Chapter IV: Part 4

The Gauls, inflated with their success, believed the whole country to be in a state of terror, and they preserved neither order nor discipline; some wandered about the neighbourhood for the purpose of plunder, whilst others spent both days and nights in drinking. They thought the whole people shut up in the Capitol, but Rome found an avenger in Camillus. This great man, exiled by his ungrateful fellow-citizens, had retired to Ardea. He prevailed upon the young men of that city to follow him. In concert with the magistrates, he marched out on a dark night, fell upon the Gauls stupified with wine, made a horrible slaughter, and thus raised the depressed courage of his fellow-citizens. They flocked in crowds to his standard, and, looking upon Camillus as their only resource, they chose him as their leader. But he refused to do anything without the order of the Senate and the people shut up in the Capitol. It was almost impossible to gain access to them. A young Roman, however, had the hardihood to undertake this perilous enterprise, and succeeded. Camillus, declared dictator, collected an army of more than forty thousand men, who believed themselves invincible under so able a general.

The Gauls, meanwhile, perceived the traces left by the young man, and Brennus endeavoured, during the night, to surprise the Capitol by the same path. After many efforts, a few succeeded in gaining the summit of the rock, and were already on the point of scaling the walls; the sentinel was asleep, and nothing seemed to oppose them. Some geese, consecrated to Juno, were awakened by the noise made by the enemy, and began to cry as they do when disturbed. Manlius, a person of consular rank, flew to the spot, encountered the Gauls, and hurled two of them from the rock. The Romans were roused, and the enemy were driven back; most of them either fell or were thrown from the precipice, and very few of the party engaged regained their camp. The sleepy sentinel was precipitated from the Capitol, and Manlius was highly rewarded. Much irritated at his defeat, Brennus pressed the place still more closely, to augment the famine, which had begun to be felt even in his camp, since Camillus had made himself master of the open country. An accommodation was soon proposed; it was agreed that Brennus should receive a thousand pounds weight of gold, on condition of his raising the siege and leaving the lands of the republic. The gold was brought, but when it was to be weighed, the Gauls made use of false weights. The Romans complained of this; but Brennus, laughing at their remonstrances, threw his sword and baldric into the scale, which counterpoised the gold, adding raillery to injustice. “Woe be to the conquered!” said he, in a barbarous tone. At that very moment Camillus reached the capital, and advanced with a strong escort towards the place of conference. Upon learning what had passed, “Take back this gold to the Capitol,” said he to the Roman deputies; “and you, Gauls,” added he, “retire with your weights and scales; it is with steel only that Romans should redeem their country.” The parties soon proceeded to blows; Camillus brought up his troops, and a furious charge ensued. The Romans, maddened by the sight of their ruined country, made incredible efforts. The Gauls could not withstand them; they were broken, and fled on all sides. Brennus rallied them, raised the siege, and encamped a few miles from Rome. Camillus followed him with characteristic ardour, attacked him afresh, and defeated him. Most of the Gauls were either killed on the field of battle, or massacred in detail by the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages; so that, it is said, a single one did not remain to carry back to his country the news of their defeat. Thus Rome was saved by the valour and ability of an illustrious exile, who, forgetting the injustice and ingratitude of his country, richly merited the title of _its second founder_.

FIFTH SIEGE, A.C. 211.

This siege, although so short a one as to occupy but little space in our narration, belongs to a very interesting period in the Roman history: it occurred in the course of what are called the Punic wars, which were the contests of two of the most powerful states then in existence, for supremacy. Rome and Carthage were like two suns; they had become too powerful for both to retain their splendour in one hemisphere. They were really the noblest conflicts in which Rome was engaged; there was a rivalry in generals and soldiers worthy of being sustained by the great republic; and though Rome was in the end the conqueror, and her generals were great, it is doubtful whether she can exhibit in her annals so perfect a captain as Hannibal. The Carthaginians suffer, in the opinion of posterity, in another way; the Romans were not only the victors, but the historians; Punic bad faith is proverbial in the Roman language, but we strongly suspect that a Carthaginian Polybius or Livy would have found as many sins against the laws of nations committed by the one party as the other. The man was the painter, and not the lion. Whether it is from want of sympathy with a mere nation of the sword, we know not; but, notwithstanding the great men who illustrated Rome’s armies and senate, we cannot help taking part with Hannibal and his countrymen throughout these wars. Much as we like Cato the Censor in other respects, we cannot but view him, with his figs and his “_delenda est Carthago_,” as a spiteful old fellow, whom we should very much have liked to see disappointed.

After various and great successes, of which it is not our business to speak, Hannibal, to terrify the Romans, presented himself before their city. The consuls, who had received orders to watch that the republic should receive no injury, felt it their duty to encounter him. When they were on the point of engaging, a violent storm compelled both parties to retire; and the same thing occurred several times; so that Hannibal, believing that he saw in this event something supernatural, said, according to Livy, that sometimes fortune and sometimes his will was always wanting to make him master of Rome. That which still more surprised him was, that whilst he was encamped at one of the gates of the city, the Romans sent an army out of one of the other gates into Spain; and that the very field in which he was encamped was sold at the same time, without that circumstance having diminished the value of it. In order to avenge himself, he put up to auction the goldsmiths’ shops which were around the most public place in Rome, and then retired.

SIXTH SIEGE, A.C. 87.

War being declared against Mithridates, king of Pontus, was the signal of discord between Marius and Sylla. These two rivals, whose animosity knew no bounds, demanded at the same time the command of the army. Sylla obtained it from the Senate, and immediately went to place himself at the head of his troops. Marius took advantage of his absence, and, with the assistance of the tribune Sulpicius, he so excited the people against the nobles, that Sylla was deprived of his command which was conferred upon him. Sylla, far from obeying the sentence of the people, marched straight to Rome with his army, consisting of forty thousand men. This was the first time, since Coriolanus, that this great city had been besieged by one of its own citizens. Destitute of everything, its only defence being a few soldiers got together in haste by Marius, it did not make a long resistance. Sylla entered as an enemy; the multitude mounted upon the roofs of the houses, armed with anything they could lay hold of, and poured such a shower of stones and tiles upon the heads of his soldiers, that they could not advance. Sylla, forgetful of what he owed to his country and to himself, cried out to his men to set fire to the houses; and, arming himself with a blazing brand, gave them the example. Marius, too weak to contend with his rival, abandoned to him the centre of the empire. The conqueror affected great moderation, prevented the pillage of his country, reformed the government, raised the authority of the Senate upon the ruins of that of the people, put to death Sulpicius, with ten other senators, partisans of his rival, and embarked for Asia.

This second absence replunged Rome into fresh misfortunes; the faction of the people, of which Marius was the soul, excited by Cinna, took courage again. This consul, having won over some tribunes, caused so much trouble, that he was driven from the city and deprived of the consulate; but he succeeded in gaining to his quarrel a large army encamped in the Campania, and almost all the peoples of Italy. Marius, who had taken refuge in Africa, recrossed the sea, and came to join Cinna; he was immediately declared pro-consul. It was proposed to give him fasces and lictors, but he rejected them: “Such honours,” said he, “would not become a banished man.” His party held a council, and it was determined to go and attack Rome: Sylla had set them the example.

Rome, always victorious against external enemies, but always weak against domestic attacks, saw herself besieged by four armies, commanded by Marius, Cinna, Sertorius, and Carbo. Masters of all the passages, they subjected the city to famine, and reduced its inhabitants to extremity. Pompeius Strabo came at last, but too late, to the succour of his country with an army. Rome, in a state of consternation, and seeing herself on the verge of ruin, sent deputies to the enemies to invite them to enter the city. A council was held. Marius and Cinna, after having marked out their victims, gave the city up to all the horrors of war. A multitude of virtuous Romans were immolated to the vengeance of the two leaders; Marius inundated his country with the purest blood of the republic. Birth and riches were unpardonable crimes; a nod of this tyrant’s head was an order for death. This ferocious and barbarous man, after having exercised the most horrible cruelties, died a short time after this victory, in the middle of Rome itself, of which he had been the preserver and the executioner.

SEVENTH SIEGE, A.D. 408.

When we compare the date of the last siege with that of this, and glance over the events which had taken place between them, we feel great surprise that no siege of Rome should have intervened. It would appear that the Eternal City was guarded by some supernatural power, through shocks and changes of empires, from feeling convulsions, of which it really was the centre. Through the period of the empire, Rome may be said never to have been invaded by a foreign enemy, or by its own children in revolt. The empire changed masters, at times, as a conjurer shifts his balls, and men of all countries occupied its throne; but, in all these revolutions, Rome itself was held sacred.

Alaric, king of the Goths, entered Italy, and advanced towards Rome to lay siege to it. On his route, a pious solitary came to throw himself at his feet, imploring him with tears to spare that city, which had become the centre of the Christian world. “Rather,” replied the prince, “it is not my will that leads me on; I incessantly hear a voice in my ears, which cries--‘On, Alaric, on! and sack Rome!’” He reduced it to the most frightful extremity, by closing every passage for provisions, and by making himself master of the navigation of the Tiber. Pestilence was soon added to famine. Rome was nothing but one vast cemetery: it became necessary to treat with the king of the Goths.

The deputies of Rome declared that the Roman people were willing to accept peace upon reasonable conditions; but rather than its glory should be stained, they would give battle. “Very good!” replied Alaric, with a loud laugh; “it is never so easy to cut the hay as when the grass is thickest!” They were forced to lay aside their ancient pride, and submit to circumstances. The conqueror ordered them to bring to him all the gold, silver, valuable furniture, and foreign slaves that were in the city. “And what will you leave, then, to the inhabitants?” asked the deputies. “Life!” replied Alaric. After long contestations, it was agreed that Rome should pay five thousand pounds weight of gold, thirty thousand pounds weight of silver, four thousand silken tunics, three thousand skins coloured scarlet, three thousand pounds weight of spices, and, as hostages, give up the children of the most noble citizens. When these conditions were complied with, the king of the Goths raised the siege.

EIGHTH SIEGE, A.D. 410.

Two years after, Alaric, constantly provoked to vengeance by the perfidies of the Romans, presented himself again before the Capitol, and besieged Rome very closely. The siege was long, but very few circumstances relating to it have been preserved. On the 24th of August, the Gothic prince entered the city, of which some traitors had opened the gates to him during the night. Rome was sacked by the furious soldiery; its wealth, its valuable furniture, its public edifices, its temples, its private houses, became the prey of the flames. The blood of the citizens inundated the streets and public places; the women were dishonoured, and then immolated upon the bodies of their slaughtered husbands and fathers; children were destroyed upon the bosoms of their mothers. Heaven seemed to arm itself in concert with the Goths to punish Rome: lightning reduced to dust what the flames had spared.

The Goths, however, respected the churches; these holy places were an inviolable asylum for all who sought refuge in them. An officer having entered a house which served as a depôt for the church of St. Peter, and finding nobody in it but a woman advanced in age, asked her if she had any gold or silver. “I have a great deal,” she replied; “I will place it before your eyes.” At the same time, she displayed a great number of precious vases. “They belong to St. Peter,” said she; “carry away, if you dare, these sacred riches; I cannot prevent you. I abandon them to you; but you must render an account of them to him who is the master of them.” The barbarian did not dare to lay an impious hand upon this deposit, and sent to ask the king’s orders relative to them. Alaric commanded all the vases to be taken to the basilica of the church of St. Peter; and that that woman, with all the Christians who would join her, should be conducted thither likewise. It was a spectacle as surprising as it was magnificent, to see a long train of soldiers, who, holding in one hand their naked swords, and supporting with the other the precious vases they bore on their heads, marched with a respectful countenance, and as if in triumph, amidst the greatest riot and disorder.

The Christian women signalized their courage in a most striking manner on this melancholy day. A widow, respectable from her age and birth, and who had lived in retirement with an only daughter, whom she brought up in a life of piety, was assailed by a troop of soldiers, who, in a threatening manner, demanded her gold. “I have given it to the poor,” replied she. The angry barbarians rewarded her answer with blows. Insensible to pain, she only implored them not to separate her from her companion, whose beauty she feared might expose her to insults more cruel than death itself. Her appeal was so touching, that the Gothic soldiers conducted them both safely to the basilica of St. Paul.

A young officer, struck with the beauty of a Roman lady, after having made every effort in vain to induce her to comply with his wishes, drew his sword, and pretending that he would cut off her head, inflicted a slight wound, in the hope that she would be overcome by the fear of death; but this noble woman, so far from being terrified at the sight of her own blood, presenting her neck to her enemy, exclaimed,--“Strike again, and strike better!” The sword fell from the hand of the barbarian; he conducted his captive to the church of St. Peter, and commanded the guards to give her up to nobody but her husband. Thus Rome, 1,163 years after its foundation, lost in a single day that splendour which had dazzled the world. It was not, however, destroyed, and was soon repeopled again; but from that period of humiliation, this queen of cities and of the world became the sport and the prey of the barbarians who sacked it in turn.

After the taking of Naples in 538, Belisarius shut himself up in Rome, and prepared to sustain a siege, if Vitiges would undertake to attack him. The new monarch, at the head of a hundred and fifty thousand men, marched towards the capital of Italy, asking of every one he fell in with on his route, whether Belisarius were still in Rome. “Prince, be satisfied on that point,” replied a priest; “the only part of the military art Belisarius is ignorant of, is flight.” This general had constructed a fort upon a bridge, at a mile from Rome, and had provided it with a sufficient garrison; but these base cowards, seized with fear at the approach of the Goths, took to flight, and dispersed themselves over the Campania. The next day, at dawn, Vitiges crossed the bridge with a great part of his army. As he advanced, he met Belisarius, who, at the head of a thousand horse, had come to reconnoitre; his surprise was excessive at seeing the enemy; but without being daunted by their numbers, he halted, and received them at the head of his little troop. Here the valour and exploits of Belisarius approach the marvellous: in the hottest of the _mêlée_, the brave leader of the Romans was recognised by some deserters, who cried out from several quarters at once: “At the bay horse, comrades!--aim at the bay horse!” Assailed on all sides, he became a mark for every arrow. Inflamed with a generous courage, he drove off some, overthrew others, and cut down all that impeded his passage. The Romans, seeing the danger of their general, flew to his aid, surrounded him, warded off every blow directed against him, and made him a rampart of their bucklers and their bodies. The terrified Goths turned bridle, and were pursued to their camp; the rest of the army, however, stopped the career of the conquerors, and forced them to fly in their turn to a neighbouring height, where they rallied. The combat was then renewed; and the Romans, too inferior in numbers, would scarcely have effected a retreat, but for the heroic valour of an officer named Valentinus. This new Cocles alone withstood the Gothic cavalry, and gave time to his comrades to regain the city; but the inhabitants shut the gates against them. In vain Belisarius shouted his name, and pressed to be admitted; the inhabitants were persuaded that he had perished in the fight, and could not otherwise recognise his countenance, from the blood and dust which disfigured it; they therefore paid no regard to his orders. In this extremity, Belisarius re-animated his little band, and turned with fury upon the enemy, who were close at his heels. The Goths, imagining that he was at the head of fresh troops from the city, stopped their pursuit, turned their horses’ heads, and regained their camp. Belisarius re-entered the city in triumph, where he was received with transports of the most lively joy. Rome believed itself from that time safe from all reverses, beneath the ægis of this intrepid general. In this combat the Goths lost the _élite_ of their cavalry.

On the eighteenth day of the siege, at sunrise, the Goths, led on by Vitiges, marched towards the gate Salaria. At the sight of their machines, Belisarius broke into a loud laugh, whilst the inhabitants were frozen with fear. The Goths had reached the bank of the ditch, when the Roman general, seizing a bow, took aim at a Gothic commander covered with a cuirass, and pierced him quite through the neck. This act was highly applauded by his troops, whose triumph was doubled by a second aim as fortunate as the first. Belisarius then commanded his soldiers to make a general discharge at the oxen which drew the machines. In an instant they were covered and transpierced with an iron shower. The astonished and discomfited Goths were forced to terminate their attack.

Although the attempts of Vitiges seemed generally to fail, he was on the point of taking Rome, to the north of the mole or tomb of Adrian, since called the castle of St. Angelo. It was necessary for the Goths to possess themselves of this place, to cross the Tiber. In spite of the arrows of the Romans, they had applied their ladders and begun to ascend, when the defenders of the mole bethought themselves of breaking off the numerous marble statues with which this monument was ornamented, and rolled the fragments upon the heads of the besiegers, who, beaten from their ladders by these enormous masses, were constrained to abandon their enterprise.

The next day, Belisarius dismissed all useless mouths from the city; he enrolled a great number of artisans; he changed the locks and bolts of the city gates twice a month; and caused instruments to be played upon the walls during the night. A Goth, remarkable for his height and famous for his exploits, covered with his cuirass, and with his helmet on his head, advanced from the ranks opposite the gate Salaria, and setting his back against a tree, kept up a continuous discharge of arrows at the battlements. An immense javelin, launched from a ballist, pierced him through cuirass, body and all, and penetrating half its length into the tree, nailed this redoubtable warrior to it. Although we are arrived at a well-authenticated period of history, we must confess the following account trenches upon the marvellous: but, as we know truth is sometimes more wonderful than fiction, we do not hesitate to repeat it. A Massagete horseman named Chorsamantes, one of Belisarius’s guards, accompanied by a few Romans, was pursuing a body of sixty horse on the plains of Nero. His companions having turned rein, in order not to approach too near to the enemy’s camp, he continued the pursuit alone. The Goths, seeing him thus deserted, turned round upon him: he killed the boldest of them, charged the others, and put them to flight. Chorsamantes pursued them to their intrenchments, and, more fortunate than prudent, he regained Rome in safety, and was received with loud acclamations. Some time after, having been wounded in a rencontre, he swore to avenge himself, and kept his word. He went out alone, and made his way to the camp of the Goths. They took him for a deserter; but when they saw him shooting at them, twenty horsemen came out for the purpose of cutting him in pieces. He at first met them with the greatest audacity, and even checked them; but soon, environed on all parts, furious at the aspect of peril, and always the more redoubtable from the numbers of his enemies, he fell, covered with wounds, upon a heap of men and horses he had slain.

In a severe combat which was afterwards fought, the Goths were repulsed with loss. Rutilus, a Roman officer, pierced by a dart, which was half-buried in his head, as if insensible to the pain, continued the pursuit of the enemy. He died the moment the dart was extracted. Another officer, named Azzes, returned from a charge with an arrow sticking close to his right eye. A skilful leech, named Theoclistes, cured him. Tragàn, the commander of a body of troops, whilst endeavouring to break through a battalion of Goths, received an arrow in his eye; the wood broke off at the moment of striking, and fell, but the steel, being quite buried, remained in the wound, without giving Tragàn much pain. Five days afterwards, the steel began to reappear, pierced through the cicatrice, and fell out apparently of itself. Tarmut, a barbarian captain, an ally of the Romans, being left almost alone on the field of battle, was assailed by a crowd of enemies; but, armed with two javelins, he laid at his feet all who ventured to approach him. At length, covered with wounds, he was near sinking from weakness, when he saw his brother Ennes, chief of the Isaurians, approach with a troop of horse, and throw himself between him and his assailants. Reanimated by this unhoped-for succour, he recovered sufficient strength to gain the city, still armed with his two javelins. He only survived this astonishing effort of courage two days. Such were the principal exploits during the siege of Rome by Vitiges, who was obliged to raise it, after a year and nine days of useless attempts. Sixty-nine battles were fought, all very bloody, and almost all to the advantage of the Romans: they cost the king of the Goths more than the half of his numerous army. Belisarius had but a small force; Rome might have been taken easily: it had yielded to much weaker armies, but Belisarius was in Rome, and that great general, fertile in resources, was alone worth whole legions.

NINTH SIEGE, A.D. 544.

In the year 544, Totila, king of the Goths, and master of part of Italy, formed the blockade of Rome, and kept the passages so well, that no provisions could be got in, either by land or sea. He stopped the entrance by the Tiber at a place where its bed was narrowest, by means of extraordinarily long beams of timber, laid from one bank to the other, upon which he raised, at the two extremities, towers of wood, which were filled with soldiers. The famine soon became so horrible, that wheat was sold at seven pieces of gold per bushel, which is nearly ninety shillings of our money, and bran at about a quarter of the sum; an ox, taken in a sortie, was sold at an unheard-of price. Fortunate was the man who could fall in with a dead horse, and take undisputed possession of it! Dogs, rats, and the most impure animals, soon became exquisite and eagerly-purchased dainties. Most of the citizens supported themselves upon nettles and wild herbs, which they tore from the foot of the walls and ruined buildings. Rome seemed to be only inhabited by pale, fleshless, livid phantoms, who either fell dead in the streets or killed themselves.

A father of five children, who demanded bread of him with piercing cries, told them to follow him, and for a moment concealing his grief in the depths of his heart, without shedding a tear, without breathing a sigh, he led them on to one of the bridges of the city; there, after enveloping his head in his cloak, he precipitated himself into the Tiber in their presence.

That which was most frightful in this extremity of misery, was the fact that the leaders themselves were the cause of the public want: they devoured the citizens by their sordid avarice. The immense masses of wheat, which they had been a long time collecting, were only distributed at their weight in gold; and very shortly most of the wealth of Rome was concentrated amongst monsters, worthy of the severest punishment.

Belisarius, whose generous spirit mourned over the misfortunes of Rome, attempted all sorts of means to succour the unfortunate capital. He caused a large number of barks to be constructed, furnished with boarding all round, to protect the soldiers from the arrows of the enemy. These boards were pierced at certain distances, to afford facility for launching their own bolts and arrows. He caused these barks to be laden with great quantities of provisions, placed himself at the head of them, and, leading with some fire-boats, he ascended the Tiber, and set fire to one of the enemy’s towers. But his enterprise not being seconded, he could not succeed in throwing provisions into the city; grief at his failure produced a sickness which brought him to the brink of the grave. Some Isaurian soldiers, who guarded the gate Asinaria, having slipped along the ramparts in the night by means of a cord, came and offered Totila to give up the city to him. The king having assured himself of their fidelity, and of the possibility of the enterprise, sent with them four of the bravest and strongest Goths, who, having got into the city, opened a gate and admitted the besiegers. Bessus, who commanded in the place, fled away with his troops at the first alarm. In the house of this governor were found heaps of gold and silver, the fruits of his cruel monopolies.

At daybreak the king of the Goths repaired to the church of St. Peter, to return thanks to God for his success. The deacon Pelagius, who awaited him at the entrance of the holy temple, prostrated himself humbly before him, and implored him to save the lives of the inhabitants. Totila, who knew how to pardon as well as to conquer, granted the sacred minister what he asked, and forbade his soldiers, under the strongest penalties, to shed the blood of any one. When this order was given, the Goths had already slain twenty soldiers and sixty citizens. These were the only victims of the brutality of the victors; but if he spared the lives of the inhabitants, he deprived them of all means to support them. Rome was abandoned to pillage for several days, and nothing was left to the citizens but the bare walls of their houses. Senators, formerly opulent and proud, were seen covered with miserable rags, reduced to beg their bread from door to door, and live upon the alms they received from the barbarians.

Totila was preparing to demolish Rome; he had already levelled a third of the walls, and was about to set fire to the most superb edifices of the city, when he received a letter from Belisarius, which diverted him from his design. “To found cities,” said this great man, “to maintain flourishing cities, is to serve society and immortalize ourselves; to overthrow and destroy them, is to declare ourselves the enemies of mankind, and dishonour ourselves for ever. By the agreement of all peoples, the city into which you have entered, in consequence of your victory, is the greatest and most magnificent under heaven. It is not the work of a single man, or a single army. During more than thirteen centuries, a long line of kings, consuls, and emperors have disputed the glory of embellishing it, and the superb edifices it presents to your eyes are so many monuments which consecrate their memories; to destroy them is to outrage the past centuries, of which they eternize the remembrance, and to deprive future ages of a magnificent spectacle. My lord, reflect that fortune must declare itself in favour of you or my master. If you remain the conqueror, how you will regret having destroyed your most splendid conquest! If you should succumb, the treatment you have inflicted upon Rome will serve as a rule by which Justinian will treat you. The eyes of the universe are upon you; it awaits the part you are about to take, to accord you the title which will be for ever attached to the name of Totila.” Persuaded by this eloquent appeal, the king of the Goths contented himself with depopulating the city of Rome, in which he did not leave a single inhabitant.

Forty days after the retreat of Totila, Belisarius transported himself to Rome, with the design of repeopling that famous city, and repairing its ruins. He soon put it in a state to sustain a new siege. Upon learning this, the king of the Goths quickly returned, and during three days made several attacks upon the city; but Belisarius repulsed them all, and forced him to retire with great loss.

TENTH SIEGE, A.D. 549.

In 549, Totila, without being discouraged by his defeat, once more laid siege to the capital of Italy. Diogenes, who commanded there, had had wheat sown within the inclosure of the walls, which might have supported the garrison some time. But the city was again betrayed by the Isaurians. The soldiers of that nation, dissatisfied with not having received their pay for some years, and having learnt that their companions had been magnificently rewarded by Totila, resolved to follow their example. They agreed with the king of the Goths to open the gate confided to their guard, which perfidy they executed at the time appointed. Totila caused his trumpets to be sounded at the side opposite to that by which he entered the city. The garrison immediately hastened where the danger seemed most pressing, and by this artifice the Goths met with no resistance. The commander of the Roman cavalry, named Paul of Cilicia, seeing that the city was taken, shut himself up, with four hundred horse, in the mausoleum of Adrian, and took possession of the bridge which leads to the church of St. Peter. He was attacked by the Goths, whose efforts he so warmly repulsed, that Totila determined to reduce his party by famine. This intrepid little band remained a day and a night without taking food, and then determined to die with honour. After taking a last farewell, and embracing each other, they opened the gates with a determination to fall upon the enemy like desperate men, when Totila proposed moderate and honourable conditions to them. They accepted them, and all took arms under his banner. Totila, become master of Rome a second time, restored it to its pristine splendour, and re-established as many of the citizens as could be found.--Narses, the general of the empire, having conquered and killed Totila, retook Rome, which opposed but a feeble resistance.

ELEVENTH SIEGE, A.D. 1084.

We have seen Rome besieged in its early days, when its walls were of mud; we have seen it besieged by its own sons, by the Gauls, by the barbarians; but it was still, as a warlike city, the head of a kingdom, a republic, an empire. We have now to see it besieged in a new character,--as the seat of the head of the Christian world. As if Rome was destined always to be royal, she took the same place with regard to the Church she had occupied as a temporal power; and every reader of history will allow that there has not been much less ambition, strife, and political chicanery in the latter state than in any of the former. From its foundation, Rome has always been Rome, seldom or never at rest, either within itself or with its neighbours.

“The long quarrel of the throne and mitre had been recently kindled by the zeal and ambition of the haughty Gregory VII. Henry III., king of Germany and Italy, and afterwards emperor of the West, and the pope had degraded each other; and each had seated a rival on the temporal or spiritual throne of his antagonist. After the defeat and death of his Swabian rebel, Henry descended into Italy to assume the imperial crown, and to drive from the Vatican the tyrant of the Church. But the Roman people adhered to the cause of Gregory: their resolution was fortified by supplies of men and money from Apulia; and the city was thrice ineffectually besieged by the king of Germany. In the fourth year he corrupted, it is said, with Byzantine gold, the nobles of Rome. The gates, the bridges, and fifty hostages were delivered into his hands; the anti-pope, Clement III., was consecrated in the Lateran; the grateful pontiff crowned his protector in the Vatican, and the emperor fixed his residence in the Capitol, as the successor of Augustus and Charlemagne. The ruins of the Septigonium were still defended by the nephew of Gregory; the pope himself was invested in the castle of St. Angelo, and his last hope was in the courage and fidelity of his Norman vassal. Their friendship had been interrupted by some reciprocal injuries and complaints; but on this pressing occasion, Guiscard was urged by the obligation of his oath, by his interest,--more potent than oaths,--by the love of fame, and his enmity to the two emperors. Unfurling the holy banner, he resolved to fly to the relief of the prince of the apostles; the most numerous of his armies, thirty thousand foot and six thousand horse, was instantly assembled, and his march from Salerno to Rome was animated by the public applause and the promise of the divine favour. Henry, invincible in sixty-six battles, trembled at his approach; recollecting some indispensable affairs that required his presence in Lombardy, he exhorted the Romans to persevere in their allegiance, and hastily retired, three days before the entrance of the Normans. In less than three years, the son of Tancred of Hauteville enjoyed the glory of delivering the pope, and of compelling the two emperors of the East and West to fly before his victorious arms. But the triumph of Robert was clouded by the calamities of Rome. By the aid of the friends of Gregory, the walls had been perforated or scaled, but the imperial faction was still powerful and active; on the third day the people rose in a furious tumult, and a hasty word of the conqueror, in his defence or revenge, was the signal of fire and pillage. The Saracens of Sicily, the subjects of Roger, and the auxiliaries of his brother, embraced this fair occasion of rifling and profaning the holy city of the Christians; and many thousands of the citizens, in the sight and by the allies of their spiritual father, were exposed to violation, captivity, or death; and a spacious quarter of the city, from the Lateran to the Colosseum, was consumed by the flames, and devoted to perpetual solitude.”[3]

TWELFTH SIEGE, A.D. 1527.

The emperor Charles V., irritated against the pope, Clement VII., his mortal enemy, charged the duke of Bourbon, in 1527, to seek every means in his power to avenge him upon the pontiff. The duke was a renegade Frenchman, of considerable military skill, and a restless disposition. He had quarrelled with his master, Francis I., and was deemed of so much consequence as to be countenanced by Francis’s rival, Charles V., and to be intrusted with the highest military command he could confer. The duke was at the head of fourteen thousand men, who loved and adored him, and who swore, Brantôme says, “to follow him wherever he went, were it to the devil.” Followed by these troops, he marched towards Rome, and immediately laid siege to it. The soldiers, animated by the desire of pillage, mounted to the assault with incredible energy, Bourbon encouraging them by his example. But as this prince, with characteristic ambition, was endeavouring to be the first upon the ramparts, he was killed by a musket-shot. The fall of the general, so far from relaxing the valour of his soldiers, excited their vengeance; they rushed more fiercely to the assault of the walls, they mowed down their defenders like grass, quickly made themselves masters of Rome, and committed the most frightful ravages.

This superb city, taken so many times by the barbarians, was never pillaged with more fury than it was by the hands of Christians. The Pope took refuge in the castle of St. Angelo, and was besieged with such rancour, that a woman was hung for passing up to him a basket of lettuce by a cord suspended from the castle. Cardinal Pulci, who was shut up with the Pope, made an attempt to escape, which cost him his life. He had scarcely left the castle when he fell from his horse; his foot hung in the stirrup, and the animal dragged him at speed over the bridge of the castle. After being blockaded for a month, and reduced to great want of provisions, the Pope was forced to capitulate with the prince of Orange, who had succeeded the duke of Bourbon in the command of the imperial troops. He agreed to pay four hundred thousand ducats, and to place himself at the disposal of the Emperor. Charles V. affected regret at the detention of the Pontiff.

Eight days before this event, a man dressed as a hermit, of about sixty years of age, went through the streets of Rome, about midnight, sounding a handbell, and pronouncing with a loud voice the following words: “The anger of God will soon fall upon this city!” The Pope obtained nothing from the examination he made of this man; the severest tortures could draw no more from him than this terrifying oracle: “The anger of God will soon fall upon this city!” When the prince of Orange became master of the city, he liberated him from prison, and offered him a considerable sum of money. He, however, refused reward, three days after disappeared, and was never again heard of.

The imperial army left Rome, loaded with a booty of more than eighteen millions of crowns, every private soldier having an immense sum. The obsequies of the duke of Bourbon were celebrated with great pomp, and his body was conveyed to Gaeta.

THIRTEENTH SIEGE, A.D. 1796–1799.

The temporal power of the popes had long ceased to be an object of jealousy for Christian princes: the small extent of their states, the respect which was entertained for their ministry, and their abstinence from military enterprises, preserved peace in a city which had formerly, and for many centuries, made the world tremble with the terror of its arms. Louis XIV. and Louis XV. had satisfied themselves with seizing the Venaissian county, to punish the popes for some affronts offered to their crowns; and the pontiffs, conscious of their weakness, had acknowledged their errors and disavowed the acts of their ministers. But it was not thus when the French revolution broke out. Pius VI., irritated at seeing at once both his annates and the Venaissian county wrested from his hands, entered into the league of the kings against France. In no city were the French more hated than in Rome. Basseville, the French envoy, was massacred in a riot, which the government of the Pope had allowed to be got up with more than suspected negligence. The troops of the Pope were preparing to unite themselves with those of the other powers of Italy, when Buonaparte was seen to enter that country, in 1796, as a conqueror. His victories seemed to foretell the destruction of the Holy See. Republican enthusiasm was awakened on the banks of the Tiber; nothing was talked of but rebuilding the Capitol and founding a new Roman republic.

The French general had conquered the duchy of Urbino, Romagna, and the march of Ancona. The terrified Pope sued for peace: Buonaparte granted him at first a truce, and then a peace. The Pope yielded to the republic the legations of Bologna and Ferrara, which the French had already conquered, and all the shores of the Adriatic Gulf, from the mouths of the Po to Ancona. A month after, the Pope weakly allowed some of his subjects to take up arms, in consequence of a supposed reverse suffered by Buonaparte. The latter contented himself with chastising some villages of Ferrara, which had excited the revolt. A third time Buonaparte pardoned him, and his pardon was ratified by the French Directory: Joseph Buonaparte was appointed ambassador to Rome. Party spirit was, however, too strong; the apparent moderation of the French could not bring the court of Rome to pacific sentiments. Its hatred against France was kept alive by the queen of Naples, who threw open the ports of the Mediterranean to the English. In addition to this, a long hesitation to acknowledge the Cisalpine republic; then the nomination of General Provera to command the army of the Pope, and a course of proceedings which announced the intention, but which did not give the means, of entering into a fresh war: the French ambassador forced the Pope to declare himself in a positive manner. Everything seemed appeased; there was a calm, but it was such a one as precedes the eruption of a volcano. On the 28th of December, 1797, a fresh seditious movement broke out in Rome; some men assembled round the house of the ambassador, uttering revolutionary cries. Scarcely had they preluded by a few acts of apparent insurrection, when the troops of the Pope came up, dispersed the rioters, and pursued them into the palace of the ambassador, whither their fear had driven them. Joseph Buonaparte insisted upon his residence being respected, and promised to give up the guilty; but he was answered by a shower of balls, by which his windows were broken to pieces. He interposed everywhere between those who struck and those who were stricken. One of his friends, the Adjutant-General Duphot, who was to have married his sister-in-law the next day, was an object of his greatest care; but he was assassinated close to his side: his inanimate body was stabbed by the ruffians in a hundred places: the French had great difficulty in rescuing it from the hands of these furious men. The court of Rome offered the French ambassador all kinds of reparation; but the latter thought it not prudent or dignified to remain longer in a palace which had been so shamefully violated, where he and his whole family had been insulted, and whose floors were still stained with the blood of his friend. Cardinal Doria in vain had recourse to the Spanish ambassador to pacify him: the whole French legation quitted Rome. The Consistory believed, in this peril, that the court of Naples would keep its word, and would hasten to send its promised succours; but it received nothing but an excuse, to amuse or appease the French government, till the Neapolitan army was on its march. The Directory, however, was inflexible: a month had scarcely passed away when a French army, led by General Alexander Berthier, was at the gates of Rome, and had taken possession of the castle of St. Angelo. On the 17th of February, 1798, the anniversary of the Pope’s election, an insurrection broke out in the capital. His palace was invested, but respect checked the insurgents at the entrance. They met with resistance nowhere; they abstained from violence or insult towards the Pope, but they declared Rome free; they claimed for themselves the honour of being of the blood of the Catos and Scipios; and the boasted descendants of Camillus threw open the gates to the Gauls. A deputation arrived at the French camp; General Berthier mounted the steps of the Capitol, and saluted a new Roman republic; but the Romans had no longer the virtues of their fathers: no thing can bear less resemblance to another, than modern Romans do to ancient Romans. Consuls, tribunes, and popular laws, were once more to be seen in Rome; and these decrees wanted nothing but to be applied to a people who entertained a love of the republic. Its reign was short and tempestuous; and the French Directory took no measures calculated to gain the affection of the Romans. The aged Pope was sent to France, but died on the road; the wealth and the master-pieces of art were carried off, the people became dissatisfied, and a fresh insurrection quickly broke out against the men they had so recently hailed as their liberators: they were obliged to be suppressed with the strong hand. Whilst Buonaparte was in Egypt, the king of Naples supposed the time most fit for an outbreak of the Italian states, to liberate themselves from the domination of the French. He marched at the head of seventy thousand Neapolitans, the real command of whom was intrusted to the Austrian general Mack, and entered the Roman territory. The French army which occupied it only consisted of sixteen thousand men, disseminated over all the points. Championnet, who commanded them, thought it best to retire to Upper Italy. The king of Sicily and General Mack entered Rome on the 25th of November, 1798; Championnet gathered together his army and stood his ground. Mack, after several days of hesitation, ventured to attack him on the other side of the Tiber. The French, though vastly inferior in numbers, repulsed the Neapolitans; in three days, they made eleven thousand prisoners. Mack beheld his columns flying in the greatest disorder; and, being unable to rally them, abandoned the capital of the Christian world, covered himself with the Teverone, and was pursued by the French, who possessed themselves successively of Capua and Naples. This occupation lasted but a short time; the French under Schérer being beaten in Upper Italy, abandoned Naples and Rome, to defend themselves against the Austrians and the Russians. Ferdinand went back to Naples, and occupied Rome till it returned to its obedience to Pius VII.

Rome has since that time been more than once humbled by the French; but as nothing like a siege has taken place, the events of its further history do not fall within our plan.

NINEVEH.

A.C. 747.

We must now take a retrograde step, and turn our eyes upon a city, the name of which will ever be famous on its own account, and from its connection with the Scriptures. And yet the siege of Nineveh furnishes but few particulars for narration: it is, however, a remarkable circumstance, that, according to the best chronologers, Rome was founded the very year that Nineveh was destroyed.

Sardanapalus, king of Assyria, surpassed all his predecessors in effeminacy, luxury, and cowardice. He never went out of his palace, but spent all his time among his women, dressed and painted in the same manner as they were, and employed, in imitation of them, in the labours of the distaff. His whole glory consisted in his treasures, and all his time was devoted to the indulgence of infamous and criminal pleasures.

Arbaces, governor of Media, having found means to get into his palace and behold Sardanapalus in the midst of his infamous seraglio, was so disgusted with the idea that so many brave men should be subject to such an effeminate being, that he immediately formed a conspiracy against him. Belesis, governor of Babylon, and several others entered into it. On the rumour of this revolt, the king hid himself in the innermost recesses of his palace. Being afterwards obliged to take the field with some forces his captains had got together, he at first gained three successive victories over the enemy, but was in the end overcome and pursued to the gates of Nineveh. He here shut himself up, convinced that the rebels would never be able to take a city so wonderfully fortified by nature and art, and so abundantly stored with provisions. The siege proved of very great length. It had been declared by an ancient oracle, that Nineveh could never be taken unless the river became an enemy to the city. This buoyed up Sardanapalus, because he looked upon the thing as impossible. But when he saw that the Tigris by a violent inundation had thrown down twenty stadia of the city wall, and by that means opened a passage to the enemy, he understood the meaning of the oracle, and looked upon himself as lost. He resolved, however, to die in such a manner as, in his opinion, would cover the infamy of his scandalous life. He ordered a vast pile of wood to be collected in his palace, and setting fire to it, burnt himself, his women, his eunuchs, and his treasures. Athenæus makes these treasures amount to a thousand myriads of talents of gold, and ten times as many talents of silver (about fourteen hundred millions sterling), which, without reckoning anything else, appears to exceed credibility.

We cannot wonder that the Assyrian empire should fall under such a man; but it was not till after it had passed through various augmentations, diminutions, and revolutions, common to most great states during a course of ages. This empire had subsisted above 1,450 years. Of the ruins of this vast empire were formed three considerable kingdoms: that of the Medes, which Arbaces, the head of the conspiracy, restored to its liberty; that of the Assyrians of Babylon, which was given to Belesis, governor of that city; and that of the Assyrians of Nineveh, whose first king took the name of Ninus the Second.

A hundred years after the death of Sardanapalus, under the reign of Saracus, named Cyndauladanus, Nebopalassar, general of his armies, revolted against him, for the purpose of obtaining his throne. He allied himself with Cyaxares, king of the Medes. Their united forces besieged Saracus in Nineveh; they took the city, killed the monarch, and entirely destroyed that celebrated place, A.C. 648.

AZOTH, or AZOTUS.

A.C. 670.

As the siege of Azoth, although the longest recorded in history, affords but little matter for relation, we will indulge our young readers with a few of the circumstances which preceded it.