had amassed much wealth in the course of a long reign. On his death, in
order to secure the favor of the Romans, now masters of the island, he
left half his wealth by will to the emperor and half to his two
daughters. This well-judged action of the barbarian king did not have
the intended effect. No sooner was he dead than the Romans in the
vicinity claimed the whole estate as theirs, ruthlessly pillaged his
house, and seized all his effects.
This base brigandage roused Boadicea, the widowed queen, to a vigorous
protest, but with the sole result of bringing a worse calamity upon her
head. She was seized and cruelly scourged by the ruthless Romans, her
two daughters were vilely maltreated, and the noblest of the Icenians
were robbed of their possessions by the plunderers, who went so far as
to reduce to slavery the near relatives of the deceased king.
Roused to madness by this inhuman treatment, the Icenians broke into
open revolt. They were joined by a neighboring state, while the
surrounding Britons, not yet inured to bondage, secretly resolved to
join the cause of liberty. There had lately been planted a colony of
Roman veterans at Camalodunum (Colchester), who had treated the Britons
cruelly, driven them from their houses, and insulted them with the names
of slaves and captives; while the common soldiers, a licentious and
greedy crew, still further degraded and robbed the owners of the land.
The invaders went too far for British endurance, and brought a terrible
retribution upon themselves. Paulinus Suetonius, an able officer, who
then commanded in Britain, was absent on an expedition to conquer the
island of Mona. Of this expedition the historian Tacitus gives a vivid
account. As the boats of the Romans approached the island they beheld on
the shore the Britons prepared to receive them, while through their
ranks rushed their women in funereal attire, their hair flying loose in
the wind, flaming torches in their hands, and their whole appearance
recalling the frantic rage of the fabled Furies. Near by, ranged in
order, stood the venerable Druids, or Celtic priests, with uplifted
hands, at once invoking the gods and pouring forth imprecations upon the
foe.
The novelty and impressiveness of this spectacle filled the Romans with
awe and wonder. They stood in stupid amazement, riveted to the spot, and
a mark for the foe had they been then attacked. From this brief
paralysis the voice of their general recalled them, and, ashamed of
being held in awe by a troop of women and a band of fanatic priests,
they rushed to the assault, cut down all before them, and set fire to
the edifices and the sacred groves of the island with the torches which
the Britons themselves had kindled.
But Suetonius had chosen a perilous time for this enterprise. During his
absence the wrongs of the Icenians and the exhortations of Boadicea had
roused a formidable revolt, and the undefended colonies of the Romans
were in danger.
In addition to the actual peril the Romans were frightened with dire
omens. The statue of victory at Camalodunum fell without any visible
cause, and lay prostrate on the ground. Clamors in a foreign accent were
heard in the Roman council chamber, the theatres were filled with the
sound of savage howlings, the sea ran purple as with blood, the figures
of human bodies were traced on the sands, and the image of a colony in
ruins was reflected from the waters of the Thames.
These omens threw the Romans into despair and filled the minds of the
Britons with joy. No effort was made by the soldiers for defence, no
ditch was dug, no palisade erected, and the assault of the Britons found
the colonists utterly unprepared. Taken by surprise, the Romans were
overpowered, and the colony was laid waste with fire and sword. The
fortified temple alone held out, but after a two days' siege it also was
taken, and the legion which marched to its relief was cut to pieces.
Boadicea was now the leading spirit among the Britons. Her wrongs had
stirred them to revolt, and her warlike energy led them to victory and
revenge. But she was soon to have a master-spirit to meet. Suetonius,
recalled from the island of Mona by tidings of rebellion and disaster,
marched hastily as far as London, which was even then the chief
residence of the merchants and the centre of trade and commerce of the
island.
His army was small, not more than ten thousand men in all. That of the
Britons was large. The interests of the empire were greater than those
of any city, and Suetonius found himself obliged to abandon London to
the barbarians, despite the supplications of its imperilled citizens.
All he would agree to was to take under his protection those who chose
to follow his banner. Many followed him, but many remained, and no
sooner had he marched out than the Britons fell in rage on the
settlement, and killed all they found. In like manner they ravaged
Verulamium (St. Albans). Seventy thousand Romans are said to have been
put to the sword.
Meanwhile Suetonius marched through the land, and at length the two
armies met. The skilled Roman general drew up his force in a place where
a thick forest sheltered the rear and flanks, leaving only a narrow
front open to attack. Here the Britons, twenty times his number, and
confident of victory, approached. The warlike Boadicea, tall, stern of
countenance, her hair hanging to her waist, a spear in her hand, drove
along their front in a warlike car, with her two daughters by her side,
and eloquently sought to rouse her countrymen to thirst for revenge.
Telling them of the base cruelty with which she and her daughters had
been treated, and painting in vivid words the arrogance and insults of
the Romans, she besought them to fight for their country and their
homes. "On this spot we must either conquer or die with glory," she
said. "There is no alternative. Though I am a woman, my resolution is
fixed. The men, if they prefer, may survive with infamy and live in
bondage. For me there is only victory or death."
Stirred to fury by her words, the British host poured like a deluge on
their foes. But the Roman arms and discipline proved far too much for
barbarian courage and ferocity. The British were repulsed, and, rushing
forward in a wedge shape, the legions cut their way with frightful
carnage through the disordered ranks. The cavalry seconded their
efforts. Thousands fell. The rest took to flight. But the wagons of the
British, which had been massed in the rear, impeded their flight, and a
dreadful slaughter, in which neither sex nor age was spared, ensued.
Tacitus tells us that eighty thousand Britons fell, while the Roman
slain numbered no more than four hundred men.
Boadicea, who had done her utmost to rally her flying hosts, kept to her
resolution. When all was lost, she took poison, and perished upon the
field where she had vowed to seek victory or death. With her decease the
success of the Britons vanished. Though they still kept the field, they
gradually yielded to the Roman arms, and Britain became in time a quiet
and peaceful part of the great empire of Rome.
_ROME SWEPT BY FLAMES._
Nero, the cruel coward under whom Rome for its sins was made to suffer,
could scarcely devise follies and atrocities enough to please his
profligate fancy. He offended the pride and sense of decorum of Rome by
forcing senators and women of the highest rank to appear as gladiators
in the arena. He exposed himself to ridicule by appearing as an actor in
the theatre at Naples, which theatre, as soon as the audience dispersed,
tumbled to pieces,--a little late so far as Nero himself was concerned.
Returning to Rome, he indulged in every species of vice and folly,
lavishing the wealth of the state with the utmost prodigality. On the
lake of Agrippa he had a pavilion erected on a great floating platform,
which was moved from point to point by the aid of boats superbly
decorated with gold and ivory, while to furnish the banquet here given,
animals of the chase were sought in the whole country round, and fish
were brought from every sea and even from the distant ocean. When night
descended a sudden illumination burst forth from all sides, and music
resounded from every grove. These are the mentionable parts of the
festival. Vile scenes were exhibited of which nothing can be said.
Finally, at a loss in what deeper excess of vice and ostentation to
indulge, the crowned reprobate set fire to Rome that he might enjoy the
spectacle of an unlimited conflagration. This wickedness, it is true, is
doubted by some historians, but we are told that during the prevalence
of the flames a crew of incendiaries threatened anyone with death who
should seek to extinguish them, and flung flaming torches into the
dwellings, crying that they acted under orders.
In all the history of Rome this fire was far the most violent and
destructive. Breaking out in a number of shops stored with combustible
goods, and driven by the winds, it raged with the utmost fury, neither
the thick walls of the houses nor the enclosures of the temples
sufficing to stay its frightful progress. The form of the streets, long,
narrow, and winding, added to the mischief, and the flames swiftly sped
alike through the humblest and the stateliest quarters of the mighty
capital.
"The shrieks and lamentations of women, the infirmities of age, and the
weakness of the young and tender," says Tacitus, "added misery to the
dreadful scene. Some endeavored to provide for themselves, others to
save their friends, in one part dragging along the lame and impotent, in
another waiting to receive the tardy, or expecting relief themselves;
they hurried, they lingered, they obstructed one another; they looked
behind, and the fire broke out in front; they escaped from the flames,
and in their place of refuge found no safety; the fire raged in every
quarter; all were involved in one general conflagration.
"The unhappy wretches fled to places remote, and thought themselves
secure, but soon perceived the flames raging round them. Which way to
turn, what to avoid, or what to seek, no one could tell. They crowded
the streets; they fell prostrate on the ground; they lay stretched in
the fields, in consternation and dismay resigned to their fate. Numbers
lost their whole substance, even the tools and implements by which they
gained their livelihood, and, in that distress, did not wish to survive.
Others, wild with affliction for their friends and relations whom they
could not save, embraced voluntary death, and perished in the flames."
The story goes that, while the city was in its intensest blaze, Nero
watched it with high enjoyment from a tower in the house of Maecenas, and
finally went to his own theatre, where in his scenic dress he mounted
the stage, tuned his harp, and sang the destruction of Troy.
How far Nero was guilty and to what extent the stories told of him were
true will never be known, but he was destined to feel the calamity
himself, for in time the devouring flames reached the imperial palace,
and laid it with all its treasures and surrounding buildings in ruins.
For six days the fire raged uncontrolled, and then, when it seemed
subdued, a new conflagration broke out and burned with all the old fury,
spreading still more widely the area of ruin and devastation.
The number of buildings destroyed cannot be ascertained. Not only
dwellings and shops, but temples, porticos, and other public buildings,
were destroyed, among them the most venerable monuments of antiquity,
which the worship of ages had rendered sacred; and with these the
trophies of uncounted victories, the inimitable works of the great
artists of Greece, and precious monuments of literature and ancient
genius, were irrecoverably lost.
Whether or not this fire took place through Nero's orders, and was
played to by him on the harp, he showed more feeling for the people and
more good sense in the rebuilding of the city than could have been
expected from one of his weak and vicious character. By his orders the
Field of Mars, the magnificent buildings erected by Agrippa, and even
the imperial gardens were thrown open to the houseless people, and sheds
for their shelter were erected with all possible haste. Household
utensils and all kinds of useful implements were brought from Ostia and
other neighboring cities, and the price of grain was reduced. But all
this failed to gain the good-will of the people, who were exasperated by
the story that Nero had exulted in the grandeur of the flames, and
harped over burning Rome.
When the fire was at length subdued, of the fourteen quarters of Rome
only four were left entire; the remainder presented more or less utter
ruin. The conflagration in the time of the Gauls had been little more
complete, while the wealth now consumed was incomparably greater. The
whole world had been robbed of its treasures to feed the flames of Rome.
But the haste and ill-judged confusion with which the city was rebuilt
after the irruption of the Gauls was not now repeated. A regular plan
was formed; the new streets were made wide and straight; the elevation
of the houses was defined, and each was given an open area before the
door, and was adorned with porticos. The expense of these porticos Nero
took upon himself. He ordered also that the new houses should not be
contiguous, but that each should be surrounded by its own enclosure;
and, in order to hurry the work, he offered rewards to those who should
finish their buildings in a fixed period. As for the refuse of the fire,
it was removed at Nero's expense to the marshes of Ostia in the ships
that brought corn up the Tiber.
These regulations, while they must have made much confusion among the
rival claimants of building sites, added greatly to the beauty and
comfort of the new city, and the Rome which rose from the ruins was far
more stately and handsome than the Rome which had vanished in ashes and
smoke. But Nero, while showing some passing feeling for the people and
some wisdom in the rebuilding of the city, did not hesitate to use a
generous portion of the devastated space for his own advantage. His
palace had been destroyed, and he built a new and most magnificent one
on the Palatine Hill, the famous "golden house," which after-ages beheld
with unstinted admiration.
But he did not confine his ostentation to the palace itself. A great
space around it was converted into pleasure-grounds for his amusement,
in which, as Tacitus says, "expansive lakes and fields of vast extent
were intermixed with pleasing variety; woods and forests stretched to
an immeasurable length, presenting gloom and solitude amid scenes of
open space, where the eye wandered with surprise over an unbounded
prospect."
But nothing that Nero could do sufficed to remove from men's minds the
belief that on him rested the infamy of the fire. This public sentiment
troubled and frightened him, and to remove it he sought to lay the
burden of guilt on others. It was now the year 64 A.D., and for at least
thirty years the new sect of the Christians had been spreading in Rome,
where it had gained many adherents among the humbler and more moral
section of the population. The Christians were far from popular. They
were accused of secret and evil practices and debasing superstitions,
and on this despised sect Nero determined to turn the fury of the
populace.
[Illustration: THE TOMB OF HADRIAN.]
With his usual artifice he induced a number of abandoned wretches to
confess themselves guilty, and on their purchased evidence numbers of
the Christians were seized and convicted, mainly on the plea of their
sullen hatred of the whole human race. A frightful persecution followed,
Nero perhaps hoping, by an exhibition of human suffering, so dear to the
rabble of Rome, to turn the thoughts of the people from their own
losses.
The captives were put to death with every cruelty the emperor could
devise, and to their sufferings he added mockery and derision. Many were
nailed to the cross; others were covered with the skins of wild beasts,
and left to be devoured by dogs; numbers were burned alive, many of
these, covered with inflammable matter, being set on fire to serve as
torches during the night.
That the public might see this tragic spectacle with the more
satisfaction, it was given in the imperial gardens. The sports of the
circus were added to the tortures of the victims, Nero himself driving
his chariot in the races, or mingling with the rabble in his coachman's
dress. These cruel proceedings continued until even the hardened Roman
heart became softened with compassion, spectators failed to come, and
Nero felt obliged to yield to a general demand that the persecutions
should cease.
While all this went on at Rome, the people of the whole empire suffered
with those of the capital city. Italy was ravaged and the provinces
plundered to supply the demand for the rebuilding of the city and palace
and the unbounded prodigality of the emperor. The very gods were taxed,
their temples being robbed of golden treasures which had been gathering
for ages through the gifts of pious devotees; while in Greece and Asia
not alone the treasures of the temples but the statues of the deities
were seized. Nero was preparing for himself a load of infamy worthy of
the most frightful retribution, and which would not fail soon to reap
its fitting reward.
_THE DOOM OF NERO._
We have perhaps paid too much attention to the enormities of Caligula
and Nero. Yet the mad freakishness of the one and the cowardly
dissimulation of the other give to their stories a dramatic interest
which seems to render them worth repeating. Nero, one of the basest and
cruelest of the Roman emperors, is one of the best known to readers, and
the interest felt in him is not alone due to the story of his life, but
as well to that of his death, which we therefore here give.
A conspiracy against him among some of the noblest citizens of Rome was
discovered and punished with revengeful fury. It was followed, a few
years afterwards, by a revolt of the armies in Gaul and Spain. This was
in its turn quelled, and Nero triumphed in imagination over all his
enemies. But he had lost favor alike with the army and the people, and
an event now happened that threw the whole city into a ferment of anger
against him.
Food was scarce, and the arrival of a ship from Alexandria, supposed to
be loaded with corn, filled the people with joy. It proved instead to be
loaded with sand for the arena. In their disappointment the people broke
at first into scurrilous jests against Nero, and then into rage and
fury. A wild clamor filled the streets. On all sides rose the demand to
be delivered from a monster. Even the Praetorian guards, who had hitherto
supported the emperor, began to show signs of disaffection, and were
wrought to a spirit of revolt by two of the choice companions of Nero's
iniquities, who now deserted him as rats desert a sinking ship. The
senate was approached and told that Nero was no longer supported by his
friends, and that they might now regain the power of which they had been
deprived.
Some whisper of what was afloat reached Nero's ears. Filled with craven
fury, he resolved to massacre the senate, to set fire again to the city,
and to let loose his whole collection of wild beasts. He proposed to fly
to Egypt during the consternation that would prevail. A trusted servant,
to whom he told this design, revealed it to the senate. It filled them
with fear and rage. Yet even in so dire a contingency they could not be
prevailed upon to act with vigor, and all might have been lost by their
procrastination and timidity but for the two men who had organized the
revolt.
These men, Nymphidius and Tigellinus by name, went to the palace, and
with a show of deep affliction informed Nero of his danger. "All is
lost," they said: "the people call aloud for vengeance; the Praetorian
guards have abandoned your cause; the senate is ready to pronounce a
dreadful judgment. Only one hope remains to you, to fly for your life,
and seek a retreat in Egypt."
It was as they said; revolt was everywhere in the air, and affected the
armies near and far. Nero sought assistance, but sought it in vain. The
palace, lately swarming with life, was now deserted. Nero wandered
through its empty chambers, and found only solitude and gloom.
Conscience awoke in his seared heart, and he was filled with horror and
remorse. Of all his late crowd of courtiers only three friends now
remained with him,--Sporus, a servant; Phaon, a freedman; and
Epaphroditus, his secretary.
"'My wife, my father, and my mother doom me dead!'" he bitterly cried,
quoting a line from a Greek tragedy.
With a last hope he bade the soldiers on duty to hasten to Ostia and
prepare a ship, on which he might embark for Egypt. The men refused.
"'Is it, then, so wretched a thing to die?'" said one of them, quoting
from Virgil.
This refusal threw Nero into despair. He hurried to the Servilian
gardens, with a vial of deadly poison, which, on getting there, he had
not the courage to take. He returned to the palace and threw himself on
his bed. Then, too agitated to lie, he sprang up and called for some
friendly hand to end his wretched life. No one consented, and in his
wild despair he called out, in doleful accents, "My friends desert me,
and I cannot find an enemy."
The world had suddenly fallen away from the despicable Nero. A week
before he had ordered it at his will, now "none so poor to do him
reverence." His craven terror would have been pitiable in any one to
whom the word pity could apply. In frantic dread he rushed from the
palace, as if with intent to fling himself into the Tiber. Then as
hastily he returned, saying that he would fly to Spain, and yield
himself to the mercy of Galba, who commanded the revolted army. But no
ship was to be had for either Spain or Egypt, and this plan was
abandoned as quickly as formed.
These and other projects passed in succession through his distracted
brain. One of the most absurd of them was to go in a mourning garb to
the Forum, and by his powers of eloquence seek to win back the favor of
the people. If they would not have him as emperor, he might by
persuasive oratory obtain from them the government of Egypt.
Full of hope in this new project, he was about to put it into effect,
when a fresh reflection filled his soul with horror. What if the
populace should, without waiting to hear his harmonious accents and
unequalled oratory, break out in sudden rage and rend him limb from
limb? Might they not assail him in the palace? Might not a seditious mob
be already on its way thither, bent on bloody work? Whither should he
fly? Where find refuge?
Turning in despair to his companions, he asked them, wildly, "Is there
no hiding-place, no safe retreat, where I may have leisure to consider
what is to be done?"
Phaon, his freedman, told him that he owned an obscure villa, at a
distance of about four miles from Rome, where he might remain for a time
in concealment.
This suggestion, in Nero's state of distraction, was eagerly
embraced,--in such haste, indeed, that he left the palace without an
instant's preparation, his feet destitute of shoes, and no garment but
his close tunic, his outer garments and imperial robe having been
discarded in his distraction. The utmost he did was to snatch up an old
rusty robe as a disguise, covering his head with it, and holding a
handkerchief before his face. Thus attired, he mounted his horse and
fled in frantic fear, attended only by the three men we have mentioned,
and a fourth named Neophytus.
Meanwhile, the revolt in the city was growing more and more decided.
When the coming day showed its first faint rays, the Praetorian guards,
who had been on duty in the palace, left their post and marched to the
camp. Here, under the influence of Nymphidius, Galba was nominated
emperor. This was an important innovation in the government of Rome.
Hitherto the imperial dignity had remained in the family of Caesar,
descending by hereditary transmission. Nero was the last of that family
to wear the crown. Henceforth the army and its generals controlled the
destinies of the empire. The nomination of Galba by the Praetorian guard
signalized the new state of things, in which the emperors would largely
be chosen by that guard or by some army in the field.