughts of futurity. The uncertain condition of their

property discouraged the subjects of Theodosius from engaging in those

useful and laborious undertakings which require an immediate expense,

and promise a slow and distant advantage. The frequent examples of ruin

and desolation tempted them not to spare the remains of a patrimony,

which might, every hour, become the prey of the rapacious Goth. And the

mad prodigality which prevails in the confusion of a shipwreck, or

a siege, may serve to explain the progress of luxury amidst the

misfortunes and terrors of a sinking nation.

The effeminate luxury, which infected the manners of courts and cities,

had instilled a secret and destructive poison into the camps of the

legions; and their degeneracy has been marked by the pen of a military

writer, who had accurately studied the genuine and ancient principles of

Roman discipline. It is the just and important observation of Vegetius,

that the infantry was invariably covered with defensive armor, from

the foundation of the city, to the reign of the emperor Gratian. The

relaxation of discipline, and the disuse of exercise, rendered the

soldiers less able, and less willing, to support the fatigues of the

service; they complained of the weight of the armor, which they seldom

wore; and they successively obtained the permission of laying aside both

their cuirasses and their helmets. The heavy weapons of their ancestors,

the short sword, and the formidable pilum, which had subdued the world,

insensibly dropped from their feeble hands. As the use of the shield

is incompatible with that of the bow, they reluctantly marched into the

field; condemned to suffer either the pain of wounds, or the ignominy of

flight, and always disposed to prefer the more shameful alternative. The

cavalry of the Goths, the Huns, and the Alani, had felt the benefits,

and adopted the use, of defensive armor; and, as they excelled in the

management of missile weapons, they easily overwhelmed the naked

and trembling legions, whose heads and breasts were exposed, without

defence, to the arrows of the Barbarians. The loss of armies, the

destruction of cities, and the dishonor of the Roman name, ineffectually

solicited the successors of Gratian to restore the helmets and the

cuirasses of the infantry. The enervated soldiers abandoned their

own and the public defence; and their pusillanimous indolence may be

considered as the immediate cause of the downfall of the empire.

Chapter XXVIII: Destruction Of Paganism.—Part I.

Final Destruction Of Paganism.—Introduction Of The

Worship Of Saints, And Relics, Among The Christians.

The ruin of Paganism, in the age of Theodosius, is perhaps the

only example of the total extirpation of any ancient and popular

superstition; and may therefore deserve to be considered as a singular

event in the history of the human mind. The Christians, more especially

the clergy, had impatiently supported the prudent delays of Constantine,

and the equal toleration of the elder Valentinian; nor could they deem

their conquest perfect or secure, as long as their adversaries were

permitted to exist. The influence which Ambrose and his brethren had

acquired over the youth of Gratian, and the piety of Theodosius, was

employed to infuse the maxims of persecution into the breasts of their

Imperial proselytes. Two specious principles of religious jurisprudence

were established, from whence they deduced a direct and rigorous

conclusion, against the subjects of the empire who still adhered to the

ceremonies of their ancestors: that the magistrate is, in some measure,

guilty of the crimes which he neglects to prohibit, or to punish; and,

that the idolatrous worship of fabulous deities, and real dæmons, is

the most abominable crime against the supreme majesty of the Creator.

The laws of Moses, and the examples of Jewish history, were hastily,

perhaps erroneously, applied, by the clergy, to the mild and universal

reign of Christianity. The zeal of the emperors was excited to vindicate

their own honor, and that of the Deity: and the temples of the Roman

world were subverted, about sixty years after the conversion of

Constantine.

From the age of Numa to the reign of Gratian, the Romans preserved the

regular succession of the several colleges of the sacerdotal order.

Fifteen Pontiffs exercised their supreme jurisdiction over all things,

and persons, that were consecrated to the service of the gods; and the

various questions which perpetually arose in a loose and traditionary

system, were submitted to the judgment of their holy tribunal Fifteen

grave and learned Augurs observed the face of the heavens, and

prescribed the actions of heroes, according to the flight of birds.

Fifteen keepers of the Sibylline books (their name of Quindecemvirs was

derived from their number) occasionally consulted the history of future,

and, as it should seem, of contingent, events. Six Vestals devoted their

virginity to the guard of the sacred fire, and of the unknown pledges of

the duration of Rome; which no mortal had been suffered to behold with

impunity. Seven Epulos prepared the table of the gods, conducted the

solemn procession, and regulated the ceremonies of the annual festival.

The three Flamens of Jupiter, of Mars, and of Quirinus, were considered

as the peculiar ministers of the three most powerful deities, who

watched over the fate of Rome and of the universe. The King of the

Sacrifices represented the person of Numa, and of his successors, in the

religious functions, which could be performed only by royal hands. The

confraternities of the Salians, the Lupercals, &c., practised such rites

as might extort a smile of contempt from every reasonable man, with

a lively confidence of recommending themselves to the favor of the

immortal gods. The authority, which the Roman priests had formerly

obtained in the counsels of the republic, was gradually abolished by the

establishment of monarchy, and the removal of the seat of empire. But

the dignity of their sacred character was still protected by the laws,

and manners of their country; and they still continued, more especially

the college of pontiffs, to exercise in the capital, and sometimes

in the provinces, the rights of their ecclesiastical and civil

jurisdiction. Their robes of purple, chariots of state, and sumptuous

entertainments, attracted the admiration of the people; and they

received, from the consecrated lands, and the public revenue, an ample

stipend, which liberally supported the splendor of the priesthood, and

all the expenses of the religious worship of the state. As the service

of the altar was not incompatible with the command of armies, the

Romans, after their consulships and triumphs, aspired to the place of

pontiff, or of augur; the seats of Cicero and Pompey were filled, in the

fourth century, by the most illustrious members of the senate; and the

dignity of their birth reflected additional splendor on their sacerdotal

character. The fifteen priests, who composed the college of pontiffs,

enjoyed a more distinguished rank as the companions of their sovereign;

and the Christian emperors condescended to accept the robe and ensigns,

which were appropriated to the office of supreme pontiff. But when

Gratian ascended the throne, more scrupulous or more enlightened, he

sternly rejected those profane symbols; applied to the service of

the state, or of the church, the revenues of the priests and vestals;

abolished their honors and immunities; and dissolved the ancient fabric

of Roman superstition, which was supported by the opinions and habits of

eleven hundred years. Paganism was still the constitutional religion of

the senate. The hall, or temple, in which they assembled, was adorned by

the statue and altar of Victory; a majestic female standing on a globe,

with flowing garments, expanded wings, and a crown of laurel in her

outstretched hand. The senators were sworn on the altar of the goddess

to observe the laws of the emperor and of the empire: and a solemn

offering of wine and incense was the ordinary prelude of their public

deliberations. The removal of this ancient monument was the only injury

which Constantius had offered to the superstition of the Romans. The

altar of Victory was again restored by Julian, tolerated by Valentinian,

and once more banished from the senate by the zeal of Gratian. But the

emperor yet spared the statues of the gods which were exposed to the

public veneration: four hundred and twenty-four temples, or chapels,

still remained to satisfy the devotion of the people; and in every

quarter of Rome the delicacy of the Christians was offended by the fumes

of idolatrous sacrifice.

But the Christians formed the least numerous party in the senate of

Rome: and it was only by their absence, that they could express their

dissent from the legal, though profane, acts of a Pagan majority. In

that assembly, the dying embers of freedom were, for a moment, revived

and inflamed by the breath of fanaticism. Four respectable deputations

were successively voted to the Imperial court, to represent the

grievances of the priesthood and the senate, and to solicit the

restoration of the altar of Victory. The conduct of this important

business was intrusted to the eloquent Symmachus, a wealthy and noble

senator, who united the sacred characters of pontiff and augur with the

civil dignities of proconsul of Africa and præfect of the city. The

breast of Symmachus was animated by the warmest zeal for the cause of

expiring Paganism; and his religious antagonists lamented the abuse of

his genius, and the inefficacy of his moral virtues. The orator, whose

petition is extant to the emperor Valentinian, was conscious of the

difficulty and danger of the office which he had assumed. He cautiously

avoids every topic which might appear to reflect on the religion of his

sovereign; humbly declares, that prayers and entreaties are his only

arms; and artfully draws his arguments from the schools of rhetoric,

rather than from those of philosophy. Symmachus endeavors to seduce

the imagination of a young prince, by displaying the attributes of

the goddess of victory; he insinuates, that the confiscation of the

revenues, which were consecrated to the service of the gods, was a

measure unworthy of his liberal and disinterested character; and he

maintains, that the Roman sacrifices would be deprived of their force

and energy, if they were no longer celebrated at the expense, as well

as in the name, of the republic. Even scepticism is made to supply an

apology for superstition. The great and incomprehensible secret of the

universe eludes the inquiry of man. Where reason cannot instruct,

custom may be permitted to guide; and every nation seems to consult

the dictates of prudence, by a faithful attachment to those rites and

opinions, which have received the sanction of ages. If those ages

have been crowned with glory and prosperity, if the devout people have

frequently obtained the blessings which they have solicited at the

altars of the gods, it must appear still more advisable to persist in

the same salutary practice; and not to risk the unknown perils that

may attend any rash innovations. The test of antiquity and success

was applied with singular advantage to the religion of Numa; and Rome

herself, the celestial genius that presided over the fates of the city,

is introduced by the orator to plead her own cause before the tribunal

of the emperors. "Most excellent princes," says the venerable matron,

"fathers of your country! pity and respect my age, which has hitherto

flowed in an uninterrupted course of piety. Since I do not repent,

permit me to continue in the practice of my ancient rites. Since I am

born free, allow me to enjoy my domestic institutions. This religion has

reduced the world under my laws. These rites have repelled Hannibal from

the city, and the Gauls from the Capitol. Were my gray hairs reserved

for such intolerable disgrace? I am ignorant of the new system that I am

required to adopt; but I am well assured, that the correction of old age

is always an ungrateful and ignominious office." The fears of the people

supplied what the discretion of the orator had suppressed; and the

calamities, which afflicted, or threatened, the declining empire, were

unanimously imputed, by the Pagans, to the new religion of Christ and of

Constantine.

But the hopes of Symmachus were repeatedly baffled by the firm and

dexterous opposition of the archbishop of Milan, who fortified the

emperors against the fallacious eloquence of the advocate of Rome.

In this controversy, Ambrose condescends to speak the language of a

philosopher, and to ask, with some contempt, why it should be thought

necessary to introduce an imaginary and invisible power, as the cause

of those victories, which were sufficiently explained by the valor and

discipline of the legions. He justly derides the absurd reverence for

antiquity, which could only tend to discourage the improvements of

art, and to replunge the human race into their original barbarism.

From thence, gradually rising to a more lofty and theological tone,

he pronounces, that Christianity alone is the doctrine of truth and

salvation; and that every mode of Polytheism conducts its deluded

votaries, through the paths of error, to the abyss of eternal perdition.

Arguments like these, when they were suggested by a favorite bishop, had

power to prevent the restoration of the altar of Victory; but the same

arguments fell, with much more energy and effect, from the mouth of

a conqueror; and the gods of antiquity were dragged in triumph at the

chariot-wheels of Theodosius. In a full meeting of the senate, the

emperor proposed, according to the forms of the republic, the important

question, Whether the worship of Jupiter, or that of Christ, should be

the religion of the Romans. The liberty of suffrages, which he affected

to allow, was destroyed by the hopes and fears that his presence

inspired; and the arbitrary exile of Symmachus was a recent admonition,

that it might be dangerous to oppose the wishes of the monarch. On a

regular division of the senate, Jupiter was condemned and degraded by

the sense of a very large majority; and it is rather surprising, that

any members should be found bold enough to declare, by their speeches

and votes, that they were still attached to the interest of an abdicated

deity. The hasty conversion of the senate must be attributed either

to supernatural or to sordid motives; and many of these reluctant

proselytes betrayed, on every favorable occasion, their secret

disposition to throw aside the mask of odious dissimulation. But they

were gradually fixed in the new religion, as the cause of the ancient

became more hopeless; they yielded to the authority of the emperor,

to the fashion of the times, and to the entreaties of their wives and

children, who were instigated and governed by the clergy of Rome and the

monks of the East. The edifying example of the Anician family was soon

imitated by the rest of the nobility: the Bassi, the Paullini, the

Gracchi, embraced the Christian religion; and "the luminaries of

the world, the venerable assembly of Catos (such are the high-flown

expressions of Prudentius) were impatient to strip themselves of their

pontifical garment; to cast the skin of the old serpent; to assume

the snowy robes of baptismal innocence, and to humble the pride of

the consular fasces before tombs of the martyrs." The citizens, who

subsisted by their own industry, and the populace, who were supported by

the public liberality, filled the churches of the Lateran, and Vatican,

with an incessant throng of devout proselytes. The decrees of the

senate, which proscribed the worship of idols, were ratified by the

general consent of the Romans; the splendor of the Capitol was defaced,

and the solitary temples were abandoned to ruin and contempt. Rome

submitted to the yoke of the Gospel; and the vanquished provinces had

not yet lost their reverence for the name and authority of Rome.

Chapter XXVIII: Destruction Of Paganism.—Part II.

The filial piety of the emperors themselves engaged them to proceed,

with some caution and tenderness, in the reformation of the eternal

city. Those absolute monarchs acted with less regard to the prejudices

of the provincials. The pious labor which had been suspended near

twenty years since the death of Constantius, was vigorously resumed,

and finally accomplished, by the zeal of Theodosius. Whilst that warlike

prince yet struggled with the Goths, not for the glory, but for the

safety, of the republic, he ventured to offend a considerable party of

his subjects, by some acts which might perhaps secure the protection of

Heaven, but which must seem rash and unseasonable in the eye of human

prudence. The success of his first experiments against the Pagans

encouraged the pious emperor to reiterate and enforce his edicts of

proscription: the same laws which had been originally published in the

provinces of the East, were applied, after the defeat of Maximus, to the

whole extent of the Western empire; and every victory of the orthodox

Theodosius contributed to the triumph of the Christian and Catholic

faith. He attacked superstition in her most vital part, by prohibiting

the use of sacrifices, which he declared to be criminal as well as

infamous; and if the terms of his edicts more strictly condemned the

impious curiosity which examined the entrails of the victim, every

subsequent explanation tended to involve in the same guilt the general

practice of immolation, which essentially constituted the religion

of the Pagans. As the temples had been erected for the purpose of

sacrifice, it was the duty of a benevolent prince to remove from his

subjects the dangerous temptation of offending against the laws which

he had enacted. A special commission was granted to Cynegius, the

Prætorian præfect of the East, and afterwards to the counts Jovius

and Gaudentius, two officers of distinguished rank in the West; by

which they were directed to shut the temples, to seize or destroy the

instruments of idolatry, to abolish the privileges of the priests, and

to confiscate the consecrated property for the benefit of the emperor,

of the church, or of the army. Here the desolation might have stopped:

and the naked edifices, which were no longer employed in the service

of idolatry, might have been protected from the destructive rage of

fanaticism. Many of those temples were the most splendid and beautiful

monuments of Grecian architecture; and the emperor himself was

interested not to deface the splendor of his own cities, or to diminish

the value of his own possessions. Those stately edifices might be

suffered to remain, as so many lasting trophies of the victory of

Christ. In the decline of the arts they might be usefully converted into

magazines, manufactures, or places of public assembly: and perhaps, when

the walls of the temple had been sufficiently purified by holy rites,

the worship of the true Deity might be allowed to expiate the ancient

guilt of idolatry. But as long as they subsisted, the Pagans fondly

cherished the secret hope, that an auspicious revolution, a second

Julian, might again restore the altars of the gods: and the earnestness

with which they addressed their unavailing prayers to the throne,

increased the zeal of the Christian reformers to extirpate, without

mercy, the root of superstition. The laws of the emperors exhibit some

symptoms of a milder disposition: but their cold and languid efforts

were insufficient to stem the torrent of enthusiasm and rapine, which

was conducted, or rather impelled, by the spiritual rulers of the

church. In Gaul, the holy Martin, bishop of Tours, marched at the

head of his faithful monks to destroy the idols, the temples, and the

consecrated trees of his extensive diocese; and, in the execution of

this arduous task, the prudent reader will judge whether Martin was

supported by the aid of miraculous powers, or of carnal weapons. In

Syria, the divine and excellent Marcellus, as he is styled by Theodoret,

a bishop animated with apostolic fervor, resolved to level with the

ground the stately temples within the diocese of Apamea. His attack was

resisted by the skill and solidity with which the temple of Jupiter had

been constructed. The building was seated on an eminence: on each of

the four sides, the lofty roof was supported by fifteen massy columns,

sixteen feet in circumference; and the large stone, of which they were

composed, were firmly cemented with lead and iron. The force of the

strongest and sharpest tools had been tried without effect. It was found

necessary to undermine the foundations of the columns, which fell down

as soon as the temporary wooden props had been consumed with fire; and

the difficulties of the enterprise are described under the allegory of

a black dæmon, who retarded, though he could not defeat, the operations

of the Christian engineers. Elated with victory, Marcellus took the

field in person against the powers of darkness; a numerous troop of

soldiers and gladiators marched under the episcopal banner, and he

successively attacked the villages and country temples of the diocese of

Apamea. Whenever any resistance or danger was apprehended, the champion

of the faith, whose lameness would not allow him either to fight or fly,

placed himself at a convenient distance, beyond the reach of darts. But

this prudence was the occasion of his death: he was surprised and

slain by a body of exasperated rustics; and the synod of the province

pronounced, without hesitation, that the holy Marcellus had sacrificed

his life in the cause of God. In the support of this cause, the

monks, who rushed with tumultuous fury from the desert, distinguished

themselves by their zeal and diligence. They deserved the enmity of the

Pagans; and some of them might deserve the reproaches of avarice and

intemperance; of avarice, which they gratified with holy plunder, and

of intemperance, which they indulged at the expense of the people, who

foolishly admired their tattered garments, loud psalmody, and artificial

paleness. A small number of temples was protected by the fears, the

venality, the taste, or the prudence, of the civil and ecclesiastical

governors. The temple of the Celestial Venus at Carthage, whose sacred

precincts formed a circumference of two miles, was judiciously converted

into a Christian church; and a similar consecration has preserved

inviolate the majestic dome of the Pantheon at Rome. But in almost every

province of the Roman world, an army of fanatics, without authority, and

without discipline, invaded the peaceful inhabitants; and the ruin of

the fairest structures of antiquity still displays the ravages of those

Barbarians, who alone had time and inclination to execute such laborious

destruction.

In this wide and various prospect of devastation, the spectator may

distinguish the ruins of the temple of Serapis, at Alexandria. Serapis

does not appear to have been one of the native gods, or monsters, who

sprung from the fruitful soil of superstitious Egypt. The first of

the Ptolemies had been commanded, by a dream, to import the mysterious

stranger from the coast of Pontus, where he had been long adored by

the inhabitants of Sinope; but his attributes and his reign were so

imperfectly understood, that it became a subject of dispute, whether

he represented the bright orb of day, or the gloomy monarch of the

subterraneous regions. The Egyptians, who were obstinately devoted

to the religion of their fathers, refused to admit this foreign deity

within the walls of their cities. But the obsequious priests, who

were seduced by the liberality of the Ptolemies, submitted, without

resistance, to the power of the god of Pontus: an honorable and domestic

genealogy was provided; and this fortunate usurper was introduced into

the throne and bed of Osiris, the husband of Isis, and the celestial

monarch of Egypt. Alexandria, which claimed his peculiar protection,

gloried in the name of the city of Serapis. His temple, which rivalled

the pride and magnificence of the Capitol, was erected on the spacious

summit of an artificial mount, raised one hundred steps above the level

of the adjacent parts of the city; and the interior cavity was strongly

supported by arches, and distributed into vaults and subterraneous

apartments. The consecrated buildings were surrounded by a quadrangular

portico; the stately halls, and exquisite statues, displayed the triumph

of the arts; and the treasures of ancient learning were preserved in the

famous Alexandrian library, which had arisen with new splendor from

its ashes. After the edicts of Theodosius had severely prohibited the

sacrifices of the Pagans, they were still tolerated in the city and

temple of Serapis; and this singular indulgence was imprudently ascribed

to the superstitious terrors of the Christians themselves; as if they

had feared to abolish those ancient rites, which could alone secure the

inundations of the Nile, the harvests of Egypt, and the subsistence of

Constantinople.

At that time the archiepiscopal throne of Alexandria was filled by

Theophilus, the perpetual enemy of peace and virtue; a bold, bad man,

whose hands were alternately polluted with gold and with blood. His

pious indignation was excited by the honors of Serapis; and the insults

which he offered to an ancient temple of Bacchus, convinced the Pagans

that he meditated a more important and dangerous enterprise. In the

tumultuous capital of Egypt, the slightest provocation was sufficient to

inflame a civil war. The votaries of Serapis, whose strength and numbers

were much inferior to those of their antagonists, rose in arms at the

instigation of the philosopher Olympius, who exhorted them to die in

the defence of the altars of the gods. These Pagan fanatics fortified

themselves in the temple, or rather fortress, of Serapis; repelled the

besiegers by daring sallies, and a resolute defence; and, by the inhuman

cruelties which they exercised on their Christian prisoners, obtained

the last consolation of despair. The efforts of the prudent magistrate

were usefully exerted for the establishment of a truce, till the answer

of Theodosius should determine the fate of Serapis. The two parties

assembled, without arms, in the principal square; and the Imperial

rescript was publicly read. But when a sentence of destruction against

the idols of Alexandria was pronounced, the Christians set up a shout of

joy and exultation, whilst the unfortunate Pagans, whose fury had given

way to consternation, retired with hasty and silent steps, and

eluded, by their flight or obscurity, the resentment of their enemies.

Theophilus proceeded to demolish the temple of Serapis, without any

other difficulties, than those which he found in the weight and solidity

of the materials: but these obstacles proved so insuperable, that he was

obliged to leave the foundations; and to content himself with reducing

the edifice itself to a heap of rubbish, a part of which was soon

afterwards cleared away, to make room for a church, erected in honor of

the Christian martyrs. The valuable library of Alexandria was pillaged

or destroyed; and near twenty years afterwards, the appearance of the

empty shelves excited the regret and indignation of every spectator,

whose mind was not totally darkened by religious prejudice. The

compositions of ancient genius, so many of which have irretrievably

perished, might surely have been excepted from the wreck of idolatry,

for the amusement and instruction of succeeding ages; and either the

zeal or the avarice of the archbishop, might have been satiated with the

rich spoils, which were the reward of his victory. While the images

and vases of gold and silver were carefully melted, and those of a less

valuable metal were contemptuously broken, and cast into the streets,

Theophilus labored to expose the frauds and vices of the ministers of

the idols; their dexterity in the management of the loadstone; their

secret methods of introducing a human actor into a hollow statue;

and their scandalous abuse of the confidence of devout husbands and

unsuspecting females. Charges like these may seem to deserve some degree

of credit, as they are not repugnant to the crafty and interested

spirit of superstition. But the same spirit is equally prone to the base

practice of insulting and calumniating a fallen enemy; and our belief is

naturally checked by the reflection, that it is much less difficult

to invent a fictitious story, than to support a practical fraud. The

colossal statue of Serapis was involved in the ruin of his temple and

religion. A great number of plates of different metals, artificially

joined together, composed the majestic figure of the deity, who touched

on either side the walls of the sanctuary. The aspect of Serapis, his

sitting posture, and the sceptre, which he bore in his left hand, were

extremely similar to the ordinary representations of Jupiter. He was

distinguished from Jupiter by the basket, or bushel, which was placed on

his head; and by the emblematic monster which he held in his right hand;

the head and body of a serpent branching into three tails, which were

again terminated by the triple heads of a dog, a lion, and a wolf.

It was confidently affirmed, that if any impious hand should dare

to violate the majesty of the god, the heavens and the earth would

instantly return to their original chaos. An intrepid soldier, animated

by zeal, and armed with a weighty battle-axe, ascended the ladder; and

even the Christian multitude expected, with some anxiety, the event of

the combat. He aimed a vigorous stroke against the cheek of Serapis;

the cheek fell to the ground; the thunder was still silent, and both the

heavens and the earth continued to preserve their accustomed order and

tranquillity. The victorious soldier repeated his blows: the huge idol

was overthrown, and broken in pieces; and the limbs of Serapis were

ignominiously dragged through the streets of Alexandria. His mangled

carcass was burnt in the Amphitheatre, amidst the shouts of the

populace; and many persons attributed their conversion to this discovery

of the impotence of their tutelar deity. The popular modes of religion,

that propose any visible and material objects of worship, have the

advantage of adapting and familiarizing themselves to the senses of

mankind: but this advantage is counterbalanced by the various and

inevitable accidents to which the faith of the idolater is exposed.

It is scarcely possible, that, in every disposition of mind, he should

preserve his implicit reverence for the idols, or the relics, which the

naked eye, and the profane hand, are unable to distinguish from the

most common productions of art or nature; and if, in the hour of danger,

their secret and miraculous virtue does not operate for their own

preservation, he scorns the vain apologies of his priests, and justly

derides the object, and the folly, of his superstitious attachment.

After the fall of Serapis, some hopes were still entertained by the

Pagans, that the Nile would refuse his annual supply to the impious

masters of Egypt; and the extraordinary delay of the inundation seemed

to announce the displeasure of the river-god. But this delay was soon

compensated by the rapid swell of the waters. They suddenly rose to

such an unusual height, as to comfort the discontented party with the

pleasing expectation of a deluge; till the peaceful river again subsided

to the well-known and fertilizing level of sixteen cubits, or about

thirty English feet.

The temples of the Roman empire were deserted, or destroyed; but the

ingenious superstition of the Pagans still attempted to elude the laws

of Theodosius, by which all sacrifices had been severely prohibited. The

inhabitants of the country, whose conduct was less opposed to the eye of

malicious curiosity, disguised their religious, under the appearance of

convivial, meetings. On the days of solemn festivals, they assembled in

great numbers under the spreading shade of some consecrated trees; sheep

and oxen were slaughtered and roasted; and this rural entertainment was

sanctified by the use of incense, and by the hymns which were sung in

honor of the gods. But it was alleged, that, as no part of the animal

was made a burnt-offering, as no altar was provided to receive the

blood, and as the previous oblation of salt cakes, and the concluding

ceremony of libations, were carefully omitted, these festal meetings

did not involve the guests in the guilt, or penalty, of an illegal

sacrifice. Whatever might be the truth of the facts, or the merit of the

distinction, these vain pretences were swept away by the last edict of

Theodosius, which inflicted a deadly wound on the superstition of the

Pagans. This prohibitory law is expressed in the most absolute and

comprehensive terms. "It is our will and pleasure," says the emperor,

"that none of our subjects, whether magistrates or private citizens,

however exalted or however humble may be their rank and condition, shall

presume, in any city or in any place, to worship an inanimate idol, by

the sacrifice of a guiltless victim." The act of sacrificing, and the

practice of divination by the entrails of the victim, are declared

(without any regard to the object of the inquiry) a crime of high

treason against the state, which can be expiated only by the death

of the guilty. The rites of Pagan superstition, which might seem less

bloody and atrocious, are abolished, as highly injurious to the truth

and honor of religion; luminaries, garlands, frankincense, and libations

of wine, are specially enumerated and condemned; and the harmless claims

of the domestic genius, of the household gods, are included in this

rigorous proscription. The use of any of these profane and illegal

ceremonies, subjects the offender to the forfeiture of the house or

estate, where they have been performed; and if he has artfully chosen

the property of another for the scene of his impiety, he is compelled to

discharge, without delay, a heavy fine of twenty-five pounds of gold, or

more than one thousand pounds sterling. A fine, not less considerable,

is imposed on the connivance of the secret enemies of religion, who

shall neglect the duty of their respective stations, either to reveal,

or to punish, the guilt of idolatry. Such was the persecuting spirit of

the laws of Theodosius, which were repeatedly enforced by his sons and

grandsons, with the loud and unanimous applause of the Christian world.

Chapter XXVIII: Destruction Of Paganism.—Part III.

In the cruel reigns of Decius and Diocletian, Christianity had been

proscribed, as a revolt from the ancient and hereditary religion of the

empire; and the unjust suspicions which were entertained of a dark

and dangerous faction, were, in some measure, countenanced by the

inseparable union and rapid conquests of the Catholic church. But the

same excuses of fear and ignorance cannot be applied to the Christian

emperors who violated the precepts of humanity and of the Gospel. The

experience of ages had betrayed the weakness, as well as folly, of

Paganism; the light of reason and of faith had already exposed, to the

greatest part of mankind, the vanity of idols; and the declining sect,

which still adhered to their worship, might have been permitted

to enjoy, in peace and obscurity, the religious costumes of their

ancestors. Had the Pagans been animated by the undaunted zeal which

possessed the minds of the primitive believers, the triumph of the

Church must have been stained with blood; and the martyrs of Jupiter and

Apollo might have embraced the glorious opportunity of devoting their

lives and fortunes at the foot of their altars. But such obstinate zeal

was not congenial to the loose and careless temper of Polytheism. The

violent and repeated strokes of the orthodox princes were broken by the

soft and yielding substance against which they were directed; and

the ready obedience of the Pagans protected them from the pains and

penalties of the Theodosian Code. Instead of asserting, that the

authority of the gods was superior to that of the emperor, they

desisted, with a plaintive murmur, from the use of those sacred rites

which their sovereign had condemned. If they were sometimes tempted by

a sally of passion, or by the hopes of concealment, to indulge their

favorite superstition, their humble repentance disarmed the severity

of the Christian magistrate, and they seldom refused to atone for their

rashness, by submitting, with some secret reluctance, to the yoke of the

Gospel. The churches were filled with the increasing multitude of these

unworthy proselytes, who had conformed, from temporal motives, to the

reigning religion; and whilst they devoutly imitated the postures, and

recited the prayers, of the faithful, they satisfied their conscience

by the silent and sincere invocation of the gods of antiquity. If the

Pagans wanted patience to suffer they wanted spirit to resist; and

the scattered myriads, who deplored the ruin of the temples, yielded,

without a contest, to the fortune of their adversaries. The disorderly

opposition of the peasants of Syria, and the populace of Alexandria, to

the rage of private fanaticism, was silenced by the name and authority

of the emperor. The Pagans of the West, without contributing to the

elevation of Eugenius, disgraced, by their partial attachment, the cause

and character of the usurper. The clergy vehemently exclaimed, that he

aggravated the crime of rebellion by the guilt of apostasy; that, by

his permission, the altar of victory was again restored; and that the

idolatrous symbols of Jupiter and Hercules were displayed in the field,

against the invincible standard of the cross. But the vain hopes of the

Pagans were soon annihilated by the defeat of Eugenius; and they were

left exposed to the resentment of the conqueror, who labored to deserve

the favor of Heaven by the extirpation of idolatry.

A nation of slaves is always prepared to applaud the clemency of their

master, who, in the abuse of absolute power, does not proceed to the

last extremes of injustice and oppression. Theodosius might undoubtedly

have proposed to his Pagan subjects the alternative of baptism or of

death; and the eloquent Libanius has praised the moderation of a prince,

who never enacted, by any positive law, that all his subjects should

immediately embrace and practise the religion of their sovereign. The

profession of Christianity was not made an essential qualification for

the enjoyment of the civil rights of society, nor were any peculiar

hardships imposed on the sectaries, who credulously received the fables

of Ovid, and obstinately rejected the miracles of the Gospel. The

palace, the schools, the army, and the senate, were filled with declared

and devout Pagans; they obtained, without distinction, the civil and

military honors of the empire. Theodosius distinguished his liberal

regard for virtue and genius by the consular dignity, which he bestowed

on Symmachus; and by the personal friendship which he expressed to

Libanius; and the two eloquent apologists of Paganism were never

required either to change or to dissemble their religious opinions.

The Pagans were indulged in the most licentious freedom of speech and

writing; the historical and philosophic remains of Eunapius, Zosimus,

and the fanatic teachers of the school of Plato, betray the most furious

animosity, and contain the sharpest invectives, against the sentiments

and conduct of their victorious adversaries. If these audacious libels

were publicly known, we must applaud the good sense of the Christian

princes, who viewed, with a smile of contempt, the last struggles of

superstition and despair. But the Imperial laws, which prohibited the

sacrifices and ceremonies of Paganism, were rigidly executed; and every

hour contributed to destroy the influence of a religion, which was

supported by custom, rather than by argument. The devotion or the poet,

or the philosopher, may be secretly nourished by prayer, meditation, and

study; but the exercise of public worship appears to be the only solid

foundation of the religious sentiments of the people, which derive their

force from imitation and habit. The interruption of that public exercise

may consummate, in the period of a few years, the important work of a

national revolution. The memory of theological opinions cannot long be

preserved, without the artificial helps of priests, of temples, and of

books. The ignorant vulgar, whose minds are still agitated by the blind

hopes and terrors of superstition, will be soon persuaded by their

superiors to direct their vows to the reigning deities of the age; and

will insensibly imbibe an ardent zeal for the support and propagation

of the new doctrine, which spiritual hunger at first compelled them to

accept. The generation that arose in the world after the promulgation of

the Imperial laws, was attracted within the pale of the Catholic

church: and so rapid, yet so gentle, was the fall of Paganism, that only

twenty-eight years after the death of Theodosius, the faint and minute

vestiges were no longer visible to the eye of the legislator.

The ruin of the Pagan religion is described by the sophists as a

dreadful and amazing prodigy, which covered the earth with darkness,

and restored the ancient dominion of chaos and of night. They relate,

in solemn and pathetic strains, that the temples were converted into

sepulchres, and that the holy places, which had been adorned by the

statues of the gods, were basely polluted by the relics of Christian

martyrs. "The monks" (a race of filthy animals, to whom Eunapius is

tempted to refuse the name of men) "are the authors of the new

worship, which, in the place of those deities who are conceived by the

understanding, has substituted the meanest and most contemptible slaves.

The heads, salted and pickled, of those infamous malefactors, who for

the multitude of their crimes have suffered a just and ignominious

death; their bodies still marked by the impression of the lash, and

the scars of those tortures which were inflicted by the sentence of the

magistrate; such" (continues Eunapius) "are the gods which the earth

produces in our days; such are the martyrs, the supreme arbitrators of

our prayers and petitions to the Deity, whose tombs are now consecrated

as the objects of the veneration of the people." Without approving the

malice, it is natural enough to share the surprise of the sophist, the

spectator of a revolution, which raised those obscure victims of the

laws of Rome to the rank of celestial and invisible protectors of the

Roman empire. The grateful respect of the Christians for the martyrs of

the faith, was exalted, by time and victory, into religious adoration;

and the most illustrious of the saints and prophets were deservedly

associated to the honors of the martyrs. One hundred and fifty years

after the glorious deaths of St. Peter and St. Paul, the Vatican and the

Ostian road were distinguished by the tombs, or rather by the trophies,

of those spiritual heroes. In the age which followed the conversion

of Constantine, the emperors, the consuls, and the generals of armies,

devoutly visited the sepulchres of a tentmaker and a fisherman; and

their venerable bones were deposited under the altars of Christ, on

which the bishops of the royal city continually offered the unbloody

sacrifice. The new capital of the Eastern world, unable to produce any

ancient and domestic trophies, was enriched by the spoils of dependent

provinces. The bodies of St. Andrew, St. Luke, and St. Timothy, had

reposed near three hundred years in the obscure graves, from whence they

were transported, in solemn pomp, to the church of the apostles, which

the magnificence of Constantine had founded on the banks of the Thracian

Bosphorus. About fifty years afterwards, the same banks were honored by

the presence of Samuel, the judge and prophet of the people of Israel.

His ashes, deposited in a golden vase, and covered with a silken veil,

were delivered by the bishops into each other's hands. The relics of

Samuel were received by the people with the same joy and reverence

which they would have shown to the living prophet; the highways,

from Palestine to the gates of Constantinople, were filled with an

uninterrupted procession; and the emperor Arcadius himself, at the head

of the most illustrious members of the clergy and senate, advanced to

meet his extraordinary guest, who had always deserved and claimed the

homage of kings. The example of Rome and Constantinople confirmed the

faith and discipline of the Catholic world. The honors of the saints and

martyrs, after a feeble and ineffectual murmur of profane reason, were

universally established; and in the age of Ambrose and Jerom, something

was still deemed wanting to the sanctity of a Christian church, till

it had been consecrated by some portion of holy relics, which fixed and

inflamed the devotion of the faithful.

In the long period of twelve hundred years, which elapsed between the

reign of Constantine and the reformation of Luther, the worship of

saints and relics corrupted the pure and perfect simplicity of the

Christian model: and some symptoms of degeneracy may be observed even

in the first generations which adopted and cherished this pernicious

innovation.

I. The satisfactory experience, that the relics of saints were more

valuable than gold or precious stones, stimulated the clergy to

multiply the treasures of the church. Without much regard for truth or

probability, they invented names for skeletons, and actions for names.

The fame of the apostles, and of the holy men who had imitated their

virtues, was darkened by religious fiction. To the invincible band of

genuine and primitive martyrs, they added myriads of imaginary heroes,

who had never existed, except in the fancy of crafty or credulous

legendaries; and there is reason to suspect, that Tours might not be the

only diocese in which the bones of a malefactor were adored, instead of

those of a saint. A superstitious practice, which tended to increase the

temptations of fraud, and credulity, insensibly extinguished the light

of history, and of reason, in the Christian world.

II. But the progress of superstition would have been much less rapid

and victorious, if the faith of the people had not been assisted by the

seasonable aid of visions and miracles, to ascertain the authenticity

and virtue of the most suspicious relics. In the reign of the younger

Theodosius, Lucian, a presbyter of Jerusalem, and the ecclesiastical

minister of the village of Caphargamala, about twenty miles from the

city, related a very singular dream, which, to remove his doubts, had

been repeated on three successive Saturdays. A venerable figure stood

before him, in the silence of the night, with a long beard, a white

robe, and a gold rod; announced himself by the name of Gamaliel, and

revealed to the astonished presbyter, that his own corpse, with the

bodies of his son Abibas, his friend Nicodemus, and the illustrious

Stephen, the first martyr of the Christian faith, were secretly buried

in the adjacent field. He added, with some impatience, that it was time

to release himself and his companions from their obscure prison; that

their appearance would be salutary to a distressed world; and that they

had made choice of Lucian to inform the bishop of Jerusalem of their

situation and their wishes. The doubts and difficulties which still

retarded this important discovery were successively removed by new

visions; and the ground was opened by the bishop, in the presence of an

innumerable multitude. The coffins of Gamaliel, of his son, and of his

friend, were found in regular order; but when the fourth coffin, which

contained the remains of Stephen, was shown to the light, the earth

trembled, and an odor, such as that of paradise, was smelt, which

instantly cured the various diseases of seventy-three of the assistants.

The companions of Stephen were left in their peaceful residence of

Caphargamala: but the relics of the first martyr were transported, in

solemn procession, to a church constructed in their honor on Mount

Sion; and the minute particles of those relics, a drop of blood, or the

scrapings of a bone, were acknowledged, in almost every province of the

Roman world, to possess a divine and miraculous virtue. The grave and

learned Augustin, whose understanding scarcely admits the excuse of

credulity, has attested the innumerable prodigies which were performed

in Africa by the relics of St. Stephen; and this marvellous narrative is

inserted in the elaborate work of the City of God, which the bishop

of Hippo designed as a solid and immortal proof of the truth of

Christianity. Augustin solemnly declares, that he has selected those

miracles only which were publicly certified by the persons who were

either the objects, or the spectators, of the power of the martyr. Many

prodigies were omitted, or forgotten; and Hippo had been less favorably

treated than the other cities of the province. And yet the bishop

enumerates above seventy miracles, of which three were resurrections

from the dead, in the space of two years, and within the limits of his

own diocese. If we enlarge our view to all the dioceses, and all the

saints, of the Christian world, it will not be easy to calculate the

fables, and the errors, which issued from this inexhaustible source.

But we may surely be allowed to observe, that a miracle, in that age of

superstition and credulity, lost its name and its merit, since it could

scarcely be considered as a deviation from the ordinary and established

laws of nature.

III. The innumerable miracles, of which the tombs of the martyrs were

the perpetual theatre, revealed to the pious believer the actual state

and constitution of the invisible world; and his religious speculations

appeared to be founded on the firm basis of fact and experience.

Whatever might be the condition of vulgar souls, in the long interval

between the dissolution and the resurrection of their bodies, it was

evident that the superior spirits of the saints and martyrs did not

consume that portion of their existence in silent and inglorious sleep.

It was evident (without presuming to determine the place of their

habitation, or the nature of their felicity) that they enjoyed the

lively and active consciousness of their happiness, their virtue, and

their powers; and that they had already secured the possession of

their eternal reward. The enlargement of their intellectual faculties

surpassed the measure of the human imagination; since it was proved

by experience, that they were capable of hearing and understanding the

various petitions of their numerous votaries; who, in the same moment of

time, but in the most distant parts of the world, invoked the name and

assistance of Stephen or of Martin. The confidence of their petitioners

was founded on the persuasion, that the saints, who reigned with Christ,

cast an eye of pity upon earth; that they were warmly interested in

the prosperity of the Catholic Church; and that the individuals, who

imitated the example of their faith and piety, were the peculiar and

favorite objects of their most tender regard. Sometimes, indeed, their

friendship might be influenced by considerations of a less exalted kind:

they viewed with partial affection the places which had been consecrated

by their birth, their residence, their death, their burial, or the

possession of their relics. The meaner passions of pride, avarice, and

revenge, may be deemed unworthy of a celestial breast; yet the saints

themselves condescended to testify their grateful approbation of the

liberality of their votaries; and the sharpest bolts of punishment were

hurled against those impious wretches, who violated their magnificent

shrines, or disbelieved their supernatural power. Atrocious, indeed,

must have been the guilt, and strange would have been the scepticism,

of those men, if they had obstinately resisted the proofs of a divine

agency, which the elements, the whole range of the animal creation,

and even the subtle and invisible operations of the human mind, were

compelled to obey. The immediate, and almost instantaneous, effects

that were supposed to follow the prayer, or the offence, satisfied the

Christians of the ample measure of favor and authority which the

saints enjoyed in the presence of the Supreme God; and it seemed

almost superfluous to inquire whether they were continually obliged

to intercede before the throne of grace; or whether they might not be

permitted to exercise, according to the dictates of their benevolence

and justice, the delegated powers of their subordinate ministry.

The imagination, which had been raised by a painful effort to the

contemplation and worship of the Universal Cause, eagerly embraced such

inferior objects of adoration as were more proportioned to its gross

conceptions and imperfect faculties. The sublime and simple theology of

the primitive Christians was gradually corrupted; and the Monarchy of

heaven, already clouded by metaphysical subtleties, was degraded by the

introduction of a popular mythology, which tended to restore the reign

of polytheism.

IV. As the objects of religion were gradually reduced to the standard

of the imagination, the rites and ceremonies were introduced that seemed

most powerfully to affect the senses of the vulgar. If, in the beginning

of the fifth century, Tertullian, or Lactantius, had been suddenly

raised from the dead, to assist at the festival of some popular saint,

or martyr, they would have gazed with astonishment, and indignation,

on the profane spectacle, which had succeeded to the pure and spiritual

worship of a Christian congregation. As soon as the doors of the church

were thrown open, they must have been offended by the smoke of incense,

the perfume of flowers, and the glare of lamps and tapers, which

diffused, at noonday, a gaudy, superfluous, and, in their opinion, a

sacrilegious light. If they approached the balustrade of the altar, they

made their way through the prostrate crowd, consisting, for the most

part, of strangers and pilgrims, who resorted to the city on the

vigil of the feast; and who already felt the strong intoxication of

fanaticism, and, perhaps, of wine. Their devout kisses were imprinted on

the walls and pavement of the sacred edifice; and their fervent prayers

were directed, whatever might be the language of their church, to

the bones, the blood, or the ashes of the saint, which were usually

concealed, by a linen or silken veil, from the eyes of the vulgar.

The Christians frequented the tombs of the martyrs, in the hope of

obtaining, from their powerful intercession, every sort of spiritual,

but more especially of temporal, blessings. They implored the

preservation of their health, or the cure of their infirmities; the

fruitfulness of their barren wives, or the safety and happiness of their

children. Whenever they undertook any distant or dangerous journey, they

requested, that the holy martyrs would be their guides and protectors

on the road; and if they returned without having experienced any

misfortune, they again hastened to the tombs of the martyrs, to

celebrate, with grateful thanksgivings, their obligations to the memory

and relics of those heavenly patrons. The walls were hung round with

symbols of the favors which they had received; eyes, and hands, and

feet, of gold and silver: and edifying pictures, which could not long

escape the abuse of indiscreet or idolatrous devotion, represented the

image, the attributes, and the miracles of the tutelar saint. The same

uniform original spirit of superstition might suggest, in the most

distant ages and countries, the same methods of deceiving the credulity,

and of affecting the senses of mankind: but it must ingenuously be

confessed, that the ministers of the Catholic church imitated

the profane model, which they were impatient to destroy. The most

respectable bishops had persuaded themselves that the ignorant rustics

would more cheerfully renounce the superstitions of Paganism, if they

found some resemblance, some compensation, in the bosom of Christianity.

The religion of Constantine achieved, in less than a century, the final

conquest of the Roman empire: but the victors themselves were insensibly

subdued by the arts of their vanquished rivals.

Chapter XXIX: Division Of Roman Empire Between Sons Of

Theodosius.—Part I.

Final Division Of The Roman Empire Between The Sons Of

Theodosius.—Reign Of Arcadius And Honorius—

Administration Of Rufinus And Stilicho.—Revolt And Defeat

Of Gildo In Africa.

The genius of Rome expired with Theodosius; the last of the successors

of Augustus and Constantine, who appeared in the field at the head

of their armies, and whose authority was universally acknowledged

throughout the whole extent of the empire. The memory of his virtues

still continued, however, to protect the feeble and inexperienced youth

of his two sons. After the death of their father, Arcadius and Honorius

were saluted, by the unanimous consent of mankind, as the lawful

emperors of the East, and of the West; and the oath of fidelity was

eagerly taken by every order of the state; the senates of old and

new Rome, the clergy, the magistrates, the soldiers, and the people.

Arcadius, who was then about eighteen years of age, was born in Spain,

in the humble habitation of a private family. But he received a princely

education in the palace of Constantinople; and his inglorious life was

spent in that peaceful and splendid seat of royalty, from whence he

appeared to reign over the provinces of Thrace, Asia Minor, Syria, and

Egypt, from the Lower Danube to the confines of Persia and Æthiopia.

His younger brother Honorius, assumed, in the eleventh year of his age,

the nominal government of Italy, Africa, Gaul, Spain, and Britain; and

the troops, which guarded the frontiers of his kingdom, were opposed, on

one side, to the Caledonians, and on the other, to the Moors. The

great and martial præfecture of Illyricum was divided between the

two princes: the defence and possession of the provinces of Noricum,

Pannonia, and Dalmatia still belonged to the Western empire; but the two

large dioceses of Dacia and Macedonia, which Gratian had intrusted to

the valor of Theodosius, were forever united to the empire of the East.

The boundary in Europe was not very different from the line which now

separates the Germans and the Turks; and the respective advantages of

territory, riches, populousness, and military strength, were fairly

balanced and compensated, in this final and permanent division of the

Roman empire. The hereditary sceptre of the sons of Theodosius appeared

to be the gift of nature, and of their father; the generals and

ministers had been accustomed to adore the majesty of the royal infants;

and the army and people were not admonished of their rights, and of

their power, by the dangerous example of a recent election. The gradual

discovery of the weakness of Arcadius and Honorius, and the repeated

calamities of their reign, were not sufficient to obliterate the deep

and early impressions of loyalty. The subjects of Rome, who still

reverenced the persons, or rather the names, of their sovereigns,

beheld, with equal abhorrence, the rebels who opposed, and the ministers

who abused, the authority of the throne.

Theodosius had tarnished the glory of his reign by the elevation of

Rufinus; an odious favorite, who, in an age of civil and religious

faction, has deserved, from every party, the imputation of every crime.

The strong impulse of ambition and avarice had urged Rufinus to abandon

his native country, an obscure corner of Gaul, to advance his fortune

in the capital of the East: the talent of bold and ready elocution,

qualified him to succeed in the lucrative profession of the law; and his

success in that profession was a regular step to the most honorable and

important employments of the state. He was raised, by just degrees, to

the station of master of the offices. In the exercise of his various

functions, so essentially connected with the whole system of civil

government, he acquired the confidence of a monarch, who soon discovered

his diligence and capacity in business, and who long remained ignorant

of the pride, the malice, and the covetousness of his disposition. These

vices were concealed beneath the mask of profound dissimulation; his

passions were subservient only to the passions of his master; yet in the

horrid massacre of Thessalonica, the cruel Rufinus inflamed the fury,

without imitating the repentance, of Theodosius. The minister, who

viewed with proud indifference the rest of mankind, never forgave the

appearance of an injury; and his personal enemies had forfeited, in his

opinion, the merit of all public services. Promotus, the master-general

of the infantry, had saved the empire from the invasion of the

Ostrogoths; but he indignantly supported the preeminence of a rival,

whose character and profession he despised; and in the midst of a public

council, the impatient soldier was provoked to chastise with a blow the

indecent pride of the favorite. This act of violence was represented

to the emperor as an insult, which it was incumbent on his dignity

to resent. The disgrace and exile of Promotus were signified by a

peremptory order, to repair, without delay, to a military station on the

banks of the Danube; and the death of that general (though he was slain

in a skirmish with the Barbarians) was imputed to the perfidious arts

of Rufinus. The sacrifice of a hero gratified his revenge; the honors of

the consulship elated his vanity; but his power was still imperfect and

precarious, as long as the important posts of præfect of the East,

and of præfect of Constantinople, were filled by Tatian, and his son

Proculus; whose united authority balanced, for some time, the ambition

and favor of the master of the offices. The two præfects were accused

of rapine and corruption in the administration of the laws and finances.

For the trial of these illustrious offenders, the emperor constituted

a special commission: several judges were named to share the guilt

and reproach of injustice; but the right of pronouncing sentence was

reserved to the president alone, and that president was Rufinus himself.

The father, stripped of the præfecture of the East, was thrown into

a dungeon; but the son, conscious that few ministers can be found

innocent, where an enemy is their judge, had secretly escaped; and

Rufinus must have been satisfied with the least obnoxious victim, if

despotism had not condescended to employ the basest and most ungenerous

artifice. The prosecution was conducted with an appearance of equity and

moderation, which flattered Tatian with the hope of a favorable event:

his confidence was fortified by the solemn assurances, and perfidious

oaths, of the president, who presumed to interpose the sacred name of

Theodosius himself; and the unhappy father was at last persuaded to

recall, by a private letter, the fugitive Proculus. He was instantly

seized, examined, condemned, and beheaded, in one of the suburbs of

Constantinople, with a precipitation which disappointed the clemency of

the emperor. Without respecting the misfortunes of a consular senator,

the cruel judges of Tatian compelled him to behold the execution of his

son: the fatal cord was fastened round his own neck; but in the moment

when he expected and perhaps desired, the relief of a speedy death, he

was permitted to consume the miserable remnant of his old age in poverty

and exile. The punishment of the two præfects might, perhaps, be

excused by the exceptionable parts of their own conduct; the enmity

of Rufinus might be palliated by the jealous and unsociable nature

of ambition. But he indulged a spirit of revenge equally repugnant to

prudence and to justice, when he degraded their native country of Lycia

from the rank of Roman provinces; stigmatized a guiltless people with

a mark of ignominy; and declared, that the countrymen of Tatian and

Proculus should forever remain incapable of holding any employment of

honor or advantage under the Imperial government. The new præfect of

the East (for Rufinus instantly succeeded to the vacant honors of his

adversary) was not diverted, however, by the most criminal pursuits,

from the performance of the religious duties, which in that age

were considered as the most essential to salvation. In the suburb of

Chalcedon, surnamed the Oak, he had built a magnificent villa; to which

he devoutly added a stately church, consecrated to the apostles St.

Peter and St. Paul, and continually sanctified by the prayers and

penance of a regular society of monks. A numerous, and almost general,

synod of the bishops of the Eastern empire, was summoned to celebrate,

at the same time, the dedication of the church, and the baptism of the

founder. This double ceremony was performed with extraordinary pomp; and

when Rufinus was purified, in the holy font, from all the sins that

he had hitherto committed, a venerable hermit of Egypt rashly proposed

himself as the sponsor of a proud and ambitious statesman.

The character of Theodosius imposed on his minister the task of

hypocrisy, which disguised, and sometimes restrained, the abuse of

power; and Rufinus was apprehensive of disturbing the indolent slumber

of a prince still capable of exerting the abilities and the virtue,

which had raised him to the throne. But the absence, and, soon

afterwards, the death, of the emperor, confirmed the absolute authority

of Rufinus over the person and dominions of Arcadius; a feeble youth,

whom the imperious præfect considered as his pupil, rather than his

sovereign. Regardless of the public opinion, he indulged his passions

without remorse, and without resistance; and his malignant and rapacious

spirit rejected every passion that might have contributed to his own

glory, or the happiness of the people. His avarice, which seems to have

prevailed, in his corrupt mind, over every other sentiment, attracted

the wealth of the East, by the various arts of partial and general

extortion; oppressive taxes, scandalous bribery, immoderate fines,

unjust confiscations, forced or fictitious testaments, by which the

tyrant despoiled of their lawful inheritance the children of strangers,

or enemies; and the public sale of justice, as well as of favor, which

he instituted in the palace of Constantinople. The ambitious candidate

eagerly solicited, at the expense of the fairest part of his patrimony,

the honors and emoluments of some provincial government; the lives

and fortunes of the unhappy people were abandoned to the most liberal

purchaser; and the public discontent was sometimes appeased by the

sacrifice of an unpopular criminal, whose punishment was profitable only

to the præfect of the East, his accomplice and his judge. If avarice

were not the blindest of the human passions, the motives of Rufinus

might excite our curiosity; and we might be tempted to inquire with what

view he violated every principle of humanity and justice, to accumulate

those immense treasures, which he could not spend without folly, nor

possess without danger. Perhaps he vainly imagined, that he labored

for the interest of an only daughter, on whom he intended to bestow

his royal pupil, and the august rank of Empress of the East. Perhaps he

deceived himself by the opinion, that his avarice was the instrument

of his ambition. He aspired to place his fortune on a secure and

independent basis, which should no longer depend on the caprice of the

young emperor; yet he neglected to conciliate the hearts of the soldiers

and people, by the liberal distribution of those riches, which he

had acquired with so much toil, and with so much guilt. The extreme

parsimony of Rufinus left him only the reproach and envy of ill-gotten

wealth; his dependants served him without attachment; the universal

hatred of mankind was repressed only by the influence of servile fear.

The fate of Lucian proclaimed to the East, that the præfect, whose

industry was much abated in the despatch of ordinary business, was

active and indefatigable in the pursuit of revenge. Lucian, the son of

the præfect Florentius, the oppressor of Gaul, and the enemy of Julian,

had employed a considerable part of his inheritance, the fruit of rapine

and corruption, to purchase the friendship of Rufinus, and the high

office of Count of the East. But the new magistrate imprudently departed

from the maxims of the court, and of the times; disgraced his benefactor

by the contrast of a virtuous and temperate administration; and presumed

to refuse an act of injustice, which might have tended to the profit

of the emperor's uncle. Arcadius was easily persuaded to resent the

supposed insult; and the præfect of the East resolved to execute in

person the cruel vengeance, which he meditated against this ungrateful

delegate of his power. He performed with incessant speed the journey of

seven or eight hundred miles, from Constantinople to Antioch, entered

the capital of Syria at the dead of night, and spread universal

consternation among a people ignorant of his design, but not ignorant

of his character. The Count of the fifteen provinces of the East was

dragged, like the vilest malefactor, before the arbitrary tribunal of

Rufinus. Notwithstanding the clearest evidence of his integrity, which

was not impeached even by the voice of an accuser, Lucian was condemned,

almost with out a trial, to suffer a cruel and ignominious punishment.

The ministers of the tyrant, by the orders, and in the presence, of

their master, beat him on the neck with leather thongs armed at the

extremities with lead; and when he fainted under the violence of the

pain, he was removed in a close litter, to conceal his dying agonies

from the eyes of the indignant city. No sooner had Rufinus perpetrated

this inhuman act, the sole object of his expedition, than he returned,

amidst the deep and silent curses of a trembling people, from Antioch

to Constantinople; and his diligence was accelerated by the hope of

accomplishing, without delay, the nuptials of his daughter with the

emperor of the East.

But Rufinus soon experienced, that a prudent minister should constantly

secure his royal captive by the strong, though invisible chain of habit;

and that the merit, and much more easily the favor, of the absent,

are obliterated in a short time from the mind of a weak and capricious

sovereign. While the præfect satiated his revenge at Antioch, a secret

conspiracy of the favorite eunuchs, directed by the great chamberlain

Eutropius, undermined his power in the palace of Constantinople. They

discovered that Arcadius was not inclined to love the daughter of

Rufinus, who had been chosen, without his consent, for his bride; and

they contrived to substitute in her place the fair Eudoxia, the daughter

of Bauto, a general of the Franks in the service of Rome; and who was

educated, since the death of her father, in the family of the sons of

Promotus. The young emperor, whose chastity had been strictly guarded by

the pious care of his tutor Arsenius, eagerly listened to the artful

and flattering descriptions of the charms of Eudoxia: he gazed with

impatient ardor on her picture, and he understood the necessity of

concealing his amorous designs from the knowledge of a minister who was

so deeply interested to oppose the consummation of his happiness. Soon

after the return of Rufinus, the approaching ceremony of the royal

nuptials was announced to the people of Constantinople, who prepared

to celebrate, with false and hollow acclamations, the fortune of his

daughter. A splendid train of eunuchs and officers issued, in hymeneal

pomp, from the gates of the palace; bearing aloft the diadem, the

robes, and the inestimable ornaments, of the future empress. The solemn

procession passed through the streets of the city, which were adorned

with garlands, and filled with spectators; but when it reached the house

of the sons of Promotus, the principal eunuch respectfully entered

the mansion, invested the fair Eudoxia with the Imperial robes, and

conducted her in triumph to the palace and bed of Arcadius. The

secrecy and success with which this conspiracy against Rufinus had been

conducted, imprinted a mark of indelible ridicule on the character of a

minister, who had suffered himself to be deceived, in a post where

the arts of deceit and dissimulation constitute the most distinguished

merit. He considered, with a mixture of indignation and fear, the

victory of an aspiring eunuch, who had secretly captivated the favor

of his sovereign; and the disgrace of his daughter, whose interest

was inseparably connected with his own, wounded the tenderness, or, at

least, the pride of Rufinus. At the moment when he flattered himself

that he should become the father of a line of kings, a foreign maid, who

had been educated in the house of his implacable enemies, was introduced

into the Imperial bed; and Eudoxia soon displayed a superiority of sense

and spirit, to improve the ascendant which her beauty must acquire

over the mind of a fond and youthful husband. The emperor would soon be

instructed to hate, to fear, and to destroy the powerful subject, whom

he had injured; and the consciousness of guilt deprived Rufinus of every

hope, either of safety or comfort, in the retirement of a private

life. But he still possessed the most effectual means of defending

his dignity, and perhaps of oppressing his enemies. The præfect

still exercised an uncontrolled authority over the civil and military

government of the East; and his treasures, if he could resolve to use

them, might be employed to procure proper instruments for the execution

of the blackest designs, that pride, ambition, and revenge could suggest

to a desperate statesman. The character of Rufinus seemed to justify the

accusations that he conspired against the person of his sovereign, to

seat himself on the vacant throne; and that he had secretly invited

the Huns and the Goths to invade the provinces of the empire, and to

increase the public confusion. The subtle præfect, whose life had been

spent in the intrigues of the palace, opposed, with equal arms, the

artful measures of the eunuch Eutropius; but the timid soul of Rufinus

was astonished by the hostile approach of a more formidable rival, of

the great Stilicho, the general, or rather the master, of the empire of

the West.

The celestial gift, which Achilles obtained, and Alexander envied, of

a poet worthy to celebrate the actions of heroes has been enjoyed by

Stilicho, in a much higher degree than might have been expected from the

declining state of genius, and of art. The muse of Claudian, devoted to

his service, was always prepared to stigmatize his adversaries, Rufinus,

or Eutropius, with eternal infamy; or to paint, in the most splendid

colors, the victories and virtues of a powerful benefactor. In the

review of a period indifferently supplied with authentic materials, we

cannot refuse to illustrate the annals of Honorius, from the invectives,

or the panegyrics, of a contemporary writer; but as Claudian appears to

have indulged the most ample privilege of a poet and a courtier, some

criticism will be requisite to translate the language of fiction or

exaggeration, into the truth and simplicity of historic prose. His

silence concerning the family of Stilicho may be admitted as a proof,

that his patron was neither able, nor desirous, to boast of a long

series of illustrious progenitors; and the slight mention of his father,

an officer of Barbarian cavalry in the service of Valens, seems to

countenance the assertion, that the general, who so long commanded the

armies of Rome, was descended from the savage and perfidious race of

the Vandals. If Stilicho had not possessed the external advantages of

strength and stature, the most flattering bard, in the presence of

so many thousand spectators, would have hesitated to affirm, that he

surpassed the measure of the demi-gods of antiquity; and that whenever

he moved, with lofty steps, through the streets of the capital, the

astonished crowd made room for the stranger, who displayed, in a private

condition, the awful majesty of a hero. From his earliest youth he

embraced the profession of arms; his prudence and valor were soon

distinguished in the field; the horsemen and archers of the East admired

his superior dexterity; and in each degree of his military promotions,

the public judgment always prevented and approved the choice of the

sovereign. He was named, by Theodosius, to ratify a solemn treaty with

the monarch of Persia; he supported, during that important embassy, the

dignity of the Roman name; and after he return to Constantinople,

his merit was rewarded by an intimate and honorable alliance with the

Imperial family. Theodosius had been prompted, by a pious motive of

fraternal affection, to adopt, for his own, the daughter of his brother

Honorius; the beauty and accomplishments of Serena were universally

admired by the obsequious court; and Stilicho obtained the preference

over a crowd of rivals, who ambitiously disputed the hand of the

princess, and the favor of her adopted father. The assurance that

the husband of Serena would be faithful to the throne, which he was

permitted to approach, engaged the emperor to exalt the fortunes, and to

employ the abilities, of the sagacious and intrepid Stilicho. He rose,

through the successive steps of master of the horse, and count of the

domestics, to the supreme rank of master-general of all the cavalry

and infantry of the Roman, or at least of the Western, empire; and his

enemies confessed, that he invariably disdained to barter for gold

the rewards of merit, or to defraud the soldiers of the pay and

gratifications which they deserved or claimed, from the liberality of

the state. The valor and conduct which he afterwards displayed, in the

defence of Italy, against the arms of Alaric and Radagaisus, may justify

the fame of his early achievements and in an age less attentive to

the laws of honor, or of pride, the Roman generals might yield the

preeminence of rank, to the ascendant of superior genius. He lamented,

and revenged, the murder of Promotus, his rival and his friend; and the

massacre of many thousands of the flying Bastarnæ is represented by

the poet as a bloody sacrifice, which the Roman Achilles offered to

the manes of another Patroclus. The virtues and victories of Stilicho

deserved the hatred of Rufinus: and the arts of calumny might have

been successful if the tender and vigilant Serena had not protected her

husband against his domestic foes, whilst he vanquished in the field

the enemies of the empire. Theodosius continued to support an unworthy

minister, to whose diligence he delegated the government of the palace,

and of the East; but when he marched against the tyrant Eugenius, he

associated his faithful general to the labors and glories of the civil

war; and in the last moments of his life, the dying monarch recommended

to Stilicho the care of his sons, and of the republic. The ambition and

the abilities of Stilicho were not unequal to the important trust; and

he claimed the guardianship of the two empires, during the minority

of Arcadius and Honorius. The first measure of his administration, or

rather of his reign, displayed to the nations the vigor and activity of

a spirit worthy to command. He passed the Alps in the depth of winter;

descended the stream of the Rhine, from the fortress of Basil to the

marshes of Batavia; reviewed the state of the garrisons; repressed the

enterprises of the Germans; and, after establishing along the banks a

firm and honorable peace, returned, with incredible speed, to the

palace of Milan. The person and court of Honorius were subject to the

master-general of the West; and the armies and provinces of Europe

obeyed, without hesitation, a regular authority, which was exercised in

the name of their young sovereign. Two rivals only remained to dispute

the claims, and to provoke the vengeance, of Stilicho. Within the

limits of Africa, Gildo, the Moor, maintained a proud and dangerous

independence; and the minister of Constantinople asserted his equal

reign over the emperor, and the empire, of the East.