and miles of forest had been swept to furnish the mere groundwork of the
entertainment. Hardy fishermen had spent their nights on the heaving
wave, that the giant turbot might flap its snowy flakes on the emperor's
table broader than its broad dish of gold. Many a swelling hill, clad in
the dark oak coppice, had echoed to ringing shout of hunter and
deep-mouthed bay of hound, ere the wild boar yielded his grim life by
the morass, and the dark, grisly carcass was drawn off to provide a
standing dish that was only meant to gratify the eye. Even the peacock
roasted in its feathers was too gross a dainty for epicures who studied
the art of gastronomy under Caesar; and that taste would have been
considered rustic in the extreme which could partake of more than the
mere fumes and savor of so substantial a dish. A thousand nightingales
had been trapped and killed, indeed, for this one supper, but brains and
tongues were all they contributed to the banquet; while even the wing of
a roasted hare would have been considered far too coarse and common food
for the imperial board.
"It would be useless to go into the details of such a banquet as that
which was placed before the guests of Caesar. Wild boar, pasties, goats,
every kind of shell-fish, thrushes, beccaficoes, vegetables of all
descriptions, and poultry, were removed to make way for the pheasant,
the guinea-hen, the capon, venison, ducks, woodcocks, and turtle-doves.
Everything that could creep, fly, or swim, and could boast a delicate
flavor when cooked, was pressed into the service of the emperor; and
when appetite was appeased and could do no more, the strongest
condiments and other remedies were used to stimulate fresh hunger and
consume a fresh supply of superfluous dainties."
Deep drinking followed, merely to stimulate fresh hunger. The disgusting
story is even told that the imperial glutton was in the habit of taking
an emetic to empty his stomach, that he might begin a fresh course of
gluttony.
Certain artists in the preparation of original dishes employed
themselves in devising new and appetizing compounds of food for the
table of Vitellius. They were sure of an ample reward if they should
succeed in pleasing the imperial palate. Failure, however, was attended
by a severe penance. The artist was not permitted to eat any food but
his own unsuccessful dish until he had atoned for his failure by a
success.
While Vitellius was thus sunk in sloth and gluttony his destiny was on
its march. A terrible and disgraceful retribution awaited him. He had
never been emperor of all the Roman empire. The army of Syria had
declared for Vespasian, its general; and while Vitellius had been
wasting his means and ruining his army by permitting it to indulge in
every vice and excess, his rival in the East was carefully laying his
plans to insure success. He finally seized Alexandria, thus being able
at will to starve Rome, by cutting off its food-supply; and sent
Antonius Primus, his principal general, with a strong force to Italy.
The progress of Antonius in Italy was rapid. City after city fell into
his hands. The fleet at Ravenna declared for Vespasian. The general of
Vitellius sought to carry his whole army over to Antonius, but found his
men more faithful than himself. The Vitellians were defeated in two
battles; Cremona was taken and destroyed; all was at risk; and yet
Vitellius remained absorbed in luxury. "Hid in the recess of his garden,
he indulged his appetite, forgetting the past, the present, and all
solicitude about future events; like those nauseous animals that know no
care, and, while they are supplied with food, remain in one spot, torpid
and insensible."
At length awakened from his stupor, Vitellius took some steps for
defence. He was too late. His men deserted their ranks; the army of
Antonius steadily advanced. Filled with terror, the emperor called an
assembly of the people and offered to resign. The people in violent
uproar refused to accept his resignation. He then proposed to seek a
retreat in his brother's house. This the populace also opposed and
forced him to return to the palace.
This attempted abdication brought civil war into the city. Sabinus, the
brother of Vespasian, raised a force and took possession of the
Capitol. He was besieged here, and in the conflict that ensued the
Capitol was set on fire and burned to the ground. It was the second time
this venerable edifice had been consumed by the flames. Sabinus was
taken prisoner, and was murdered by the mob.
News of this revolt and its disastrous end hastened the march of
Antonius. Once more, as in the far-off days of the Gaulish invasion,
Rome was to be attacked and taken by a hostile army. It was assailed at
three points, each of which was obstinately defended. Finally an
entrance was made at the Collinian gate, and the battle was transferred
to the open streets, in which the Vitellians defended themselves as
obstinately as before.
And now was seen an extraordinary spectacle. While two armies--one from
the East, one from the North--contended fiercely for the possession of
Rome, the populace of that city flocked to behold the fight, as if it
was a gladiatorial struggle got up for their diversion, and nothing in
which they had any personal interest. Tacitus says,--
"Whenever they saw the advantage inclining to either side, they favored
the contestants with shouts and theatrical applause. If the men fled
from their ranks, to take shelter in shops or houses, they roared to
have them dragged forth and put to death like gladiators for their
diversion. While the soldiers were intent on slaughter, these miscreants
were employed in plundering. The greatest part of the booty fell to
their share. Rome presented a scene truly shocking, a medley of savage
slaughter and monstrous vice; in one place war and desolation; in
another bathing, riot, and debauchery. The whole city seemed to be
inflamed with frantic rage, and at the same time intoxicated with
bacchanalian pleasures. In the midst of rage and massacre, pleasure knew
no intermission. A dreadful carnage seemed to be a spectacle added to
the public games."
It was a spectacle certainly without its like in the history of nations.
The battle ended in the complete overthrow of the army of Vitellius. The
camp was taken, and all that defended it were slain. And now took place
a scene which recalls that of the last days of Nero. Vitellius, seeing
that all was lost, was in an agony of apprehension. He left the palace
by a private way to seek shelter in his wife's house on the Aventine.
Then irresolution brought him back to the palace, which he found
deserted. The slaves had fled. The dead silence that reigned filled him
with terror. All was solitude and desolation. He wandered pitiably from
room to room, and finally, weary and utterly wretched, sought a humble
hiding-place. Here he was discovered and dragged forth.
And now the populace, who had lately refused his deposition, turned upon
him with the bitterest insults and contumely. With his hands bound
behind him and his garment torn, the obese old glutton was dragged
through crowds who treated him with scoffs and words of contempt, not a
voice of pity or sympathy being heard. A German soldier struck at him
with his sword, and, missing his aim, cut off the ear of a tribune. He
was killed on the spot.
As Vitellius was thus dragged onward, his captors, with swords pointed
at his throat, forced him to raise his head and expose his bloated face
to scorn and derision. They made him look at his statues, which were
being tumbled to the ground. They pointed out to him the place where
Galba had perished. They pricked his body with their weapons. With
endless contumely they brought him to the public charnel, where the body
of Sabinus had been thrown among those of the vilest malefactors.
A single expression is recorded as coming from his lips. "And yet," he
said, to a tribune who insulted his misery, "I have been your
sovereign."
His torment soon ended. The rabble fell on him with swords and clubs and
he died under a multitude of wounds. Even after his death those who had
worshipped him in the height of his power continued to shower marks of
rage and contempt upon his remains. Thus perished one of the most
despicable of all the emperors who disgraced Rome, to make room for one
whose wisdom and virtue would make still more contemptible the excesses
of his gluttonous predecessor.
_THE FAITHFUL EPONINA._
Though Rome had extended its conquests over numerous tribes and nations
of barbarians, and reduced them to subjection, much of the old love of
liberty remained, and many of the later Roman wars were devoted to the
suppression of outbreaks among these unwilling subjects. In the reign of
Vespasian occurred such a rebellion, followed by so remarkable an
instance of womanly devotion that it has since enlisted the sympathy of
the world.
Julius Sabinus, a leading chief among the Ligones, a tribe of the Gauls,
led by ambition and daring, and stirred by hatred of the Roman dominion,
resolved to shake off the yoke of conquest, and by his arts and
eloquence kindled the flame of rebellion among his countrymen. Gathering
an army, he drove the Romans from the territory of his own people, and
then marched into the country of the Sequani, whom he hoped to bring
into the revolt.
But the discomfiture of the Romans lasted only until they could bring
their forces together. A battle ensued between the hastily-levied
followers of Sabinus and a disciplined Roman army, with the inevitable
result. The barbarians were defeated with great slaughter, the death of
most, the flight of the others, bringing the rebellion to a disastrous
end.
Sabinus was among those who escaped the general carnage. He sought
shelter from his pursuers in an obscure cottage, and, being hotly and
closely tracked, he set fire to his lurking-place and caused a report to
be spread that he had perished in the flames. He had been attended in
his flight by two faithful freedmen, and one of these, Martialis by
name, sought Eponina, the loving wife of the chief, and told her that
her husband was no more, that he had perished in the flames of the
burning hut.
Giving full credit to the story, Eponina was thrown into a transport of
grief which went far to convince the spies of Rome that she must have
received sure tidings of her husband's death, and that Sabinus had
escaped the vengeance of Rome. For several days her grief continued
unabated, and then the same messenger returned and told her that her
husband still lived, having spread the report of his death to throw his
pursuers off his track.
This information brought Eponina as lively joy as the former news had
brought her sorrow; but knowing that she was watched, she affected as
deep grief as before, going about her daily duties with all the outward
manifestations of woe. When night came she visited Sabinus secretly in
his new hiding-place, and was received in his arms with all the joy of
which loving souls are capable. Before the dawn of day she returned to
her home, from which her absence had not been known.
During seven months the devoted wife continued these clandestine visits,
softening by caresses and brave words her husband's anxious care, and
supplying his wants as far as she was capable. At the end of that time
she grew hopeful of obtaining a pardon for the fugitive chief. For this
purpose she induced him to disguise himself in a way that made detection
impossible and accompany her on a long and painful journey to Rome.
Here the earnest and faithful woman made every possible effort to gain
the ear and favor of the emperor and to obtain influence in high places.
She unhappily found that Roman officials had no time or thought to waste
on fugitive rebels, and that compassion for those who dared oppose the
supremacy of Rome was a sentiment that could find no place in the
imperial heart. Repelled, disappointed, hopeless, the unhappy woman and
her disguised husband retraced their long and weary journey, and Sabinus
again sought shelter in the dens and caves which formed his only secure
places of refuge.
And now the faithful wife, abandoning her home, joined him in his
lurking-place, and for nine long years the devoted couple lived as
homeless fugitives, mutual love their only comfort, obtaining the
necessaries of life by means of which we are not aware. By the tenderest
affection Eponina softened the anxieties of her husband, the birth of
two sons served still more to alleviate the misery of their distressful
situation, and all the happiness that could possibly come to two so
circumstanced attended the pair in their straitened place of refuge.
At the end of nine years the hiding-place of the fugitives was
discovered by their enemies, and they were seized and sent in chains to
Rome. Here Vespasian, who had gained a reputation for kindness and
clemency, acted with a cruelty worthy of the worst emperors of Rome. The
pitiable tale of the captives had no effect upon him; the devotion of
the wife roused no sympathy in his heart; Sabinus had dared rebel
against Rome, no time nor circumstance could soften that flagitious
crime; without hesitation the chief was condemned to death, and instant
execution ordered.
This cruel sentence changed the tone of Eponina. She had hitherto humbly
and warmly supplicated her husband's pardon. Now that he was dead she
resolved not to survive him. With the spirit and pride of a free-born
princess she said to Vespasian, "Death has no terror for me. I have
lived happier underground than you upon your throne. You have robbed me
of all I loved, and I have no further use for life. Bid your assassins
strike their blow; with joy I leave a world which is peopled by such
tyrants as you."
She was taken at her word and ordered by the emperor for execution. It
was the darkest deed of Vespasian's life, a blot upon his character
which all his record for clemency cannot remove, and which has ever
since lain as a dark stain upon his memory.
Plutarch, who has alone told this story of love unto death, concludes
his tale by saying that there was nothing during Vespasian's reign to
match the horror of this atrocious deed, and that, in retribution for
it, the vengeance of the gods fell upon Vespasian, and in a short time
after wrought the extirpation of his entire family.
_THE SIEGE OF JERUSALEM._
Christ had not long passed away from the earth when the reign of peace
and brotherly love which He had so warmly inculcated ceased to exist on
the soil of Judaea. Forty years after He foretold the destruction of the
Temple of Jerusalem that noble edifice had ceased to exist, Jerusalem
itself was burned to the ground, and a million of people perished by
sword and flames. It is this lamentable tale which we have now to tell.
Caligula, the mad emperor, first roused the indignation of the Jews, by
demanding that his statue should be placed in that holy shrine in which
no image of man had ever been permitted. War would have followed, for
the Jews were resolute against such an impious desecration of their
Temple, had not the sword of the assassin removed the tyrant.
But the discontent of the Jews was not ended. They were resolved that no
image of the Caesars should be brought into their land, and carried this
so far that when the governor of Syria wished to march through a part of
their territory to attack the Arabs, they objected that the standards of
the legions were crowded with profane images, which their sacred laws
did not permit to be seen in their country. The governor yielded to
their remonstrance, and marched around the land of Judaea.
This concession did not allay the discontent. Felix, a governor under
Claudius, by oppression and cruelty aroused a general spirit of revolt.
Gessius Florus, appointed by Nero governor of Judaea, found his province
in a state of irritation and tumult. His avarice and robbery of the
people ripened this to war. The province broke into open rebellion. It
was quickly invaded by Gallus, the governor of Syria, who marched
through the country to the walls of Jerusalem. But he was not a soldier,
and was quickly forced to abandon the siege and retreat in haste, losing
six thousand men in his flight.
[Illustration: THE JEWS' WAILING PLACE, JERUSALEM.]
Nero now, finding that Rome had an obstinate struggle on its hands,
chose Vespasian, a soldier of renown, to conduct the war. This he did
with the true Roman energy and thoroughness, subduing the whole country,
and capturing every stronghold except Jerusalem, within two years. He
was called from this work to the struggle for the empire of Rome,
leaving his able son Titus to complete the task.
The taking of Jerusalem was not to be easily performed. The city was of
immense strength. It stood upon two hills, Mount Sion to the south,
Mount Acra to the north. The former, being the loftiest, was called the
upper, and Acra the lower, city. Each of these hills was surrounded by a
wall of great strength and elevation, their bases washed by a rapid
stream that ran through the valleys of Hinnom and Cedron, to the foot of
the Mount of Olives. A third hill, Mount Moriah, was the seat of the
famous Temple, an immense group of courts and edifices which looked more
like a citadel than a sanctuary of religious faith. The true temple
stood separate, in the midst of these buildings, its interior being
divided by a curtain into two parts, of which the inmost was the Holy of
Holies. The total group of edifices was nearly a mile in circumference.
Jerusalem, unfortunately for its defence, had, during the conquest of
the country, become filled with fugitives. To these the celebration of
the Passover, now at hand, added other great numbers, so that when the
army of Titus invested it, it was crowded with a vast multitude of human
beings. Filled with religious enthusiasm, accustomed to war, and
believing that the Lord of Hosts would come to their aid, the garrison
displayed a desperate resolution that the Romans were to find very
difficult to overcome.
Yet it was as much due to themselves as to the Roman arms that the city
at length fell. Resolute as the Jews were in defence against the foreign
foe, they were divided among themselves, the city being held by three
factions bitterly hostile to each other. One of these, known as the
Zealots, under Eleazer, held the Temple. Another, under John of Gisela,
an artful orator but a man of infamous character, occupied another
portion of the city. A third, whose leader was named Simon, a man known
for crime and courage, held still another section. These three parties
kept Jerusalem in tumult. There were ferocious battles in the streets;
houses were plundered, families slain, and when Titus encamped before
the walls, he had before him a city distracted by civil war and its
streets filled with blood and carnage.
The story of the siege of Jerusalem is far too long a one to be told in
detail. Several times during the siege Titus offered terms of pardon and
amnesty to the besieged, but all in vain. Divided as they were among
themselves, they were united in hostility to Rome. The siege began and
proceeded with the usual energy shown by a Roman army. Mounds were
erected, forts built, warlike engines constructed. Darts and other
weapons were rained into the city, great stones were flung from engines,
every resource known to ancient war was practised. A breach was at
length made in the walls, the soldiers rushed in, sword in hand, and the
section of the city known as Salem was captured. Five days afterwards
Bezetha, a hill to the north of the Temple, was taken by Titus, but he
was here so furiously assailed by the garrison that he was forced to
retreat to his camp.
Some days of quiet now followed, while the Romans prepared for a second
attack. The factions in the city, fancying that their foes had withdrawn
in despair, at once resumed their feuds, and the streets again ran with
blood. John invaded the Temple precincts, overcame the party of Eleazer,
and a general massacre followed which desecrated With slaughter every
part of the holy place.
Soon the Romans advanced again, and the two remaining factions united in
defence. Now the Romans penetrated the city, now they were driven out
in a fierce charge, and their camp nearly taken. And now famine came to
add to the horrors of the siege, and made frightful havoc in the dense
multitude with which every part of the city was thronged. The dead and
dying filled the streets, the wounded soldiers perished of starvation,
groans and lamentations resounded in every quarter; to rid themselves of
the hosts of dead John and Simon had them thrown from the walls, to
fester in heaps before the Roman works. Among the scenes of horror
related, a woman was seen to kill and devour her own infant child.
At length the Romans made such progress that all the city was theirs
except the Temple enclosure, into which the remainder of the garrison
had gathered. Titus wished to save this famous structure, and made a
last effort to end the siege by peaceful measures. Josephus, the Jewish
historian, who had been taken prisoner during the war, and was now in
his camp, was sent into the city, with an offer of amnesty if they would
even now yield. The offer was refused, and Titus saw that but one thing
remained.
On the next day the assault on Mount Moriah began. The Jews fought with
fierce courage, but the close lines and steady discipline of the legions
prevailed. The defenders, after a bitter resistance, were forced back;
the assailants furiously pursued; the inner court of the Temple was
entered; in the uproar of the furious strife the orders of Titus and his
officers to save the Temple were unheard; all was tumult, the roar of
battle, the shedding of blood. The Jews fought with frantic obstinacy,
but their undisciplined valor failed to affect the steady discipline or
break the close array of the legions. Many fled in despair to the
sanctuary. Here were gathered priests and prophets, who still declared
the Lord of Hosts was on their side, and that He would protect His holy
seat.
Even while these assurances were being given the assailants forced the
gates. The eyes of the avaricious Romans rested on the golden and
glittering ornaments of the Temple, and they sought more fiercely than
ever to hew their way through flesh and blood to these alluring
treasures. One soldier, frantic with the fury of the fight, snatched a
flaming ember from some burning materials, and, lifted by a comrade, set
fire to a gilded window of the Temple. Almost in an instant the flames
flared upward, and the despairing Jews saw that their holy house was
doomed. A great groan of agony burst from their lips. Many occupied
themselves in vain efforts to quench the flames; others flung themselves
in despairing rage on the Romans, heedless of life now that all they
lived for was perishing.
Titus, on learning what had been done, ran in all haste to the scene,
and loudly ordered the soldiers to extinguish the flames, signalling to
the same effect with his hand. But his voice was drowned in the uproar
and his signals were not understood, while the thirst for plunder
carried the soldiers beyond all restraint. The holy place of the Temple
was still intact. This Titus entered, and was so impressed with its
beauty and splendor that he made a strenuous effort to save it from
destruction. In vain he begged and threatened. While some of the
soldiery tore with wolfish fury at its gold, others fired its gates, and
soon the Holy of Holies itself was in a blaze, and the whole Temple
wrapped in devouring flames.
The rapacious soldiers raged through the buildings, rending from them
everything of value which the fire had left untouched. The defenders
fell by thousands. Great numbers perished in the flames. A multitude of
fugitives, including women and children, sought refuge in the outer
cloisters. These were set on fire by the furious soldiers, and thousands
were swept away by the pitiless hand of death. Word was brought to Titus
that a number of priests stood on the outside wall, begging for their
lives. "It is too late," he replied; "the priests ought not to survive
their temple." Retiring to an outer fort, he gazed with deep regret on
the devouring conflagration, saying, "The God of the Jews has fought
against them: to him we owe our victory."
Thus perished the Temple of Jerusalem, a magnificent structure, for ages
the pride and glory of the Jews. First erected by Solomon, eleven
centuries before, it was burnt by the Babylonians five hundred years
afterwards. It was rebuilt by Haggai, in the reign of King Cyrus of
Persia, and had now stood more than six hundred years, enlarged and
adorned from time to time. But Christ had said, "There shall not be left
one stone upon another that shall not be thrown down." This prophetic
utterance was now fulfilled. Thenceforward there was no Temple of the
Jews.