Reduced to this distressed condition, the Alemanni no longer

disdained to sue for peace. Aurelian received their ambassadors

at the head of his camp, and with every circumstance of martial

pomp that could display the greatness and discipline of Rome. The

legions stood to their arms in well-ordered ranks and awful

silence. The principal commanders, distinguished by the ensigns

of their rank, appeared on horseback on either side of the

Imperial throne. Behind the throne the consecrated images of the

emperor, and his predecessors, the golden eagles, and the various

titles of the legions, engraved in letters of gold, were exalted

in the air on lofty pikes covered with silver. When Aurelian

assumed his seat, his manly grace and majestic figure taught the

barbarians to revere the person as well as the purple of their

conqueror. The ambassadors fell prostrate on the ground in

silence. They were commanded to rise, and permitted to speak. By

the assistance of interpreters they extenuated their perfidy,

magnified their exploits, expatiated on the vicissitudes of

fortune and the advantages of peace, and, with an ill-timed

confidence, demanded a large subsidy, as the price of the

alliance which they offered to the Romans. The answer of the

emperor was stern and imperious. He treated their offer with

contempt, and their demand with indignation, reproached the

barbarians, that they were as ignorant of the arts of war as of

the laws of peace, and finally dismissed them with the choice

only of submitting to this unconditional mercy, or awaiting the

utmost severity of his resentment. Aurelian had resigned a

distant province to the Goths; but it was dangerous to trust or

to pardon these perfidious barbarians, whose formidable power

kept Italy itself in perpetual alarms.

Immediately after this conference, it should seem that some

unexpected emergency required the emperor’s presence in Pannonia.

He devolved on his lieutenants the care of finishing the

destruction of the Alemanni, either by the sword, or by the surer

operation of famine. But an active despair has often triumphed

over the indolent assurance of success. The barbarians, finding

it impossible to traverse the Danube and the Roman camp, broke

through the posts in their rear, which were more feebly or less

carefully guarded; and with incredible diligence, but by a

different road, returned towards the mountains of Italy.

Aurelian, who considered the war as totally extinguished,

received the mortifying intelligence of the escape of the

Alemanni, and of the ravage which they already committed in the

territory of Milan. The legions were commanded to follow, with as

much expedition as those heavy bodies were capable of exerting,

the rapid flight of an enemy whose infantry and cavalry moved

with almost equal swiftness. A few days afterwards, the emperor

himself marched to the relief of Italy, at the head of a chosen

body of auxiliaries, (among whom were the hostages and cavalry of

the Vandals,) and of all the Prætorian guards who had served in

the wars on the Danube.

As the light troops of the Alemanni had spread themselves from

the Alps to the Apennine, the incessant vigilance of Aurelian and

his officers was exercised in the discovery, the attack, and the

pursuit of the numerous detachments. Notwithstanding this

desultory war, three considerable battles are mentioned, in which

the principal force of both armies was obstinately engaged. The

success was various. In the first, fought near Placentia, the

Romans received so severe a blow, that, according to the

expression of a writer extremely partial to Aurelian, the

immediate dissolution of the empire was apprehended. The crafty

barbarians, who had lined the woods, suddenly attacked the

legions in the dusk of the evening, and, it is most probable,

after the fatigue and disorder of a long march. The fury of their

charge was irresistible; but, at length, after a dreadful

slaughter, the patient firmness of the emperor rallied his

troops, and restored, in some degree, the honor of his arms. The

second battle was fought near Fano in Umbria; on the spot which,

five hundred years before, had been fatal to the brother of

Hannibal. Thus far the successful Germans had advanced along the

Æmilian and Flaminian way, with a design of sacking the

defenceless mistress of the world. But Aurelian, who, watchful

for the safety of Rome, still hung on their rear, found in this

place the decisive moment of giving them a total and

irretrievable defeat. The flying remnant of their host was

exterminated in a third and last battle near Pavia; and Italy was

delivered from the inroads of the Alemanni.

Fear has been the original parent of superstition, and every new

calamity urges trembling mortals to deprecate the wrath of their

invisible enemies. Though the best hope of the republic was in

the valor and conduct of Aurelian, yet such was the public

consternation, when the barbarians were hourly expected at the

gates of Rome, that, by a decree of the senate the Sibylline

books were consulted. Even the emperor himself, from a motive

either of religion or of policy, recommended this salutary

measure, chided the tardiness of the senate, and offered to

supply whatever expense, whatever animals, whatever captives of

any nation, the gods should require. Notwithstanding this liberal

offer, it does not appear, that any human victims expiated with

their blood the sins of the Roman people. The Sibylline books

enjoined ceremonies of a more harmless nature, processions of

priests in white robes, attended by a chorus of youths and

virgins; lustrations of the city and adjacent country; and

sacrifices, whose powerful influence disabled the barbarians from

passing the mystic ground on which they had been celebrated.

However puerile in themselves, these superstitious arts were

subservient to the success of the war; and if, in the decisive

battle of Fano, the Alemanni fancied they saw an army of spectres

combating on the side of Aurelian, he received a real and

effectual aid from this imaginary reënforcement.

But whatever confidence might be placed in ideal ramparts, the

experience of the past, and the dread of the future, induced the

Romans to construct fortifications of a grosser and more

substantial kind. The seven hills of Rome had been surrounded by

the successors of Romulus with an ancient wall of more than

thirteen miles. The vast enclosure may seem disproportioned to

the strength and numbers of the infant-state. But it was

necessary to secure an ample extent of pasture and arable land

against the frequent and sudden incursions of the tribes of

Latium, the perpetual enemies of the republic. With the progress

of Roman greatness, the city and its inhabitants gradually

increased, filled up the vacant space, pierced through the

useless walls, covered the field of Mars, and, on every side,

followed the public highways in long and beautiful suburbs. The

extent of the new walls, erected by Aurelian, and finished in the

reign of Probus, was magnified by popular estimation to near

fifty, but is reduced by accurate measurement to about twenty-one

miles. It was a great but a melancholy labor, since the defence

of the capital betrayed the decline of monarchy. The Romans of a

more prosperous age, who trusted to the arms of the legions the

safety of the frontier camps, were very far from entertaining a

suspicion that it would ever become necessary to fortify the seat

of empire against the inroads of the barbarians.

The victory of Claudius over the Goths, and the success of

Aurelian against the Alemanni, had already restored to the arms

of Rome their ancient superiority over the barbarous nations of

the North. To chastise domestic tyrants, and to reunite the

dismembered parts of the empire, was a task reserved for the

second of those warlike emperors. Though he was acknowledged by

the senate and people, the frontiers of Italy, Africa, Illyricum,

and Thrace, confined the limits of his reign. Gaul, Spain, and

Britain, Egypt, Syria, and Asia Minor, were still possessed by

two rebels, who alone, out of so numerous a list, had hitherto

escaped the dangers of their situation; and to complete the

ignominy of Rome, these rival thrones had been usurped by women.

A rapid succession of monarchs had arisen and fallen in the

provinces of Gaul. The rigid virtues of Posthumus served only to

hasten his destruction. After suppressing a competitor, who had

assumed the purple at Mentz, he refused to gratify his troops

with the plunder of the rebellious city; and in the seventh year

of his reign, became the victim of their disappointed avarice.

The death of Victorinus, his friend and associate, was occasioned

by a less worthy cause. The shining accomplishments of that

prince were stained by a licentious passion, which he indulged in

acts of violence, with too little regard to the laws of society,

or even to those of love. He was slain at Cologne, by a

conspiracy of jealous husbands, whose revenge would have appeared

more justifiable, had they spared the innocence of his son. After

the murder of so many valiant princes, it is somewhat remarkable,

that a female for a long time controlled the fierce legions of

Gaul, and still more singular, that she was the mother of the

unfortunate Victorinus. The arts and treasures of Victoria

enabled her successively to place Marius and Tetricus on the

throne, and to reign with a manly vigor under the name of those

dependent emperors. Money of copper, of silver, and of gold, was

coined in her name; she assumed the titles of Augusta and Mother

of the Camps: her power ended only with her life; but her life

was perhaps shortened by the ingratitude of Tetricus.

When, at the instigation of his ambitious patroness, Tetricus

assumed the ensigns of royalty, he was governor of the peaceful

province of Aquitaine, an employment suited to his character and

education. He reigned four or five years over Gaul, Spain, and

Britain, the slave and sovereign of a licentious army, whom he

dreaded, and by whom he was despised. The valor and fortune of

Aurelian at length opened the prospect of a deliverance. He

ventured to disclose his melancholy situation, and conjured the

emperor to hasten to the relief of his unhappy rival. Had this

secret correspondence reached the ears of the soldiers, it would

most probably have cost Tetricus his life; nor could he resign

the sceptre of the West without committing an act of treason

against himself. He affected the appearances of a civil war, led

his forces into the field, against Aurelian, posted them in the

most disadvantageous manner, betrayed his own counsels to his

enemy, and with a few chosen friends deserted in the beginning of

the action. The rebel legions, though disordered and dismayed by

the unexpected treachery of their chief, defended themselves with

desperate valor, till they were cut in pieces almost to a man, in

this bloody and memorable battle, which was fought near Chalons

in Champagne. The retreat of the irregular auxiliaries, Franks

and Batavians, whom the conqueror soon compelled or persuaded to

repass the Rhine, restored the general tranquillity, and the

power of Aurelian was acknowledged from the wall of Antoninus to

the columns of Hercules.

As early as the reign of Claudius, the city of Autun, alone and

unassisted, had ventured to declare against the legions of Gaul.

After a siege of seven months, they stormed and plundered that

unfortunate city, already wasted by famine. Lyons, on the

contrary, had resisted with obstinate disaffection the arms of

Aurelian. We read of the punishment of Lyons, but there is not

any mention of the rewards of Autun. Such, indeed, is the policy

of civil war: severely to remember injuries, and to forget the

most important services. Revenge is profitable, gratitude is

expensive.

Aurelian had no sooner secured the person and provinces of

Tetricus, than he turned his arms against Zenobia, the celebrated

queen of Palmyra and the East. Modern Europe has produced several

illustrious women who have sustained with glory the weight of

empire; nor is our own age destitute of such distinguished

characters. But if we except the doubtful achievements of

Semiramis, Zenobia is perhaps the only female whose superior

genius broke through the servile indolence imposed on her sex by

the climate and manners of Asia. She claimed her descent from the

Macedonian kings of Egypt, * equalled in beauty her ancestor

Cleopatra, and far surpassed that princess in chastity and valor.

Zenobia was esteemed the most lovely as well as the most heroic

of her sex. She was of a dark complexion (for in speaking of a

lady these trifles become important). Her teeth were of a pearly

whiteness, and her large black eyes sparkled with uncommon fire,

tempered by the most attractive sweetness. Her voice was strong

and harmonious. Her manly understanding was strengthened and

adorned by study. She was not ignorant of the Latin tongue, but

possessed in equal perfection the Greek, the Syriac, and the

Egyptian languages. She had drawn up for her own use an epitome

of oriental history, and familiarly compared the beauties of

Homer and Plato under the tuition of the sublime Longinus.

This accomplished woman gave her hand to Odenathus, who, from a

private station, raised himself to the dominion of the East. She

soon became the friend and companion of a hero. In the intervals

of war, Odenathus passionately delighted in the exercise of

hunting; he pursued with ardor the wild beasts of the desert,

lions, panthers, and bears; and the ardor of Zenobia in that

dangerous amusement was not inferior to his own. She had inured

her constitution to fatigue, disdained the use of a covered

carriage, generally appeared on horseback in a military habit,

and sometimes marched several miles on foot at the head of the

troops. The success of Odenathus was in a great measure ascribed

to her incomparable prudence and fortitude. Their splendid

victories over the Great King, whom they twice pursued as far as

the gates of Ctesiphon, laid the foundations of their united fame

and power. The armies which they commanded, and the provinces

which they had saved, acknowledged not any other sovereigns than

their invincible chiefs. The senate and people of Rome revered a

stranger who had avenged their captive emperor, and even the

insensible son of Valerian accepted Odenathus for his legitimate

colleague.

Chapter XI: Reign Of Claudius, Defeat Of The Goths.—Part III.

After a successful expedition against the Gothic plunderers of

Asia, the Palmyrenian prince returned to the city of Emesa in

Syria. Invincible in war, he was there cut off by domestic

treason, and his favorite amusement of hunting was the cause, or

at least the occasion, of his death. His nephew Mæonius presumed

to dart his javelin before that of his uncle; and though

admonished of his error, repeated the same insolence. As a

monarch, and as a sportsman, Odenathus was provoked, took away

his horse, a mark of ignominy among the barbarians, and chastised

the rash youth by a short confinement. The offence was soon

forgot, but the punishment was remembered; and Mæonius, with a

few daring associates, assassinated his uncle in the midst of a

great entertainment. Herod, the son of Odenathus, though not of

Zenobia, a young man of a soft and effeminate temper, was killed

with his father. But Mæonius obtained only the pleasure of

revenge by this bloody deed. He had scarcely time to assume the

title of Augustus, before he was sacrificed by Zenobia to the

memory of her husband.

With the assistance of his most faithful friends, she immediately

filled the vacant throne, and governed with manly counsels

Palmyra, Syria, and the East, above five years. By the death of

Odenathus, that authority was at an end which the senate had

granted him only as a personal distinction; but his martial

widow, disdaining both the senate and Gallienus, obliged one of

the Roman generals, who was sent against her, to retreat into

Europe, with the loss of his army and his reputation. Instead of

the little passions which so frequently perplex a female reign,

the steady administration of Zenobia was guided by the most

judicious maxims of policy. If it was expedient to pardon, she

could calm her resentment; if it was necessary to punish, she

could impose silence on the voice of pity. Her strict economy was

accused of avarice; yet on every proper occasion she appeared

magnificent and liberal. The neighboring states of Arabia,

Armenia, and Persia, dreaded her enmity, and solicited her

alliance. To the dominions of Odenathus, which extended from the

Euphrates to the frontiers of Bithynia, his widow added the

inheritance of her ancestors, the populous and fertile kingdom of

Egypt. * The emperor Claudius acknowledged her merit, and was

content, that, while _he_ pursued the Gothic war, _she_should

assert the dignity of the empire in the East. The conduct,

however, of Zenobia was attended with some ambiguity; not is it

unlikely that she had conceived the design of erecting an

independent and hostile monarchy. She blended with the popular

manners of Roman princes the stately pomp of the courts of Asia,

and exacted from her subjects the same adoration that was paid to

the successor of Cyrus. She bestowed on her three sons a Latin

education, and often showed them to the troops adorned with the

Imperial purple. For herself she reserved the diadem, with the

splendid but doubtful title of Queen of the East.

When Aurelian passed over into Asia, against an adversary whose

sex alone could render her an object of contempt, his presence

restored obedience to the province of Bithynia, already shaken by

the arms and intrigues of Zenobia. Advancing at the head of his

legions, he accepted the submission of Ancyra, and was admitted

into Tyana, after an obstinate siege, by the help of a perfidious

citizen. The generous though fierce temper of Aurelian abandoned

the traitor to the rage of the soldiers; a superstitious

reverence induced him to treat with lenity the countrymen of

Apollonius the philosopher. Antioch was deserted on his approach,

till the emperor, by his salutary edicts, recalled the fugitives,

and granted a general pardon to all who, from necessity rather

than choice, had been engaged in the service of the Palmyrenian

Queen. The unexpected mildness of such a conduct reconciled the

minds of the Syrians, and as far as the gates of Emesa, the

wishes of the people seconded the terror of his arms.

Zenobia would have ill deserved her reputation, had she

indolently permitted the emperor of the West to approach within a

hundred miles of her capital. The fate of the East was decided in

two great battles; so similar in almost every circumstance, that

we can scarcely distinguish them from each other, except by

observing that the first was fought near Antioch, and the second

near Emesa. In both the queen of Palmyra animated the armies by

her presence, and devolved the execution of her orders on Zabdas,

who had already signalized his military talents by the conquest

of Egypt. The numerous forces of Zenobia consisted for the most

part of light archers, and of heavy cavalry clothed in complete

steel. The Moorish and Illyrian horse of Aurelian were unable to

sustain the ponderous charge of their antagonists. They fled in

real or affected disorder, engaged the Palmyrenians in a

laborious pursuit, harassed them by a desultory combat, and at

length discomfited this impenetrable but unwieldy body of

cavalry. The light infantry, in the mean time, when they had

exhausted their quivers, remaining without protection against a

closer onset, exposed their naked sides to the swords of the

legions. Aurelian had chosen these veteran troops, who were

usually stationed on the Upper Danube, and whose valor had been

severely tried in the Alemannic war. After the defeat of Emesa,

Zenobia found it impossible to collect a third army. As far as

the frontier of Egypt, the nations subject to her empire had

joined the standard of the conqueror, who detached Probus, the

bravest of his generals, to possess himself of the Egyptian

provinces. Palmyra was the last resource of the widow of

Odenathus. She retired within the walls of her capital, made

every preparation for a vigorous resistance, and declared, with

the intrepidity of a heroine, that the last moment of her reign

and of her life should be the same.

Amid the barren deserts of Arabia, a few cultivated spots rise

like islands out of the sandy ocean. Even the name of Tadmor, or

Palmyra, by its signification in the Syriac as well as in the

Latin language, denoted the multitude of palm-trees which

afforded shade and verdure to that temperate region. The air was

pure, and the soil, watered by some invaluable springs, was

capable of producing fruits as well as corn. A place possessed of

such singular advantages, and situated at a convenient distance

between the Gulf of Persia and the Mediterranean, was soon

frequented by the caravans which conveyed to the nations of

Europe a considerable part of the rich commodities of India.

Palmyra insensibly increased into an opulent and independent

city, and connecting the Roman and the Parthian monarchies by the

mutual benefits of commerce, was suffered to observe an humble

neutrality, till at length, after the victories of Trajan, the

little republic sunk into the bosom of Rome, and flourished more

than one hundred and fifty years in the subordinate though

honorable rank of a colony. It was during that peaceful period,

if we may judge from a few remaining inscriptions, that the

wealthy Palmyrenians constructed those temples, palaces, and

porticos of Grecian architecture, whose ruins, scattered over an

extent of several miles, have deserved the curiosity of our

travellers. The elevation of Odenathus and Zenobia appeared to

reflect new splendor on their country, and Palmyra, for a while,

stood forth the rival of Rome: but the competition was fatal, and

ages of prosperity were sacrificed to a moment of glory.

In his march over the sandy desert between Emesa and Palmyra, the

emperor Aurelian was perpetually harassed by the Arabs; nor could

he always defend his army, and especially his baggage, from those

flying troops of active and daring robbers, who watched the

moment of surprise, and eluded the slow pursuit of the legions.

The siege of Palmyra was an object far more difficult and

important, and the emperor, who, with incessant vigor, pressed

the attacks in person, was himself wounded with a dart. “The

Roman people,” says Aurelian, in an original letter, “speak with

contempt of the war which I am waging against a woman. They are

ignorant both of the character and of the power of Zenobia. It is

impossible to enumerate her warlike preparations, of stones, of

arrows, and of every species of missile weapons. Every part of

the walls is provided with two or three _balistæ_ and artificial

fires are thrown from her military engines. The fear of

punishment has armed her with a desperate courage. Yet still I

trust in the protecting deities of Rome, who have hitherto been

favorable to all my undertakings.” Doubtful, however, of the

protection of the gods, and of the event of the siege, Aurelian

judged it more prudent to offer terms of an advantageous

capitulation; to the queen, a splendid retreat; to the citizens,

their ancient privileges. His proposals were obstinately

rejected, and the refusal was accompanied with insult.

The firmness of Zenobia was supported by the hope, that in a very

short time famine would compel the Roman army to repass the

desert; and by the reasonable expectation that the kings of the

East, and particularly the Persian monarch, would arm in the

defence of their most natural ally. But fortune, and the

perseverance of Aurelian, overcame every obstacle. The death of

Sapor, which happened about this time, distracted the councils of

Persia, and the inconsiderable succors that attempted to relieve

Palmyra were easily intercepted either by the arms or the

liberality of the emperor. From every part of Syria, a regular

succession of convoys safely arrived in the camp, which was

increased by the return of Probus with his victorious troops from

the conquest of Egypt. It was then that Zenobia resolved to fly.

She mounted the fleetest of her dromedaries, and had already

reached the banks of the Euphrates, about sixty miles from

Palmyra, when she was overtaken by the pursuit of Aurelian’s

light horse, seized, and brought back a captive to the feet of

the emperor. Her capital soon afterwards surrendered, and was

treated with unexpected lenity. The arms, horses, and camels,

with an immense treasure of gold, silver, silk, and precious

stones, were all delivered to the conqueror, who, leaving only a

garrison of six hundred archers, returned to Emesa, and employed

some time in the distribution of rewards and punishments at the

end of so memorable a war, which restored to the obedience of

Rome those provinces that had renounced their allegiance since

the captivity of Valerian.

When the Syrian queen was brought into the presence of Aurelian,

he sternly asked her, How she had presumed to rise in arms

against the emperors of Rome! The answer of Zenobia was a prudent

mixture of respect and firmness. “Because I disdained to consider

as Roman emperors an Aureolus or a Gallienus. You alone I

acknowledge as my conqueror and my sovereign.” But as female

fortitude is commonly artificial, so it is seldom steady or

consistent. The courage of Zenobia deserted her in the hour of

trial; she trembled at the angry clamors of the soldiers, who

called aloud for her immediate execution, forgot the generous

despair of Cleopatra, which she had proposed as her model, and

ignominiously purchased life by the sacrifice of her fame and her

friends. It was to their counsels, which governed the weakness of

her sex, that she imputed the guilt of her obstinate resistance;

it was on their heads that she directed the vengeance of the

cruel Aurelian. The fame of Longinus, who was included among the

numerous and perhaps innocent victims of her fear, will survive

that of the queen who betrayed, or the tyrant who condemned him.

Genius and learning were incapable of moving a fierce unlettered

soldier, but they had served to elevate and harmonize the soul of

Longinus. Without uttering a complaint, he calmly followed the

executioner, pitying his unhappy mistress, and bestowing comfort

on his afflicted friends.

Returning from the conquest of the East, Aurelian had already

crossed the Straits which divided Europe from Asia, when he was

provoked by the intelligence that the Palmyrenians had massacred

the governor and garrison which he had left among them, and again

erected the standard of revolt. Without a moment’s deliberation,

he once more turned his face towards Syria. Antioch was alarmed

by his rapid approach, and the helpless city of Palmyra felt the

irresistible weight of his resentment. We have a letter of

Aurelian himself, in which he acknowledges, that old men, women,

children, and peasants, had been involved in that dreadful

execution, which should have been confined to armed rebellion;

and although his principal concern seems directed to the

reëstablishment of a temple of the Sun, he discovers some pity

for the remnant of the Palmyrenians, to whom he grants the

permission of rebuilding and inhabiting their city. But it is

easier to destroy than to restore. The seat of commerce, of arts,

and of Zenobia, gradually sunk into an obscure town, a trifling

fortress, and at length a miserable village. The present citizens

of Palmyra, consisting of thirty or forty families, have erected

their mud cottages within the spacious court of a magnificent

temple.

Another and a last labor still awaited the indefatigable

Aurelian; to suppress a dangerous though obscure rebel, who,

during the revolt of Palmyra, had arisen on the banks of the

Nile. Firmus, the friend and ally, as he proudly styled himself,

of Odenathus and Zenobia, was no more than a wealthy merchant of

Egypt. In the course of his trade to India, he had formed very

intimate connections with the Saracens and the Blemmyes, whose

situation on either coast of the Red Sea gave them an easy

introduction into the Upper Egypt. The Egyptians he inflamed with

the hope of freedom, and, at the head of their furious multitude,

broke into the city of Alexandria, where he assumed the Imperial

purple, coined money, published edicts, and raised an army,

which, as he vainly boasted, he was capable of maintaining from

the sole profits of his paper trade. Such troops were a feeble

defence against the approach of Aurelian; and it seems almost

unnecessary to relate, that Firmus was routed, taken, tortured,

and put to death. Aurelian might now congratulate the senate, the

people, and himself, that in little more than three years, he had

restored universal peace and order to the Roman world.

Since the foundation of Rome, no general had more nobly deserved

a triumph than Aurelian; nor was a triumph ever celebrated with

superior pride and magnificence. The pomp was opened by twenty

elephants, four royal tigers, and above two hundred of the most

curious animals from every climate of the North, the East, and

the South. They were followed by sixteen hundred gladiators,

devoted to the cruel amusement of the amphitheatre. The wealth of

Asia, the arms and ensigns of so many conquered nations, and the

magnificent plate and wardrobe of the Syrian queen, were disposed

in exact symmetry or artful disorder. The ambassadors of the most

remote parts of the earth, of Æthiopia, Arabia, Persia,

Bactriana, India, and China, all remarkable by their rich or

singular dresses, displayed the fame and power of the Roman

emperor, who exposed likewise to the public view the presents

that he had received, and particularly a great number of crowns

of gold, the offerings of grateful cities. The victories of

Aurelian were attested by the long train of captives who

reluctantly attended his triumph, Goths, Vandals, Sarmatians,

Alemanni, Franks, Gauls, Syrians, and Egyptians. Each people was

distinguished by its peculiar inscription, and the title of

Amazons was bestowed on ten martial heroines of the Gothic nation

who had been taken in arms. But every eye, disregarding the crowd

of captives, was fixed on the emperor Tetricus and the queen of

the East. The former, as well as his son, whom he had created

Augustus, was dressed in Gallic trousers, a saffron tunic, and a

robe of purple. The beauteous figure of Zenobia was confined by

fetters of gold; a slave supported the gold chain which encircled

her neck, and she almost fainted under the intolerable weight of

jewels. She preceded on foot the magnificent chariot, in which

she once hoped to enter the gates of Rome. It was followed by two

other chariots, still more sumptuous, of Odenathus and of the

Persian monarch. The triumphal car of Aurelian (it had formerly

been used by a Gothic king) was drawn, on this memorable

occasion, either by four stags or by four elephants. The most

illustrious of the senate, the people, and the army, closed the

solemn procession. Unfeigned joy, wonder, and gratitude, swelled

the acclamations of the multitude; but the satisfaction of the

senate was clouded by the appearance of Tetricus; nor could they

suppress a rising murmur, that the haughty emperor should thus

expose to public ignominy the person of a Roman and a magistrate.

But however, in the treatment of his unfortunate rivals, Aurelian

might indulge his pride, he behaved towards them with a generous

clemency, which was seldom exercised by the ancient conquerors.

Princes who, without success, had defended their throne or

freedom, were frequently strangled in prison, as soon as the

triumphal pomp ascended the Capitol. These usurpers, whom their

defeat had convicted of the crime of treason, were permitted to

spend their lives in affluence and honorable repose. The emperor

presented Zenobia with an elegant villa at Tibur, or Tivoli,

about twenty miles from the capital; the Syrian queen insensibly

sunk into a Roman matron, her daughters married into noble

families, and her race was not yet extinct in the fifth century.

Tetricus and his son were reinstated in their rank and fortunes.

They erected on the Cælian hill a magnificent palace, and as soon

as it was finished, invited Aurelian to supper. On his entrance,

he was agreeably surprised with a picture which represented their

singular history. They were delineated offering to the emperor a

civic crown and the sceptre of Gaul, and again receiving at his

hands the ornaments of the senatorial dignity. The father was

afterwards invested with the government of Lucania, and Aurelian,

who soon admitted the abdicated monarch to his friendship and

conversation, familiarly asked him, Whether it were not more

desirable to administer a province of Italy, than to reign beyond

the Alps. The son long continued a respectable member of the

senate; nor was there any one of the Roman nobility more esteemed

by Aurelian, as well as by his successors.

So long and so various was the pomp of Aurelian’s triumph, that

although it opened with the dawn of day, the slow majesty of the

procession ascended not the Capitol before the ninth hour; and it

was already dark when the emperor returned to the palace. The

festival was protracted by theatrical representations, the games

of the circus, the hunting of wild beasts, combats of gladiators,

and naval engagements. Liberal donatives were distributed to the

army and people, and several institutions, agreeable or

beneficial to the city, contributed to perpetuate the glory of

Aurelian. A considerable portion of his oriental spoils was

consecrated to the gods of Rome; the Capitol, and every other

temple, glittered with the offerings of his ostentatious piety;

and the temple of the Sun alone received above fifteen thousand

pounds of gold. This last was a magnificent structure, erected by

the emperor on the side of the Quirinal hill, and dedicated, soon

after the triumph, to that deity whom Aurelian adored as the

parent of his life and fortunes. His mother had been an inferior

priestess in a chapel of the Sun; a peculiar devotion to the god

of Light was a sentiment which the fortunate peasant imbibed in

his infancy; and every step of his elevation, every victory of

his reign, fortified superstition by gratitude.

The arms of Aurelian had vanquished the foreign and domestic foes

of the republic. We are assured, that, by his salutary rigor,

crimes and factions, mischievous arts and pernicious connivance,

the luxurious growth of a feeble and oppressive government, were

eradicated throughout the Roman world. But if we attentively

reflect how much swifter is the progress of corruption than its

cure, and if we remember that the years abandoned to public

disorders exceeded the months allotted to the martial reign of

Aurelian, we must confess that a few short intervals of peace

were insufficient for the arduous work of reformation. Even his

attempt to restore the integrity of the coin was opposed by a

formidable insurrection. The emperor’s vexation breaks out in one

of his private letters. “Surely,” says he, “the gods have decreed

that my life should be a perpetual warfare. A sedition within the

walls has just now given birth to a very serious civil war. The

workmen of the mint, at the instigation of Felicissimus, a slave

to whom I had intrusted an employment in the finances, have risen

in rebellion. They are at length suppressed; but seven thousand

of my soldiers have been slain in the contest, of those troops

whose ordinary station is in Dacia, and the camps along the

Danube.” Other writers, who confirm the same fact, add likewise,

that it happened soon after Aurelian’s triumph; that the decisive

engagement was fought on the Cælian hill; that the workmen of the

mint had adulterated the coin; and that the emperor restored the

public credit, by delivering out good money in exchange for the

bad, which the people was commanded to bring into the treasury.

We might content ourselves with relating this extraordinary

transaction, but we cannot dissemble how much in its present form

it appears to us inconsistent and incredible. The debasement of

the coin is indeed well suited to the administration of

Gallienus; nor is it unlikely that the instruments of the

corruption might dread the inflexible justice of Aurelian. But

the guilt, as well as the profit, must have been confined to a

very few; nor is it easy to conceive by what arts they could arm

a people whom they had injured, against a monarch whom they had

betrayed. We might naturally expect that such miscreants should

have shared the public detestation with the informers and the

other ministers of oppression; and that the reformation of the

coin should have been an action equally popular with the

destruction of those obsolete accounts, which by the emperor’s

order were burnt in the forum of Trajan. In an age when the

principles of commerce were so imperfectly understood, the most

desirable end might perhaps be effected by harsh and injudicious

means; but a temporary grievance of such a nature can scarcely

excite and support a serious civil war. The repetition of

intolerable taxes, imposed either on the land or on the

necessaries of life, may at last provoke those who will not, or

who cannot, relinquish their country. But the case is far

otherwise in every operation which, by whatsoever expedients,

restores the just value of money. The transient evil is soon

obliterated by the permanent benefit, the loss is divided among

multitudes; and if a few wealthy individuals experience a

sensible diminution of treasure, with their riches, they at the

same time lose the degree of weight and importance which they

derived from the possession of them. However Aurelian might

choose to disguise the real cause of the insurrection, his

reformation of the coin could furnish only a faint pretence to a

party already powerful and discontented. Rome, though deprived of

freedom, was distracted by faction. The people, towards whom the

emperor, himself a plebeian, always expressed a peculiar

fondness, lived in perpetual dissension with the senate, the

equestrian order, and the Prætorian guards. Nothing less than the

firm though secret conspiracy of those orders, of the authority

of the first, the wealth of the second, and the arms of the

third, could have displayed a strength capable of contending in

battle with the veteran legions of the Danube, which, under the

conduct of a martial sovereign, had achieved the conquest of the

West and of the East.

Whatever was the cause or the object of this rebellion, imputed

with so little probability to the workmen of the mint, Aurelian

used his victory with unrelenting rigor. He was naturally of a

severe disposition. A peasant and a soldier, his nerves yielded

not easily to the impressions of sympathy, and he could sustain

without emotion the sight of tortures and death. Trained from his

earliest youth in the exercise of arms, he set too small a value

on the life of a citizen, chastised by military execution the

slightest offences, and transferred the stern discipline of the

camp into the civil administration of the laws. His love of

justice often became a blind and furious passion; and whenever he

deemed his own or the public safety endangered, he disregarded

the rules of evidence, and the proportion of punishments. The

unprovoked rebellion with which the Romans rewarded his services,

exasperated his haughty spirit. The noblest families of the

capital were involved in the guilt or suspicion of this dark

conspiracy. A nasty spirit of revenge urged the bloody

prosecution, and it proved fatal to one of the nephews of the

emperor. The executioners (if we may use the expression of a

contemporary poet) were fatigued, the prisons were crowded, and

the unhappy senate lamented the death or absence of its most

illustrious members. Nor was the pride of Aurelian less offensive

to that assembly than his cruelty. Ignorant or impatient of the

restraints of civil institutions, he disdained to hold his power

by any other title than that of the sword, and governed by right

of conquest an empire which he had saved and subdued.

It was observed by one of the most sagacious of the Roman

princes, that the talents of his predecessor Aurelian were better

suited to the command of an army, than to the government of an

empire. Conscious of the character in which nature and experience

had enabled him to excel, he again took the field a few months

after his triumph. It was expedient to exercise the restless

temper of the legions in some foreign war, and the Persian

monarch, exulting in the shame of Valerian, still braved with

impunity the offended majesty of Rome. At the head of an army,

less formidable by its numbers than by its discipline and valor,

the emperor advanced as far as the Straits which divide Europe

from Asia. He there experienced that the most absolute power is a

weak defence against the effects of despair. He had threatened

one of his secretaries who was accused of extortion; and it was

known that he seldom threatened in vain. The last hope which

remained for the criminal was to involve some of the principal

officers of the army in his danger, or at least in his fears.

Artfully counterfeiting his master’s hand, he showed them, in a

long and bloody list, their own names devoted to death. Without

suspecting or examining the fraud, they resolved to secure their

lives by the murder of the emperor. On his march, between

Byzantium and Heraclea, Aurelian was suddenly attacked by the

conspirators, whose stations gave them a right to surround his

person, and after a short resistance, fell by the hand of

Mucapor, a general whom he had always loved and trusted. He died

regretted by the army, detested by the senate, but universally

acknowledged as a warlike and fortunate prince, the useful,

though severe reformer of a degenerate state.

Chapter XII: Reigns Of Tacitus, Probus, Carus And His Sons.—Part

I.

Conduct Of The Army And Senate After The Death Of Aurelian.—Reigns Of

Tacitus, Probus, Carus, And His Sons.

Such was the unhappy condition of the Roman emperors, that,

whatever might be their conduct, their fate was commonly the

same. A life of pleasure or virtue, of severity or mildness, of

indolence or glory, alike led to an untimely grave; and almost

every reign is closed by the same disgusting repetition of

treason and murder. The death of Aurelian, however, is remarkable

by its extraordinary consequences. The legions admired, lamented,

and revenged their victorious chief. The artifice of his

perfidious secretary was discovered and punished. The deluded

conspirators attended the funeral of their injured sovereign,

with sincere or well-feigned contrition, and submitted to the

unanimous resolution of the military order, which was signified

by the following epistle: “The brave and fortunate armies to the

senate and people of Rome.—The crime of one man, and the error of

many, have deprived us of the late emperor Aurelian. May it

please you, venerable lords and fathers! to place him in the

number of the gods, and to appoint a successor whom your judgment

shall declare worthy of the Imperial purple! None of those whose

guilt or misfortune have contributed to our loss, shall ever

reign over us.” The Roman senators heard, without surprise, that

another emperor had been assassinated in his camp; they secretly

rejoiced in the fall of Aurelian; but the modest and dutiful

address of the legions, when it was communicated in full assembly

by the consul, diffused the most pleasing astonishment. Such

honors as fear and perhaps esteem could extort, they liberally

poured forth on the memory of their deceased sovereign. Such

acknowledgments as gratitude could inspire, they returned to the

faithful armies of the republic, who entertained so just a sense

of the legal authority of the senate in the choice of an emperor.

Yet, notwithstanding this flattering appeal, the most prudent of

the assembly declined exposing their safety and dignity to the

caprice of an armed multitude. The strength of the legions was,

indeed, a pledge of their sincerity, since those who may command

are seldom reduced to the necessity of dissembling; but could it

naturally be expected, that a hasty repentance would correct the

inveterate habits of fourscore years? Should the soldiers relapse

into their accustomed seditions, their insolence might disgrace

the majesty of the senate, and prove fatal to the object of its

choice. Motives like these dictated a decree, by which the

election of a new emperor was referred to the suffrage of the

military order.

The contention that ensued is one of the best attested, but most

improbable events in the history of mankind. The troops, as if

satiated with the exercise of power, again conjured the senate to

invest one of its own body with the Imperial purple. The senate

still persisted in its refusal; the army in its request. The

reciprocal offer was pressed and rejected at least three times,

and, whilst the obstinate modesty of either party was resolved to

receive a master from the hands of the other, eight months

insensibly elapsed; an amazing period of tranquil anarchy, during

which the Roman world remained without a sovereign, without a

usurper, and without a sedition. * The generals and magistrates

appointed by Aurelian continued to execute their ordinary

functions; and it is observed, that a proconsul of Asia was the

only considerable person removed from his office in the whole

course of the interregnum.

An event somewhat similar, but much less authentic, is supposed

to have happened after the death of Romulus, who, in his life and

character, bore some affinity with Aurelian. The throne was

vacant during twelve months, till the election of a Sabine

philosopher, and the public peace was guarded in the same manner,

by the union of the several orders of the state. But, in the time

of Numa and Romulus, the arms of the people were controlled by

the authority of the Patricians; and the balance of freedom was

easily preserved in a small and virtuous community. The decline

of the Roman state, far different from its infancy, was attended

with every circumstance that could banish from an interregnum the

prospect of obedience and harmony: an immense and tumultuous

capital, a wide extent of empire, the servile equality of

despotism, an army of four hundred thousand mercenaries, and the

experience of frequent revolutions. Yet, notwithstanding all

these temptations, the discipline and memory of Aurelian still

restrained the seditious temper of the troops, as well as the

fatal ambition of their leaders. The flower of the legions

maintained their stations on the banks of the Bosphorus, and the

Imperial standard awed the less powerful camps of Rome and of the

provinces. A generous though transient enthusiasm seemed to

animate the military order; and we may hope that a few real

patriots cultivated the returning friendship of the army and the

senate as the only expedient capable of restoring the republic to

its ancient beauty and vigor.

On the twenty-fifth of September, near eight months after the

murder of Aurelian, the consul convoked an assembly of the

senate, and reported the doubtful and dangerous situation of the

empire. He slightly insinuated, that the precarious loyalty of

the soldiers depended on the chance of every hour, and of every

accident; but he represented, with the most convincing eloquence,

the various dangers that might attend any further delay in the

choice of an emperor. Intelligence, he said, was already

received, that the Germans had passed the Rhine, and occupied

some of the strongest and most opulent cities of Gaul. The

ambition of the Persian king kept the East in perpetual alarms;

Egypt, Africa, and Illyricum, were exposed to foreign and

domestic arms, and the levity of Syria would prefer even a female

sceptre to the sanctity of the Roman laws. The consul, then

addressing himself to Tacitus, the first of the senators,

required his opinion on the important subject of a proper

candidate for the vacant throne.

If we can prefer personal merit to accidental greatness, we shall

esteem the birth of Tacitus more truly noble than that of kings.

He claimed his descent from the philosophic historian whose

writings will instruct the last generations of mankind. The

senator Tacitus was then seventy-five years of age. The long

period of his innocent life was adorned with wealth and honors.

He had twice been invested with the consular dignity, and enjoyed

with elegance and sobriety his ample patrimony of between two and

three millions sterling. The experience of so many princes, whom

he had esteemed or endured, from the vain follies of Elagabalus

to the useful rigor of Aurelian, taught him to form a just

estimate of the duties, the dangers, and the temptations of their

sublime station. From the assiduous study of his immortal

ancestor, he derived the knowledge of the Roman constitution, and

of human nature. The voice of the people had already named

Tacitus as the citizen the most worthy of empire. The ungrateful

rumor reached his ears, and induced him to seek the retirement of

one of his villas in Campania. He had passed two months in the

delightful privacy of Baiæ, when he reluctantly obeyed the

summons of the consul to resume his honorable place in the

senate, and to assist the republic with his counsels on this

important occasion.

He arose to speak, when from every quarter of the house, he was

saluted with the names of Augustus and emperor. “Tacitus

Augustus, the gods preserve thee! we choose thee for our

sovereign; to thy care we intrust the republic and the world.

Accept the empire from the authority of the senate. It is due to

thy rank, to thy conduct, to thy manners.” As soon as the tumult

of acclamations subsided, Tacitus attempted to decline the

dangerous honor, and to express his wonder, that they should

elect his age and infirmities to succeed the martial vigor of

Aurelian. “Are these limbs, conscript fathers! fitted to sustain

the weight of armor, or to practise the exercises of the camp?

The variety of climates, and the hardships of a military life,

would soon oppress a feeble constitution, which subsists only by

the most tender management. My exhausted strength scarcely

enables me to discharge the duty of a senator; how insufficient

would it prove to the arduous labors of war and government! Can

you hope, that the legions will respect a weak old man, whose

days have been spent in the shade of peace and retirement? Can

you desire that I should ever find reason to regret the favorable

opinion of the senate?”

The reluctance of Tacitus (and it might possibly be sincere) was

encountered by the affectionate obstinacy of the senate. Five

hundred voices repeated at once, in eloquent confusion, that the

greatest of the Roman princes, Numa, Trajan, Hadrian, and the

Antonines, had ascended the throne in a very advanced season of

life; that the mind, not the body, a sovereign, not a soldier,

was the object of their choice; and that they expected from him

no more than to guide by his wisdom the valor of the legions.

These pressing though tumultuary instances were seconded by a

more regular oration of Metius Falconius, the next on the

consular bench to Tacitus himself. He reminded the assembly of

the evils which Rome had endured from the vices of headstrong and

capricious youths, congratulated them on the election of a

virtuous and experienced senator, and, with a manly, though

perhaps a selfish, freedom, exhorted Tacitus to remember the

reasons of his elevation, and to seek a successor, not in his own

family, but in the republic. The speech of Falconius was enforced

by a general acclamation. The emperor elect submitted to the

authority of his country, and received the voluntary homage of

his equals. The judgment of the senate was confirmed by the

consent of the Roman people and of the Prætorian guards.

The administration of Tacitus was not unworthy of his life and

principles. A grateful servant of the senate, he considered that

national council as the author, and himself as the subject, of

the laws. He studied to heal the wounds which Imperial pride,

civil discord, and military violence, had inflicted on the

constitution, and to restore, at least, the image of the ancient

republic, as it had been preserved by the policy of Augustus, and

the virtues of Trajan and the Antonines. It may not be useless to

recapitulate some of the most important prerogatives which the

senate appeared to have regained by the election of Tacitus. 1.

To invest one of their body, under the title of emperor, with the

general command of the armies, and the government of the frontier

provinces. 2. To determine the list, or, as it was then styled,

the College of Consuls. They were twelve in number, who, in

successive pairs, each, during the space of two months, filled

the year, and represented the dignity of that ancient office. The

authority of the senate, in the nomination of the consuls, was

exercised with such independent freedom, that no regard was paid

to an irregular request of the emperor in favor of his brother

Florianus. “The senate,” exclaimed Tacitus, with the honest

transport of a patriot, “understand the character of a prince

whom they have chosen.” 3. To appoint the proconsuls and

presidents of the provinces, and to confer on all the magistrates

their civil jurisdiction. 4. To receive appeals through the

intermediate office of the præfect of the city from all the

tribunals of the empire. 5. To give force and validity, by their

decrees, to such as they should approve of the emperor’s edicts.

6. To these several branches of authority we may add some

inspection over the finances, since, even in the stern reign of

Aurelian, it was in their power to divert a part of the revenue

from the public service.

Circular epistles were sent, without delay, to all the principal

cities of the empire, Treves, Milan, Aquileia, Thessalonica,

Corinth, Athens, Antioch, Alexandria, and Carthage, to claim

their obedience, and to inform them of the happy revolution,

which had restored the Roman senate to its ancient dignity. Two

of these epistles are still extant. We likewise possess two very

singular fragments of the private correspondence of the senators

on this occasion. They discover the most excessive joy, and the

most unbounded hopes. “Cast away your indolence,” it is thus that

one of the senators addresses his friend, “emerge from your

retirements of Baiæ and Puteoli. Give yourself to the city, to

the senate. Rome flourishes, the whole republic flourishes.

Thanks to the Roman army, to an army truly Roman; at length we

have recovered our just authority, the end of all our desires. We

hear appeals, we appoint proconsuls, we create emperors; perhaps

too we may restrain them—to the wise a word is sufficient.” These

lofty expectations were, however, soon disappointed; nor, indeed,

was it possible that the armies and the provinces should long

obey the luxurious and unwarlike nobles of Rome. On the slightest

touch, the unsupported fabric of their pride and power fell to

the ground. The expiring senate displayed a sudden lustre, blazed

for a moment, and was extinguished forever.

All that had yet passed at Rome was no more than a theatrical

representation, unless it was ratified by the more substantial

power of the legions. Leaving the senators to enjoy their dream

of freedom and ambition, Tacitus proceeded to the Thracian camp,

and was there, by the Prætorian præfect, presented to the

assembled troops, as the prince whom they themselves had

demanded, and whom the senate had bestowed. As soon as the

præfect was silent, the emperor addressed himself to the soldiers

with eloquence and propriety. He gratified their avarice by a

liberal distribution of treasure, under the names of pay and

donative. He engaged their esteem by a spirited declaration, that

although his age might disable him from the performance of

military exploits, his counsels should never be unworthy of a

Roman general, the successor of the brave Aurelian.

Whilst the deceased emperor was making preparations for a second

expedition into the East, he had negotiated with the Alani, * a

Scythian people, who pitched their tents in the neighborhood of

the Lake Mæotis. Those barbarians, allured by presents and

subsidies, had promised to invade Persia with a numerous body of

light cavalry. They were faithful to their engagements; but when

they arrived on the Roman frontier, Aurelian was already dead,

the design of the Persian war was at least suspended, and the

generals, who, during the interregnum, exercised a doubtful

authority, were unprepared either to receive or to oppose them.

Provoked by such treatment, which they considered as trifling and

perfidious, the Alani had recourse to their own valor for their

payment and revenge; and as they moved with the usual swiftness

of Tartars, they had soon spread themselves over the provinces of

Pontus, Cappadocia, Cilicia, and Galatia. The legions, who from

the opposite shores of the Bosphorus could almost distinguish the

flames of the cities and villages, impatiently urged their

general to lead them against the invaders. The conduct of Tacitus

was suitable to his age and station. He convinced the barbarians

of the faith, as well as the power, of the empire. Great numbers

of the Alani, appeased by the punctual discharge of the

engagements which Aurelian had contracted with them, relinquished

their booty and captives, and quietly retreated to their own

deserts, beyond the Phasis. Against the remainder, who refused

peace, the Roman emperor waged, in person, a successful war.

Seconded by an army of brave and experienced veterans, in a few

weeks he delivered the provinces of Asia from the terror of the

Scythian invasion.

But the glory and life of Tacitus were of short duration.

Transported, in the depth of winter, from the soft retirement of

Campania to the foot of Mount Caucasus, he sunk under the

unaccustomed hardships of a military life. The fatigues of the

body were aggravated by the cares of the mind. For a while, the

angry and selfish passions of the soldiers had been suspended by

the enthusiasm of public virtue. They soon broke out with

redoubled violence, and raged in the camp, and even in the tent

of the aged emperor. His mild and amiable character served only

to inspire contempt, and he was incessantly tormented with

factions which he could not assuage, and by demands which it was

impossible to satisfy. Whatever flattering expectations he had

conceived of reconciling the public disorders, Tacitus soon was

convinced that the licentiousness of the army disdained the

feeble restraint of laws, and his last hour was hastened by

anguish and disappointment. It may be doubtful whether the

soldiers imbrued their hands in the blood of this innocent

prince. It is certain that their insolence was the cause of his

death. He expired at Tyana in Cappadocia, after a reign of only

six months and about twenty days.

The eyes of Tacitus were scarcely closed, before his brother

Florianus showed himself unworthy to reign, by the hasty

usurpation of the purple, without expecting the approbation of

the senate. The reverence for the Roman constitution, which yet

influenced the camp and the provinces, was sufficiently strong to

dispose them to censure, but not to provoke them to oppose, the

precipitate ambition of Florianus. The discontent would have

evaporated in idle murmurs, had not the general of the East, the

heroic Probus, boldly declared himself the avenger of the senate.

The contest, however, was still unequal; nor could the most able

leader, at the head of the effeminate troops of Egypt and Syria,

encounter, with any hopes of victory, the legions of Europe,

whose irresistible strength appeared to support the brother of

Tacitus. But the fortune and activity of Probus triumphed over

every obstacle. The hardy veterans of his rival, accustomed to

cold climates, sickened and consumed away in the sultry heats of

Cilicia, where the summer proved remarkably unwholesome. Their

numbers were diminished by frequent desertion; the passes of the

mountains were feebly defended; Tarsus opened its gates; and the

soldiers of Florianus, when they had permitted him to enjoy the

Imperial title about three months, delivered the empire from

civil war by the easy sacrifice of a prince whom they despised.

The perpetual revolutions of the throne had so perfectly erased

every notion of hereditary title, that the family of an

unfortunate emperor was incapable of exciting the jealousy of his

successors. The children of Tacitus and Florianus were permitted

to descend into a private station, and to mingle with the general

mass of the people. Their poverty indeed became an additional

safeguard to their innocence. When Tacitus was elected by the

senate, he resigned his ample patrimony to the public service; an

act of generosity specious in appearance, but which evidently

disclosed his intention of transmitting the empire to his

descendants. The only consolation of their fallen state was the

remembrance of transient greatness, and a distant hope, the child

of a flattering prophecy, that at the end of a thousand years, a

monarch of the race of Tacitus should arise, the protector of the

senate, the restorer of Rome, and the conqueror of the whole

earth.

The peasants of Illyricum, who had already given Claudius and

Aurelian to the sinking empire, had an equal right to glory in

the elevation of Probus. Above twenty years before, the emperor

Valerian, with his usual penetration, had discovered the rising

merit of the young soldier, on whom he conferred the rank of

tribune, long before the age prescribed by the military

regulations. The tribune soon justified his choice, by a victory

over a great body of Sarmatians, in which he saved the life of a

near relation of Valerian; and deserved to receive from the

emperor’s hand the collars, bracelets, spears, and banners, the

mural and the civic crown, and all the honorable rewards reserved

by ancient Rome for successful valor. The third, and afterwards

the tenth, legion were intrusted to the command of Probus, who,

in every step of his promotion, showed himself superior to the

station which he filled. Africa and Pontus, the Rhine, the

Danube, the Euphrates, and the Nile, by turns afforded him the

most splendid occasions of displaying his personal prowess and

his conduct in war. Aurelian was indebted for the honest courage

with which he often checked the cruelty of his master. Tacitus,

who desired by the abilities of his generals to supply his own

deficiency of military talents, named him commander-in-chief of

all the eastern provinces, with five times the usual salary, the

promise of the consulship, and the hope of a triumph. When Probus

ascended the Imperial throne, he was about forty-four years of

age; in the full possession of his fame, of the love of the army,

and of a mature vigor of mind and body.

His acknowledged merit, and the success of his arms against

Florianus, left him without an enemy or a competitor. Yet, if we

may credit his own professions, very far from being desirous of

the empire, he had accepted it with the most sincere reluctance.

“But it is no longer in my power,” says Probus, in a private

letter, “to lay down a title so full of envy and of danger. I

must continue to personate the character which the soldiers have

imposed upon me.” His dutiful address to the senate displayed the

sentiments, or at least the language, of a Roman patriot: “When

you elected one of your order, conscript fathers! to succeed the

emperor Aurelian, you acted in a manner suitable to your justice

and wisdom. For you are the legal sovereigns of the world, and

the power which you derive from your ancestors will descend to

your posterity. Happy would it have been, if Florianus, instead

of usurping the purple of his brother, like a private

inheritance, had expected what your majesty might determine,

either in his favor, or in that of any other person. The prudent

soldiers have punished his rashness. To me they have offered the

title of Augustus. But I submit to your clemency my pretensions

and my merits.” When this respectful epistle was read by the

consul, the senators were unable to disguise their satisfaction,

that Probus should condescend thus humbly to solicit a sceptre

which he already possessed. They celebrated with the warmest

gratitude his virtues, his exploits, and above all his

moderation. A decree immediately passed, without a dissenting

voice, to ratify the election of the eastern armies, and to

confer on their chief all the several branches of the Imperial

dignity: the names of Cæsar and Augustus, the title of Father of

his country, the right of making in the same day three motions in

the senate, the office of Pontifex Maximus, the tribunitian

power, and the proconsular command; a mode of investiture, which,

though it seemed to multiply the authority of the emperor,

expressed the constitution of the ancient republic. The reign of

Probus corresponded with this fair beginning. The senate was

permitted to direct the civil administration of the empire. Their

faithful general asserted the honor of the Roman arms, and often

laid at their feet crowns of gold and barbaric trophies, the

fruits of his numerous victories. Yet, whilst he gratified their

vanity, he must secretly have despised their indolence and

weakness. Though it was every moment in their power to repeal the

disgraceful edict of Gallienus, the proud successors of the

Scipios patiently acquiesced in their exclusion from all military

employments. They soon experienced, that those who refuse the

sword must renounce the sceptre.

Chapter XII: Reigns Of Tacitus, Probus, Carus And His Sons.—Part

II.

The strength of Aurelian had crushed on every side the enemies of

Rome. After his death they seemed to revive with an increase of

fury and of numbers. They were again vanquished by the active

vigor of Probus, who, in a short reign of about six years,

equalled the fame of ancient heroes, and restored peace and order

to every province of the Roman world. The dangerous frontier of

Rhætia he so firmly secured, that he left it without the

suspicion of an enemy. He broke the wandering power of the

Sarmatian tribes, and by the terror of his arms compelled those

barbarians to relinquish their spoil. The Gothic nation courted

the alliance of so warlike an emperor. He attacked the Isaurians

in their mountains, besieged and took several of their strongest

castles, and flattered himself that he had forever suppressed a

domestic foe, whose independence so deeply wounded the majesty of

the empire. The troubles excited by the usurper Firmus in the

Upper Egypt had never been perfectly appeased, and the cities of

Ptolemais and Coptos, fortified by the alliance of the Blemmyes,

still maintained an obscure rebellion. The chastisement of those

cities, and of their auxiliaries the savages of the South, is

said to have alarmed the court of Persia, and the Great King sued

in vain for the friendship of Probus. Most of the exploits which

distinguished his reign were achieved by the personal valor and

conduct of the emperor, insomuch that the writer of his life

expresses some amazement how, in so short a time, a single man

could be present in so many distant wars. The remaining actions

he intrusted to the care of his lieutenants, the judicious choice

of whom forms no inconsiderable part of his glory. Carus,

Diocletian, Maximian, Constantius, Galerius, Asclepiodatus,

Annibalianus, and a crowd of other chiefs, who afterwards

ascended or supported the throne, were trained to arms in the

severe school of Aurelian and Probus.

But the most important service which Probus rendered to the

republic was the deliverance of Gaul, and the recovery of seventy

flourishing cities oppressed by the barbarians of Germany, who,

since the death of Aurelian, had ravaged that great province with

impunity. Among the various multitude of those fierce invaders we

may distinguish, with some degree of clearness, three great

armies, or rather nations, successively vanquished by the valor

of Probus. He drove back the Franks into their morasses; a

descriptive circumstance from whence we may infer, that the

confederacy known by the manly appellation of _Free_, already

occupied the flat maritime country, intersected and almost

overflown by the stagnating waters of the Rhine, and that several

tribes of the Frisians and Batavians had acceded to their

alliance. He vanquished the Burgundians, a considerable people of

the Vandalic race. * They had wandered in quest of booty from the

banks of the Oder to those of the Seine. They esteemed themselves

sufficiently fortunate to purchase, by the restitution of all

their booty, the permission of an undisturbed retreat. They

attempted to elude that article of the treaty. Their punishment

was immediate and terrible. But of all the invaders of Gaul, the

most formidable were the Lygians, a distant people, who reigned

over a wide domain on the frontiers of Poland and Silesia. In the

Lygian nation, the Arii held the first rank by their numbers and

fierceness. “The Arii” (it is thus that they are described by the

energy of Tacitus) “study to improve by art and circumstances the

innate terrors of their barbarism. Their shields are black, their

bodies are painted black. They choose for the combat the darkest

hour of the night. Their host advances, covered as it were with a

funeral shade; nor do they often find an enemy capable of

sustaining so strange and infernal an aspect. Of all our senses,

the eyes are the first vanquished in battle.” Yet the arms and

discipline of the Romans easily discomfited these horrid

phantoms. The Lygii were defeated in a general engagement, and

Semno, the most renowned of their chiefs, fell alive into the

hands of Probus. That prudent emperor, unwilling to reduce a

brave people to despair, granted them an honorable capitulation,

and permitted them to return in safety to their native country.

But the losses which they suffered in the march, the battle, and

the retreat, broke the power of the nation: nor is the Lygian

name ever repeated in the history either of Germany or of the

empire. The deliverance of Gaul is reported to have cost the

lives of four hundred thousand of the invaders; a work of labor

to the Romans, and of expense to the emperor, who gave a piece of

gold for the head of every barbarian. But as the fame of warriors

is built on the destruction of human kind, we may naturally

suspect that the sanguinary account was multiplied by the avarice

of the soldiers, and accepted without any very severe examination

by the liberal vanity of Probus.

Since the expedition of Maximin, the Roman generals had confined

their ambition to a defensive war against the nations of Germany,

who perpetually pressed on the frontiers of the empire. The more

daring Probus pursued his Gallic victories, passed the Rhine, and

displayed his invincible eagles on the banks of the Elbe and the

Neckar. He was fully convinced that nothing could reconcile the

minds of the barbarians to peace, unless they experienced, in

their own country, the calamities of war. Germany, exhausted by

the ill success of the last emigration, was astonished by his

presence. Nine of the most considerable princes repaired to his

camp, and fell prostrate at his feet. Such a treaty was humbly

received by the Germans, as it pleased the conqueror to dictate.

He exacted a strict restitution of the effects and captives which

they had carried away from the provinces; and obliged their own

magistrates to punish the more obstinate robbers who presumed to

detain any part of the spoil. A considerable tribute of corn,

cattle, and horses, the only wealth of barbarians, was reserved

for the use of the garrisons which Probus established on the

limits of their territory. He even entertained some thoughts of

compelling the Germans to relinquish the exercise of arms, and to

trust their differences to the justice, their safety to the

power, of Rome. To accomplish these salutary ends, the constant

residence of an Imperial governor, supported by a numerous army,

was indispensably requisite. Probus therefore judged it more

expedient to defer the execution of so great a design; which was

indeed rather of specious than solid utility. Had Germany been

reduced into the state of a province, the Romans, with immense

labor and expense, would have acquired only a more extensive

boundary to defend against the fiercer and more active barbarians

of Scythia.

Instead of reducing the warlike natives of Germany to the

condition of subjects, Probus contented himself with the humble

expedient of raising a bulwark against their inroads. The country

which now forms the circle of Swabia had been left desert in the

age of Augustus by the emigration of its ancient inhabitants. The

fertility of the soil soon attracted a new colony from the

adjacent provinces of Gaul. Crowds of adventurers, of a roving

temper and of desperate fortunes, occupied the doubtful

possession, and acknowledged, by the payment of tithes, the

majesty of the empire. To protect these new subjects, a line of

frontier garrisons was gradually extended from the Rhine to the

Danube. About the reign of Hadrian, when that mode of defence

began to be practised, these garrisons were connected and covered

by a strong intrenchment of trees and palisades. In the place of

so rude a bulwark, the emperor Probus constructed a stone wall of

a considerable height, and strengthened it by towers at

convenient distances. From the neighborhood of Neustadt and

Ratisbon on the Danube, it stretched across hills, valleys,

rivers, and morasses, as far as Wimpfen on the Neckar, and at

length terminated on the banks of the Rhine, after a winding

course of near two hundred miles. This important barrier, uniting

the two mighty streams that protected the provinces of Europe,

seemed to fill up the vacant space through which the barbarians,

and particularly the Alemanni, could penetrate with the greatest

facility into the heart of the empire. But the experience of the

world, from China to Britain, has exposed the vain attempt of

fortifying any extensive tract of country. An active enemy, who

can select and vary his points of attack, must, in the end,

discover some feeble spot, or some unguarded moment. The

strength, as well as the attention, of the defenders is divided;

and such are the blind effects of terror on the firmest troops,

that a line broken in a single place is almost instantly

deserted. The fate of the wall which Probus erected may confirm

the general observation. Within a few years after his death, it

was overthrown by the Alemanni. Its scattered ruins, universally

ascribed to the power of the Dæmon, now serve only to excite the

wonder of the Swabian peasant.

Among the useful conditions of peace imposed by Probus on the

vanquished nations of Germany, was the obligation of supplying

the Roman army with sixteen thousand recruits, the bravest and

most robust of their youth. The emperor dispersed them through

all the provinces, and distributed this dangerous reënforcement,

in small bands of fifty or sixty each, among the national troops;

judiciously observing, that the aid which the republic derived

from the barbarians should be felt but not seen. Their aid was

now become necessary. The feeble elegance of Italy and the

internal provinces could no longer support the weight of arms.

The hardy frontiers of the Rhine and Danube still produced minds

and bodies equal to the labors of the camp; but a perpetual

series of wars had gradually diminished their numbers. The

infrequency of marriage, and the ruin of agriculture, affected

the principles of population, and not only destroyed the strength

of the present, but intercepted the hope of future, generations.

The wisdom of Probus embraced a great and beneficial plan of

replenishing the exhausted frontiers, by new colonies of captive

or fugitive barbarians, on whom he bestowed lands, cattle,

instruments of husbandry, and every encouragement that might

engage them to educate a race of soldiers for the service of the

republic. Into Britain, and most probably into Cambridgeshire, he

transported a considerable body of Vandals. The impossibility of

an escape reconciled them to their situation, and in the

subsequent troubles of that island, they approved themselves the

most faithful servants of the state. Great numbers of Franks and

Gepidæ were settled on the banks of the Danube and the Rhine. A

hundred thousand Bastarnæ, expelled from their own country,

cheerfully accepted an establishment in Thrace, and soon imbibed

the manners and sentiments of Roman subjects. But the

expectations of Probus were too often disappointed. The

impatience and idleness of the barbarians could ill brook the

slow labors of agriculture. Their unconquerable love of freedom,

rising against despotism, provoked them into hasty rebellions,

alike fatal to themselves and to the provinces; nor could these

artificial supplies, however repeated by succeeding emperors,

restore the important limit of Gaul and Illyricum to its ancient

and native vigor.

Of all the barbarians who abandoned their new settlements, and

disturbed the public tranquillity, a very small number returned

to their own country. For a short season they might wander in

arms through the empire; but in the end they were surely

destroyed by the power of a warlike emperor. The successful

rashness of a party of Franks was attended, however, with such

memorable consequences, that it ought not to be passed unnoticed.

They had been established by Probus, on the sea-coast of Pontus,

with a view of strengthening the frontier against the inroads of

the Alani. A fleet stationed in one of the harbors of the Euxine

fell into the hands of the Franks; and they resolved, through

unknown seas, to explore their way from the mouth of the Phasis

to that of the Rhine. They easily escaped through the Bosphorus

and the Hellespont, and cruising along the Mediterranean,

indulged their appetite for revenge and plunder by frequent

descents on the unsuspecting shores of Asia, Greece, and Africa.

The opulent city of Syracuse, in whose port the natives of Athens

and Carthage had formerly been sunk, was sacked by a handful of

barbarians, who massacred the greatest part of the trembling

inhabitants. From the island of Sicily the Franks proceeded to

the columns of Hercules, trusted themselves to the ocean, coasted

round Spain and Gaul, and steering their triumphant course

through the British Channel, at length finished their surprising

voyage, by landing in safety on the Batavian or Frisian shores.

The example of their success, instructing their countrymen to

conceive the advantages and to despise the dangers of the sea,

pointed out to their enterprising spirit a new road to wealth and

glory.

Notwithstanding the vigilance and activity of Probus, it was

almost impossible that he could at once contain in obedience

every part of his wide-extended dominions. The barbarians, who

broke their chains, had seized the favorable opportunity of a

domestic war. When the emperor marched to the relief of Gaul, he

devolved the command of the East on Saturninus. That general, a

man of merit and experience, was driven into rebellion by the

absence of his sovereign, the levity of the Alexandrian people,

the pressing instances of his friends, and his own fears; but

from the moment of his elevation, he never entertained a hope of

empire, or even of life. “Alas!” he said, “the republic has lost

a useful servant, and the rashness of an hour has destroyed the

services of many years. You know not,” continued he, “the misery

of sovereign power; a sword is perpetually suspended over our

head. We dread our very guards, we distrust our companions. The

choice of action or of repose is no longer in our disposition,

nor is there any age, or character, or conduct, that can protect

us from the censure of envy. In thus exalting me to the throne,

you have doomed me to a life of cares, and to an untimely fate.

The only consolation which remains is the assurance that I shall

not fall alone.” But as the former part of his prediction was

verified by the victory, so the latter was disappointed by the

clemency, of Probus. That amiable prince attempted even to save

the unhappy Saturninus from the fury of the soldiers. He had more

than once solicited the usurper himself to place some confidence

in the mercy of a sovereign who so highly esteemed his character,

that he had punished, as a malicious informer, the first who

related the improbable news of his disaffection. Saturninus

might, perhaps, have embraced the generous offer, had he not been

restrained by the obstinate distrust of his adherents. Their

guilt was deeper, and their hopes more sanguine, than those of

their experienced leader.

The revolt of Saturninus was scarcely extinguished in the East,

before new troubles were excited in the West, by the rebellion of

Bonosus and Proculus, in Gaul. The most distinguished merit of

those two officers was their respective prowess, of the one in

the combats of Bacchus, of the other in those of Venus, yet

neither of them was destitute of courage and capacity, and both

sustained, with honor, the august character which the fear of

punishment had engaged them to assume, till they sunk at length

beneath the superior genius of Probus. He used the victory with

his accustomed moderation, and spared the fortune, as well as the

lives of their innocent families.

The arms of Probus had now suppressed all the foreign and

domestic enemies of the state. His mild but steady administration

confirmed the re-ëstablishment of the public tranquillity; nor

was there left in the provinces a hostile barbarian, a tyrant, or

even a robber, to revive the memory of past disorders. It was

time that the emperor should revisit Rome, and celebrate his own

glory and the general happiness. The triumph due to the valor of

Probus was conducted with a magnificence suitable to his fortune,

and the people, who had so lately admired the trophies of

Aurelian, gazed with equal pleasure on those of his heroic

successor. We cannot, on this occasion, forget the desperate

courage of about fourscore gladiators, reserved, with near six

hundred others, for the inhuman sports of the amphitheatre.

Disdaining to shed their blood for the amusement of the populace,

they killed their keepers, broke from the place of their

confinement, and filled the streets of Rome with blood and

confusion. After an obstinate resistance, they were overpowered

and cut in pieces by the regular forces; but they obtained at

least an honorable death, and the satisfaction of a just revenge.

The military discipline which reigned in the camps of Probus was

less cruel than that of Aurelian, but it was equally rigid and

exact. The latter had punished the irregularities of the soldiers

with unrelenting severity, the former prevented them by employing

the legions in constant and useful labors. When Probus commanded

in Egypt, he executed many considerable works for the splendor

and benefit of that rich country. The navigation of the Nile, so

important to Rome itself, was improved; and temples, buildings,

porticos, and palaces, were constructed by the hands of the

soldiers, who acted by turns as architects, as engineers, and as

husbandmen. It was reported of Hannibal, that, in order to

preserve his troops from the dangerous temptations of idleness,

he had obliged them to form large plantations of olive-trees

along the coast of Africa. From a similar principle, Probus

exercised his legions in covering with rich vineyards the hills

of Gaul and Pannonia, and two considerable spots are described,

which were entirely dug and planted by military labor. One of

these, known under the name of Mount Almo, was situated near

Sirmium, the country where Probus was born, for which he ever

retained a partial affection, and whose gratitude he endeavored

to secure, by converting into tillage a large and unhealthy tract

of marshy ground. An army thus employed constituted perhaps the

most useful, as well as the bravest, portion of Roman subjects.

But in the prosecution of a favorite scheme, the best of men,

satisfied with the rectitude of their intentions, are subject to

forget the bounds of moderation; nor did Probus himself

sufficiently consult the patience and disposition of his fierce

legionaries. The dangers of the military profession seem only to

be compensated by a life of pleasure and idleness; but if the

duties of the soldier are incessantly aggravated by the labors of

the peasant, he will at last sink under the intolerable burden,

or shake it off with indignation. The imprudence of Probus is

said to have inflamed the discontent of his troops. More

attentive to the interests of mankind than to those of the army,

he expressed the vain hope, that, by the establishment of

universal peace, he should soon abolish the necessity of a

standing and mercenary force. The unguarded expression proved

fatal to him. In one of the hottest days of summer, as he

severely urged the unwholesome labor of draining the marshes of

Sirmium, the soldiers, impatient of fatigue, on a sudden threw

down their tools, grasped their arms, and broke out into a

furious mutiny. The emperor, conscious of his danger, took refuge

in a lofty tower, constructed for the purpose of surveying the

progress of the work. The tower was instantly forced, and a

thousand swords were plunged at once into the bosom of the

unfortunate Probus. The rage of the troops subsided as soon as it

had been gratified. They then lamented their fatal rashness,

forgot the severity of the emperor whom they had massacred, and

hastened to perpetuate, by an honorable monument, the memory of

his virtues and victories.

When the legions had indulged their grief and repentance for the

death of Probus, their unanimous consent declared Carus, his

Prætorian præfect, the most deserving of the Imperial throne.

Every circumstance that relates to this prince appears of a mixed

and doubtful nature. He gloried in the title of Roman Citizen;

and affected to compare the purity of his blood with the foreign

and even barbarous origin of the preceding emperors; yet the most

inquisitive of his contemporaries, very far from admitting his

claim, have variously deduced his own birth, or that of his

parents, from Illyricum, from Gaul, or from Africa. Though a

soldier, he had received a learned education; though a senator,

he was invested with the first dignity of the army; and in an age

when the civil and military professions began to be irrecoverably

separated from each other, they were united in the person of

Carus. Notwithstanding the severe justice which he exercised

against the assassins of Probus, to whose favor and esteem he was

highly indebted, he could not escape the suspicion of being

accessory to a deed from whence he derived the principal

advantage. He enjoyed, at least before his elevation, an

acknowledged character of virtue and abilities; but his austere

temper insensibly degenerated into moroseness and cruelty; and

the imperfect writers of his life almost hesitate whether they

shall not rank him in the number of Roman tyrants. When Carus

assumed the purple, he was about sixty years of age, and his two

sons, Carinus and Numerian had already attained the season of

manhood.

The authority of the senate expired with Probus; nor was the

repentance of the soldiers displayed by the same dutiful regard

for the civil power, which they had testified after the

unfortunate death of Aurelian. The election of Carus was decided

without expecting the approbation of the senate, and the new

emperor contented himself with announcing, in a cold and stately

epistle, that he had ascended the vacant throne. A behavior so

very opposite to that of his amiable predecessor afforded no

favorable presage of the new reign: and the Romans, deprived of

power and freedom, asserted their privilege of licentious

murmurs. The voice of congratulation and flattery was not,

however, silent; and we may still peruse, with pleasure and

contempt, an eclogue, which was composed on the accession of the

emperor Carus. Two shepherds, avoiding the noontide heat, retire

into the cave of Faunus. On a spreading beech they discover some

recent characters. The rural deity had described, in prophetic

verses, the felicity promised to the empire under the reign of so

great a prince. Faunus hails the approach of that hero, who,

receiving on his shoulders the sinking weight of the Roman world,

shall extinguish war and faction, and once again restore the

innocence and security of the golden age.

It is more than probable, that these elegant trifles never

reached the ears of a veteran general, who, with the consent of

the legions, was preparing to execute the long-suspended design

of the Persian war. Before his departure for this distant

expedition, Carus conferred on his two sons, Carinus and

Numerian, the title of Cæsar, and investing the former with

almost an equal share of the Imperial power, directed the young

prince first to suppress some troubles which had arisen in Gaul,

and afterwards to fix the seat of his residence at Rome, and to

assume the government of the Western provinces. The safety of

Illyricum was confirmed by a memorable defeat of the Sarmatians;

sixteen thousand of those barbarians remained on the field of

battle, and the number of captives amounted to twenty thousand.

The old emperor, animated with the fame and prospect of victory,

pursued his march, in the midst of winter, through the countries

of Thrace and Asia Minor, and at length, with his younger son,

Numerian, arrived on the confines of the Persian monarchy. There,

encamping on the summit of a lofty mountain, he pointed out to

his troops the opulence and luxury of the enemy whom they were

about to invade.

The successor of Artaxerxes, * Varanes, or Bahram, though he had

subdued the Segestans, one of the most warlike nations of Upper

Asia, was alarmed at the approach of the Romans, and endeavored

to retard their progress by a negotiation of peace. His

ambassadors entered the camp about sunset, at the time when the

troops were satisfying their hunger with a frugal repast. The

Persians expressed their desire of being introduced to the

presence of the Roman emperor. They were at length conducted to a

soldier, who was seated on the grass. A piece of stale bacon and

a few hard peas composed his supper. A coarse woollen garment of

purple was the only circumstance that announced his dignity. The

conference was conducted with the same disregard of courtly

elegance. Carus, taking off a cap which he wore to conceal his

baldness, assured the ambassadors, that, unless their master

acknowledged the superiority of Rome, he would speedily render

Persia as naked of trees as his own head was destitute of hair.

Notwithstanding some traces of art and preparation, we may

discover in this scene the manners of Carus, and the severe

simplicity which the martial princes, who succeeded Gallienus,

had already restored in the Roman camps. The ministers of the

Great King trembled and retired.

The threats of Carus were not without effect. He ravaged

Mesopotamia, cut in pieces whatever opposed his passage, made

himself master of the great cities of Seleucia and Ctesiphon,

(which seemed to have surrendered without resistance,) and

carried his victorious arms beyond the Tigris. He had seized the

favorable moment for an invasion. The Persian councils were

distracted by domestic factions, and the greater part of their

forces were detained on the frontiers of India. Rome and the East

received with transport the news of such important advantages.

Flattery and hope painted, in the most lively colors, the fall of

Persia, the conquest of Arabia, the submission of Egypt, and a

lasting deliverance from the inroads of the Scythian nations. But

the reign of Carus was destined to expose the vanity of

predictions. They were scarcely uttered before they were

contradicted by his death; an event attended with such ambiguous

circumstances, that it may be related in a letter from his own

secretary to the præfect of the city. “Carus,” says he, “our

dearest emperor, was confined by sickness to his bed, when a

furious tempest arose in the camp. The darkness which overspread

the sky was so thick, that we could no longer distinguish each

other; and the incessant flashes of lightning took from us the

knowledge of all that passed in the general confusion.

Immediately after the most violent clap of thunder, we heard a

sudden cry that the emperor was dead; and it soon appeared, that

his chamberlains, in a rage of grief, had set fire to the royal

pavilion; a circumstance which gave rise to the report that Carus

was killed by lightning. But, as far as we have been able to

investigate the truth, his death was the natural effect of his

disorder.”

Chapter XII: Reigns Of Tacitus, Probus, Carus And His Sons.—Part

III.

The vacancy of the throne was not productive of any disturbance.

The ambition of the aspiring generals was checked by their

natural fears, and young Numerian, with his absent brother

Carinus, were unanimously acknowledged as Roman emperors. The

public expected that the successor of Carus would pursue his

father’s footsteps, and, without allowing the Persians to recover

from their consternation, would advance sword in hand to the

palaces of Susa and Ecbatana. But the legions, however strong in

numbers and discipline, were dismayed by the most abject

superstition. Notwithstanding all the arts that were practised to

disguise the manner of the late emperor’s death, it was found

impossible to remove the opinion of the multitude, and the power

of opinion is irresistible. Places or persons struck with

lightning were considered by the ancients with pious horror, as

singularly devoted to the wrath of Heaven. An oracle was

remembered, which marked the River Tigris as the fatal boundary

of the Roman arms. The troops, terrified with the fate of Carus

and with their own danger, called aloud on young Numerian to obey

the will of the gods, and to lead them away from this

inauspicious scene of war. The feeble emperor was unable to

subdue their obstinate prejudice, and the Persians wondered at

the unexpected retreat of a victorious enemy.

The intelligence of the mysterious fate of the late emperor was

soon carried from the frontiers of Persia to Rome; and the

senate, as well as the provinces, congratulated the accession of

the sons of Carus. These fortunate youths were strangers,

however, to that conscious superiority, either of birth or of

merit, which can alone render the possession of a throne easy,

and, as it were, natural. Born and educated in a private station,

the election of their father raised them at once to the rank of

princes; and his death, which happened about sixteen months

afterwards, left them the unexpected legacy of a vast empire. To

sustain with temper this rapid elevation, an uncommon share of

virtue and prudence was requisite; and Carinus, the elder of the

brothers, was more than commonly deficient in those qualities. In

the Gallic war he discovered some degree of personal courage; but

from the moment of his arrival at Rome, he abandoned himself to

the luxury of the capital, and to the abuse of his fortune. He

was soft, yet cruel; devoted to pleasure, but destitute of taste;

and though exquisitely susceptible of vanity, indifferent to the

public esteem. In the course of a few months, he successively

married and divorced nine wives, most of whom he left pregnant;

and notwithstanding this legal inconstancy, found time to indulge

such a variety of irregular appetites, as brought dishonor on

himself and on the noblest houses of Rome. He beheld with

inveterate hatred all those who might remember his former

obscurity, or censure his present conduct. He banished, or put to

death, the friends and counsellors whom his father had placed

about him, to guide his inexperienced youth; and he persecuted

with the meanest revenge his school-fellows and companions who

had not sufficiently respected the latent majesty of the emperor.

With the senators, Carinus affected a lofty and regal demeanor,

frequently declaring, that he designed to distribute their

estates among the populace of Rome. From the dregs of that

populace he selected his favorites, and even his ministers. The

palace, and even the Imperial table, were filled with singers,

dancers, prostitutes, and all the various retinue of vice and

folly. One of his doorkeepers he intrusted with the government of

the city. In the room of the Prætorian præfect, whom he put to

death, Carinus substituted one of the ministers of his looser

pleasures. Another, who possessed the same, or even a more

infamous, title to favor, was invested with the consulship. A

confidential secretary, who had acquired uncommon skill in the

art of forgery, delivered the indolent emperor, with his own

consent from the irksome duty of signing his name.

When the emperor Carus undertook the Persian war, he was induced,

by motives of affection as well as policy, to secure the fortunes

of his family, by leaving in the hands of his eldest son the

armies and provinces of the West. The intelligence which he soon

received of the conduct of Carinus filled him with shame and

regret; nor had he concealed his resolution of satisfying the

republic by a severe act of justice, and of adopting, in the

place of an unworthy son, the brave and virtuous Constantius, who

at that time was governor of Dalmatia. But the elevation of

Constantius was for a while deferred; and as soon as the father’s

death had released Carinus from the control of fear or decency,

he displayed to the Romans the extravagancies of Elagabalus,

aggravated by the cruelty of Domitian.

The only merit of the administration of Carinus that history

could record, or poetry celebrate, was the uncommon splendor with

which, in his own and his brother’s name, he exhibited the Roman

games of the theatre, the circus, and the amphitheatre. More than

twenty years afterwards, when the courtiers of Diocletian

represented to their frugal sovereign the fame and popularity of

his munificent predecessor, he acknowledged that the reign of

Carinus had indeed been a reign of pleasure. But this vain

prodigality, which the prudence of Diocletian might justly

despise, was enjoyed with surprise and transport by the Roman

people. The oldest of the citizens, recollecting the spectacles

of former days, the triumphal pomp of Probus or Aurelian, and the

secular games of the emperor Philip, acknowledged that they were

all surpassed by the superior magnificence of Carinus.

The spectacles of Carinus may therefore be best illustrated by

the observation of some particulars, which history has

condescended to relate concerning those of his predecessors. If

we confine ourselves solely to the hunting of wild beasts,

however we may censure the vanity of the design or the cruelty of

the execution, we are obliged to confess that neither before nor

since the time of the Romans so much art and expense have ever

been lavished for the amusement of the people. By the order of

Probus, a great quantity of large trees, torn up by the roots,

were transplanted into the midst of the circus. The spacious and

shady forest was immediately filled with a thousand ostriches, a

thousand stags, a thousand fallow deer, and a thousand wild

boars; and all this variety of game was abandoned to the riotous

impetuosity of the multitude. The tragedy of the succeeding day

consisted in the massacre of a hundred lions, an equal number of

lionesses, two hundred leopards, and three hundred bears. The

collection prepared by the younger Gordian for his triumph, and

which his successor exhibited in the secular games, was less

remarkable by the number than by the singularity of the animals.

Twenty zebras displayed their elegant forms and variegated beauty

to the eyes of the Roman people. Ten elks, and as many

camelopards, the loftiest and most harmless creatures that wander

over the plains of Sarmatia and Æthiopia, were contrasted with

thirty African hyænas and ten Indian tigers, the most implacable

savages of the torrid zone. The unoffending strength with which

Nature has endowed the greater quadrupeds was admired in the

rhinoceros, the hippopotamus of the Nile, and a majestic troop of

thirty-two elephants. While the populace gazed with stupid wonder

on the splendid show, the naturalist might indeed observe the

figure and properties of so many different species, transported

from every part of the ancient world into the amphitheatre of

Rome. But this accidental benefit, which science might derive

from folly, is surely insufficient to justify such a wanton abuse

of the public riches. There occurs, however, a single instance in

the first Punic war, in which the senate wisely connected this

amusement of the multitude with the interest of the state. A

considerable number of elephants, taken in the defeat of the

Carthaginian army, were driven through the circus by a few

slaves, armed only with blunt javelins. The useful spectacle

served to impress the Roman soldier with a just contempt for

those unwieldy animals; and he no longer dreaded to encounter

them in the ranks of war.

The hunting or exhibition of wild beasts was conducted with a

magnificence suitable to a people who styled themselves the

masters of the world; nor was the edifice appropriated to that

entertainment less expressive of Roman greatness. Posterity

admires, and will long admire, the awful remains of the

amphitheatre of Titus, which so well deserved the epithet of

Colossal. It was a building of an elliptic figure, five hundred

and sixty-four feet in length, and four hundred and sixty-seven

in breadth, founded on fourscore arches, and rising, with four

successive orders of architecture, to the height of one hundred

and forty feet. The outside of the edifice was encrusted with

marble, and decorated with statues. The slopes of the vast

concave, which formed the inside, were filled and surrounded with

sixty or eighty rows of seats of marble likewise, covered with

cushions, and capable of receiving with ease about fourscore

thousand spectators. Sixty-four vomitories (for by that name the

doors were very aptly distinguished) poured forth the immense

multitude; and the entrances, passages, and staircases were

contrived with such exquisite skill, that each person, whether of

the senatorial, the equestrian, or the plebeian order, arrived at

his destined place without trouble or confusion. Nothing was

omitted, which, in any respect, could be subservient to the

convenience and pleasure of the spectators. They were protected

from the sun and rain by an ample canopy, occasionally drawn over

their heads. The air was continally refreshed by the playing of

fountains, and profusely impregnated by the grateful scent of

aromatics. In the centre of the edifice, the arena, or stage, was

strewed with the finest sand, and successively assumed the most

different forms. At one moment it seemed to rise out of the

earth, like the garden of the Hesperides, and was afterwards

broken into the rocks and caverns of Thrace. The subterraneous

pipes conveyed an inexhaustible supply of water; and what had

just before appeared a level plain, might be suddenly converted

into a wide lake, covered with armed vessels, and replenished

with the monsters of the deep. In the decoration of these scenes,

the Roman emperors displayed their wealth and liberality; and we

read on various occasions that the whole furniture of the

amphitheatre consisted either of silver, or of gold, or of amber.

The poet who describes the games of Carinus, in the character of

a shepherd, attracted to the capital by the fame of their

magnificence, affirms that the nets designed as a defence against

the wild beasts were of gold wire; that the porticos were gilded;

and that the belt or circle which divided the several ranks of

spectators from each other was studded with a precious mosaic of

beautiful stones.

In the midst of this glittering pageantry, the emperor Carinus,

secure of his fortune, enjoyed the acclamations of the people,

the flattery of his courtiers, and the songs of the poets, who,

for want of a more essential merit, were reduced to celebrate the

divine graces of his person. In the same hour, but at the

distance of nine hundred miles from Rome, his brother expired;

and a sudden revolution transferred into the hands of a stranger

the sceptre of the house of Carus.

The sons of Carus never saw each other after their father’s

death. The arrangements which their new situation required were

probably deferred till the return of the younger brother to Rome,

where a triumph was decreed to the young emperors for the

glorious success of the Persian war. It is uncertain whether they

intended to divide between them the administration, or the

provinces, of the empire; but it is very unlikely that their

union would have proved of any long duration. The jealousy of

power must have been inflamed by the opposition of characters. In

the most corrupt of times, Carinus was unworthy to live: Numerian

deserved to reign in a happier period. His affable manners and

gentle virtues secured him, as soon as they became known, the

regard and affections of the public. He possessed the elegant

accomplishments of a poet and orator, which dignify as well as

adorn the humblest and the most exalted station. His eloquence,

however it was applauded by the senate, was formed not so much on

the model of Cicero, as on that of the modern declaimers; but in

an age very far from being destitute of poetical merit, he

contended for the prize with the most celebrated of his

contemporaries, and still remained the friend of his rivals; a

circumstance which evinces either the goodness of his heart, or

the superiority of his genius. But the talents of Numerian were

rather of the contemplative than of the active kind. When his

father’s elevation reluctantly forced him from the shade of

retirement, neither his temper nor his pursuits had qualified him

for the command of armies. His constitution was destroyed by the

hardships of the Persian war; and he had contracted, from the

heat of the climate, such a weakness in his eyes, as obliged him,

in the course of a long retreat, to confine himself to the

solitude and darkness of a tent or litter. The administration of

all affairs, civil as well as military, was devolved on Arrius

Aper, the Prætorian præfect, who to the power of his important

office added the honor of being father-in-law to Numerian. The

Imperial pavilion was strictly guarded by his most trusty

adherents; and during many days, Aper delivered to the army the

supposed mandates of their invisible sovereign.

It was not till eight months after the death of Carus, that the

Roman army, returning by slow marches from the banks of the

Tigris, arrived on those of the Thracian Bosphorus. The legions

halted at Chalcedon in Asia, while the court passed over to

Heraclea, on the European side of the Propontis. But a report

soon circulated through the camp, at first in secret whispers,

and at length in loud clamors, of the emperor’s death, and of the

presumption of his ambitious minister, who still exercised the

sovereign power in the name of a prince who was no more. The

impatience of the soldiers could not long support a state of

suspense. With rude curiosity they broke into the Imperial tent,

and discovered only the corpse of Numerian. The gradual decline

of his health might have induced them to believe that his death

was natural; but the concealment was interpreted as an evidence

of guilt, and the measures which Aper had taken to secure his

election became the immediate occasion of his ruin. Yet, even in

the transport of their rage and grief, the troops observed a

regular proceeding, which proves how firmly discipline had been

reëstablished by the martial successors of Gallienus. A general

assembly of the army was appointed to be held at Chalcedon,

whither Aper was transported in chains, as a prisoner and a

criminal. A vacant tribunal was erected in the midst of the camp,

and the generals and tribunes formed a great military council.

They soon announced to the multitude that their choice had fallen

on Diocletian, commander of the domestics or body-guards, as the

person the most capable of revenging and succeeding their beloved

emperor. The future fortunes of the candidate depended on the

chance or conduct of the present hour. Conscious that the station

which he had filled exposed him to some suspicions, Diocletian

ascended the tribunal, and raising his eyes towards the Sun, made

a solemn profession of his own innocence, in the presence of that

all-seeing Deity. Then, assuming the tone of a sovereign and a

judge, he commanded that Aper should be brought in chains to the

foot of the tribunal. “This man,” said he, “is the murderer of

Numerian;” and without giving him time to enter on a dangerous

justification, drew his sword, and buried it in the breast of the

unfortunate præfect. A charge supported by such decisive proof

was admitted without contradiction, and the legions, with

repeated acclamations, acknowledged the justice and authority of

the emperor Diocletian.

Before we enter upon the memorable reign of that prince, it will

be proper to punish and dismiss the unworthy brother of Numerian.

Carinus possessed arms and treasures sufficient to support his

legal title to the empire. But his personal vices overbalanced

every advantage of birth and situation. The most faithful

servants of the father despised the incapacity, and dreaded the

cruel arrogance, of the son. The hearts of the people were

engaged in favor of his rival, and even the senate was inclined

to prefer a usurper to a tyrant. The arts of Diocletian inflamed

the general discontent; and the winter was employed in secret

intrigues, and open preparations for a civil war. In the spring,

the forces of the East and of the West encountered each other in

the plains of Margus, a small city of Mæsia, in the neighborhood

of the Danube. The troops, so lately returned from the Persian

war, had acquired their glory at the expense of health and

numbers; nor were they in a condition to contend with the

unexhausted strength of the legions of Europe. Their ranks were

broken, and, for a moment, Diocletian despaired of the purple and

of life. But the advantage which Carinus had obtained by the

valor of his soldiers, he quickly lost by the infidelity of his

officers. A tribune, whose wife he had seduced, seized the

opportunity of revenge, and, by a single blow, extinguished civil

discord in the blood of the adulterer.

Chapter XIII: Reign Of Diocletian And His Three Associates.—Part

I.