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Chapter IX: State Of Germany Until The Barbarians. Part I.

The State Of Germany Till The Invasion Of The Barbarians In The Time Of
The Emperor Decius.

The government and religion of Persia have deserved some notice, from
their connection with the decline and fall of the Roman empire. We shall
occasionally mention the Scythian or Sarmatian tribes, * which, with
their arms and horses, their flocks and herds, their wives and families,
wandered over the immense plains which spread themselves from the
Caspian Sea to the Vistula, from the confines of Persia to those of
Germany. But the warlike Germans, who first resisted, then invaded, and
at length overturned the Western monarchy of Rome, will occupy a much
more important place in this history, and possess a stronger, and, if we
may use the expression, a more domestic, claim to our attention and
regard. The most civilized nations of modern Europe issued from the
woods of Germany; and in the rude institutions of those barbarians we
may still distinguish the original principles of our present laws and
manners. In their primitive state of simplicity and independence, the
Germans were surveyed by the discerning eye, and delineated by the
masterly pencil, of Tacitus,  the first of historians who applied the
science of philosophy to the study of facts. The expressive conciseness
of his descriptions has served to exercise the diligence of innumerable
antiquarians, and to excite the genius and penetration of the
philosophic historians of our own times. The subject, however various
and important, has already been so frequently, so ably, and so
successfully discussed, that it is now grown familiar to the reader, and
difficult to the writer. We shall therefore content ourselves with
observing, and indeed with repeating, some of the most important
circumstances of climate, of manners, and of institutions, which
rendered the wild barbarians of Germany such formidable enemies to the
Roman power.

Ancient Germany, excluding from its independent limits the province
westward of the Rhine, which had submitted to the Roman yoke, extended
itself over a third part of Europe.  Almost the whole of modern Germany,
Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland, Livonia, Prussia, and the greater part
of Poland, were peopled by the various tribes of one great nation, whose
complexion, manners, and language denoted a common origin, and preserved
a striking resemblance. On the west, ancient Germany was divided by the
Rhine from the Gallic, and on the south, by the Danube, from the
Illyrian, provinces of the empire. A ridge of hills, rising from the
Danube, and called the Carpathian Mountains, covered Germany on the side
of Dacia or Hungary. The eastern frontier was faintly marked by the
mutual fears of the Germans and the Sarmatians, and was often confounded
by the mixture of warring and confederating tribes of the two nations.
In the remote darkness of the north, the ancients imperfectly descried a
frozen ocean that lay beyond the Baltic Sea, and beyond the Peninsula,
or islands  of Scandinavia.

Some ingenious writers  have suspected that Europe was much colder
formerly than it is at present; and the most ancient descriptions of the
climate of Germany tend exceedingly to confirm their theory. The general
complaints of intense frost and eternal winter, are perhaps little to be
regarded, since we have no method of reducing to the accurate standard
of the thermometer, the feelings, or the expressions, of an orator born
in the happier regions of Greece or Asia. But I shall select two
remarkable circumstances of a less equivocal nature. 1. The great rivers
which covered the Roman provinces, the Rhine and the Danube, were
frequently frozen over, and capable of supporting the most enormous
weights. The barbarians, who often chose that severe season for their
inroads, transported, without apprehension or danger, their numerous
armies, their cavalry, and their heavy wagons, over a vast and solid
bridge of ice.  Modern ages have not presented an instance of a like
phenomenon. 2. The reindeer, that useful animal, from whom the savage of
the North derives the best comforts of his dreary life, is of a
constitution that supports, and even requires, the most intense cold. He
is found on the rock of Spitzberg, within ten degrees of the Pole; he
seems to delight in the snows of Lapland and Siberia: but at present he
cannot subsist, much less multiply, in any country to the south of the
Baltic.  In the time of Cæsar the reindeer, as well as the elk and the
wild bull, was a native of the Hercynian forest, which then overshadowed
a great part of Germany and Poland.  The modern improvements
sufficiently explain the causes of the diminution of the cold. These
immense woods have been gradually cleared, which intercepted from the
earth the rays of the sun.  The morasses have been drained, and, in
proportion as the soil has been cultivated, the air has become more
temperate. Canada, at this day, is an exact picture of ancient Germany.
Although situated in the same parallel with the finest provinces of
France and England, that country experiences the most rigorous cold. The
reindeer are very numerous, the ground is covered with deep and lasting
snow, and the great river of St. Lawrence is regularly frozen, in a
season when the waters of the Seine and the Thames are usually free from
ice.

It is difficult to ascertain, and easy to exaggerate, the influence of
the climate of ancient Germany over the minds and bodies of the natives.
Many writers have supposed, and most have allowed, though, as it should
seem, without any adequate proof, that the rigorous cold of the North
was favorable to long life and generative vigor, that the women were
more fruitful, and the human species more prolific, than in warmer or
more temperate climates.  We may assert, with greater confidence, that
the keen air of Germany formed the large and masculine limbs of the
natives, who were, in general, of a more lofty stature than the people
of the South,  gave them a kind of strength better adapted to violent
exertions than to patient labor, and inspired them with constitutional
bravery, which is the result of nerves and spirits. The severity of a
winter campaign, that chilled the courage of the Roman troops, was
scarcely felt by these hardy children of the North,  who, in their turn,
were unable to resist the summer heats, and dissolved away in languor
and sickness under the beams of an Italian sun.

Chapter IX: State Of Germany Until The Barbarians. -- Part II.

There is not any where upon the globe a large tract of country, which we
have discovered destitute of inhabitants, or whose first population can
be fixed with any degree of historical certainty. And yet, as the most
philosophic minds can seldom refrain from investigating the infancy of
great nations, our curiosity consumes itself in toilsome and
disappointed efforts. When Tacitus considered the purity of the German
blood, and the forbidding aspect of the country, he was disposed to
pronounce those barbarians Indigen, or natives of the soil. We may allow
with safety, and perhaps with truth, that ancient Germany was not
originally peopled by any foreign colonies already formed into a
political society;  but that the name and nation received their
existence from the gradual union of some wandering savages of the
Hercynian woods. To assert those savages to have been the spontaneous
production of the earth which they inhabited would be a rash inference,
condemned by religion, and unwarranted by reason.

Such rational doubt is but ill suited with the genius of popular vanity.
Among the nations who have adopted the Mosaic history of the world, the
ark of Noah has been of the same use, as was formerly to the Greeks and
Romans the siege of Troy. On a narrow basis of acknowledged truth, an
immense but rude superstructure of fable has been erected; and the wild
Irishman,  as well as the wild Tartar,  could point out the individual
son of Japhet, from whose loins his ancestors were lineally descended.
The last century abounded with antiquarians of profound learning and
easy faith, who, by the dim light of legends and traditions, of
conjectures and etymologies, conducted the great grandchildren of Noah
from the Tower of Babel to the extremities of the globe. Of these
judicious critics, one of the most entertaining was Oaus Rudbeck,
professor in the university of Upsal.  Whatever is celebrated either in
history or fable, this zealous patriot ascribes to his country. From
Sweden (which formed so considerable a part of ancient Germany) the
Greeks themselves derived their alphabetical characters, their
astronomy, and their religion. Of that delightful region (for such it
appeared to the eyes of a native) the Atlantis of Plato, the country of
the Hyperboreans, the gardens of the Hesperides, the Fortunate Islands,
and even the Elysian Fields, were all but faint and imperfect
transcripts. A clime so profusely favored by Nature could not long
remain desert after the flood. The learned Rudbeck allows the family of
Noah a few years to multiply from eight to about twenty thousand
persons. He then disperses them into small colonies to replenish the
earth, and to propagate the human species. The German or Swedish
detachment (which marched, if I am not mistaken, under the command of
Askenaz, the son of Gomer, the son of Japhet) distinguished itself by a
more than common diligence in the prosecution of this great work. The
northern hive cast its swarms over the greatest part of Europe, Africa,
and Asia; and (to use the author's metaphor) the blood circulated from
the extremities to the heart.

But all this well-labored system of German antiquities is annihilated by
a single fact, too well attested to admit of any doubt, and of too
decisive a nature to leave room for any reply. The Germans, in the age
of Tacitus, were unacquainted with the use of letters;  and the use of
letters is the principal circumstance that distinguishes a civilized
people from a herd of savages incapable of knowledge or reflection.
Without that artificial help, the human memory soon dissipates or
corrupts the ideas intrusted to her charge; and the nobler faculties of
the mind, no longer supplied with models or with materials, gradually
forget their powers; the judgment becomes feeble and lethargic, the
imagination languid or irregular. Fully to apprehend this important
truth, let us attempt, in an improved society, to calculate the immense
distance between the man of learning and the illiteratepeasant. The
former, by reading and reflection, multiplies his own experience, and
lives in distant ages and remote countries; whilst the latter, rooted to
a single spot, and confined to a few years of existence, surpasses but
very little his fellow-laborer, the ox, in the exercise of his mental
faculties. The same, and even a greater, difference will be found
between nations than between individuals; and we may safely pronounce,
that without some species of writing, no people has ever preserved the
faithful annals of their history, ever made any considerable progress in
the abstract sciences, or ever possessed, in any tolerable degree of
perfection, the useful and agreeable arts of life.

Of these arts, the ancient Germans were wretchedly destitute. They
passed their lives in a state of ignorance and poverty, which it has
pleased some declaimers to dignify with the appellation of virtuous
simplicity. * Modern Germany is said to contain about two thousand three
hundred walled towns.  In a much wider extent of country, the geographer
Ptolemy could discover no more than ninety places which he decorates
with the name of cities;  though, according to our ideas, they would but
ill deserve that splendid title. We can only suppose them to have been
rude fortifications, constructed in the centre of the woods, and
designed to secure the women, children, and cattle, whilst the warriors
of the tribe marched out to repel a sudden invasion.  But Tacitus
asserts, as a well-known fact, that the Germans, in his time, had
nocities;  and that they affected to despise the works of Roman
industry, as places of confinement rather than of security.  Their
edifices were not even contiguous, or formed into regular villas;  each
barbarian fixed his independent dwelling on the spot to which a plain, a
wood, or a stream of fresh water, had induced him to give the
preference. Neither stone, nor brick, nor tiles, were employed in these
slight habitations.  They were indeed no more than low huts, of a
circular figure, built of rough timber, thatched with straw, and pierced
at the top to leave a free passage for the smoke. In the most inclement
winter, the hardy German was satisfied with a scanty garment made of the
skin of some animal. The nations who dwelt towards the North clothed
themselves in furs; and the women manufactured for their own use a
coarse kind of linen.  The game of various sorts, with which the forests
of Germany were plentifully stocked, supplied its inhabitants with food
and exercise.  Their monstrous herds of cattle, less remarkable indeed
for their beauty than for their utility,  formed the principal object of
their wealth. A small quantity of corn was the only produce exacted from
the earth; the use of orchards or artificial meadows was unknown to the
Germans; nor can we expect any improvements in agriculture from a
people, whose prosperity every year experienced a general change by a
new division of the arable lands, and who, in that strange operation,
avoided disputes, by suffering a great part of their territory to lie
waste and without tillage.

Gold, silver, and iron, were extremely scarce in Germany. Its barbarous
inhabitants wanted both skill and patience to investigate those rich
veins of silver, which have so liberally rewarded the attention of the
princes of Brunswick and Saxony. Sweden, which now supplies Europe with
iron, was equally ignorant of its own riches; and the appearance of the
arms of the Germans furnished a sufficient proof how little iron they
were able to bestow on what they must have deemed the noblest use of
that metal. The various transactions of peace and war had introduced
some Roman coins (chiefly silver) among the borderers of the Rhine and
Danube; but the more distant tribes were absolutely unacquainted with
the use of money, carried on their confined traffic by the exchange of
commodities, and prized their rude earthen vessels as of equal value
with the silver vases, the presents of Rome to their princes and
ambassadors.  To a mind capable of reflection, such leading facts convey
more instruction, than a tedious detail of subordinate circumstances.
The value of money has been settled by general consent to express our
wants and our property, as letters were invented to express our ideas;
and both these institutions, by giving a more active energy to the
powers and passions of human nature, have contributed to multiply the
objects they were designed to represent. The use of gold and silver is
in a great measure factitious; but it would be impossible to enumerate
the important and various services which agriculture, and all the arts,
have received from iron, when tempered and fashioned by the operation of
fire, and the dexterous hand of man. Money, in a word, is the most
universal incitement, iron the most powerful instrument, of human
industry; and it is very difficult to conceive by what means a people,
neither actuated by the one, nor seconded by the other, could emerge
from the grossest barbarism.

If we contemplate a savage nation in any part of the globe, a supine
indolence and a carelessness of futurity will be found to constitute
their general character. In a civilized state, every faculty of man is
expanded and exercised; and the great chain of mutual dependence
connects and embraces the several members of society. The most numerous
portion of it is employed in constant and useful labor. The select few,
placed by fortune above that necessity, can, however, fill up their time
by the pursuits of interest or glory, by the improvement of their estate
or of their understanding, by the duties, the pleasures, and even the
follies of social life. The Germans were not possessed of these varied
resources. The care of the house and family, the management of the land
and cattle, were delegated to the old and the infirm, to women and
slaves. The lazy warrior, destitute of every art that might employ his
leisure hours, consumed his days and nights in the animal gratifications
of sleep and food. And yet, by a wonderful diversity of nature,
(according to the remark of a writer who had pierced into its darkest
recesses,) the same barbarians are by turns the most indolent and the
most restless of mankind. They delight in sloth, they detest
tranquility.  The languid soul, oppressed with its own weight, anxiously
required some new and powerful sensation; and war and danger were the
only amusements adequate to its fierce temper. The sound that summoned
the German to arms was grateful to his ear. It roused him from his
uncomfortable lethargy, gave him an active pursuit, and, by strong
exercise of the body, and violent emotions of the mind, restored him to
a more lively sense of his existence. In the dull intervals of peace,
these barbarians were immoderately addicted to deep gaming and excessive
drinking; both of which, by different means, the one by inflaming their
passions, the other by extinguishing their reason, alike relieved them
from the pain of thinking. They gloried in passing whole days and nights
at table; and the blood of friends and relations often stained their
numerous and drunken assemblies.  Their debts of honor (for in that
light they have transmitted to us those of play) they discharged with
the most romantic fidelity. The desperate gamester, who had staked his
person and liberty on a last throw of the dice, patiently submitted to
the decision of fortune, and suffered himself to be bound, chastised,
and sold into remote slavery, by his weaker but more lucky antagonist.

Strong beer, a liquor extracted with very little art from wheat or
barley, and corrupted(as it is strongly expressed by Tacitus) into a
certain semblance of wine, was sufficient for the gross purposes of
German debauchery. But those who had tasted the rich wines of Italy, and
afterwards of Gaul, sighed for that more delicious species of
intoxication. They attempted not, however, (as has since been executed
with so much success,) to naturalize the vine on the banks of the Rhine
and Danube; nor did they endeavor to procure by industry the materials
of an advantageous commerce. To solicit by labor what might be ravished
by arms, was esteemed unworthy of the German spirit.  The intemperate
thirst of strong liquors often urged the barbarians to invade the
provinces on which art or nature had bestowed those much envied
presents. The Tuscan who betrayed his country to the Celtic nations,
attracted them into Italy by the prospect of the rich fruits and
delicious wines, the productions of a happier climate.  And in the same
manner the German auxiliaries, invited into France during the civil wars
of the sixteenth century, were allured by the promise of plenteous
quarters in the provinces of Champaigne and Burgundy.  Drunkenness, the
most illiberal, but not the most dangerous of our vices, was sometimes
capable, in a less civilized state of mankind, of occasioning a battle,
a war, or a revolution.

The climate of ancient Germany has been modified, and the soil
fertilized, by the labor of ten centuries from the time of Charlemagne.
The same extent of ground which at present maintains, in ease and
plenty, a million of husbandmen and artificers, was unable to supply a
hundred thousand lazy warriors with the simple necessaries of life.  The
Germans abandoned their immense forests to the exercise of hunting,
employed in pasturage the most considerable part of their lands,
bestowed on the small remainder a rude and careless cultivation, and
then accused the scantiness and sterility of a country that refused to
maintain the multitude of its inhabitants. When the return of famine
severely admonished them of the importance of the arts, the national
distress was sometimes alleviated by the emigration of a third, perhaps,
or a fourth part of their youth.  The possession and the enjoyment of
property are the pledges which bind a civilized people to an improved
country. But the Germans, who carried with them what they most valued,
their arms, their cattle, and their women, cheerfully abandoned the vast
silence of their woods for the unbounded hopes of plunder and conquest.
The innumerable swarms that issued, or seemed to issue, from the great
storehouse of nations, were multiplied by the fears of the vanquished,
and by the credulity of succeeding ages. And from facts thus
exaggerated, an opinion was gradually established, and has been
supported by writers of distinguished reputation, that, in the age of
Cæsar and Tacitus, the inhabitants of the North were far more numerous
than they are in our days.  A more serious inquiry into the causes of
population seems to have convinced modern philosophers of the falsehood,
and indeed the impossibility, of the supposition. To the names of
Mariana and of Machiavel,  we can oppose the equal names of Robertson
and Hume.

A warlike nation like the Germans, without either cities, letters, arts,
or money, found some compensation for this savage state in the enjoyment
of liberty. Their poverty secured their freedom, since our desires and
our possessions are the strongest fetters of despotism. "Among the
Suiones (says Tacitus) riches are held in honor. They are
thereforesubject to an absolute monarch, who, instead of intrusting his
people with the free use of arms, as is practised in the rest of
Germany, commits them to the safe custody, not of a citizen, or even of
a freedman, but of a slave. The neighbors of the Suiones, the Sitones,
are sunk even below servitude; they obey a woman."  In the mention of
these exceptions, the great historian sufficiently acknowledges the
general theory of government. We are only at a loss to conceive by what
means riches and despotism could penetrate into a remote corner of the
North, and extinguish the generous flame that blazed with such
fierceness on the frontier of the Roman provinces, or how the ancestors
of those Danes and Norwegians, so distinguished in latter ages by their
unconquered spirit, could thus tamely resign the great character of
German liberty.  Some tribes, however, on the coast of the Baltic,
acknowledged the authority of kings, though without relinquishing the
rights of men,  but in the far greater part of Germany, the form of
government was a democracy, tempered, indeed, and controlled, not so
much by general and positive laws, as by the occasional ascendant of
birth or valor, of eloquence or superstition.

Civil governments, in their first institution, are voluntary
associations for mutual defence. To obtain the desired end, it is
absolutely necessary that each individual should conceive himself
obliged to submit his private opinions and actions to the judgment of
the greater number of his associates. The German tribes were contented
with this rude but liberal outline of political society. As soon as a
youth, born of free parents, had attained the age of manhood, he was
introduced into the general council of his countrymen, solemnly invested
with a shield and spear, and adopted as an equal and worthy member of
the military commonwealth. The assembly of the warriors of the tribe was
convened at stated seasons, or on sudden emergencies. The trial of
public offences, the election of magistrates, and the great business of
peace and war, were determined by its independent voice. Sometimes
indeed, these important questions were previously considered and
prepared in a more select council of the principal chieftains.  The
magistrates might deliberate and persuade, the people only could resolve
and execute; and the resolutions of the Germans were for the most part
hasty and violent. Barbarians accustomed to place their freedom in
gratifying the present passion, and their courage in overlooking all
future consequences, turned away with indignant contempt from the
remonstrances of justice and policy, and it was the practice to signify
by a hollow murmur their dislike of such timid counsels. But whenever a
more popular orator proposed to vindicate the meanest citizen from
either foreign or domestic injury, whenever he called upon his
fellow-countrymen to assert the national honor, or to pursue some
enterprise full of danger and glory, a loud clashing of shields and
spears expressed the eager applause of the assembly. For the Germans
always met in arms, and it was constantly to be dreaded, lest an
irregular multitude, inflamed with faction and strong liquors, should
use those arms to enforce, as well as to declare, their furious
resolves. We may recollect how often the diets of Poland have been
polluted with blood, and the more numerous party has been compelled to
yield to the more violent and seditious.

A general of the tribe was elected on occasions of danger; and, if the
danger was pressing and extensive, several tribes concurred in the
choice of the same general. The bravest warrior was named to lead his
countrymen into the field, by his example rather than by his commands.
But this power, however limited, was still invidious. It expired with
the war, and in time of peace the German tribes acknowledged not any
supreme chief.  Princes were, however, appointed, in the general
assembly, to administer justice, or rather to compose differences,  in
their respective districts. In the choice of these magistrates, as much
regard was shown to birth as to merit.  To each was assigned, by the
public, a guard, and a council of a hundred persons, and the first of
the princes appears to have enjoyed a preeminence of rank and honor
which sometimes tempted the Romans to compliment him with the regal
title.

The comparative view of the powers of the magistrates, in two remarkable
instances, is alone sufficient to represent the whole system of German
manners. The disposal of the landed property within their district was
absolutely vested in their hands, and they distributed it every year
according to a new division.  At the same time they were not authorized
to punish with death, to imprison, or even to strike a private citizen.
A people thus jealous of their persons, and careless of their
possessions, must have been totally destitute of industry and the arts,
but animated with a high sense of honor and independence.

Chapter IX: State Of Germany Until The Barbarians. -- Part III.

The Germans respected only those duties which they imposed on
themselves. The most obscure soldier resisted with disdain the authority
of the magistrates. "The noblest youths blushed not to be numbered among
the faithful companions of some renowned chief, to whom they devoted
their arms and service. A noble emulation prevailed among the
companions, to obtain the first place in the esteem of their chief;
amongst the chiefs, to acquire the greatest number of valiant
companions. To be ever surrounded by a band of select youths was the
pride and strength of the chiefs, their ornament in peace, their defence
in war. The glory of such distinguished heroes diffused itself beyond
the narrow limits of their own tribe. Presents and embassies solicited
their friendship, and the fame of their arms often insured victory to
the party which they espoused. In the hour of danger it was shameful for
the chief to be surpassed in valor by his companions; shameful for the
companions not to equal the valor of their chief. To survive his fall in
battle, was indelible infamy. To protect his person, and to adorn his
glory with the trophies of their own exploits, were the most sacred of
their duties. The chiefs combated for victory, the companions for the
chief. The noblest warriors, whenever their native country was sunk into
the laziness of peace, maintained their numerous bands in some distant
scene of action, to exercise their restless spirit, and to acquire
renown by voluntary dangers. Gifts worthy of soldiers -- the warlike
steed, the bloody and even victorious lance -- were the rewards which
the companions claimed from the liberality of their chief. The rude
plenty of his hospitable board was the only pay that hecould bestow, or
they would accept. War, rapine, and the free-will offerings of his
friends, supplied the materials of this munificence.  This institution,
however it might accidentally weaken the several republics, invigorated
the general character of the Germans, and even ripened amongst them all
the virtues of which barbarians are susceptible; the faith and valor,
the hospitality and the courtesy, so conspicuous long afterwards in the
ages of chivalry. The honorable gifts, bestowed by the chief on his
brave companions, have been supposed, by an ingenious writer, to contain
the first rudiments of the fiefs, distributed after the conquest of the
Roman provinces, by the barbarian lords among their vassals, with a
similar duty of homage and military service.  These conditions are,
however, very repugnant to the maxims of the ancient Germans, who
delighted in mutual presents; but without either imposing, or accepting,
the weight of obligations.

"In the days of chivalry, or more properly of romance, all the men were
brave, and all the women were chaste;" and notwithstanding the latter of
these virtues is acquired and preserved with much more difficulty than
the former, it is ascribed, almost without exception, to the wives of
the ancient Germans. Polygamy was not in use, except among the princes,
and among them only for the sake of multiplying their alliances.
Divorces were prohibited by manners rather than by laws. Adulteries were
punished as rare and inexpiable crimes; nor was seduction justified by
example and fashion.  We may easily discover that Tacitus indulges an
honest pleasure in the contrast of barbarian virtue with the dissolute
conduct of the Roman ladies; yet there are some striking circumstances
that give an air of truth, or at least probability, to the conjugal
faith and chastity of the Germans.

Although the progress of civilization has undoubtedly contributed to
assuage the fiercer passions of human nature, it seems to have been less
favorable to the virtue of chastity, whose most dangerous enemy is the
softness of the mind. The refinements of life corrupt while they polish
the intercourse of the sexes. The gross appetite of love becomes most
dangerous when it is elevated, or rather, indeed, disguised by
sentimental passion. The elegance of dress, of motion, and of manners,
gives a lustre to beauty, and inflames the senses through the
imagination. Luxurious entertainments, midnight dances, and licentious
spectacles, present at once temptation and opportunity to female
frailty.  From such dangers the unpolished wives of the barbarians were
secured by poverty, solitude, and the painful cares of a domestic life.
The German huts, open, on every side, to the eye of indiscretion or
jealousy, were a better safeguard of conjugal fidelity, than the walls,
the bolts, and the eunuchs of a Persian haram. To this reason another
may be added, of a more honorable nature. The Germans treated their
women with esteem and confidence, consulted them on every occasion of
importance, and fondly believed, that in their breasts resided a
sanctity and wisdom more than human. Some of the interpreters of fate,
such as Velleda, in the Batavian war, governed, in the name of the
deity, the fiercest nations of Germany.  The rest of the sex, without
being adored as goddesses, were respected as the free and equal
companions of soldiers; associated even by the marriage ceremony to a
life of toil, of danger, and of glory.  In their great invasions, the
camps of the barbarians were filled with a multitude of women, who
remained firm and undaunted amidst the sound of arms, the various forms
of destruction, and the honorable wounds of their sons and husbands.
Fainting armies of Germans have, more than once, been driven back upon
the enemy, by the generous despair of the women, who dreaded death much
less than servitude. If the day was irrecoverably lost, they well knew
how to deliver themselves and their children, with their own hands, from
an insulting victor.  Heroines of such a cast may claim our admiration;
but they were most assuredly neither lovely, nor very susceptible of
love. Whilst they affected to emulate the stern virtues of man, they
must have resigned that attractive softness, in which principally
consist the charm and weakness of woman. Conscious pride taught the
German females to suppress every tender emotion that stood in
competition with honor, and the first honor of the sex has ever been
that of chastity. The sentiments and conduct of these high-spirited
matrons may, at once, be considered as a cause, as an effect, and as a
proof of the general character of the nation. Female courage, however it
may be raised by fanaticism, or confirmed by habit, can be only a faint
and imperfect imitation of the manly valor that distinguishes the age or
country in which it may be found.

The religious system of the Germans (if the wild opinions of savages can
deserve that name) was dictated by their wants, their fears, and their
ignorance.  They adored the great visible objects and agents of nature,
the Sun and the Moon, the Fire and the Earth; together with those
imaginary deities, who were supposed to preside over the most important
occupations of human life. They were persuaded, that, by some ridiculous
arts of divination, they could discover the will of the superior beings,
and that human sacrifices were the most precious and acceptable offering
to their altars. Some applause has been hastily bestowed on the sublime
notion, entertained by that people, of the Deity, whom they neither
confined within the walls of the temple, nor represented by any human
figure; but when we recollect, that the Germans were unskilled in
architecture, and totally unacquainted with the art of sculpture, we
shall readily assign the true reason of a scruple, which arose not so
much from a superiority of reason, as from a want of ingenuity. The only
temples in Germany were dark and ancient groves, consecrated by the
reverence of succeeding generations. Their secret gloom, the imagined
residence of an invisible power, by presenting no distinct object of
fear or worship, impressed the mind with a still deeper sense of
religious horror;  and the priests, rude and illiterate as they were,
had been taught by experience the use of every artifice that could
preserve and fortify impressions so well suited to their own interest.

The same ignorance, which renders barbarians incapable of conceiving or
embracing the useful restraints of laws, exposes them naked and unarmed
to the blind terrors of superstition. The German priests, improving this
favorable temper of their countrymen, had assumed a jurisdiction even in
temporal concerns, which the magistrate could not venture to exercise;
and the haughty warrior patiently submitted to the lash of correction,
when it was inflicted, not by any human power, but by the immediate
order of the god of war.  The defects of civil policy were sometimes
supplied by the interposition of ecclesiastical authority. The latter
was constantly exerted to maintain silence and decency in the popular
assemblies; and was sometimes extended to a more enlarged concern for
the national welfare. A solemn procession was occasionally celebrated in
the present countries of Mecklenburgh and Pomerania. The unknown symbol
of the Earth, covered with a thick veil, was placed on a carriage drawn
by cows; and in this manner the goddess, whose common residence was in
the Isles of Rugen, visited several adjacent tribes of her worshippers.
During her progress the sound of war was hushed, quarrels were
suspended, arms laid aside, and the restless Germans had an opportunity
of tasting the blessings of peace and harmony.  The truce of God, so
often and so ineffectually proclaimed by the clergy of the eleventh
century, was an obvious imitation of this ancient custom.

But the influence of religion was far more powerful to inflame, than to
moderate, the fierce passions of the Germans. Interest and fanaticism
often prompted its ministers to sanctify the most daring and the most
unjust enterprises, by the approbation of Heaven, and full assurances of
success. The consecrated standards, long revered in the groves of
superstition, were placed in the front of the battle;  and the hostile
army was devoted with dire execrations to the gods of war and of
thunder.  In the faith of soldiers (and such were the Germans) cowardice
is the most unpardonable of sins. A brave man was the worthy favorite of
their martial deities; the wretch who had lost his shield was alike
banished from the religious and civil assemblies of his countrymen. Some
tribes of the north seem to have embraced the doctrine of
transmigration,  others imagined a gross paradise of immortal
drunkenness.  All agreed, that a life spent in arms, and a glorious
death in battle, were the best preparations for a happy futurity, either
in this or in another world.

The immortality so vainly promised by the priests, was, in some degree,
conferred by the bards. That singular order of men has most deservedly
attracted the notice of all who have attempted to investigate the
antiquities of the Celts, the Scandinavians, and the Germans. Their
genius and character, as well as the reverence paid to that important
office, have been sufficiently illustrated. But we cannot so easily
express, or even conceive, the enthusiasm of arms and glory which they
kindled in the breast of their audience. Among a polished people, a
taste for poetry is rather an amusement of the fancy, than a passion of
the soul. And yet, when in calm retirement we peruse the combats
described by Homer or Tasso, we are insensibly seduced by the fiction,
and feel a momentary glow of martial ardor. But how faint, how cold is
the sensation which a peaceful mind can receive from solitary study! It
was in the hour of battle, or in the feast of victory, that the bards
celebrated the glory of the heroes of ancient days, the ancestors of
those warlike chieftains, who listened with transport to their artless
but animated strains. The view of arms and of danger heightened the
effect of the military song; and the passions which it tended to excite,
the desire of fame, and the contempt of death, were the habitual
sentiments of a German mind.  *

Such was the situation, and such were the manners of the ancient
Germans. Their climate, their want of learning, of arts, and of laws,
their notions of honor, of gallantry, and of religion, their sense of
freedom, impatience of peace, and thirst of enterprise, all contributed
to form a people of military heroes. And yet we find, that during more
than two hundred and fifty years that elapsed from the defeat of Varus
to the reign of Decius, these formidable barbarians made few
considerable attempts, and not any material impression on the luxurious
and enslaved provinces of the empire. Their progress was checked by
their want of arms and discipline, and their fury was diverted by the
intestine divisions of ancient Germany.

I. It has been observed, with ingenuity, and not without truth, that the
command of iron soon gives a nation the command of gold. But the rude
tribes of Germany, alike destitute of both those valuable metals, were
reduced slowly to acquire, by their unassisted strength, the possession
of the one as well as the other. The face of a German army displayed
their poverty of iron. Swords, and the longer kind of lances, they could
seldom use. Their frame (as they called them in their own language) were
long spears headed with a sharp but narrow iron point, and which, as
occasion required, they either darted from a distance, or pushed in
close onset. With this spear, and with a shield, their cavalry was
contented. A multitude of darts, scattered  with incredible force, were
an additional resource of the infantry. Their military dress, when they
wore any, was nothing more than a loose mantle. A variety of colors was
the only ornament of their wooden or osier shields. Few of the chiefs
were distinguished by cuirasses, scarcely any by helmets. Though the
horses of Germany were neither beautiful, swift, nor practised in the
skilful evolutions of the Roman manege, several of the nations obtained
renown by their cavalry; but, in general, the principal strength of the
Germans consisted in their infantry,  which was drawn up in several deep
columns, according to the distinction of tribes and families. Impatient
of fatigue and delay, these half-armed warriors rushed to battle with
dissonant shouts and disordered ranks; and sometimes, by the effort of
native valor, prevailed over the constrained and more artificial bravery
of the Roman mercenaries. But as the barbarians poured forth their whole
souls on the first onset, they knew not how to rally or to retire. A
repulse was a sure defeat; and a defeat was most commonly total
destruction. When we recollect the complete armor of the Roman soldiers,
their discipline, exercises, evolutions, fortified camps, and military
engines, it appears a just matter of surprise, how the naked and
unassisted valor of the barbarians could dare to encounter, in the
field, the strength of the legions, and the various troops of the
auxiliaries, which seconded their operations. The contest was too
unequal, till the introduction of luxury had enervated the vigor, and a
spirit of disobedience and sedition had relaxed the discipline, of the
Roman armies. The introduction of barbarian auxiliaries into those
armies, was a measure attended with very obvious dangers, as it might
gradually instruct the Germans in the arts of war and of policy.
Although they were admitted in small numbers and with the strictest
precaution, the example of Civilis was proper to convince the Romans,
that the danger was not imaginary, and that their precautions were not
always sufficient.  During the civil wars that followed the death of
Nero, that artful and intrepid Batavian, whom his enemies condescended
to compare with Hannibal and Sertorius,  formed a great design of
freedom and ambition. Eight Batavian cohorts renowned in the wars of
Britain and Italy, repaired to his standard. He introduced an army of
Germans into Gaul, prevailed on the powerful cities of Treves and
Langres to embrace his cause, defeated the legions, destroyed their
fortified camps, and employed against the Romans the military knowledge
which he had acquired in their service. When at length, after an
obstinate struggle, he yielded to the power of the empire, Civilis
secured himself and his country by an honorable treaty. The Batavians
still continued to occupy the islands of the Rhine,  the allies, not the
servants, of the Roman monarchy.

II. The strength of ancient Germany appears formidable, when we consider
the effects that might have been produced by its united effort. The wide
extent of country might very possibly contain a million of warriors, as
all who were of age to bear arms were of a temper to use them. But this
fierce multitude, incapable of concerting or executing any plan of
national greatness, was agitated by various and often hostile
intentions. Germany was divided into more than forty independent states;
and, even in each state, the union of the several tribes was extremely
loose and precarious. The barbarians were easily provoked; they knew not
how to forgive an injury, much less an insult; their resentments were
bloody and implacable. The casual disputes that so frequently happened
in their tumultuous parties of hunting or drinking, were sufficient to
inflame the minds of whole nations; the private feuds of any
considerable chieftains diffused itself among their followers and
allies. To chastise the insolent, or to plunder the defenceless, were
alike causes of war. The most formidable states of Germany affected to
encompass their territories with a wide frontier of solitude and
devastation. The awful distance preserved by their neighbors attested
the terror of their arms, and in some measure defended them from the
danger of unexpected incursions.

"The Bructeri * (it is Tacitus who now speaks) were totally exterminated
by the neighboring tribes,  provoked by their insolence, allured by the
hopes of spoil, and perhaps inspired by the tutelar deities of the
empire. Above sixty thousand barbarians were destroyed; not by the Roman
arms, but in our sight, and for our entertainment. May the nations,
enemies of Rome, ever preserve this enmity to each other! We have now
attained the utmost verge of prosperity,  and have nothing left to
demand of fortune, except the discord of the barbarians."  -- These
sentiments, less worthy of the humanity than of the patriotism of
Tacitus, express the invariable maxims of the policy of his countrymen.
They deemed it a much safer expedient to divide than to combat the
barbarians, from whose defeat they could derive neither honor nor
advantage. The money and negotiations of Rome insinuated themselves into
the heart of Germany; and every art of seduction was used with dignity,
to conciliate those nations whom their proximity to the Rhine or Danube
might render the most useful friends as well as the most troublesome
enemies. Chiefs of renown and power were flattered by the most trifling
presents, which they received either as marks of distinction, or as the
instruments of luxury. In civil dissensions the weaker faction
endeavored to strengthen its interest by entering into secret
connections with the governors of the frontier provinces. Every quarrel
among the Germans was fomented by the intrigues of Rome; and every plan
of union and public good was defeated by the stronger bias of private
jealousy and interest.

The general conspiracy which terrified the Romans under the reign of
Marcus Antoninus, comprehended almost all the nations of Germany, and
even Sarmatia, from the mouth of the Rhine to that of the Danube.  It is
impossible for us to determine whether this hasty confederation was
formed by necessity, by reason, or by passion; but we may rest assured,
that the barbarians were neither allured by the indolence, nor provoked
by the ambition, of the Roman monarch. This dangerous invasion required
all the firmness and vigilance of Marcus. He fixed generals of ability
in the several stations of attack, and assumed in person the conduct of
the most important province on the Upper Danube. After a long and
doubtful conflict, the spirit of the barbarians was subdued. The Quadi
and the Marcomanni,  who had taken the lead in the war, were the most
severely punished in its catastrophe. They were commanded to retire five
miles  from their own banks of the Danube, and to deliver up the flower
of the youth, who were immediately sent into Britain, a remote island,
where they might be secure as hostages, and useful as soldiers.  On the
frequent rebellions of the Quadi and Marcomanni, the irritated emperor
resolved to reduce their country into the form of a province. His
designs were disappointed by death. This formidable league, however, the
only one that appears in the two first centuries of the Imperial
history, was entirely dissipated, without leaving any traces behind in
Germany.

In the course of this introductory chapter, we have confined ourselves
to the general outlines of the manners of Germany, without attempting to
describe or to distinguish the various tribes which filled that great
country in the time of Cæsar, of Tacitus, or of Ptolemy. As the ancient,
or as new tribes successively present themselves in the series of this
history, we shall concisely mention their origin, their situation, and
their particular character. Modern nations are fixed and permanent
societies, connected among themselves by laws and government, bound to
their native soil by arts and agriculture. The German tribes were
voluntary and fluctuating associations of soldiers, almost of savages.
The same territory often changed its inhabitants in the tide of conquest
and emigration. The same communities, uniting in a plan of defence or
invasion, bestowed a new title on their new confederacy. The dissolution
of an ancient confederacy restored to the independent tribes their
peculiar but long-forgotten appellation. A victorious state often
communicated its own name to a vanquished people. Sometimes crowds of
volunteers flocked from all parts to the standard of a favorite leader;
his camp became their country, and some circumstance of the enterprise
soon gave a common denomination to the mixed multitude. The distinctions
of the ferocious invaders were perpetually varied by themselves, and
confounded by the astonished subjects of the Roman empire.

Wars, and the administration of public affairs, are the principal
subjects of history; but the number of persons interested in these busy
scenes is very different, according to the different condition of
mankind. In great monarchies, millions of obedient subjects pursue their
useful occupations in peace and obscurity. The attention of the writer,
as well as of the reader, is solely confined to a court, a capital, a
regular army, and the districts which happen to be the occasional scene
of military operations. But a state of freedom and barbarism, the season
of civil commotions, or the situation of petty republics,  raises almost
every member of the community into action, and consequently into notice.
The irregular divisions, and the restless motions, of the people of
Germany, dazzle our imagination, and seem to multiply their numbers. The
profuse enumeration of kings, of warriors, of armies and nations,
inclines us to forget that the same objects are continually repeated
under a variety of appellations, and that the most splendid appellations
have been frequently lavished on the most inconsiderable objects.

Chapter X: Emperors Decius, Gallus, Æmilianus, Valerian And Gallienus.
Part I.

The Emperors Decius, Gallus, Æmilianus, Valerian, And Gallienus. -- The
General Irruption Of The Barbari Ans. -- The Thirty Tyrants.

From the great secular games celebrated by Philip, to the death of the
emperor Gallienus, there elapsed twenty years of shame and misfortune.
During that calamitous period, every instant of time was marked, every
province of the Roman world was afflicted, by barbarous invaders, and
military tyrants, and the ruined empire seemed to approach the last and
fatal moment of its dissolution. The confusion of the times, and the
scarcity of authentic memorials, oppose equal difficulties to the
historian, who attempts to preserve a clear and unbroken thread of
narration. Surrounded with imperfect fragments, always concise, often
obscure, and sometimes contradictory, he is reduced to collect, to
compare, and to conjecture: and though he ought never to place his
conjectures in the rank of facts, yet the knowledge of human nature, and
of the sure operation of its fierce and unrestrained passions, might, on
some occasions, supply the want of historical materials.

There is not, for instance, any difficulty in conceiving, that the
successive murders of so many emperors had loosened all the ties of
allegiance between the prince and people; that all the generals of
Philip were disposed to imitate the example of their master; and that
the caprice of armies, long since habituated to frequent and violent
revolutions, might every day raise to the throne the most obscure of
their fellow-soldiers. History can only add, that the rebellion against
the emperor Philip broke out in the summer of the year two hundred and
forty-nine, among the legions of Mæsia; and that a subaltern officer,
named Marinus, was the object of their seditious choice. Philip was
alarmed. He dreaded lest the treason of the Mæsian army should prove the
first spark of a general conflagration. Distracted with the
consciousness of his guilt and of his danger, he communicated the
intelligence to the senate. A gloomy silence prevailed, the effect of
fear, and perhaps of disaffection; till at length Decius, one of the
assembly, assuming a spirit worthy of his noble extraction, ventured to
discover more intrepidity than the emperor seemed to possess. He treated
the whole business with contempt, as a hasty and inconsiderate tumult,
and Philip's rival as a phantom of royalty, who in a very few days would
be destroyed by the same inconstancy that had created him. The speedy
completion of the prophecy inspired Philip with a just esteem for so
able a counsellor; and Decius appeared to him the only person capable of
restoring peace and discipline to an army whose tumultuous spirit did
not immediately subside after the murder of Marinus. Decius,  who long
resisted his own nomination, seems to have insinuated the danger of
presenting a leader of merit to the angry and apprehensive minds of the
soldiers; and his prediction was again confirmed by the event. The
legions of Mæsia forced their judge to become their accomplice. They
left him only the alternative of death or the purple. His subsequent
conduct, after that decisive measure, was unavoidable. He conducted, or
followed, his army to the confines of Italy, whither Philip, collecting
all his force to repel the formidable competitor whom he had raised up,
advanced to meet him. The Imperial troops were superior in number; but
the rebels formed an army of veterans, commanded by an able and
experienced leader. Philip was either killed in the battle, or put to
death a few days afterwards at Verona. His son and associate in the
empire was massacred at Rome by the Prætorian guards; and the victorious
Decius, with more favorable circumstances than the ambition of that age
can usually plead, was universally acknowledged by the senate and
provinces. It is reported, that, immediately after his reluctant
acceptance of the title of Augustus, he had assured Philip, by a private
message, of his innocence and loyalty, solemnly protesting, that, on his
arrival on Italy, he would resign the Imperial ornaments, and return to
the condition of an obedient subject. His professions might be sincere;
but in the situation where fortune had placed him, it was scarcely
possible that he could either forgive or be forgiven.

The emperor Decius had employed a few months in the works of peace and
the administration of justice, when he was summoned to the banks of the
Danube by the invasion of the Goths. This is the first considerable
occasion in which history mentions that great people, who afterwards
broke the Roman power, sacked the Capitol, and reigned in Gaul, Spain,
and Italy. So memorable was the part which they acted in the subversion
of the Western empire, that the name of Goths is frequently but
improperly used as a general appellation of rude and warlike barbarism.

In the beginning of the sixth century, and after the conquest of Italy,
the Goths, in possession of present greatness, very naturally indulged
themselves in the prospect of past and of future glory. They wished to
preserve the memory of their ancestors, and to transmit to posterity
their own achievements.

The principal minister of the court of Ravenna, the learned Cassiodorus,
gratified the inclination of the conquerors in a Gothic history, which
consisted of twelve books, now reduced to the imperfect abridgment of
Jornandes.  These writers passed with the most artful conciseness over
the misfortunes of the nation, celebrated its successful valor, and
adorned the triumph with many Asiatic trophies, that more properly
belonged to the people of Scythia. On the faith of ancient songs, the
uncertain, but the only memorials of barbarians, they deduced the first
origin of the Goths from the vast island, or peninsula, of Scandinavia.
* That extreme country of the North was not unknown to the conquerors of
Italy: the ties of ancient consanguinity had been strengthened by recent
offices of friendship; and a Scandinavian king had cheerfully abdicated
his savage greatness, that he might pass the remainder of his days in
the peaceful and polished court of Ravenna.  Many vestiges, which cannot
be ascribed to the arts of popular vanity, attest the ancient residence
of the Goths in the countries beyond the Rhine. From the time of the
geographer Ptolemy, the southern part of Sweden seems to have continued
in the possession of the less enterprising remnant of the nation, and a
large territory is even at present divided into east and west Gothland.
During the middle ages, (from the ninth to the twelfth century,) whilst
Christianity was advancing with a slow progress into the North, the
Goths and the Swedes composed two distinct and sometimes hostile members
of the same monarchy.  The latter of these two names has prevailed
without extinguishing the former. The Swedes, who might well be
satisfied with their own fame in arms, have, in every age, claimed the
kindred glory of the Goths. In a moment of discontent against the court
of Rome, Charles the Twelfth insinuated, that his victorious troops were
not degenerated from their brave ancestors, who had already subdued the
mistress of the world.

Till the end of the eleventh century, a celebrated temple subsisted at
Upsal, the most considerable town of the Swedes and Goths. It was
enriched with the gold which the Scandinavians had acquired in their
piratical adventures, and sanctified by the uncouth representations of
the three principal deities, the god of war, the goddess of generation,
and the god of thunder. In the general festival, that was solemnized
every ninth year, nine animals of every species (without excepting the
human) were sacrificed, and their bleeding bodies suspended in the
sacred grove adjacent to the temple.  The only traces that now subsist
of this barbaric superstition are contained in the Edda, * a system of
mythology, compiled in Iceland about the thirteenth century, and studied
by the learned of Denmark and Sweden, as the most valuable remains of
their ancient traditions.

Notwithstanding the mysterious obscurity of the Edda, we can easily
distinguish two persons confounded under the name of Odin; the god of
war, and the great legislator of Scandinavia. The latter, the Mahomet of
the North, instituted a religion adapted to the climate and to the
people. Numerous tribes on either side of the Baltic were subdued by the
invincible valor of Odin, by his persuasive eloquence, and by the fame
which he acquired of a most skilful magician. The faith that he had
propagated, during a long and prosperous life, he confirmed by a
voluntary death. Apprehensive of the ignominious approach of disease and
infirmity, he resolved to expire as became a warrior. In a solemn
assembly of the Swedes and Goths, he wounded himself in nine mortal
places, hastening away (as he asserted with his dying voice) to prepare
the feast of heroes in the palace of the God of war.

The native and proper habitation of Odin is distinguished by the
appellation of As-gard. The happy resemblance of that name with As-burg,
or As-of,  words of a similar signification, has given rise to an
historical system of so pleasing a contexture, that we could almost wish
to persuade ourselves of its truth. It is supposed that Odin was the
chief of a tribe of barbarians which dwelt on the banks of the Lake
Mæotis, till the fall of Mithridates and the arms of Pompey menaced the
North with servitude. That Odin, yielding with indignant fury to a power
which he was unable to resist, conducted his tribe from the frontiers of
the Asiatic Sarmatia into Sweden, with the great design of forming, in
that inaccessible retreat of freedom, a religion and a people, which, in
some remote age, might be subservient to his immortal revenge; when his
invincible Goths, armed with martial fanaticism, should issue in
numerous swarms from the neighborhood of the Polar circle, to chastise
the oppressors of mankind.

If so many successive generations of Goths were capable of preserving a
faint tradition of their Scandinavian origin, we must not expect, from
such unlettered barbarians, any distinct account of the time and
circumstances of their emigration. To cross the Baltic was an easy and
natural attempt. The inhabitants of Sweden were masters of a sufficient
number of large vessels, with oars,  and the distance is little more
than one hundred miles from Carlscroon to the nearest ports of Pomerania
and Prussia. Here, at length, we land on firm and historic ground. At
least as early as the Christian æra,  and as late as the age of the
Antonines,  the Goths were established towards the mouth of the Vistula,
and in that fertile province where the commercial cities of Thorn,
Elbing, Koningsberg, and Dantzick, were long afterwards founded.
Westward of the Goths, the numerous tribes of the Vandals were spread
along the banks of the Oder, and the sea-coast of Pomerania and
Mecklenburgh. A striking resemblance of manners, complexion, religion,
and language, seemed to indicate that the Vandals and the Goths were
originally one great people.  The latter appear to have been subdivided
into Ostrogoths, Visigoths, and Gepidæ.  The distinction among the
Vandals was more strongly marked by the independent names of Heruli,
Burgundians, Lombards, and a variety of other petty states, many of
which, in a future age, expanded themselves into powerful monarchies.

In the age of the Antonines, the Goths were still seated in Prussia.
About the reign of Alexander Severus, the Roman province of Dacia had
already experienced their proximity by frequent and destructive inroads.
In this interval, therefore, of about seventy years, we must place the
second migration of about seventy years, we must place the second
migration of the Goths from the Baltic to the Euxine; but the cause that
produced it lies concealed among the various motives which actuate the
conduct of unsettled barbarians. Either a pestilence or a famine, a
victory or a defeat, an oracle of the gods or the eloquence of a daring
leader, were sufficient to impel the Gothic arms on the milder climates
of the south. Besides the influence of a martial religion, the numbers
and spirit of the Goths were equal to the most dangerous adventures. The
use of round bucklers and short swords rendered them formidable in a
close engagement; the manly obedience which they yielded to hereditary
kings, gave uncommon union and stability to their councils;  and the
renowned Amala, the hero of that age, and the tenth ancestor of
Theodoric, king of Italy, enforced, by the ascendant of personal merit,
the prerogative of his birth, which he derived from the Anses, or demi
gods of the Gothic nation.

The fame of a great enterprise excited the bravest warriors from all the
Vandalic states of Germany, many of whom are seen a few years afterwards
combating under the common standard of the Goths.  The first motions of
the emigrants carried them to the banks of the Prypec, a river
universally conceived by the ancients to be the southern branch of the
Borysthenes.  The windings of that great stream through the plains of
Poland and Russia gave a direction to their line of march, and a
constant supply of fresh water and pasturage to their numerous herds of
cattle. They followed the unknown course of the river, confident in
their valor, and careless of whatever power might oppose their progress.
The Bastarnæand the Venedi were the first who presented themselves; and
the flower of their youth, either from choice or compulsion, increased
the Gothic army. The Bastarnædwelt on the northern side of the
Carpathian Mountains: the immense tract of land that separated the
Bastarnæfrom the savages of Finland was possessed, or rather wasted, by
the Venedi;  we have some reason to believe that the first of these
nations, which distinguished itself in the Macedonian war,  and was
afterwards divided into the formidable tribes of the Peucini, the
Borani, the Carpi, &c., derived its origin from the Germans. * With
better authority, a Sarmatian extraction may be assigned to the Venedi,
who rendered themselves so famous in the middle ages.  But the confusion
of blood and manners on that doubtful frontier often perplexed the most
accurate observers.  As the Goths advanced near the Euxine Sea, they
encountered a purer race of Sarmatians, the Jazyges, the Alani,  and the
Roxolani; and they were probably the first Germans who saw the mouths of
the Borysthenes, and of the Tanais. If we inquire into the
characteristic marks of the people of Germany and of Sarmatia, we shall
discover that those two great portions of human kind were principally
distinguished by fixed huts or movable tents, by a close dress or
flowing garments, by the marriage of one or of several wives, by a
military force, consisting, for the most part, either of infantry or
cavalry; and above all, by the use of the Teutonic, or of the Sclavonian
language; the last of which has been diffused by conquest, from the
confines of Italy to the neighborhood of Japan.

Chapter X: Emperors Decius, Gallus, Æmilianus, Valerian And Gallienus.
-- Part II.

The Goths were now in possession of the Ukraine, a country of
considerable extent and uncommon fertility, intersected with navigable
rivers, which, from either side, discharge themselves into the
Borysthenes; and interspersed with large and leafy forests of oaks. The
plenty of game and fish, the innumerable bee-hives deposited in the
hollow of old trees, and in the cavities of rocks, and forming, even in
that rude age, a valuable branch of commerce, the size of the cattle,
the temperature of the air, the aptness of the soil for every species of
gain, and the luxuriancy of the vegetation, all displayed the liberality
of Nature, and tempted the industry of man.  But the Goths withstood all
these temptations, and still adhered to a life of idleness, of poverty,
and of rapine.

The Scythian hordes, which, towards the east, bordered on the new
settlements of the Goths, presented nothing to their arms, except the
doubtful chance of an unprofitable victory. But the prospect of the
Roman territories was far more alluring; and the fields of Dacia were
covered with rich harvests, sown by the hands of an industrious, and
exposed to be gathered by those of a warlike, people. It is probable
that the conquests of Trajan, maintained by his successors, less for any
real advantage than for ideal dignity, had contributed to weaken the
empire on that side. The new and unsettled province of Dacia was neither
strong enough to resist, nor rich enough to satiate, the rapaciousness
of the barbarians. As long as the remote banks of the Niester were
considered as the boundary of the Roman power, the fortifications of the
Lower Danube were more carelessly guarded, and the inhabitants of Mæsia
lived in supine security, fondly conceiving themselves at an
inaccessible distance from any barbarian invaders. The irruptions of the
Goths, under the reign of Philip, fatally convinced them of their
mistake. The king, or leader, of that fierce nation, traversed with
contempt the province of Dacia, and passed both the Niester and the
Danube without encountering any opposition capable of retarding his
progress. The relaxed discipline of the Roman troops betrayed the most
important posts, where they were stationed, and the fear of deserved
punishment induced great numbers of them to enlist under the Gothic
standard. The various multitude of barbarians appeared, at length, under
the walls of Marcianopolis, a city built by Trajan in honor of his
sister, and at that time the capital of the second Mæsia.  The
inhabitants consented to ransom their lives and property by the payment
of a large sum of money, and the invaders retreated back into their
deserts, animated, rather than satisfied, with the first success of
their arms against an opulent but feeble country. Intelligence was soon
transmitted to the emperor Decius, that Cniva, king of the Goths, had
passed the Danube a second time, with more considerable forces; that his
numerous detachments scattered devastation over the province of Mæsia,
whilst the main body of the army, consisting of seventy thousand Germans
and Sarmatians, a force equal to the most daring achievements, required
the presence of the Roman monarch, and the exertion of his military
power.

Decius found the Goths engaged before Nicopolis, one of the many
monuments of Trajan's victories.  On his approach they raised the siege,
but with a design only of marching away to a conquest of greater
importance, the siege of Philippopolis, a city of Thrace, founded by the
father of Alexander, near the foot of Mount Hæmus.  Decius followed them
through a difficult country, and by forced marches; but when he imagined
himself at a considerable distance from the rear of the Goths, Cniva
turned with rapid fury on his pursuers. The camp of the Romans was
surprised and pillaged, and, for the first time, their emperor fled in
disorder before a troop of half-armed barbarians. After a long
resistance, Philoppopolis, destitute of succor, was taken by storm. A
hundred thousand persons are reported to have been massacred in the sack
of that great city.  Many prisoners of consequence became a valuable
accession to the spoil; and Priscus, a brother of the late emperor
Philip, blushed not to assume the purple, under the protection of the
barbarous enemies of Rome.  The time, however, consumed in that tedious
siege, enabled Decius to revive the courage, restore the discipline, and
recruit the numbers of his troops. He intercepted several parties of
Carpi, and other Germans, who were hastening to share the victory of
their countrymen,  intrusted the passes of the mountains to officers of
approved valor and fidelity,  repaired and strengthened the
fortifications of the Danube, and exerted his utmost vigilance to oppose
either the progress or the retreat of the Goths. Encouraged by the
return of fortune, he anxiously waited for an opportunity to retrieve,
by a great and decisive blow, his own glory, and that of the Roman arms.

At the same time when Decius was struggling with the violence of the
tempest, his mind, calm and deliberate amidst the tumult of war,
investigated the more general causes, that, since the age of the
Antonines, had so impetuously urged the decline of the Roman greatness.
He soon discovered that it was impossible to replace that greatness on a
permanent basis, without restoring public virtue, ancient principles and
manners, and the oppressed majesty of the laws. To execute this noble
but arduous design, he first resolved to revive the obsolete office of
censor; an office which, as long as it had subsisted in its pristine
integrity, had so much contributed to the perpetuity of the state,  till
it was usurped and gradually neglected by the Cæsars.  Conscious that
the favor of the sovereign may confer power, but that the esteem of the
people can alone bestow authority, he submitted the choice of the censor
to the unbiased voice of the senate. By their unanimous votes, or rather
acclamations, Valerian, who was afterwards emperor, and who then served
with distinction in the army of Decius, was declared the most worthy of
that exalted honor. As soon as the decree of the senate was transmitted
to the emperor, he assembled a great council in his camp, and before the
investiture of the censor elect, he apprised him of the difficulty and
importance of his great office. "Happy Valerian," said the prince to his
distinguished subject, "happy in the general approbation of the senate
and of the Roman republic! Accept the censorship of mankind; and judge
of our manners. You will select those who deserve to continue members of
the senate; you will restore the equestrian order to its ancient
splendor; you will improve the revenue, yet moderate the public burdens.
You will distinguish into regular classes the various and infinite
multitude of citizens, and accurately view the military strength, the
wealth, the virtue, and the resources of Rome. Your decisions shall
obtain the force of laws. The army, the palace, the ministers of
justice, and the great officers of the empire, are all subject to your
tribunal. None are exempted, excepting only the ordinary consuls,  the
præfect of the city, the king of the sacrifices, and (as long as she
preserves her chastity inviolate) the eldest of the vestal virgins. Even
these few, who may not dread the severity, will anxiously solicit the
esteem, of the Roman censor."

A magistrate, invested with such extensive powers, would have appeared
not so much the minister, as the colleague of his sovereign.  Valerian
justly dreaded an elevation so full of envy and of suspicion. He
modestly argued the alarming greatness of the trust, his own
insufficiency, and the incurable corruption of the times. He artfully
insinuated, that the office of censor was inseparable from the Imperial
dignity, and that the feeble hands of a subject were unequal to the
support of such an immense weight of cares and of power.  The
approaching event of war soon put an end to the prosecution of a project
so specious, but so impracticable; and whilst it preserved Valerian from
the danger, saved the emperor Decius from the disappointment, which
would most probably have attended it. A censor may maintain, he can
never restore, the morals of a state. It is impossible for such a
magistrate to exert his authority with benefit, or even with effect,
unless he is supported by a quick sense of honor and virtue in the minds
of the people, by a decent reverence for the public opinion, and by a
train of useful prejudices combating on the side of national manners. In
a period when these principles are annihilated, the censorial
jurisdiction must either sink into empty pageantry, or be converted into
a partial instrument of vexatious oppression.  It was easier to vanquish
the Goths than to eradicate the public vices; yet even in the first of
these enterprises, Decius lost his army and his life.

The Goths were now, on every side, surrounded and pursued by the Roman
arms. The flower of their troops had perished in the long siege of
Philippopolis, and the exhausted country could no longer afford
subsistence for the remaining multitude of licentious barbarians.
Reduced to this extremity, the Goths would gladly have purchased, by the
surrender of all their booty and prisoners, the permission of an
undisturbed retreat. But the emperor, confident of victory, and
resolving, by the chastisement of these invaders, to strike a salutary
terror into the nations of the North, refused to listen to any terms of
accommodation. The high-spirited barbarians preferred death to slavery.
An obscure town of Mæsia, called Forum Terebronii,  was the scene of the
battle. The Gothic army was drawn up in three lines, and either from
choice or accident, the front of the third line was covered by a morass.
In the beginning of the action, the son of Decius, a youth of the
fairest hopes, and already associated to the honors of the purple, was
slain by an arrow, in the sight of his afflicted father; who, summoning
all his fortitude, admonished the dismayed troops, that the loss of a
single soldier was of little importance to the republic.  The conflict
was terrible; it was the combat of despair against grief and rage. The
first line of the Goths at length gave way in disorder; the second,
advancing to sustain it, shared its fate; and the third only remained
entire, prepared to dispute the passage of the morass, which was
imprudently attempted by the presumption of the enemy. "Here the fortune
of the day turned, and all things became adverse to the Romans; the
place deep with ooze, sinking under those who stood, slippery to such as
advanced; their armor heavy, the waters deep; nor could they wield, in
that uneasy situation, their weighty javelins. The barbarians, on the
contrary, were inured to encounter in the bogs, their persons tall,
their spears long, such as could wound at a distance."  In this morass
the Roman army, after an ineffectual struggle, was irrecoverably lost;
nor could the body of the emperor ever be found.  Such was the fate of
Decius, in the fiftieth year of his age; an accomplished prince, active
in war and affable in peace;  who, together with his son, has deserved
to be compared, both in life and death, with the brightest examples of
ancient virtue.

This fatal blow humbled, for a very little time, she insolence of the
legions. They appeared to have patiently expected, and submissively
obeyed, the decree of the senate which regulated the succession to the
throne. From a just regard for the memory of Decius, the Imperial title
was conferred on Hostilianus, his only surviving son; but an equal rank,
with more effectual power, was granted to Gallus, whose experience and
ability seemed equal to the great trust of guardian to the young prince
and the distressed empire.  The first care of the new emperor was to
deliver the Illyrian provinces from the intolerable weight of the
victorious Goths. He consented to leave in their hands the rich fruits
of their invasion, an immense booty, and what was still more
disgraceful, a great number of prisoners of the highest merit and
quality. He plentifully supplied their camp with every conveniency that
could assuage their angry spirits or facilitate their so much wished-for
departure; and he even promised to pay them annually a large sum of
gold, on condition they should never afterwards infest the Roman
territories by their incursions.

In the age of the Scipios, the most opulent kings of the earth, who
courted the protection of the victorious commonwealth, were gratified
with such trifling presents as could only derive a value from the hand
that bestowed them; an ivory chair, a coarse garment of purple, an
inconsiderable piece of plate, or a quantity of copper coin.  After the
wealth of nations had centred in Rome, the emperors displayed their
greatness, and even their policy, by the regular exercise of a steady
and moderate liberality towards the allies of the state. They relieved
the poverty of the barbarians, honored their merit, and recompensed
their fidelity. These voluntary marks of bounty were understood to flow,
not from the fears, but merely from the generosity or the gratitude of
the Romans; and whilst presents and subsidies were liberally distributed
among friends and suppliants, they were sternly refused to such as
claimed them as a debt.  But this stipulation, of an annual payment to a
victorious enemy, appeared without disguise in the light of an
ignominious tribute; the minds of the Romans were not yet accustomed to
accept such unequal laws from a tribe of barbarians; and the prince, who
by a necessary concession had probably saved his country, became the
object of the general contempt and aversion. The death of Hostiliamus,
though it happened in the midst of a raging pestilence, was interpreted
as the personal crime of Gallus;  and even the defeat of the later
emperor was ascribed by the voice of suspicion to the perfidious
counsels of his hated successor.  The tranquillity which the empire
enjoyed during the first year of his administration,  served rather to
inflame than to appease the public discontent; and as soon as the
apprehensions of war were removed, the infamy of the peace was more
deeply and more sensibly felt.

But the Romans were irritated to a still higher degree, when they
discovered that they had not even secured their repose, though at the
expense of their honor. The dangerous secret of the wealth and weakness
of the empire had been revealed to the world. New swarms of barbarians,
encouraged by the success, and not conceiving themselves bound by the
obligation of their brethren, spread devastation though the Illyrian
provinces, and terror as far as the gates of Rome. The defence of the
monarchy, which seemed abandoned by the pusillanimous emperor, was
assumed by Æmilianus, governor of Pannonia and Mæsia; who rallied the
scattered forces, and revived the fainting spirits of the troops. The
barbarians were unexpectedly attacked, routed, chased, and pursued
beyond the Danube. The victorious leader distributed as a donative the
money collected for the tribute, and the acclamations of the soldiers
proclaimed him emperor on the field of battle.  Gallus, who, careless of
the general welfare, indulged himself in the pleasures of Italy, was
almost in the same instant informed of the success, of the revolt, and
of the rapid approach of his aspiring lieutenant. He advanced to meet
him as far as the plains of Spoleto. When the armies came in right of
each other, the soldiers of Gallus compared the ignominious conduct of
their sovereign with the glory of his rival. They admired the valor of
Æmilianus; they were attracted by his liberality, for he offered a
considerable increase of pay to all deserters.  The murder of Gallus,
and of his son Volusianus, put an end to the civil war; and the senate
gave a legal sanction to the rights of conquest. The letters of
Æmilianus to that assembly displayed a mixture of moderation and vanity.
He assured them, that he should resign to their wisdom the civil
administration; and, contenting himself with the quality of their
general, would in a short time assert the glory of Rome, and deliver the
empire from all the barbarians both of the North and of the East.  His
pride was flattered by the applause of the senate; and medals are still
extant, representing him with the name and attributes of Hercules the
Victor, and Mars the Avenger.

If the new monarch possessed the abilities, he wanted the time,
necessary to fulfil these splendid promises. Less than four months
intervened between his victory and his fall.  He had vanquished Gallus:
he sunk under the weight of a competitor more formidable than Gallus.
That unfortunate prince had sent Valerian, already distinguished by the
honorable title of censor, to bring the legions of Gaul and Germany  to
his aid. Valerian executed that commission with zeal and fidelity; and
as he arrived too late to save his sovereign, he resolved to revenge
him. The troops of Æmilianus, who still lay encamped in the plains of
Spoleto, were awed by the sanctity of his character, but much more by
the superior strength of his army; and as they were now become as
incapable of personal attachment as they had always been of
constitutional principle, they readily imbrued their hands in the blood
of a prince who so lately had been the object of their partial choice.
The guilt was theirs, * but the advantage of it was Valerian's; who
obtained the possession of the throne by the means indeed of a civil
war, but with a degree of innocence singular in that age of revolutions;
since he owed neither gratitude nor allegiance to his predecessor, whom
he dethroned.

Valerian was about sixty years of age  when he was invested with the
purple, not by the caprice of the populace, or the clamors of the army,
but by the unanimous voice of the Roman world. In his gradual ascent
through the honors of the state, he had deserved the favor of virtuous
princes, and had declared himself the enemy of tyrants.  His noble
birth, his mild but unblemished manners, his learning, prudence, and
experience, were revered by the senate and people; and if mankind
(according to the observation of an ancient writer) had been left at
liberty to choose a master, their choice would most assuredly have
fallen on Valerian.  Perhaps the merit of this emperor was inadequate to
his reputation; perhaps his abilities, or at least his spirit, were
affected by the languor and coldness of old age. The consciousness of
his decline engaged him to share the throne with a younger and more
active associate;  the emergency of the times demanded a general no less
than a prince; and the experience of the Roman censor might have
directed him where to bestow the Imperial purple, as the reward of
military merit. But instead of making a judicious choice, which would
have confirmed his reign and endeared his memory, Valerian, consulting
only the dictates of affection or vanity, immediately invested with the
supreme honors his son Gallienus, a youth whose effeminate vices had
been hitherto concealed by the obscurity of a private station. The joint
government of the father and the son subsisted about seven, and the sole
administration of Gallien continued about eight, years. But the whole
period was one uninterrupted series of confusion and calamity. As the
Roman empire was at the same time, and on every side, attacked by the
blind fury of foreign invaders, and the wild ambition of domestic
usurpers, we shall consult order and perspicuity, by pursuing, not so
much the doubtful arrangement of dates, as the more natural distribution
of subjects. The most dangerous enemies of Rome, during the reigns of
Valerian and Gallienus, were, 1. The Franks; 2. The Alemanni; 3. The
Goths; and, 4. The Persians. Under these general appellations, we may
comprehend the adventures of less considerable tribes, whose obscure and
uncouth names would only serve to oppress the memory and perplex the
attention of the reader.

I. As the posterity of the Franks compose one of the greatest and most
enlightened nations of Europe, the powers of learning and ingenuity have
been exhausted in the discovery of their unlettered ancestors. To the
tales of credulity have succeeded the systems of fancy. Every passage
has been sifted, every spot has been surveyed, that might possibly
reveal some faint traces of their origin. It has been supposed that
Pannonia,  that Gaul, that the northern parts of Germany,  gave birth to
that celebrated colony of warriors. At length the most rational critics,
rejecting the fictitious emigrations of ideal conquerors, have
acquiesced in a sentiment whose simplicity persuades us of its truth.
They suppose, that about the year two hundred and forty,  a new
confederacy was formed under the name of Franks, by the old inhabitants
of the Lower Rhine and the Weser. * The present circle of Westphalia,
the Landgraviate of Hesse, and the duchies of Brunswick and Luneburg,
were the ancient of the Chauci who, in their inaccessible morasses,
defied the Roman arms;  of the Cherusci, proud of the fame of Arminius;
of the Catti, formidable by their firm and intrepid infantry; and of
several other tribes of inferior power and renown.  The love of liberty
was the ruling passion of these Germans; the enjoyment of it their best
treasure; the word that expressed that enjoyment, the most pleasing to
their ear. They deserved, they assumed, they maintained the honorable
appellation of Franks, or Freemen; which concealed, though it did not
extinguish, the peculiar names of the several states of the confederacy.
Tacit consent, and mutual advantage, dictated the first laws of the
union; it was gradually cemented by habit and experience. The league of
the Franks may admit of some comparison with the Helvetic body; in which
every canton, retaining its independent sovereignty, consults with its
brethren in the common cause, without acknowledging the authority of any
supreme head, or representative assembly.  But the principle of the two
confederacies was extremely different. A peace of two hundred years has
rewarded the wise and honest policy of the Swiss. An inconstant spirit,
the thirst of rapine, and a disregard to the most solemn treaties,
disgraced the character of the Franks.

Chapter X: Emperors Decius, Gallus, Æmilianus, Valerian And Gallienus.
-- Part III.

The Romans had long experienced the daring valor of the people of Lower
Germany. The union of their strength threatened Gaul with a more
formidable invasion, and required the presence of Gallienus, the heir
and colleague of Imperial power.  Whilst that prince, and his infant son
Salonius, displayed, in the court of Treves, the majesty of the empire
its armies were ably conducted by their general, Posthumus, who, though
he afterwards betrayed the family of Valerian, was ever faithful to the
great interests of the monarchy. The treacherous language of panegyrics
and medals darkly announces a long series of victories. Trophies and
titles attest (if such evidence can attest) the fame of Posthumus, who
is repeatedly styled the Conqueror of the Germans, and the Savior of
Gaul.

But a single fact, the only one indeed of which we have any distinct
knowledge, erases, in a great measure, these monuments of vanity and
adulation. The Rhine, though dignified with the title of Safeguard of
the provinces, was an imperfect barrier against the daring spirit of
enterprise with which the Franks were actuated. Their rapid devastations
stretched from the river to the foot of the Pyrenees; nor were they
stopped by those mountains. Spain, which had never dreaded, was unable
to resist, the inroads of the Germans. During twelve years, the greatest
part of the reign of Gallie nus, that opulent country was the theatre of
unequal and destructive hostilities. Tarragona, the flourishing capital
of a peaceful province, was sacked and almost destroyed;  and so late as
the days of Orosius, who wrote in the fifth century, wretched cottages,
scattered amidst the ruins of magnificent cities, still recorded the
rage of the barbarians.  When the exhausted country no longer supplied a
variety of plunder, the Franks seized on some vessels in the ports of
Spain,  and transported themselves into Mauritania. The distant province
was astonished with the fury of these barbarians, who seemed to fall
from a new world, as their name, manners, and complexion, were equally
unknown on the coast of Africa.

II. In that part of Upper Saxony, beyond the Elbe, which is at present
called the Marquisate of Lusace, there existed, in ancient times, a
sacred wood, the awful seat of the superstition of the Suevi. None were
permitted to enter the holy precincts, without confessing, by their
servile bonds and suppliant posture, the immediate presence of the
sovereign Deity.  Patriotism contributed, as well as devotion, to
consecrate the Sonnenwald, or wood of the Semnones.  It was universally
believed, that the nation had received its first existence on that
sacred spot. At stated periods, the numerous tribes who gloried in the
Suevic blood, resorted thither by their ambassadors; and the memory of
their common extraction was perpetrated by barbaric rites and human
sacrifices. The wide-extended name of Suevi filled the interior
countries of Germany, from the banks of the Oder to those of the Danube.
They were distinguished from the other Germans by their peculiar mode of
dressing their long hair, which they gathered into a rude knot on the
crown of the head; and they delighted in an ornament that showed their
ranks more lofty and terrible in the eyes of the enemy.  Jealous as the
Germans were of military renown, they all confessed the superior valor
of the Suevi; and the tribes of the Usipetes and Tencteri, who, with a
vast army, encountered the dictator Cæsar, declared that they esteemed
it not a disgrace to have fled before a people to whose arms the
immortal gods themselves were unequal.

In the reign of the emperor Caracalla, an innumerable swarm of Suevi
appeared on the banks of the Mein, and in the neighborhood of the Roman
provinces, in quest either of food, of plunder, or of glory.  The hasty
army of volunteers gradually coalesced into a great and permanent
nation, and as it was composed from so many different tribes, assumed
the name of Alemanni, * or Allmen; to denote at once their various
lineage and their common bravery.  The latter was soon felt by the
Romans in many a hostile inroad. The Alemanni fought chiefly on
horseback; but their cavalry was rendered still more formidable by a
mixture of light infantry, selected from the bravest and most active of
the youth, whom frequent exercise had inured to accompany the horsemen
in the longest march, the most rapid charge, or the most precipitate
retreat.

This warlike people of Germans had been astonished by the immense
preparations of Alexander Severus; they were dismayed by the arms of his
successor, a barbarian equal in valor and fierceness to themselves. But
still hovering on the frontiers of the empire, they increased the
general disorder that ensued after the death of Decius. They inflicted
severe wounds on the rich provinces of Gaul; they were the first who
removed the veil that covered the feeble majesty of Italy. A numerous
body of the Alemanni penetrated across the Danube and through the
Rhætian Alps into the plains of Lombardy, advanced as far as Ravenna,
and displayed the victorious banners of barbarians almost in sight of
Rome.

The insult and the danger rekindled in the senate some sparks of their
ancient virtue. Both the emperors were engaged in far distant wars,
Valerian in the East, and Gallienus on the Rhine. All the hopes and
resources of the Romans were in themselves. In this emergency, the
senators resumed he defence of the republic, drew out the Prætorian
guards, who had been left to garrison the capital, and filled up their
numbers, by enlisting into the public service the stoutest and most
willing of the Plebeians. The Alemanni, astonished with the sudden
appearance of an army more numerous than their own, retired into
Germany, laden with spoil; and their retreat was esteemed as a victory
by the unwarlike Romans.

When Gallienus received the intelligence that his capital was delivered
from the barbarians, he was much less delighted than alarmed with the
courage of the senate, since it might one day prompt them to rescue the
public from domestic tyranny as well as from foreign invasion. His timid
ingratitude was published to his subjects, in an edict which prohibited
the senators from exercising any military employment, and even from
approaching the camps of the legions. But his fears were groundless. The
rich and luxurious nobles, sinking into their natural character,
accepted, as a favor, this disgraceful exemption from military service;
and as long as they were indulged in the enjoyment of their baths, their
theatres, and their villas, they cheerfully resigned the more dangerous
cares of empire to the rough hands of peasants and soldiers.

Another invasion of the Alemanni, of a more formidable aspect, but more
glorious event, is mentioned by a writer of the lower empire. Three
hundred thousand are said to have been vanquished, in a battle near
Milan, by Gallienus in person, at the head of only ten thousand Romans.
We may, however, with great probability, ascribe this incredible victory
either to the credulity of the historian, or to some exaggerated
exploits of one of the emperor's lieutenants. It was by arms of a very
different nature, that Gallienus endeavored to protect Italy from the
fury of the Germans. He espoused Pipa, the daughter of a king of the
Marcomanni, a Suevic tribe, which was often confounded with the Alemanni
in their wars and conquests.  To the father, as the price of his
alliance, he granted an ample settlement in Pannonia. The native charms
of unpolished beauty seem to have fixed the daughter in the affections
of the inconstant emperor, and the bands of policy were more firmly
connected by those of love. But the haughty prejudice of Rome still
refused the name of marriage to the profane mixture of a citizen and a
barbarian; and has stigmatized the German princess with the opprobrious
title of concubine of Gallienus.

III. We have already traced the emigration of the Goths from
Scandinavia, or at least from Prussia, to the mouth of the Borysthenes,
and have followed their victorious arms from the Borysthenes to the
Danube. Under the reigns of Valerian and Gallienus, the frontier of the
last-mentioned river was perpetually infested by the inroads of Germans
and Sarmatians; but it was defended by the Romans with more than usual
firmness and success. The provinces that were the seat of war, recruited
the armies of Rome with an inexhaustible supply of hardy soldiers; and
more than one of these Illyrian peasants attained the station, and
displayed the abilities, of a general. Though flying parties of the
barbarians, who incessantly hovered on the banks of the Danube,
penetrated sometimes to the confines of Italy and Macedonia, their
progress was commonly checked, or their return intercepted, by the
Imperial lieutenants.  But the great stream of the Gothic hostilities
was diverted into a very different channel. The Goths, in their new
settlement of the Ukraine, soon became masters of the northern coast of
the Euxine: to the south of that inland sea were situated the soft and
wealthy provinces of Asia Minor, which possessed all that could attract,
and nothing that could resist, a barbarian conqueror.

The banks of the Borysthenes are only sixty miles distant from the
narrow entrance  of the peninsula of Crim Tartary, known to the ancients
under the name of Chersonesus Taurica.  On that inhospitable shore,
Euripides, embellishing with exquisite art the tales of antiquity, has
placed the scene of one of his most affecting tragedies.  The bloody
sacrifices of Diana, the arrival of Orestes and Pylades, and the triumph
of virtue and religion over savage fierceness, serve to represent an
historical truth, that the Tauri, the original inhabitants of the
peninsula, were, in some degree, reclaimed from their brutal manners by
a gradual intercourse with the Grecian colonies, which settled along the
maritime coast. The little kingdom of Bosphorus, whose capital was
situated on the Straits, through which the Mæotis communicates itself to
the Euxine, was composed of degenerate Greeks and half-civilized
barbarians. It subsisted, as an independent state, from the time of the
Peloponnesian war,  was at last swallowed up by the ambition of
Mithridates,  and, with the rest of his dominions, sunk under the weight
of the Roman arms. From the reign of Augustus,  the kings of Bosphorus
were the humble, but not useless, allies of the empire. By presents, by
arms, and by a slight fortification drawn across the Isthmus, they
effectually guarded against the roving plunderers of Sarmatia, the
access of a country, which, from its peculiar situation and convenient
harbors, commanded the Euxine Sea and Asia Minor.  As long as the
sceptre was possessed by a lineal succession of kings, they acquitted
themselves of their important charge with vigilance and success.
Domestic factions, and the fears, or private interest, of obscure
usurpers, who seized on the vacant throne, admitted the Goths into the
heart of Bosphorus. With the acquisition of a superfluous waste of
fertile soil, the conquerors obtained the command of a naval force,
sufficient to transport their armies to the coast of Asia.  This ships
used in the navigation of the Euxine were of a very singular
construction. They were slight flat-bottomed barks framed of timber
only, without the least mixture of iron, and occasionally covered with a
shelving roof, on the appearance of a tempest.  In these floating
houses, the Goths carelessly trusted themselves to the mercy of an
unknown sea, under the conduct of sailors pressed into the service, and
whose skill and fidelity were equally suspicious. But the hopes of
plunder had banished every idea of danger, and a natural fearlessness of
temper supplied in their minds the more rational confidence, which is
the just result of knowledge and experience. Warriors of such a daring
spirit must have often murmured against the cowardice of their guides,
who required the strongest assurances of a settled calm before they
would venture to embark; and would scarcely ever be tempted to lose
sight of the land. Such, at least, is the practice of the modern Turks;
and they are probably not inferior, in the art of navigation, to the
ancient inhabitants of Bosphorus.

The fleet of the Goths, leaving the coast of Circassia on the left hand,
first appeared before Pityus,  the utmost limits of the Roman provinces;
a city provided with a convenient port, and fortified with a strong
wall. Here they met with a resistance more obstinate than they had
reason to expect from the feeble garrison of a distant fortress. They
were repulsed; and their disappointment seemed to diminish the terror of
the Gothic name. As long as Successianus, an officer of superior rank
and merit, defended that frontier, all their efforts were ineffectual;
but as soon as he was removed by Valerian to a more honorable but less
important station, they resumed the attack of Pityus; and by the
destruction of that city, obliterated the memory of their former
disgrace.

Circling round the eastern extremity of the Euxine Sea, the navigation
from Pityus to Trebizond is about three hundred miles.  The course of
the Goths carried them in sight of the country of Colchis, so famous by
the expedition of the Argonauts; and they even attempted, though without
success, to pillage a rich temple at the mouth of the River Phasis.
Trebizond, celebrated in the retreat of the ten thousand as an ancient
colony of Greeks,  derived its wealth and splendor from the magnificence
of the emperor Hadrian, who had constructed an artificial port on a
coast left destitute by nature of secure harbors.  The city was large
and populous; a double enclosure of walls seemed to defy the fury of the
Goths, and the usual garrison had been strengthened by a reenforcement
of ten thousand men. But there are not any advantages capable of
supplying the absence of discipline and vigilance. The numerous garrison
of Trebizond, dissolved in riot and luxury, disdained to guard their
impregnable fortifications. The Goths soon discovered the supine
negligence of the besieged, erected a lofty pile of fascines, ascended
the walls in the silence of the night, and entered the defenceless city
sword in hand. A general massacre of the people ensued, whilst the
affrighted soldiers escaped through the opposite gates of the town. The
most holy temples, and the most splendid edifices, were involved in a
common destruction. The booty that fell into the hands of the Goths was
immense: the wealth of the adjacent countries had been deposited in
Trebizond, as in a secure place of refuge. The number of captives was
incredible, as the victorious barbarians ranged without opposition
through the extensive province of Pontus.  The rich spoils of Trebizond
filled a great fleet of ships that had been found in the port. The
robust youth of the sea-coast were chained to the oar; and the Goths,
satisfied with the success of their first naval expedition, returned in
triumph to their new establishment in the kingdom of Bosphorus.

The second expedition of the Goths was undertaken with greater powers of
men and ships; but they steered a different course, and, disdaining the
exhausted provinces of Pontus, followed the western coast of the Euxine,
passed before the wide mouths of the Borysthenes, the Niester, and the
Danube, and increasing their fleet by the capture of a great number of
fishing barks, they approached the narrow outlet through which the
Euxine Sea pours its waters into the Mediterranean, and divides the
continents of Europe and Asia. The garrison of Chalcedon was encamped
near the temple of Jupiter Urius, on a promontory that commanded the
entrance of the Strait; and so inconsiderable were the dreaded invasions
of the barbarians that this body of troops surpassed in number the
Gothic army. But it was in numbers alone that they surpassed it. They
deserted with precipitation their advantageous post, and abandoned the
town of Chalcedon, most plentifully stored with arms and money, to the
discretion of the conquerors. Whilst they hesitated whether they should
prefer the sea or land Europe or Asia, for the scene of their
hostilities, a perfidious fugitive pointed out Nicomedia, * once the
capital of the kings of Bithynia, as a rich and easy conquest. He guided
the march which was only sixty miles from the camp of Chalcedon,
directed the resistless attack, and partook of the booty; for the Goths
had learned sufficient policy to reward the traitor whom they detested.
Nice, Prusa, Apamæa, Cius,  cities that had sometimes rivalled, or
imitated, the splendor of Nicomedia, were involved in the same calamity,
which, in a few weeks, raged without control through the whole province
of Bithynia. Three hundred years of peace, enjoyed by the soft
inhabitants of Asia, had abolished the exercise of arms, and removed the
apprehension of danger. The ancient walls were suffered to moulder away,
and all the revenue of the most opulent cities was reserved for the
construction of baths, temples, and theatres.

When the city of Cyzicus withstood the utmost effort of Mithridates,  it
was distinguished by wise laws, a naval power of two hundred galleys,
and three arsenals, of arms, of military engines, and of corn.  It was
still the seat of wealth and luxury; but of its ancient strength,
nothing remained except the situation, in a little island of the
Propontis, connected with the continent of Asia only by two bridges.
From the recent sack of Prusa, the Goths advanced within eighteen miles.
of the city, which they had devoted to destruction; but the ruin of
Cyzicus was delayed by a fortunate accident. The season was rainy, and
the Lake Apolloniates, the reservoir of all the springs of Mount
Olympus, rose to an uncommon height. The little river of Rhyndacus,
which issues from the lake, swelled into a broad and rapid stream, and
stopped the progress of the Goths. Their retreat to the maritime city of
Heraclea, where the fleet had probably been stationed, was attended by a
long train of wagons, laden with the spoils of Bithynia, and was marked
by the flames of Nice and Nicomedia, which they wantonly burnt.  Some
obscure hints are mentioned of a doubtful combat that secured their
retreat.  But even a complete victory would have been of little moment,
as the approach of the autumnal equinox summoned them to hasten their
return. To navigate the Euxine before the month of May, or after that of
September, is esteemed by the modern Turks the most unquestionable
instance of rashness and folly.

When we are informed that the third fleet, equipped by the Goths in the
ports of Bosphorus, consisted of five hundred sails of ships,  our ready
imagination instantly computes and multiplies the formidable armament;
but, as we are assured by the judicious Strabo,  that the piratical
vessels used by the barbarians of Pontus and the Lesser Scythia, were
not capable of containing more than twenty-five or thirty men we may
safely affirm, that fifteen thousand warriors, at the most, embarked in
this great expedition. Impatient of the limits of the Euxine, they
steered their destructive course from the Cimmerian to the Thracian
Bosphorus. When they had almost gained the middle of the Straits, they
were suddenly driven back to the entrance of them; till a favorable
wind, springing up the next day, carried them in a few hours into the
placid sea, or rather lake, of the Propontis. Their landing on the
little island of Cyzicus was attended with the ruin of that ancient and
noble city. From thence issuing again through the narrow passage of the
Hellespont, they pursued their winding navigation amidst the numerous
islands scattered over the Archipelago, or the Ægean Sea. The assistance
of captives and deserters must have been very necessary to pilot their
vessels, and to direct their various incursions, as well on the coast of
Greece as on that of Asia. At length the Gothic fleet anchored in the
port of Piræus, five miles distant from Athens,  which had attempted to
make some preparations for a vigorous defence. Cleodamus, one of the
engineers employed by the emperor's orders to fortify the maritime
cities against the Goths, had already begun to repair the ancient walls,
fallen to decay since the time of Scylla. The efforts of his skill were
ineffectual, and the barbarians became masters of the native seat of the
muses and the arts. But while the conquerors abandoned themselves to the
license of plunder and intemperance, their fleet, that lay with a
slender guard in the harbor of Piræus, was unexpectedly attacked by the
brave Daxippus, who, flying with the engineer Cleodamus from the sack of
Athens, collected a hasty band of volunteers, peasants as well as
soldiers, and in some measure avenged the calamities of his country.

But this exploit, whatever lustre it might shed on the declining age of
Athens, served rather to irritate than to subdue the undaunted spirit of
the northern invaders. A general conflagration blazed out at the same
time in every district of Greece. Thebes and Argos, Corinth and Sparta,
which had formerly waged such memorable wars against each other, were
now unable to bring an army into the field, or even to defend their
ruined fortifications. The rage of war, both by land and by sea, spread
from the eastern point of Sunium to the western coast of Epirus. The
Goths had already advanced within sight of Italy, when the approach of
such imminent danger awakened the indolent Gallienus from his dream of
pleasure. The emperor appeared in arms; and his presence seems to have
checked the ardor, and to have divided the strength, of the enemy.
Naulobatus, a chief of the Heruli, accepted an honorable capitulation,
entered with a large body of his countrymen into the service of Rome,
and was invested with the ornaments of the consular dignity, which had
never before been profaned by the hands of a barbarian.  Great numbers
of the Goths, disgusted with the perils and hardships of a tedious
voyage, broke into Mæsia, with a design of forcing their way over the
Danube to their settlements in the Ukraine. The wild attempt would have
proved inevitable destruction, if the discord of the Roman generals had
not opened to the barbarians the means of an escape.  The small
remainder of this destroying host returned on board their vessels; and
measuring back their way through the Hellespont and the Bosphorus,
ravaged in their passage the shores of Troy, whose fame, immortalized by
Homer, will probably survive the memory of the Gothic conquests. As soon
as they found themselves in safety within the basin of the Euxine, they
landed at Anchialus in Thrace, near the foot of Mount Hæmus; and, after
all their toils, indulged themselves in the use of those pleasant and
salutary hot baths. What remained of the voyage was a short and easy
navigation.  Such was the various fate of this third and greatest of
their naval enterprises. It may seem difficult to conceive how the
original body of fifteen thousand warriors could sustain the losses and
divisions of so bold an adventure. But as their numbers were gradually
wasted by the sword, by shipwrecks, and by the influence of a warm
climate, they were perpetually renewed by troops of banditti and
deserters, who flocked to the standard of plunder, and by a crowd of
fugitive slaves, often of German or Sarmatian extraction, who eagerly
seized the glorious opportunity of freedom and revenge. In these
expeditions, the Gothic nation claimed a superior share of honor and
danger; but the tribes that fought under the Gothic banners are
sometimes distinguished and sometimes confounded in the imperfect
histories of that age; and as the barbarian fleets seemed to issue from
the mouth of the Tanais, the vague but familiar appellation of Scythians
was frequently bestowed on the mixed multitude.

Chapter X: Emperors Decius, Gallus, Æmilianus, Valerian And Gallienus.
-- Part IV.

In the general calamities of mankind, the death of an individual,
however exalted, the ruin of an edifice, however famous, are passed over
with careless inattention. Yet we cannot forget that the temple of Diana
at Ephesus, after having risen with increasing splendor from seven
repeated misfortunes,  was finally burnt by the Goths in their third
naval invasion. The arts of Greece, and the wealth of Asia, had
conspired to erect that sacred and magnificent structure. It was
supported by a hundred and twenty-seven marble columns of the Ionic
order. They were the gifts of devout monarchs, and each was sixty feet
high. The altar was adorned with the masterly sculptures of Praxiteles,
who had, perhaps, selected from the favorite legends of the place the
birth of the divine children of Latona, the concealment of Apollo after
the slaughter of the Cyclops, and the clemency of Bacchus to the
vanquished Amazons.  Yet the length of the temple of Ephesus was only
four hundred and twenty-five feet, about two thirds of the measure of
the church of St. Peter's at Rome.  In the other dimensions, it was
still more inferior to that sublime production of modern architecture.
The spreading arms of a Christian cross require a much greater breadth
than the oblong temples of the Pagans; and the boldest artists of
antiquity would have been startled at the proposal of raising in the air
a dome of the size and proportions of the Pantheon. The temple of Diana
was, however, admired as one of the wonders of the world. Successive
empires, the Persian, the Macedonian, and the Roman, had revered its
sanctity and enriched its splendor.  But the rude savages of the Baltic
were destitute of a taste for the elegant arts, and they despised the
ideal terrors of a foreign superstition.

Another circumstance is related of these invasions, which might deserve
our notice, were it not justly to be suspected as the fanciful conceit
of a recent sophist. We are told, that in the sack of Athens the Goths
had collected all the libraries, and were on the point of setting fire
to this funeral pile of Grecian learning, had not one of their chiefs,
of more refined policy than his brethren, dissuaded them from the
design; by the profound observation, that as long as the Greeks were
addicted to the study of books, they would never apply themselves to the
exercise of arms.  The sagacious counsellor (should the truth of the
fact be admitted) reasoned like an ignorant barbarian. In the most
polite and powerful nations, genius of every kind has displayed itself
about the same period; and the age of science has generally been the age
of military virtue and success.

IV. The new sovereign of Persia, Artaxerxes and his son Sapor, had
triumphed (as we have already seen) over the house of Arsaces. Of the
many princes of that ancient race. Chosroes, king of Armenia, had alone
preserved both his life and his independence. He defended himself by the
natural strength of his country; by the perpetual resort of fugitives
and malecontents; by the alliance of the Romans, and above all, by his
own courage. Invincible in arms, during a thirty years' war, he was at
length assassinated by the emissaries of Sapor, king of Persia. The
patriotic satraps of Armenia, who asserted the freedom and dignity of
the crown, implored the protection of Rome in favor of Tiridates, the
lawful heir. But the son of Chosroes was an infant, the allies were at a
distance, and the Persian monarch advanced towards the frontier at the
head of an irresistible force. Young Tiridates, the future hope of his
country, was saved by the fidelity of a servant, and Armenia continued
above twenty-seven years a reluctant province of the great monarchy of
Persia.  Elated with this easy conquest, and presuming on the distresses
or the degeneracy of the Romans, Sapor obliged the strong garrisons of
Carrhæand Nisibis * to surrender, and spread devastation and terror on
either side of the Euphrates.

The loss of an important frontier, the ruin of a faithful and natural
ally, and the rapid success of Sapor's ambition, affected Rome with a
deep sense of the insult as well as of the danger. Valerian flattered
himself, that the vigilance of his lieutenants would sufficiently
provide for the safety of the Rhine and of the Danube; but he resolved,
notwithstanding his advanced age, to march in person to the defence of
the Euphrates. During his progress through Asia Minor, the naval
enterprises of the Goths were suspended, and the afflicted province
enjoyed a transient and fallacious calm. He passed the Euphrates,
encountered the Persian monarch near the walls of Edessa, was
vanquished, and taken prisoner by Sapor. The particulars of this great
event are darkly and imperfectly represented; yet, by the glimmering
light which is afforded us, we may discover a long series of imprudence,
of error, and of deserved misfortunes on the side of the Roman emperor.
He reposed an implicit confidence in Macrianus, his Prætorian præfect.
That worthless minister rendered his master formidable only to the
oppressed subjects, and contemptible to the enemies of Rome.  By his
weak or wicked counsels, the Imperial army was betrayed into a situation
where valor and military skill were equally unavailing.  The vigorous
attempt of the Romans to cut their way through the Persian host was
repulsed with great slaughter;  and Sapor, who encompassed the camp with
superior numbers, patiently waited till the increasing rage of famine
and pestilence had insured his victory. The licentious murmurs of the
legions soon accused Valerian as the cause of their calamities; their
seditious clamors demanded an instant capitulation. An immense sum of
gold was offered to purchase the permission of a disgraceful retreat.
But the Persian, conscious of his superiority, refused the money with
disdain; and detaining the deputies, advanced in order of battle to the
foot of the Roman rampart, and insisted on a personal conference with
the emperor. Valerian was reduced to the necessity of intrusting his
life and dignity to the faith of an enemy. The interview ended as it was
natural to expect. The emperor was made a prisoner, and his astonished
troops laid down their arms.  In such a moment of triumph, the pride and
policy of Sapor prompted him to fill the vacant throne with a successor
entirely dependent on his pleasure. Cyriades, an obscure fugitive of
Antioch, stained with every vice, was chosen to dishonor the Roman
purple; and the will of the Persian victor could not fail of being
ratified by the acclamations, however reluctant, of the captive army.

The Imperial slave was eager to secure the favor of his master by an act
of treason to his native country. He conducted Sapor over the Euphrates,
and, by the way of Chalcis, to the metropolis of the East. So rapid were
the motions of the Persian cavalry, that, if we may credit a very
judicious historian,  the city of Antioch was surprised when the idle
multitude was fondly gazing on the amusements of the theatre. The
splendid buildings of Antioch, private as well as public, were either
pillaged or destroyed; and the numerous inhabitants were put to the
sword, or led away into captivity.  The tide of devastation was stopped
for a moment by the resolution of the high priest of Emesa. Arrayed in
his sacerdotal robes, he appeared at the head of a great body of fanatic
peasants, armed only with slings, and defended his god and his property
from the sacrilegious hands of the followers of Zoroaster.  But the ruin
of Tarsus, and of many other cities, furnishes a melancholy proof that,
except in this singular instance, the conquest of Syria and Cilicia
scarcely interrupted the progress of the Persian arms. The advantages of
the narrow passes of Mount Taurus were abandoned, in which an invader,
whose principal force consisted in his cavalry, would have been engaged
in a very unequal combat: and Sapor was permitted to form the siege of
Cæsarea, the capital of Cappadocia; a city, though of the second rank,
which was supposed to contain four hundred thousand inhabitants.
Demosthenes commanded in the place, not so much by the commission of the
emperor, as in the voluntary defence of his country. For a long time he
deferred its fate; and when at last Cæsarea was betrayed by the perfidy
of a physician, he cut his way through the Persians, who had been
ordered to exert their utmost diligence to take him alive. This heroic
chief escaped the power of a foe who might either have honored or
punished his obstinate valor; but many thousands of his fellow-citizens
were involved in a general massacre, and Sapor is accused of treating
his prisoners with wanton and unrelenting cruelty.  Much should
undoubtedly be allowed for national animosity, much for humbled pride
and impotent revenge; yet, upon the whole, it is certain, that the same
prince, who, in Armenia, had displayed the mild aspect of a legislator,
showed himself to the Romans under the stern features of a conqueror. He
despaired of making any permanent establishment in the empire, and
sought only to leave behind him a wasted desert, whilst he transported
into Persia the people and the treasures of the provinces.

At the time when the East trembled at the name of Sapor, he received a
present not unworthy of the greatest kings; a long train of camels,
laden with the most rare and valuable merchandises. The rich offering
was accompanied with an epistle, respectful, but not servile, from
Odenathus, one of the noblest and most opulent senators of Palmyra. "Who
is this Odenathus," (said the haughty victor, and he commanded that the
present should be cast into the Euphrates,) "that he thus insolently
presumes to write to his lord? If he entertains a hope of mitigating his
punishment, let him fall prostrate before the foot of our throne, with
his hands bound behind his back. Should he hesitate, swift destruction
shall be poured on his head, on his whole race, and on his country."
The desperate extremity to which the Palmyrenian was reduced, called
into action all the latent powers of his soul. He met Sapor; but he met
him in arms. Infusing his own spirit into a little army collected from
the villages of Syria  and the tents of the desert,  he hovered round
the Persian host, harassed their retreat, carried off part of the
treasure, and, what was dearer than any treasure, several of the women
of the great king; who was at last obliged to repass the Euphrates with
some marks of haste and confusion.  By this exploit, Odenathus laid the
foundations of his future fame and fortunes. The majesty of Rome,
oppressed by a Persian, was protected by a Syrian or Arab of Palmyra.

The voice of history, which is often little more than the organ of
hatred or flattery, reproaches Sapor with a proud abuse of the rights of
conquest. We are told that Valerian, in chains, but invested with the
Imperial purple, was exposed to the multitude, a constant spectacle of
fallen greatness; and that whenever the Persian monarch mounted on
horseback, he placed his foot on the neck of a Roman emperor.
Notwithstanding all the remonstrances of his allies, who repeatedly
advised him to remember the vicissitudes of fortune, to dread the
returning power of Rome, and to make his illustrious captive the pledge
of peace, not the object of insult, Sapor still remained inflexible.
When Valerian sunk under the weight of shame and grief, his skin,
stuffed with straw, and formed into the likeness of a human figure, was
preserved for ages in the most celebrated temple of Persia; a more real
monument of triumph, than the fancied trophies of brass and marble so
often erected by Roman vanity.  The tale is moral and pathetic, but the
truth  of it may very fairly be called in question. The letters still
extant from the princes of the East to Sapor are manifest forgeries;
nor is it natural to suppose that a jealous monarch should, even in the
person of a rival, thus publicly degrade the majesty of kings. Whatever
treatment the unfortunate Valerian might experience in Persia, it is at
least certain that the only emperor of Rome who had ever fallen into the
hands of the enemy, languished away his life in hopeless captivity.

The emperor Gallienus, who had long supported with impatience the
censorial severity of his father and colleague, received the
intelligence of his misfortunes with secret pleasure and avowed
indifference. "I knew that my father was a mortal," said he; "and since
he has acted as it becomes a brave man, I am satisfied." Whilst Rome
lamented the fate of her sovereign, the savage coldness of his son was
extolled by the servile courtiers as the perfect firmness of a hero and
a stoic.  It is difficult to paint the light, the various, the
inconstant character of Gallienus, which he displayed without
constraint, as soon as he became sole possessor of the empire. In every
art that he attempted, his lively genius enabled him to succeed; and as
his genius was destitute of judgment, he attempted every art, except the
important ones of war and government. He was a master of several
curious, but useless sciences, a ready orator, an elegant poet,  a
skilful gardener, an excellent cook, and most contemptible prince. When
the great emergencies of the state required his presence and attention,
he was engaged in conversation with the philosopher Plotinus,  wasting
his time in trifling or licentious pleasures, preparing his initiation
to the Grecian mysteries, or soliciting a place in the Arcopagus of
Athens. His profuse magnificence insulted the general poverty; the
solemn ridicule of his triumphs impressed a deeper sense of the public
disgrace.  The repeated intelligence of invasions, defeats, and
rebellions, he received with a careless smile; and singling out, with
affected contempt, some particular production of the lost province, he
carelessly asked, whether Rome must be ruined, unless it was supplied
with linen from Egypt, and arras cloth from Gaul. There were, however, a
few short moments in the life of Gallienus, when, exasperated by some
recent injury, he suddenly appeared the intrepid soldier and the cruel
tyrant; till, satiated with blood, or fatigued by resistance, he
insensibly sunk into the natural mildness and indolence of his
character.

At the time when the reins of government were held with so loose a hand,
it is not surprising, that a crowd of usurpers should start up in every
province of the empire against the son of Valerian. It was probably some
ingenious fancy, of comparing the thirty tyrants of Rome with the thirty
tyrants of Athens, that induced the writers of the Augustan History to
select that celebrated number, which has been gradually received into a
popular appellation.  But in every light the parallel is idle and
defective. What resemblance can we discover between a council of thirty
persons, the united oppressors of a single city, and an uncertain list
of independent rivals, who rose and fell in irregular succession through
the extent of a vast empire? Nor can the number of thirty be completed,
unless we include in the account the women and children who were honored
with the Imperial title. The reign of Gallienus, distracted as it was,
produced only nineteen pretenders to the throne: Cyriades, Macrianus,
Balista, Odenathus, and Zenobia, in the East; in Gaul, and the western
provinces, Posthumus, Lollianus, Victorinus, and his mother Victoria,
Marius, and Tetricus; in Illyricum and the confines of the Danube,
Ingenuus, Regillianus, and Aureolus; in Pontus,  Saturninus; in Isauria,
Trebellianus; Piso in Thessaly; Valens in Achaia; Æmilianus in Egypt;
and Celsus in Africa. * To illustrate the obscure monuments of the life
and death of each individual, would prove a laborious task, alike barren
of instruction and of amusement. We may content ourselves with
investigating some general characters, that most strongly mark the
condition of the times, and the manners of the men, their pretensions,
their motives, their fate, and their destructive consequences of their
usurpation.

It is sufficiently known, that the odious appellation of Tyrantwas often
employed by the ancients to express the illegal seizure of supreme
power, without any reference to the abuse of it. Several of the
pretenders, who raised the standard of rebellion against the emperor
Gallienus, were shining models of virtue, and almost all possessed a
considerable share of vigor and ability. Their merit had recommended
them to the favor of Valerian, and gradually promoted them to the most
important commands of the empire. The generals, who assumed the title of
Augustus, were either respected by their troops for their able conduct
and severe discipline, or admired for valor and success in war, or
beloved for frankness and generosity. The field of victory was often the
scene of their election; and even the armorer Marius, the most
contemptible of all the candidates for the purple, was distinguished,
however by intrepid courage, matchless strength, and blunt honesty.  His
mean and recent trade cast, indeed, an air of ridicule on his elevation;
* but his birth could not be more obscure than was that of the greater
part of his rivals, who were born of peasants, and enlisted in the army
as private soldiers. In times of confusion, every active genius finds
the place assigned him by nature: in a general state of war, military
merit is the road to glory and to greatness. Of the nineteen tyrants
Tetricus only was a senator; Piso alone was a noble. The blood of Numa,
through twenty-eight successive generations, ran in the veins of
Calphurnius Piso,  who, by female alliances, claimed a right of
exhibiting, in his house, the images of Crassus and of the great Pompey.
His ancestors had been repeatedly dignified with all the honors which
the commonwealth could bestow; and of all the ancient families of Rome,
the Calphurnian alone had survived the tyranny of the Cæsars. The
personal qualities of Piso added new lustre to his race. The usurper
Valens, by whose order he was killed, confessed, with deep remorse, that
even an enemy ought to have respected the sanctity of Piso; and although
he died in arms against Gallienus, the senate, with the emperor's
generous permission, decreed the triumphal ornaments to the memory of so
virtuous a rebel.

[See Roman Coins: From The British Museum. Number four depicts Crassus.]

The lieutenants of Valerian were grateful to the father, whom they
esteemed. They disdained to serve the luxurious indolence of his
unworthy son. The throne of the Roman world was unsupported by any
principle of loyalty; and treason against such a prince might easily be
considered as patriotism to the state. Yet if we examine with candor the
conduct of these usurpers, it will appear, that they were much oftener
driven into rebellion by their fears, than urged to it by their
ambition. They dreaded the cruel suspicions of Gallienus; they equally
dreaded the capricious violence of their troops. If the dangerous favor
of the army had imprudently declared them deserving of the purple, they
were marked for sure destruction; and even prudence would counsel them
to secure a short enjoyment of empire, and rather to try the fortune of
war than to expect the hand of an executioner. When the clamor of the
soldiers invested the reluctant victims with the ensigns of sovereign
authority, they sometimes mourned in secret their approaching fate. "You
have lost," said Saturninus, on the day of his elevation, "you have lost
a useful commander, and you have made a very wretched emperor."

The apprehensions of Saturninus were justified by the repeated
experience of revolutions. Of the nineteen tyrants who started up under
the reign of Gallienus, there was not one who enjoyed a life of peace,
or a natural death. As soon as they were invested with the bloody
purple, they inspired their adherents with the same fears and ambition
which had occasioned their own revolt. Encompassed with domestic
conspiracy, military sedition, and civil war, they trembled on the edge
of precipices, in which, after a longer or shorter term of anxiety, they
were inevitably lost. These precarious monarchs received, however, such
honors as the flattery of their respective armies and provinces could
bestow; but their claim, founded on rebellion, could never obtain the
sanction of law or history. Italy, Rome, and the senate, constantly
adhered to the cause of Gallienus, and he alone was considered as the
sovereign of the empire. That prince condescended, indeed, to
acknowledge the victorious arms of Odenathus, who deserved the honorable
distinction, by the respectful conduct which he always maintained
towards the son of Valerian. With the general applause of the Romans,
and the consent of Gallienus, the senate conferred the title of Augustus
on the brave Palmyrenian; and seemed to intrust him with the government
of the East, which he already possessed, in so independent a manner,
that, like a private succession, he bequeathed it to his illustrious
widow, Zenobia.

The rapid and perpetual transitions from the cottage to the throne, and
from the throne to the grave, might have amused an indifferent
philosopher; were it possible for a philosopher to remain indifferent
amidst the general calamities of human kind. The election of these
precarious emperors, their power and their death, were equally
destructive to their subjects and adherents. The price of their fatal
elevation was instantly discharged to the troops by an immense donative,
drawn from the bowels of the exhausted people. However virtuous was
their character, however pure their intentions, they found themselves
reduced to the hard necessity of supporting their usurpation by frequent
acts of rapine and cruelty. When they fell, they involved armies and
provinces in their fall. There is still extant a most savage mandate
from Gallienus to one of his ministers, after the suppression of
Ingenuus, who had assumed the purple in Illyricum. "It is not enough,"
says that soft but inhuman prince, "that you exterminate such as have
appeared in arms; the chance of battle might have served me as
effectually. The male sex of every age must be extirpated; provided
that, in the execution of the children and old men, you can contrive
means to save our reputation. Let every one die who has dropped an
expression, who has entertained a thought against me, against me, the
son of Valerian, the father and brother of so many princes.  Remember
that Ingenuus was made emperor: tear, kill, hew in pieces. I write to
you with my own hand, and would inspire you with my own feelings."
Whilst the public forces of the state were dissipated in private
quarrels, the defenceless provinces lay exposed to every invader. The
bravest usurpers were compelled, by the perplexity of their situation,
to conclude ignominious treaties with the common enemy, to purchase with
oppressive tributes the neutrality or services of the Barbarians, and to
introduce hostile and independent nations into the heart of the Roman
monarchy.

Such were the barbarians, and such the tyrants, who, under the reigns of
Valerian and Gallienus, dismembered the provinces, and reduced the
empire to the lowest pitch of disgrace and ruin, from whence it seemed
impossible that it should ever emerge. As far as the barrenness of
materials would permit, we have attempted to trace, with order and
perspicuity, the general events of that calamitous period. There still
remain some particular facts; I. The disorders of Sicily; II. The
tumults of Alexandria; and, III. The rebellion of the Isaurians, which
may serve to reflect a strong light on the horrid picture.

I. Whenever numerous troops of banditti, multiplied by success and
impunity, publicly defy, instead of eluding the justice of their
country, we may safely infer, that the excessive weakness of the
government is felt and abused by the lowest ranks of the community. The
situation of Sicily preserved it from the Barbarians; nor could the
disarmed province have supported a usurper. The sufferings of that once
flourishing and still fertile island were inflicted by baser hands. A
licentious crowd of slaves and peasants reigned for a while over the
plundered country, and renewed the memory of the servile wars of more
ancient times.  Devastations, of which the husbandman was either the
victim or the accomplice, must have ruined the agriculture of Sicily;
and as the principal estates were the property of the opulent senators
of Rome, who often enclosed within a farm the territory of an old
republic, it is not improbable, that this private injury might affect
the capital more deeply, than all the conquests of the Goths or the
Persians.

II. The foundation of Alexandria was a noble design, at once conceived
and executed by the son of Philip. The beautiful and regular form of
that great city, second only to Rome itself, comprehended a
circumference of fifteen miles;  it was peopled by three hundred
thousand free inhabitants, besides at least an equal number of slaves.
The lucrative trade of Arabia and India flowed through the port of
Alexandria, to the capital and provinces of the empire. * Idleness was
unknown. Some were employed in blowing of glass, others in weaving of
linen, others again manufacturing the papyrus. Either sex, and every
age, was engaged in the pursuits of industry, nor did even the blind or
the lame want occupations suited to their condition.  But the people of
Alexandria, a various mixture of nations, united the vanity and
inconstancy of the Greeks with the superstition and obstinacy of the
Egyptians. The most trifling occasion, a transient scarcity of flesh or
lentils, the neglect of an accustomed salutation, a mistake of
precedency in the public baths, or even a religious dispute,  were at
any time sufficient to kindle a sedition among that vast multitude,
whose resentments were furious and implacable.  After the captivity of
Valerian and the insolence of his son had relaxed the authority of the
laws, the Alexandrians abandoned themselves to the ungoverned rage of
their passions, and their unhappy country was the theatre of a civil
war, which continued (with a few short and suspicious truces) above
twelve years.  All intercourse was cut off between the several quarters
of the afflicted city, every street was polluted with blood, every
building of strength converted into a citadel; nor did the tumults
subside till a considerable part of Alexandria was irretrievably ruined.
The spacious and magnificent district of Bruchion, * with its palaces
and musæum, the residence of the kings and philosophers of Egypt, is
described above a century afterwards, as already reduced to its present
state of dreary solitude.

III. The obscure rebellion of Trebellianus, who assumed the purple in
Isauria, a petty province of Asia Minor, was attended with strange and
memorable consequences. The pageant of royalty was soon destroyed by an
officer of Gallienus; but his followers, despairing of mercy, resolved
to shake off their allegiance, not only to the emperor, but to the
empire, and suddenly returned to the savage manners from which they had
never perfectly been reclaimed. Their craggy rocks, a branch of the
wide-extended Taurus, protected their inaccessible retreat. The tillage
of some fertile valleys  supplied them with necessaries, and a habit of
rapine with the luxuries of life. In the heart of the Roman monarchy,
the Isaurians long continued a nation of wild barbarians. Succeeding
princes, unable to reduce them to obedience, either by arms or policy,
were compelled to acknowledge their weakness, by surrounding the hostile
and independent spot with a strong chain of fortifications,  which often
proved insufficient to restrain the incursions of these domestic foes.
The Isaurians, gradually extending their territory to the sea-coast,
subdued the western and mountainous part of Cilicia, formerly the nest
of those daring pirates, against whom the republic had once been obliged
to exert its utmost force, under the conduct of the great Pompey.

Our habits of thinking so fondly connect the order of the universe with
the fate of man, that this gloomy period of history has been decorated
with inundations, earthquakes, uncommon meteors, preternatural darkness,
and a crowd of prodigies fictitious or exaggerated.  But a long and
general famine was a calamity of a more serious kind. It was the
inevitable consequence of rapine and oppression, which extirpated the
produce of the present, and the hope of future harvests. Famine is
almost always followed by epidemical diseases, the effect of scanty and
unwholesome food. Other causes must, however, have contributed to the
furious plague, which, from the year two hundred and fifty to the year
two hundred and sixty-five, raged without interruption in every
province, every city, and almost every family, of the Roman empire.
During some time five thousand persons died daily in Rome; and many
towns, that had escaped the hands of the Barbarians, were entirely
depopulated.

We have the knowledge of a very curious circumstance, of some use
perhaps in the melancholy calculation of human calamities. An exact
register was kept at Alexandria of all the citizens entitled to receive
the distribution of corn. It was found, that the ancient number of those
comprised between the ages of forty and seventy, had been equal to the
whole sum of claimants, from fourteen to fourscore years of age, who
remained alive after the reign of Gallienus.  Applying this authentic
fact to the most correct tables of mortality, it evidently proves, that
above half the people of Alexandria had perished; and could we venture
to extend the analogy to the other provinces, we might suspect, that
war, pestilence, and famine, had consumed, in a few years, the moiety of
the human species.

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

Reign Of Claudius. -- Defeat Of The Goths. -- Victories, Triumph, And
Death Of Aurelian.

Under the deplorable reigns of Valerian and Gallienus, the empire was
oppressed and almost destroyed by the soldiers, the tyrants, and the
barbarians. It was saved by a series of great princes, who derived their
obscure origin from the martial provinces of Illyricum. Within a period
of about thirty years, Claudius, Aurelian, Probus, Diocletian and his
colleagues, triumphed over the foreign and domestic enemies of the
state, reestablished, with the military discipline, the strength of the
frontiers, and deserved the glorious title of Restorers of the Roman
world.

The removal of an effeminate tyrant made way for a succession of heroes.
The indignation of the people imputed all their calamities to Gallienus,
and the far greater part were indeed, the consequence of his dissolute
manners and careless administration. He was even destitute of a sense of
honor, which so frequently supplies the absence of public virtue; and as
long as he was permitted to enjoy the possession of Italy, a victory of
the barbarians, the loss of a province, or the rebellion of a general,
seldom disturbed the tranquil course of his pleasures. At length, a
considerable army, stationed on the Upper Danube, invested with the
Imperial purple their leader Aureolus; who, disdaining a confined and
barren reign over the mountains of Rhætia, passed the Alps, occupied
Milan, threatened Rome, and challenged Gallienus to dispute in the field
the sovereignty of Italy. The emperor, provoked by the insult, and
alarmed by the instant danger, suddenly exerted that latent vigor which
sometimes broke through the indolence of his temper. Forcing himself
from the luxury of the palace, he appeared in arms at the head of his
legions, and advanced beyond the Po to encounter his competitor. The
corrupted name of Pontirolo  still preserves the memory of a bridge over
the Adda, which, during the action, must have proved an object of the
utmost importance to both armies. The Rhætian usurper, after receiving a
total defeat and a dangerous wound, retired into Milan. The siege of
that great city was immediately formed; the walls were battered with
every engine in use among the ancients; and Aureolus, doubtful of his
internal strength, and hopeless of foreign succors already anticipated
the fatal consequences of unsuccessful rebellion.

His last resource was an attempt to seduce the loyalty of the besiegers.
He scattered libels through the camp, inviting the troops to desert an
unworthy master, who sacrificed the public happiness to his luxury, and
the lives of his most valuable subjects to the slightest suspicions. The
arts of Aureolus diffused fears and discontent among the principal
officers of his rival. A conspiracy was formed by Heraclianus the
Prætorian præfect, by Marcian, a general of rank and reputation, and by
Cecrops, who commanded a numerous body of Dalmatian guards. The death of
Gallienus was resolved; and notwithstanding their desire of first
terminating the siege of Milan, the extreme danger which accompanied
every moment's delay obliged them to hasten the execution of their
daring purpose. At a late hour of the night, but while the emperor still
protracted the pleasures of the table, an alarm was suddenly given, that
Aureolus, at the head of all his forces, had made a desperate sally from
the town; Gallienus, who was never deficient in personal bravery,
started from his silken couch, and without allowing himself time either
to put on his armor, or to assemble his guards, he mounted on horseback,
and rode full speed towards the supposed place of the attack.
Encompassed by his declared or concealed enemies, he soon, amidst the
nocturnal tumult, received a mortal dart from an uncertain hand. Before
he expired, a patriotic sentiment using in the mind of Gallienus,
induced him to name a deserving successor; and it was his last request,
that the Imperial ornaments should be delivered to Claudius, who then
commanded a detached army in the neighborhood of Pavia. The report at
least was diligently propagated, and the order cheerfully obeyed by the
conspirators, who had already agreed to place Claudius on the throne. On
the first news of the emperor's death, the troops expressed some
suspicion and resentment, till the one was removed, and the other
assuaged, by a donative of twenty pieces of gold to each soldier. They
then ratified the election, and acknowledged the merit of their new
sovereign.

The obscurity which covered the origin of Claudius, though it was
afterwards embellished by some flattering fictions,  sufficiently
betrays the meanness of his birth. We can only discover that he was a
native of one of the provinces bordering on the Danube; that his youth
was spent in arms, and that his modest valor attracted the favor and
confidence of Decius. The senate and people already considered him as an
excellent officer, equal to the most important trusts; and censured the
inattention of Valerian, who suffered him to remain in the subordinate
station of a tribune. But it was not long before that emperor
distinguished the merit of Claudius, by declaring him general and chief
of the Illyrian frontier, with the command of all the troops in Thrace,
Mæsia, Dacia, Pannonia, and Dalmatia, the appointments of the præfect of
Egypt, the establishment of the proconsul of Africa, and the sure
prospect of the consulship. By his victories over the Goths, he deserved
from the senate the honor of a statue, and excited the jealous
apprehensions of Gallienus. It was impossible that a soldier could
esteem so dissolute a sovereign, nor is it easy to conceal a just
contempt. Some unguarded expressions which dropped from Claudius were
officiously transmitted to the royal ear. The emperor's answer to an
officer of confidence describes in very lively colors his own character,
and that of the times. "There is not any thing capable of giving me more
serious concern, than the intelligence contained in your last despatch;
that some malicious suggestions have indisposed towards us the mind of
our friend and parent Claudius. As you regard your allegiance, use every
means to appease his resentment, but conduct your negotiation with
secrecy; let it not reach the knowledge of the Dacian troops; they are
already provoked, and it might inflame their fury. I myself have sent
him some presents: be it your care that he accept them with pleasure.
Above all, let him not suspect that I am made acquainted with his
imprudence. The fear of my anger might urge him to desperate counsels."
The presents which accompanied this humble epistle, in which the monarch
solicited a reconciliation with his discontented subject, consisted of a
considerable sum of money, a splendid wardrobe, and a valuable service
of silver and gold plate. By such arts Gallienus softened the
indignation and dispelled the fears of his Illyrian general; and during
the remainder of that reign, the formidable sword of Claudius was always
drawn in the cause of a master whom he despised. At last, indeed, he
received from the conspirators the bloody purple of Gallienus: but he
had been absent from their camp and counsels; and however he might
applaud the deed, we may candidly presume that he was innocent of the
knowledge of it.  When Claudius ascended the throne, he was about
fifty-four years of age.

The siege of Milan was still continued, and Aureolus soon discovered
that the success of his artifices had only raised up a more determined
adversary. He attempted to negotiate with Claudius a treaty of alliance
and partition. "Tell him," replied the intrepid emperor, "that such
proposals should have been made to Gallienus; he, perhaps, might have
listened to them with patience, and accepted a colleague as despicable
as himself."  This stern refusal, and a last unsuccessful effort,
obliged Aureolus to yield the city and himself to the discretion of the
conqueror. The judgment of the army pronounced him worthy of death; and
Claudius, after a feeble resistance, consented to the execution of the
sentence. Nor was the zeal of the senate less ardent in the cause of
their new sovereign. They ratified, perhaps with a sincere transport of
zeal, the election of Claudius; and, as his predecessor had shown
himself the personal enemy of their order, they exercised, under the
name of justice, a severe revenge against his friends and family. The
senate was permitted to discharge the ungrateful office of punishment,
and the emperor reserved for himself the pleasure and merit of obtaining
by his intercession a general act of indemnity.

Such ostentatious clemency discovers less of the real character of
Claudius, than a trifling circumstance in which he seems to have
consulted only the dictates of his heart. The frequent rebellions of the
provinces had involved almost every person in the guilt of treason,
almost every estate in the case of confiscation; and Gallienus often
displayed his liberality by distributing among his officers the property
of his subjects. On the accession of Claudius, an old woman threw
herself at his feet, and complained that a general of the late emperor
had obtained an arbitrary grant of her patrimony. This general was
Claudius himself, who had not entirely escaped the contagion of the
times. The emperor blushed at the reproach, but deserved the confidence
which she had reposed in his equity. The confession of his fault was
accompanied with immediate and ample restitution.

In the arduous task which Claudius had undertaken, of restoring the
empire to its ancient splendor, it was first necessary to revive among
his troops a sense of order and obedience. With the authority of a
veteran commander, he represented to them that the relaxation of
discipline had introduced a long train of disorders, the effects of
which were at length experienced by the soldiers themselves; that a
people ruined by oppression, and indolent from despair, could no longer
supply a numerous army with the means of luxury, or even of subsistence;
that the danger of each individual had increased with the despotism of
the military order, since princes who tremble on the throne will guard
their safety by the instant sacrifice of every obnoxious subject. The
emperor expiated on the mischiefs of a lawless caprice, which the
soldiers could only gratify at the expense of their own blood; as their
seditious elections had so frequently been followed by civil wars, which
consumed the flower of the legions either in the field of battle, or in
the cruel abuse of victory. He painted in the most lively colors the
exhausted state of the treasury, the desolation of the provinces, the
disgrace of the Roman name, and the insolent triumph of rapacious
barbarians. It was against those barbarians, he declared, that he
intended to point the first effort of their arms. Tetricus might reign
for a while over the West, and even Zenobia might preserve the dominion
of the East.  These usurpers were his personal adversaries; nor could he
think of indulging any private resentment till he had saved an empire,
whose impending ruin would, unless it was timely prevented, crush both
the army and the people.

The various nations of Germany and Sarmatia, who fought under the Gothic
standard, had already collected an armament more formidable than any
which had yet issued from the Euxine. On the banks of the Niester, one
of the great rivers that discharge themselves into that sea, they
constructed a fleet of two thousand, or even of six thousand vessels;
numbers which, however incredible they may seem, would have been
insufficient to transport their pretended army of three hundred and
twenty thousand barbarians. Whatever might be the real strength of the
Goths, the vigor and success of the expedition were not adequate to the
greatness of the preparations. In their passage through the Bosphorus,
the unskilful pilots were overpowered by the violence of the current;
and while the multitude of their ships were crowded in a narrow channel,
many were dashed against each other, or against the shore. The
barbarians made several descents on the coasts both of Europe and Asia;
but the open country was already plundered, and they were repulsed with
shame and loss from the fortified cities which they assaulted. A spirit
of discouragement and division arose in the fleet, and some of their
chiefs sailed away towards the islands of Crete and Cyprus; but the main
body, pursuing a more steady course, anchored at length near the foot of
Mount Athos, and assaulted the city of Thessalonica, the wealthy capital
of all the Macedonian provinces. Their attacks, in which they displayed
a fierce but artless bravery, were soon interrupted by the rapid
approach of Claudius, hastening to a scene of action that deserved the
presence of a warlike prince at the head of the remaining powers of the
empire. Impatient for battle, the Goths immediately broke up their camp,
relinquished the siege of Thessalonica, left their navy at the foot of
Mount Athos, traversed the hills of Macedonia, and pressed forwards to
engage the last defence of Italy.

We still posses an original letter addressed by Claudius to the senate
and people on this memorable occasion. "Conscript fathers," says the
emperor, "know that three hundred and twenty thousand Goths have invaded
the Roman territory. If I vanquish them, your gratitude will reward my
services. Should I fall, remember that I am the successor of Gallienus.
The whole republic is fatigued and exhausted. We shall fight after
Valerian, after Ingenuus, Regillianus, Lollianus, Posthumus, Celsus, and
a thousand others, whom a just contempt for Gallienus provoked into
rebellion. We are in want of darts, of spears, and of shields. The
strength of the empire, Gaul, and Spain, are usurped by Tetricus, and we
blush to acknowledge that the archers of the East serve under the
banners of Zenobia. Whatever we shall perform will be sufficiently
great."  The melancholy firmness of this epistle announces a hero
careless of his fate, conscious of his danger, but still deriving a
well-grounded hope from the resources of his own mind.

The event surpassed his own expectations and those of the world. By the
most signal victories he delivered the empire from this host of
barbarians, and was distinguished by posterity under the glorious
appellation of the Gothic Claudius. The imperfect historians of an
irregular war  do not enable as to describe the order and circumstances
of his exploits; but, if we could be indulged in the allusion, we might
distribute into three acts this memorable tragedy. I. The decisive
battle was fought near Naissus, a city of Dardania. The legions at first
gave way, oppressed by numbers, and dismayed by misfortunes. Their ruin
was inevitable, had not the abilities of their emperor prepared a
seasonable relief. A large detachment, rising out of the secret and
difficult passes of the mountains, which, by his order, they had
occupied, suddenly assailed the rear of the victorious Goths. The
favorable instant was improved by the activity of Claudius. He revived
the courage of his troops, restored their ranks, and pressed the
barbarians on every side. Fifty thousand men are reported to have been
slain in the battle of Naissus. Several large bodies of barbarians,
covering their retreat with a movable fortification of wagons, retired,
or rather escaped, from the field of slaughter. II. We may presume that
some insurmountable difficulty, the fatigue, perhaps, or the
disobedience, of the conquerors, prevented Claudius from completing in
one day the destruction of the Goths. The war was diffused over the
province of Mæsia, Thrace, and Macedonia, and its operations drawn out
into a variety of marches, surprises, and tumultuary engagements, as
well by sea as by land. When the Romans suffered any loss, it was
commonly occasioned by their own cowardice or rashness; but the superior
talents of the emperor, his perfect knowledge of the country, and his
judicious choice of measures as well as officers, assured on most
occasions the success of his arms. The immense booty, the fruit of so
many victories, consisted for the greater part of cattle and slaves. A
select body of the Gothic youth was received among the Imperial troops;
the remainder was sold into servitude; and so considerable was the
number of female captives, that every soldier obtained to his share two
or three women. A circumstance from which we may conclude, that the
invaders entertained some designs of settlement as well as of plunder;
since even in a naval expedition, they were accompanied by their
families. III. The loss of their fleet, which was either taken or sunk,
had intercepted the retreat of the Goths. A vast circle of Roman posts,
distributed with skill, supported with firmness, and gradually closing
towards a common centre, forced the barbarians into the most
inaccessible parts of Mount Hæmus, where they found a safe refuge, but a
very scanty subsistence. During the course of a rigorous winter in which
they were besieged by the emperor's troops, famine and pestilence,
desertion and the sword, continually diminished the imprisoned
multitude. On the return of spring, nothing appeared in arms except a
hardy and desperate band, the remnant of that mighty host which had
embarked at the mouth of the Niester.

The pestilence which swept away such numbers of the barbarians, at
length proved fatal to their conqueror. After a short but glorious reign
of two years, Claudius expired at Sirmium, amidst the tears and
acclamations of his subjects. In his last illness, he convened the
principal officers of the state and army, and in their presence
recommended Aurelian,  one of his generals, as the most deserving of the
throne, and the best qualified to execute the great design which he
himself had been permitted only to undertake. The virtues of Claudius,
his valor, affability, justice, and temperance, his love of fame and of
his country, place him in that short list of emperors who added lustre
to the Roman purple. Those virtues, however, were celebrated with
peculiar zeal and complacency by the courtly writers of the age of
Constantine, who was the great grandson of Crispus, the elder brother of
Claudius. The voice of flattery was soon taught to repeat, that gods,
who so hastily had snatched Claudius from the earth, rewarded his merit
and piety by the perpetual establishment of the empire in his family.

Notwithstanding these oracles, the greatness of the Flavian family (a
name which it had pleased them to assume) was deferred above twenty
years, and the elevation of Claudius occasioned the immediate ruin of
his brother Quintilius, who possessed not sufficient moderation or
courage to descend into the private station to which the patriotism of
the late emperor had condemned him. Without delay or reflection, he
assumed the purple at Aquileia, where he commanded a considerable force;
and though his reign lasted only seventeen days, * he had time to obtain
the sanction of the senate, and to experience a mutiny of the troops. As
soon as he was informed that the great army of the Danube had invested
the well-known valor of Aurelian with Imperial power, he sunk under the
fame and merit of his rival; and ordering his veins to be opened,
prudently withdrew himself from the unequal contest.

The general design of this work will not permit us minutely to relate
the actions of every emperor after he ascended the throne, much less to
deduce the various fortunes of his private life. We shall only observe,
that the father of Aurelian was a peasant of the territory of Sirmium,
who occupied a small farm, the property of Aurelius, a rich senator. His
warlike son enlisted in the troops as a common soldier, successively
rose to the rank of a centurion, a tribune, the præfect of a legion, the
inspector of the camp, the general, or, as it was then called, the duke,
of a frontier; and at length, during the Gothic war, exercised the
important office of commander-in-chief of the cavalry. In every station
he distinguished himself by matchless valor,  rigid discipline, and
successful conduct. He was invested with the consulship by the emperor
Valerian, who styles him, in the pompous language of that age, the
deliverer of Illyricum, the restorer of Gaul, and the rival of the
Scipios. At the recommendation of Valerian, a senator of the highest
rank and merit, Ulpius Crinitus, whose blood was derived from the same
source as that of Trajan, adopted the Pannonian peasant, gave him his
daughter in marriage, and relieved with his ample fortune the honorable
poverty which Aurelian had preserved inviolate.

The reign of Aurelian lasted only four years and about nine months; but
every instant of that short period was filled by some memorable
achievement. He put an end to the Gothic war, chastised the Germans who
invaded Italy, recovered Gaul, Spain, and Britain out of the hands of
Tetricus, and destroyed the proud monarchy which Zenobia had erected in
the East on the ruins of the afflicted empire.

It was the rigid attention of Aurelian, even to the minutest articles of
discipline, which bestowed such uninterrupted success on his arms. His
military regulations are contained in a very concise epistle to one of
his inferior officers, who is commanded to enforce them, as he wishes to
become a tribune, or as he is desirous to live. Gaming, drinking, and
the arts of divination, were severely prohibited. Aurelian expected that
his soldiers should be modest, frugal, and laborous; that their armor
should be constantly kept bright, their weapons sharp, their clothing
and horses ready for immediate service; that they should live in their
quarters with chastity and sobriety, without damaging the cornfields,
without stealing even a sheep, a fowl, or a bunch of grapes, without
exacting from their landlords, either salt, or oil, or wood. "The public
allowance," continues the emperor, "is sufficient for their support;
their wealth should be collected from the spoils of the enemy, not from
the tears of the provincials."  A single instance will serve to display
the rigor, and even cruelty, of Aurelian. One of the soldiers had
seduced the wife of his host. The guilty wretch was fastened to two
trees forcibly drawn towards each other, and his limbs were torn asunder
by their sudden separation. A few such examples impressed a salutary
consternation. The punishments of Aurelian were terrible; but he had
seldom occasion to punish more than once the same offence. His own
conduct gave a sanction to his laws, and the seditious legions dreaded a
chief who had learned to obey, and who was worthy to command.

Chapter XI: Reign Of Claudius, Defeat Of The Goths. -- Part II.

The death of Claudius had revived the fainting spirit of the Goths. The
troops which guarded the passes of Mount Hæmus, and the banks of the
Danube, had been drawn away by the apprehension of a civil war; and it
seems probable that the remaining body of the Gothic and Vandalic tribes
embraced the favorable opportunity, abandoned their settlements of the
Ukraine, traversed the rivers, and swelled with new multitudes the
destroying host of their countrymen. Their united numbers were at length
encountered by Aurelian, and the bloody and doubtful conflict ended only
with the approach of night.  Exhausted by so many calamities, which they
had mutually endured and inflicted during a twenty years' war, the Goths
and the Romans consented to a lasting and beneficial treaty. It was
earnestly solicited by the barbarians, and cheerfully ratified by the
legions, to whose suffrage the prudence of Aurelian referred the
decision of that important question. The Gothic nation engaged to supply
the armies of Rome with a body of two thousand auxiliaries, consisting
entirely of cavalry, and stipulated in return an undisturbed retreat,
with a regular market as far as the Danube, provided by the emperor's
care, but at their own expense. The treaty was observed with such
religious fidelity, that when a party of five hundred men straggled from
the camp in quest of plunder, the king or general of the barbarians
commanded that the guilty leader should be apprehended and shot to death
with darts, as a victim devoted to the sanctity of their engagements. *
It is, however, not unlikely, that the precaution of Aurelian, who had
exacted as hostages the sons and daughters of the Gothic chiefs,
contributed something to this pacific temper. The youths he trained in
the exercise of arms, and near his own person: to the damsels he gave a
liberal and Roman education, and by bestowing them in marriage on some
of his principal officers, gradually introduced between the two nations
the closest and most endearing connections.

But the most important condition of peace was understood rather than
expressed in the treaty. Aurelian withdrew the Roman forces from Dacia,
and tacitly relinquished that great province to the Goths and Vandals.
His manly judgment convinced him of the solid advantages, and taught him
to despise the seeming disgrace, of thus contracting the frontiers of
the monarchy. The Dacian subjects, removed from those distant
possessions which they were unable to cultivate or defend, added
strength and populousness to the southern side of the Danube. A fertile
territory, which the repetition of barbarous inroads had changed into a
desert, was yielded to their industry, and a new province of Dacia still
preserved the memory of Trajan's conquests. The old country of that name
detained, however, a considerable number of its inhabitants, who dreaded
exile more than a Gothic master.  These degenerate Romans continued to
serve the empire, whose allegiance they had renounced, by introducing
among their conquerors the first notions of agriculture, the useful
arts, and the conveniences of civilized life. An intercourse of commerce
and language was gradually established between the opposite banks of the
Danube; and after Dacia became an independent state, it often proved the
firmest barrier of the empire against the invasions of the savages of
the North. A sense of interest attached these more settled barbarians to
the alliance of Rome, and a permanent interest very frequently ripens
into sincere and useful friendship. This various colony, which filled
the ancient province, and was insensibly blended into one great people,
still acknowledged the superior renown and authority of the Gothic
tribe, and claimed the fancied honor of a Scandinavian origin. At the
same time, the lucky though accidental resemblance of the name of Getæ,
* infused among the credulous Goths a vain persuasion, that in a remote
age, their own ancestors, already seated in the Dacian provinces, had
received the instructions of Zamolxis, and checked the victorious arms
of Sesostris and Darius.

While the vigorous and moderate conduct of Aurelian restored the
Illyrian frontier, the nation of the Alemanni  violated the conditions
of peace, which either Gallienus had purchased, or Claudius had imposed,
and, inflamed by their impatient youth, suddenly flew to arms. Forty
thousand horse appeared in the field,  and the numbers of the infantry
doubled those of the cavalry.  The first objects of their avarice were a
few cities of the Rhætian frontier; but their hopes soon rising with
success, the rapid march of the Alemanni traced a line of devastation
from the Danube to the Po.

The emperor was almost at the same time informed of the irruption, and
of the retreat, of the barbarians. Collecting an active body of troops,
he marched with silence and celerity along the skirts of the Hercynian
forest; and the Alemanni, laden with the spoils of Italy, arrived at the
Danube, without suspecting, that on the opposite bank, and in an
advantageous post, a Roman army lay concealed and prepared to intercept
their return. Aurelian indulged the fatal security of the barbarians,
and permitted about half their forces to pass the river without
disturbance and without precaution. Their situation and astonishment
gave him an easy victory; his skilful conduct improved the advantage.
Disposing the legions in a semicircular form, he advanced the two horns
of the crescent across the Danube, and wheeling them on a sudden towards
the centre, enclosed the rear of the German host. The dismayed
barbarians, on whatsoever side they cast their eyes, beheld, with
despair, a wasted country, a deep and rapid stream, a victorious and
implacable enemy.

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 reenforcement.

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 the 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 hepursued the Gothic war, sheshould assert the
dignity of the empire in the East. ^61? 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 balistand 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 reestablishment
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 Gothie 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 Byzanthium 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; and, besides the recent
notoriety of the facts, constantly draws his materials from the Journals
of the Senate, and the 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, Thessalo nica, 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 Baiæand 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 Moeotis.
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 insolences 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 acknowledge 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 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 numbly 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 Necker. 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 Newstadt and
Ratisbon on the Danube, it stretched across hills, valleys, rivers, and
morasses, as far as Wimpfen on the Necker, 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, on 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 reenforcement, 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 Gepidæwere 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
reestablishment 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 transports 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 reestablished 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 This Three Associates. Part I.

The Reign Of Diocletian And His Three Associates, Maximian, Galerius,
And Constantius. -- General Reestablishment Of Order And Tranquillity.
-- The Persian War, Victory, And Triumph. -- The New Form Of
Administration. -- Abdication And Retirement Of Diocletian And Maximian.

As the reign of Diocletian was more illustrious than that of any of his
predecessors, so was his birth more abject and obscure. The strong
claims of merit and of violence had frequently superseded the ideal
prerogatives of nobility; but a distinct line of separation was hitherto
preserved between the free and the servile part of mankind. The parents
of Diocletian had been slaves in the house of Anulinus, a Roman senator;
nor was he himself distinguished by any other name than that which he
derived from a small town in Dalmatia, from whence his mother deduced
her origin.  It is, however, probable that his father obtained the
freedom of the family, and that he soon acquired an office of scribe,
which was commonly exercised by persons of his condition.  Favorable
oracles, or rather the consciousness of superior merit, prompted his
aspiring son to pursue the profession of arms and the hopes of fortune;
and it would be extremely curious to observe the gradation of arts and
accidents which enabled him in the end to fulfil those oracles, and to
display that merit to the world. Diocletian was successively promoted to
the government of Mæsia, the honors of the consulship, and the important
command of the guards of the palace. He distinguished his abilities in
the Persian war; and after the death of Numerian, the slave, by the
confession and judgment of his rivals, was declared the most worthy of
the Imperial throne. The malice of religious zeal, whilst it arraigns
the savage fierceness of his colleague Maximian, has affected to cast
suspicions on the personal courage of the emperor Diocletian.  It would
not be easy to persuade us of the cowardice of a soldier of fortune, who
acquired and preserved the esteem of the legions as well as the favor of
so many warlike princes. Yet even calumny is sagacious enough to
discover and to attack the most vulnerable part. The valor of Diocletian
was never found inadequate to his duty, or to the occasion; but he
appears not to have possessed the daring and generous spirit of a hero,
who courts danger and fame, disdains artifice, and boldly challenges the
allegiance of his equals. His abilities were useful rather than
splendid; a vigorous mind, improved by the experience and study of
mankind; dexterity and application in business; a judicious mixture of
liberality and economy, of mildness and rigor; profound dissimulation,
under the disguise of military frankness; steadiness to pursue his ends;
flexibility to vary his means; and, above all, the great art of
submitting his own passions, as well as those of others, to the interest
of his ambition, and of coloring his ambition with the most specious
pretences of justice and public utility. Like Augustus, Diocletian may
be considered as the founder of a new empire. Like the adopted son of
Cæsar, he was distinguished as a statesman rather than as a warrior; nor
did either of those princes employ force, whenever their purpose could
be effected by policy.

The victory of Diocletian was remarkable for its singular mildness. A
people accustomed to applaud the clemency of the conqueror, if the usual
punishments of death, exile, and confiscation, were inflicted with any
degree of temper and equity, beheld, with the most pleasing
astonishment, a civil war, the flames of which were extinguished in the
field of battle. Diocletian received into his confidence Aristobulus,
the principal minister of the house of Carus, respected the lives, the
fortunes, and the dignity, of his adversaries, and even continued in
their respective stations the greater number of the servants of Carinus.
It is not improbable that motives of prudence might assist the humanity
of the artful Dalmatian; of these servants, many had purchased his favor
by secret treachery; in others, he esteemed their grateful fidelity to
an unfortunate master. The discerning judgment of Aurelian, of Probus,
and of Carus, had filled the several departments of the state and army
with officers of approved merit, whose removal would have injured the
public service, without promoting the interest of his successor. Such a
conduct, however, displayed to the Roman world the fairest prospect of
the new reign, and the emperor affected to confirm this favorable
prepossession, by declaring, that, among all the virtues of his
predecessors, he was the most ambitious of imitating the humane
philosophy of Marcus Antoninus.

The first considerable action of his reign seemed to evince his
sincerity as well as his moderation. After the example of Marcus, he
gave himself a colleague in the person of Maximian, on whom he bestowed
at first the title of Cæsar, and afterwards that of Augustus.  But the
motives of his conduct, as well as the object of his choice, were of a
very different nature from those of his admired predecessor. By
investing a luxurious youth with the honors of the purple, Marcus had
discharged a debt of private gratitude, at the expense, indeed, of the
happiness of the state. By associating a friend and a fellow-soldier to
the labors of government, Diocletian, in a time of public danger,
provided for the defence both of the East and of the West. Maximian was
born a peasant, and, like Aurelian, in the territory of Sirmium.
Ignorant of letters,  careless of laws, the rusticity of his appearance
and manners still betrayed in the most elevated fortune the meanness of
his extraction. War was the only art which he professed. In a long
course of service, he had distinguished himself on every frontier of the
empire; and though his military talents were formed to obey rather than
to command, though, perhaps, he never attained the skill of a consummate
general, he was capable, by his valor, constancy, and experience, of
executing the most arduous undertakings. Nor were the vices of Maximian
less useful to his benefactor. Insensible to pity, and fearless of
consequences, he was the ready instrument of every act of cruelty which
the policy of that artful prince might at once suggest and disclaim. As
soon as a bloody sacrifice had been offered to prudence or to revenge,
Diocletian, by his seasonable intercession, saved the remaining few whom
he had never designed to punish, gently censured the severity of his
stern colleague, and enjoyed the comparison of a golden and an iron age,
which was universally applied to their opposite maxims of government.
Notwithstanding the difference of their characters, the two emperors
maintained, on the throne, that friendship which they had contracted in
a private station. The haughty, turbulent spirit of Maximian, so fatal,
afterwards, to himself and to the public peace, was accustomed to
respect the genius of Diocletian, and confessed the ascendant of reason
over brutal violence.  From a motive either of pride or superstition,
the two emperors assumed the titles, the one of Jovius, the other of
Herculius. Whilst the motion of the world (such was the language of
their venal orators) was maintained by the all-seeing wisdom of Jupiter,
the invincible arm of Hercules purged the earth from monsters and
tyrants.

But even the omnipotence of Jovius and Herculius was insufficient to
sustain the weight of the public administration. The prudence of
Diocletian discovered that the empire, assailed on every side by the
barbarians, required on every side the presence of a great army, and of
an emperor. With this view, he resolved once more to divide his unwieldy
power, and with the inferior title of Cæsars, * to confer on two
generals of approved merit an unequal share of the sovereign authority.
Galerius, surnamed Armentarius, from his original profession of a
herdsman, and Constantius, who from his pale complexion had acquired the
denomination of Chlorus,  were the two persons invested with the second
honors of the Imperial purple. In describing the country, extraction,
and manners of Herculius, we have already delineated those of Galerius,
who was often, and not improperly, styled the younger Maximian, though,
in many instances both of virtue and ability, he appears to have
possessed a manifest superiority over the elder. The birth of
Constantius was less obscure than that of his colleagues. Eutropius, his
father, was one of the most considerable nobles of Dardania, and his
mother was the niece of the emperor Claudius.  Although the youth of
Constantius had been spent in arms, he was endowed with a mild and
amiable disposition, and the popular voice had long since acknowledged
him worthy of the rank which he at last attained. To strengthen the
bonds of political, by those of domestic, union, each of the emperors
assumed the character of a father to one of the Cæsars, Diocletian to
Galerius, and Maximian to Constantius; and each, obliging them to
repudiate their former wives, bestowed his daughter in marriage or his
adopted son.  These four princes distributed among themselves the wide
extent of the Roman empire. The defence of Gaul, Spain,  and Britain,
was intrusted to Constantius: Galerius was stationed on the banks of the
Danube, as the safeguard of the Illyrian provinces. Italy and Africa
were considered as the department of Maximian; and for his peculiar
portion, Diocletian reserved Thrace, Egypt, and the rich countries of
Asia. Every one was sovereign with his own jurisdiction; but their
united authority extended over the whole monarchy, and each of them was
prepared to assist his colleagues with his counsels or presence. The
Cæsars, in their exalted rank, revered the majesty of the emperors, and
the three younger princes invariably acknowledged, by their gratitude
and obedience, the common parent of their fortunes. The suspicious
jealousy of power found not any place among them; and the singular
happiness of their union has been compared to a chorus of music, whose
harmony was regulated and maintained by the skilful hand of the first
artist.

This important measure was not carried into execution till about six
years after the association of Maximian, and that interval of time had
not been destitute of memorable incidents. But we have preferred, for
the sake of perspicuity, first to describe the more perfect form of
Diocletian's government, and afterwards to relate the actions of his
reign, following rather the natural order of the events, than the dates
of a very doubtful chronology.

The first exploit of Maximian, though it is mentioned in a few words by
our imperfect writers, deserves, from its singularity, to be recorded in
a history of human manners. He suppressed the peasants of Gaul, who,
under the appellation of Bagaudæ,  had risen in a general insurrection;
very similar to those which in the fourteenth century successively
afflicted both France and England.  It should seem that very many of
those institutions, referred by an easy solution to the feudal system,
are derived from the Celtic barbarians. When Cæsar subdued the Gauls,
that great nation was already divided into three orders of men; the
clergy, the nobility, and the common people. The first governed by
superstition, the second by arms, but the third and last was not of any
weight or account in their public councils. It was very natural for the
plebeians, oppressed by debt, or apprehensive of injuries, to implore
the protection of some powerful chief, who acquired over their persons
and property the same absolute right as, among the Greeks and Romans, a
master exercised over his slaves.  The greatest part of the nation was
gradually reduced into a state of servitude; compelled to perpetual
labor on the estates of the Gallic nobles, and confined to the soil,
either by the real weight of fetters, or by the no less cruel and
forcible restraints of the laws. During the long series of troubles
which agitated Gaul, from the reign of Gallienus to that of Diocletian,
the condition of these servile peasants was peculiarly miserable; and
they experienced at once the complicated tyranny of their masters, of
the barbarians, of the soldiers, and of the officers of the revenue.

Their patience was at last provoked into despair. On every side they
rose in multitudes, armed with rustic weapons, and with irresistible
fury. The ploughman became a foot soldier, the shepherd mounted on
horseback, the deserted villages and open towns were abandoned to the
flames, and the ravages of the peasants equalled those of the fiercest
barbarians.  They asserted the natural rights of men, but they asserted
those rights with the most savage cruelty. The Gallic nobles, justly
dreading their revenge, either took refuge in the fortified cities, or
fled from the wild scene of anarchy. The peasants reigned without
control; and two of their most daring leaders had the folly and rashness
to assume the Imperial ornaments.  Their power soon expired at the
approach of the legions. The strength of union and discipline obtained
an easy victory over a licentious and divided multitude.  A severe
retaliation was inflicted on the peasants who were found in arms; the
affrighted remnant returned to their respective habitations, and their
unsuccessful effort for freedom served only to confirm their slavery. So
strong and uniform is the current of popular passions, that we might
almost venture, from very scanty materials, to relate the particulars of
this war; but we are not disposed to believe that the principal leaders,
Ælianus and Amandus, were Christians,  or to insinuate, that the
rebellion, as it happened in the time of Luther, was occasioned by the
abuse of those benevolent principles of Christianity, which inculcate
the natural freedom of mankind.

Maximian had no sooner recovered Gaul from the hands of the peasants,
than he lost Britain by the usurpation of Carausius. Ever since the rash
but successful enterprise of the Franks under the reign of Probus, their
daring countrymen had constructed squadrons of light brigantines, in
which they incessantly ravaged the provinces adjacent to the ocean.  To
repel their desultory incursions, it was found necessary to create a
naval power; and the judicious measure was prosecuted with prudence and
vigor. Gessoriacum, or Boulogne, in the straits of the British Channel,
was chosen by the emperor for the station of the Roman fleet; and the
command of it was intrusted to Carausius, a Menapian of the meanest
origin,  but who had long signalized his skill as a pilot, and his valor
as a soldier. The integrity of the new admiral corresponded not with his
abilities. When the German pirates sailed from their own harbors, he
connived at their passage, but he diligently intercepted their return,
and appropriated to his own use an ample share of the spoil which they
had acquired. The wealth of Carausius was, on this occasion, very justly
considered as an evidence of his guilt; and Maximian had already given
orders for his death. But the crafty Menapian foresaw and prevented the
severity of the emperor. By his liberality he had attached to his
fortunes the fleet which he commanded, and secured the barbarians in his
interest. From the port of Boulogne he sailed over to Britain, persuaded
the legion, and the auxiliaries which guarded that island, to embrace
his party, and boldly assuming, with the Imperial purple, the title of
Augustus defied the justice and the arms of his injured sovereign.

When Britain was thus dismembered from the empire, its importance was
sensibly felt, and its loss sincerely lamented. The Romans celebrated,
and perhaps magnified, the extent of that noble island, provided on
every side with convenient harbors; the temperature of the climate, and
the fertility of the soil, alike adapted for the production of corn or
of vines; the valuable minerals with which it abounded; its rich
pastures covered with innumerable flocks, and its woods free from wild
beasts or venomous serpents. Above all, they regretted the large amount
of the revenue of Britain, whilst they confessed, that such a province
well deserved to become the seat of an independent monarchy.  During the
space of seven years it was possessed by Carausius; and fortune
continued propitious to a rebellion supported with courage and ability.
The British emperor defended the frontiers of his dominions against the
Caledonians of the North, invited, from the continent, a great number of
skilful artists, and displayed, on a variety of coins that are still
extant, his taste and opulence. Born on the confines of the Franks, he
courted the friendship of that formidable people, by the flattering
imitation of their dress and manners. The bravest of their youth he
enlisted among his land or sea forces; and, in return for their useful
alliance, he communicated to the barbarians the dangerous knowledge of
military and naval arts. Carausius still preserved the possession of
Boulogne and the adjacent country. His fleets rode triumphant in the
channel, commanded the mouths of the Seine and of the Rhine, ravaged the
coasts of the ocean, and diffused beyond the columns of Hercules the
terror of his name. Under his command, Britain, destined in a future age
to obtain the empire of the sea, already assumed its natural and
respectable station of a maritime power.

By seizing the fleet of Boulogne, Carausius had deprived his master of
the means of pursuit and revenge. And when, after a vast expense of time
and labor, a new armament was launched into the water,  the Imperial
troops, unaccustomed to that element, were easily baffled and defeated
by the veteran sailors of the usurper. This disappointed effort was soon
productive of a treaty of peace. Diocletian and his colleague, who
justly dreaded the enterprising spirit of Carausius, resigned to him the
sovereignty of Britain, and reluctantly admitted their perfidious
servant to a participation of the Imperial honors.  But the adoption of
the two Cæsars restored new vigor to the Romans arms; and while the
Rhine was guarded by the presence of Maximian, his brave associate
Constantius assumed the conduct of the British war. His first enterprise
was against the important place of Boulogne. A stupendous mole, raised
across the entrance of the harbor, intercepted all hopes of relief. The
town surrendered after an obstinate defence; and a considerable part of
the naval strength of Carausius fell into the hands of the besiegers.
During the three years which Constantius employed in preparing a fleet
adequate to the conquest of Britain, he secured the coast of Gaul,
invaded the country of the Franks, and deprived the usurper of the
assistance of those powerful allies.

Before the preparations were finished, Constantius received the
intelligence of the tyrant's death, and it was considered as a sure
presage of the approaching victory. The servants of Carausius imitated
the example of treason which he had given. He was murdered by his first
minister, Allectus, and the assassin succeeded to his power and to his
danger. But he possessed not equal abilities either to exercise the one
or to repel the other. He beheld, with anxious terror, the opposite
shores of the continent already filled with arms, with troops, and with
vessels; for Constantius had very prudently divided his forces, that he
might likewise divide the attention and resistance of the enemy. The
attack was at length made by the principal squadron, which, under the
command of the præfect Asclepiodatus, an officer of distinguished merit,
had been assembled in the north of the Seine. So imperfect in those
times was the art of navigation, that orators have celebrated the daring
courage of the Romans, who ventured to set sail with a side-wind, and on
a stormy day. The weather proved favorable to their enterprise. Under
the cover of a thick fog, they escaped the fleet of Allectus, which had
been stationed off the Isle of Wight to receive them, landed in safety
on some part of the western coast, and convinced the Britons, that a
superiority of naval strength will not always protect their country from
a foreign invasion. Asclepiodatus had no sooner disembarked the imperial
troops, then he set fire to his ships; and, as the expedition proved
fortunate, his heroic conduct was universally admired. The usurper had
posted himself near London, to expect the formidable attack of
Constantius, who commanded in person the fleet of Boulogne; but the
descent of a new enemy required his immediate presence in the West. He
performed this long march in so precipitate a manner, that he
encountered the whole force of the præfect with a small body of harassed
and disheartened troops. The engagement was soon terminated by the total
defeat and death of Allectus; a single battle, as it has often happened,
decided the fate of this great island; and when Constantius landed on
the shores of Kent, he found them covered with obedient subjects. Their
acclamations were loud and unanimous; and the virtues of the conqueror
may induce us to believe, that they sincerely rejoiced in a revolution,
which, after a separation of ten years, restored Britain to the body of
the Roman empire.

Chapter XIII: Reign Of Diocletian And This Three Associates. -- Part II.

Britain had none but domestic enemies to dread; and as long as the
governors preserved their fidelity, and the troops their discipline, the
incursions of the naked savages of Scotland or Ireland could never
materially affect the safety of the province. The peace of the
continent, and the defence of the principal rivers which bounded the
empire, were objects of far greater difficulty and importance. The
policy of Diocletian, which inspired the councils of his associates,
provided for the public tranquility, by encouraging a spirit of
dissension among the barbarians, and by strengthening the fortifications
of the Roman limit. In the East he fixed a line of camps from Egypt to
the Persian dominions, and for every camp, he instituted an adequate
number of stationary troops, commanded by their respective officers, and
supplied with every kind of arms, from the new arsenals which he had
formed at Antioch, Emesa, and Damascus.  Nor was the precaution of the
emperor less watchful against the well-known valor of the barbarians of
Europe. From the mouth of the Rhine to that of the Danube, the ancient
camps, towns, and citidels, were diligently reestablished, and, in the
most exposed places, new ones were skilfully constructed: the strictest
vigilance was introduced among the garrisons of the frontier, and every
expedient was practised that could render the long chain of
fortifications firm and impenetrable.  A barrier so respectable was
seldom violated, and the barbarians often turned against each other
their disappointed rage. The Goths, the Vandals, the Gepidæ, the
Burgundians, the Alemanni, wasted each other's strength by destructive
hostilities: and whosoever vanquished, they vanquished the enemies of
Rome. The subjects of Diocletian enjoyed the bloody spectacle, and
congratulated each other, that the mischiefs of civil war were now
experienced only by the barbarians.

Notwithstanding the policy of Diocletian, it was impossible to maintain
an equal and undisturbed tranquillity during a reign of twenty years,
and along a frontier of many hundred miles. Sometimes the barbarians
suspended their domestic animosities, and the relaxed vigilance of the
garrisons sometimes gave a passage to their strength or dexterity.
Whenever the provinces were invaded, Diocletian conducted himself with
that calm dignity which he always affected or possessed; reserved his
presence for such occasions as were worthy of his interposition, never
exposed his person or reputation to any unnecessary danger, insured his
success by every means that prudence could suggest, and displayed, with
ostentation, the consequences of his victory. In wars of a more
difficult nature, and more doubtful event, he employed the rough valor
of Maximian; and that faithful soldier was content to ascribe his own
victories to the wise counsels and auspicious influence of his
benefactor. But after the adoption of the two Cæsars, the emperors
themselves, retiring to a less laborious scene of action, devolved on
their adopted sons the defence of the Danube and of the Rhine. The
vigilant Galerius was never reduced to the necessity of vanquishing an
army of barbarians on the Roman territory.  The brave and active
Contsantius delivered Gaul from a very furious inroad of the Alemanni;
and his victories of Langres and Vindonissa appear to have been actions
of considerable danger and merit. As he traversed the open country with
a feeble guard, he was encompassed on a sudden by the superior multitude
of the enemy. He retreated with difficulty towards Langres; but, in the
general consternation, the citizens refused to open their gates, and the
wounded prince was drawn up the wall by the means of a rope. But, on the
news of his distress, the Roman troops hastened from all sides to his
relief, and before the evening he had satisfied his honor and revenge by
the slaughter of six thousand Alemanni.  From the monuments of those
times, the obscure traces of several other victories over the barbarians
of Sarmatia and Germany might possibly be collected; but the tedious
search would not be rewarded either with amusement or with instruction.

The conduct which the emperor Probus had adopted in the disposal of the
vanquished, was imitated by Diocletian and his associates. The captive
barbarians, exchanging death for slavery, were distributed among the
provincials, and assigned to those districts (in Gaul, the territories
of Amiens, Beauvais, Cambray, Treves, Langres, and Troyes, are
particularly specified ) which had been depopulated by the calamities of
war. They were usefully employed as shepherds and husbandmen, but were
denied the exercise of arms, except when it was found expedient to
enroll them in the military service. Nor did the emperors refuse the
property of lands, with a less servile tenure, to such of the barbarians
as solicited the protection of Rome. They granted a settlement to
several colonies of the Carpi, the Bastarnæ, and the Sarmatians; and, by
a dangerous indulgence, permitted them in some measure to retain their
national manners and independence.  Among the provincials, it was a
subject of flattering exultation, that the barbarian, so lately an
object of terror, now cultivated their lands, drove their cattle to the
neighboring fair, and contributed by his labor to the public plenty.
They congratulated their masters on the powerful accession of subjects
and soldiers; but they forgot to observe, that multitudes of secret
enemies, insolent from favor, or desperate from oppression, were
introduced into the heart of the empire.

While the Cæsars exercised their valor on the banks of the Rhine and
Danube, the presence of the emperors was required on the southern
confines of the Roman world. From the Nile to Mount Atlas Africa was in
arms. A confederacy of five Moorish nations issued from their deserts to
invade the peaceful provinces.  Julian had assumed the purple at
Carthage.  Achilleus at Alexandria, and even the Blemmyes, renewed, or
rather continued, their incursions into the Upper Egypt. Scarcely any
circumstances have been preserved of the exploits of Maximian in the
western parts of Africa; but it appears, by the event, that the progress
of his arms was rapid and decisive, that he vanquished the fiercest
barbarians of Mauritania, and that he removed them from the mountains,
whose inaccessible strength had inspired their inhabitants with a
lawless confidence, and habituated them to a life of rapine and
violence.  Diocletian, on his side, opened the campaign in Egypt by the
siege of Alexandria, cut off the aqueducts which conveyed the waters of
the Nile into every quarter of that immense city,  and rendering his
camp impregnable to the sallies of the besieged multitude, he pushed his
reiterated attacks with caution and vigor. After a siege of eight
months, Alexandria, wasted by the sword and by fire, implored the
clemency of the conqueror, but it experienced the full extent of his
severity. Many thousands of the citizens perished in a promiscuous
slaughter, and there were few obnoxious persons in Egypt who escaped a
sentence either of death or at least of exile.  The fate of Busiris and
of Coptos was still more melancholy than that of Alexandria: those proud
cities, the former distinguished by its antiquity, the latter enriched
by the passage of the Indian trade, were utterly destroyed by the arms
and by the severe order of Diocletian.  The character of the Egyptian
nation, insensible to kindness, but extremely susceptible of fear, could
alone justify this excessive rigor. The seditions of Alexandria had
often affected the tranquillity and subsistence of Rome itself. Since
the usurpation of Firmus, the province of Upper Egypt, incessantly
relapsing into rebellion, had embraced the alliance of the savages of
Æthiopia. The number of the Blemmyes, scattered between the Island of
Meroe and the Red Sea, was very inconsiderable, their disposition was
unwarlike, their weapons rude and inoffensive.  Yet in the public
disorders, these barbarians, whom antiquity, shocked with the deformity
of their figure, had almost excluded from the human species, presumed to
rank themselves among the enemies of Rome.  Such had been the unworthy
allies of the Egyptians; and while the attention of the state was
engaged in more serious wars, their vexations inroads might again harass
the repose of the province. With a view of opposing to the Blemmyes a
suitable adversary, Diocletian persuaded the Nobatæ, or people of Nubia,
to remove from their ancient habitations in the deserts of Libya, and
resigned to them an extensive but unprofitable territory above Syene and
the cataracts of the Nile, with the stipulation, that they should ever
respect and guard the frontier of the empire. The treaty long subsisted;
and till the establishment of Christianity introduced stricter notions
of religious worship, it was annually ratified by a solemn sacrifice in
the Isle of Elephantine, in which the Romans, as well as the barbarians,
adored the same visible or invisible powers of the universe.

At the same time that Diocletian chastised the past crimes of the
Egyptians, he provided for their future safety and happiness by many
wise regulations, which were confirmed and enforced under the succeeding
reigns.  One very remarkable edict which he published, instead of being
condemned as the effect of jealous tyranny, deserves to be applauded as
an act of prudence and humanity. He caused a diligent inquiry to be made
"for all the ancient books which treated of the admirable art of making
gold and silver, and without pity, committed them to the flames;
apprehensive, as we are assumed, lest the opulence of the Egyptians
should inspire them with confidence to rebel against the empire."  But
if Diocletian had been convinced of the reality of that valuable art,
far from extinguishing the memory, he would have converted the operation
of it to the benefit of the public revenue. It is much more likely, that
his good sense discovered to him the folly of such magnificent
pretensions, and that he was desirous of preserving the reason and
fortunes of his subjects from the mischievous pursuit. It may be
remarked, that these ancient books, so liberally ascribed to Pythagoras,
to Solomon, or to Hermes, were the pious frauds of more recent adepts.
The Greeks were inattentive either to the use or to the abuse of
chemistry. In that immense register, where Pliny has deposited the
discoveries, the arts, and the errors of mankind, there is not the least
mention of the transmutation of metals; and the persecution of
Diocletian is the first authentic event in the history of alchemy. The
conquest of Egypt by the Arabs diffused that vain science over the
globe. Congenial to the avarice of the human heart, it was studied in
China as in Europe, with equal eagerness, and with equal success. The
darkness of the middle ages insured a favorable reception to every tale
of wonder, and the revival of learning gave new vigor to hope, and
suggested more specious arts of deception. Philosophy, with the aid of
experience, has at length banished the study of alchemy; and the present
age, however desirous of riches, is content to seek them by the humbler
means of commerce and industry.

The reduction of Egypt was immediately followed by the Persian war. It
was reserved for the reign of Diocletian to vanquish that powerful
nation, and to extort a confession from the successors of Artaxerxes, of
the superior majesty of the Roman empire.

We have observed, under the reign of Valerian, that Armenia was subdued
by the perfidy and the arms of the Persians, and that, after the
assassination of Chosroes, his son Tiridates, the infant heir of the
monarchy, was saved by the fidelity of his friends, and educated under
the protection of the emperors. Tiridates derived from his exile such
advantages as he could never have obtained on the throne of Armenia; the
early knowledge of adversity, of mankind, and of the Roman discipline.
He signalized his youth by deeds of valor, and displayed a matchless
dexterity, as well as strength, in every martial exercise, and even in
the less honorable contests of the Olympian games.  Those qualities were
more nobly exerted in the defence of his benefactor Licinius.  That
officer, in the sedition which occasioned the death of Probus, was
exposed to the most imminent danger, and the enraged soldiers were
forcing their way into his tent, when they were checked by the single
arm of the Armenian prince. The gratitude of Tiridates contributed soon
afterwards to his restoration. Licinius was in every station the friend
and companion of Galerius, and the merit of Galerius, long before he was
raised to the dignity of Cæsar, had been known and esteemed by
Diocletian. In the third year of that emperor's reign Tiridates was
invested with the kingdom of Armenia. The justice of the measure was not
less evident than its expediency. It was time to rescue from the
usurpation of the Persian monarch an important territory, which, since
the reign of Nero, had been always granted under the protection of the
empire to a younger branch of the house of Arsaces.

When Tiridates appeared on the frontiers of Armenia, he was received
with an unfeigned transport of joy and loyalty. During twenty-six years,
the country had experienced the real and imaginary hardships of a
foreign yoke. The Persian monarchs adorned their new conquest with
magnificent buildings; but those monuments had been erected at the
expense of the people, and were abhorred as badges of slavery. The
apprehension of a revolt had inspired the most rigorous precautions:
oppression had been aggravated by insult, and the consciousness of the
public hatred had been productive of every measure that could render it
still more implacable. We have already remarked the intolerant spirit of
the Magian religion. The statues of the deified kings of Armenia, and
the sacred images of the sun and moon, were broke in pieces by the zeal
of the conqueror; and the perpetual fire of Ormuzd was kindled and
preserved upon an altar erected on the summit of Mount Bagavan.  It was
natural, that a people exasperated by so many injuries, should arm with
zeal in the cause of their independence, their religion, and their
hereditary sovereign. The torrent bore down every obstacle, and the
Persian garrisons retreated before its fury. The nobles of Armenia flew
to the standard of Tiridates, all alleging their past merit, offering
their future service, and soliciting from the new king those honors and
rewards from which they had been excluded with disdain under the foreign
government.  The command of the army was bestowed on Artavasdes, whose
father had saved the infancy of Tiridates, and whose family had been
massacred for that generous action. The brother of Artavasdes obtained
the government of a province. One of the first military dignities was
conferred on the satrap Otas, a man of singular temperance and
fortitude, who presented to the king his sister  and a considerable
treasure, both of which, in a sequestered fortress, Otas had preserved
from violation. Among the Armenian nobles appeared an ally, whose
fortunes are too remarkable to pass unnoticed. His name was Mamgo,  his
origin was Scythian, and the horde which acknowledge his authority had
encamped a very few years before on the skirts of the Chinese empire,
which at that time extended as far as the neighborhood of Sogdiana.
Having incurred the displeasure of his master, Mamgo, with his
followers, retired to the banks of the Oxus, and implored the protection
of Sapor. The emperor of China claimed the fugitive, and alleged the
rights of sovereignty. The Persian monarch pleaded the laws of
hospitality, and with some difficulty avoided a war, by the promise that
he would banish Mamgo to the uttermost parts of the West, a punishment,
as he described it, not less dreadful than death itself. Armenia was
chosen for the place of exile, and a large district was assigned to the
Scythian horde, on which they might feed their flocks and herds, and
remove their encampment from one place to another, according to the
different seasons of the year. They were employed to repel the invasion
of Tiridates; but their leader, after weighing the obligations and
injuries which he had received from the Persian monarch, resolved to
abandon his party. The Armenian prince, who was well acquainted with
this merit as well as power of Mamgo, treated him with distinguished
respect; and, by admitting him into his confidence, acquired a brave and
faithful servant, who contributed very effectually to his restoration.

For a while, fortune appeared to favor the enterprising valor of
Tiridates. He not only expelled the enemies of his family and country
from the whole extent of Armenia, but in the prosecution of his revenge
he carried his arms, or at least his incursions, into the heart of
Assyria. The historian, who has preserved the name of Tiridates from
oblivion, celebrates, with a degree of national enthusiasm, his personal
prowess: and, in the true spirit of eastern romance, describes the
giants and the elephants that fell beneath his invincible arm. It is
from other information that we discover the distracted state of the
Persian monarchy, to which the king of Armenia was indebted for some
part of his advantages. The throne was disputed by the ambition of
contending brothers; and Hormuz, after exerting without success the
strength of his own party, had recourse to the dangerous assistance of
the barbarians who inhabited the banks of the Caspian Sea.  The civil
war was, however, soon terminated, either by a victor or by a
reconciliation; and Narses, who was universally acknowledged as king of
Persia, directed his whole force against the foreign enemy. The contest
then became too unequal; nor was the valor of the hero able to withstand
the power of the monarch, Tiridates, a second time expelled from the
throne of Armenia, once more took refuge in the court of the emperors. *
Narses soon reestablished his authority over the revolted province; and
loudly complaining of the protection afforded by the Romans to rebels
and fugitives, aspired to the conquest of the East.

Neither prudence nor honor could permit the emperors to forsake the
cause of the Armenian king, and it was resolved to exert the force of
the empire in the Persian war. Diocletian, with the calm dignity which
he constantly assumed, fixed his own station in the city of Antioch,
from whence he prepared and directed the military operations.  The
conduct of the legions was intrusted to the intrepid valor of Galerius,
who, for that important purpose, was removed from the banks of the
Danube to those of the Euphrates. The armies soon encountered each other
in the plains of Mesopotamia, and two battles were fought with various
and doubtful success; but the third engagement was of a more decisive
nature; and the Roman army received a total overthrow, which is
attributed to the rashness of Galerius, who, with an inconsiderable body
of troops, attacked the innumerable host of the Persians.  But the
consideration of the country that was the scene of action, may suggest
another reason for his defeat. The same ground on which Galerius was
vanquished, had been rendered memorable by the death of Crassus, and the
slaughter of ten legions. It was a plain of more than sixty miles, which
extended from the hills of Carrhæto the Euphrates; a smooth and barren
surface of sandy desert, without a hillock, without a tree, and without
a spring of fresh water.  The steady infantry of the Romans, fainting
with heat and thirst, could neither hope for victory if they preserved
their ranks, nor break their ranks without exposing themselves to the
most imminent danger. In this situation they were gradually encompassed
by the superior numbers, harassed by the rapid evolutions, and destroyed
by the arrows of the barbarian cavalry. The king of Armenia had
signalized his valor in the battle, and acquired personal glory by the
public misfortune. He was pursued as far as the Euphrates; his horse was
wounded, and it appeared impossible for him to escape the victorious
enemy. In this extremity Tiridates embraced the only refuge which
appeared before him: he dismounted and plunged into the stream. His
armor was heavy, the river very deep, and at those parts at least half a
mile in breadth;  yet such was his strength and dexterity, that he
reached in safety the opposite bank.  With regard to the Roman general,
we are ignorant of the circumstances of his escape; but when he returned
to Antioch, Diocletian received him, not with the tenderness of a friend
and colleague, but with the indignation of an offended sovereign. The
haughtiest of men, clothed in his purple, but humbled by the sense of
his fault and misfortune, was obliged to follow the emperor's chariot
above a mile on foot, and to exhibit, before the whole court, the
spectacle of his disgrace.

As soon as Diocletian had indulged his private resentment, and asserted
the majesty of supreme power, he yielded to the submissive entreaties of
the Cæsar, and permitted him to retrieve his own honor, as well as that
of the Roman arms. In the room of the unwarlike troops of Asia, which
had most probably served in the first expedition, a second army was
drawn from the veterans and new levies of the Illyrian frontier, and a
considerable body of Gothic auxiliaries were taken into the Imperial
pay.  At the head of a chosen army of twenty-five thousand men, Galerius
again passed the Euphrates; but, instead of exposing his legions in the
open plains of Mesopotamia he advanced through the mountains of Armenia,
where he found the inhabitants devoted to his cause, and the country as
favorable to the operations of infantry as it was inconvenient for the
motions of cavalry.  Adversity had confirmed the Roman discipline, while
the barbarians, elated by success, were become so negligent and remiss,
that in the moment when they least expected it, they were surprised by
the active conduct of Galerius, who, attended only by two horsemen, had
with his own eyes secretly examined the state and position of their
camp. A surprise, especially in the night time, was for the most part
fatal to a Persian army. "Their horses were tied, and generally
shackled, to prevent their running away; and if an alarm happened, a
Persian had his housing to fix, his horse to bridle, and his corselet to
put on, before he could mount."  On this occasion, the impetuous attack
of Galerius spread disorder and dismay over the camp of the barbarians.
A slight resistance was followed by a dreadful carnage, and, in the
general confusion, the wounded monarch (for Narses commanded his armies
in person) fled towards the deserts of Media. His sumptuous tents, and
those of his satraps, afforded an immense booty to the conqueror; and an
incident is mentioned, which proves the rustic but martial ignorance of
the legions in the elegant superfluities of life. A bag of shining
leather, filled with pearls, fell into the hands of a private soldier;
he carefully preserved the bag, but he threw away its contents, judging
that whatever was of no use could not possibly be of any value.  The
principal loss of Narses was of a much more affecting nature. Several of
his wives, his sisters, and children, who had attended the army, were
made captives in the defeat. But though the character of Galerius had in
general very little affinity with that of Alexander, he imitated, after
his victory, the amiable behavior of the Macedonian towards the family
of Darius. The wives and children of Narses were protected from violence
and rapine, conveyed to a place of safety, and treated with every mark
of respect and tenderness, that was due from a generous enemy to their
age, their sex, and their royal dignity.

Chapter XIII: Reign Of Diocletian And This Three Associates. -- Part
III.

While the East anxiously expected the decision of this great contest,
the emperor Diocletian, having assembled in Syria a strong army of
observation, displayed from a distance the resources of the Roman power,
and reserved himself for any future emergency of the war. On the
intelligence of the victory he condescended to advance towards the
frontier, with a view of moderating, by his presence and counsels, the
pride of Galerius. The interview of the Roman princes at Nisibis was
accompanied with every expression of respect on one side, and of esteem
on the other. It was in that city that they soon afterwards gave
audience to the ambassador of the Great King.  The power, or at least
the spirit, of Narses, had been broken by his last defeat; and he
considered an immediate peace as the only means that could stop the
progress of the Roman arms. He despatched Apharban, a servant who
possessed his favor and confidence, with a commission to negotiate a
treaty, or rather to receive whatever conditions the conqueror should
impose. Apharban opened the conference by expressing his master's
gratitude for the generous treatment of his family, and by soliciting
the liberty of those illustrious captives. He celebrated the valor of
Galerius, without degrading the reputation of Narses, and thought it no
dishonor to confess the superiority of the victorious Cæsar, over a
monarch who had surpassed in glory all the princes of his race.
Notwithstanding the justice of the Persian cause, he was empowered to
submit the present differences to the decision of the emperors
themselves; convinced as he was, that, in the midst of prosperity, they
would not be unmindful of the vicissitudes of fortune. Apharban
concluded his discourse in the style of eastern allegory, by observing
that the Roman and Persian monarchies were the two eyes of the world,
which would remain imperfect and mutilated if either of them should be
put out.

"It well becomes the Persians," replied Galerius, with a transport of
fury, which seemed to convulse his whole frame, "it well becomes the
Persians to expatiate on the vicissitudes of fortune, and calmly to read
us lectures on the virtues of moderation. Let them remember their own
moderation, towards the unhappy Valerian. They vanquished him by fraud,
they treated him with indignity. They detained him till the last moment
of his life in shameful captivity, and after his death they exposed his
body to perpetual ignominy." Softening, however, his tone, Galerius
insinuated to the ambassador, that it had never been the practice of the
Romans to trample on a prostrate enemy; and that, on this occasion, they
should consult their own dignity rather than the Persian merit. He
dismissed Apharban with a hope that Narses would soon be informed on
what conditions he might obtain, from the clemency of the emperors, a
lasting peace, and the restoration of his wives and children. In this
conference we may discover the fierce passions of Galerius, as well as
his deference to the superior wisdom and authority of Diocletian. The
ambition of the former grasped at the conquest of the East, and had
proposed to reduce Persia into the state of a province. The prudence of
the latter, who adhered to the moderate policy of Augustus and the
Antonines, embraced the favorable opportunity of terminating a
successful war by an honorable and advantageous peace.

In pursuance of their promise, the emperors soon afterwards appointed
Sicorius Probus, one of their secretaries, to acquaint the Persian court
with their final resolution. As the minister of peace, he was received
with every mark of politeness and friendship; but, under the pretence of
allowing him the necessary repose after so long a journey, the audience
of Probus was deferred from day to day; and he attended the slow motions
of the king, till at length he was admitted to his presence, near the
River Asprudus in Media. The secret motive of Narses, in this delay, had
been to collect such a military force as might enable him, though
sincerely desirous of peace, to negotiate with the greater weight and
dignity. Three persons only assisted at this important conference, the
minister Apharban, the præfect of the guards, and an officer who had
commanded on the Armenian frontier.  The first condition proposed by the
ambassador is not at present of a very intelligible nature; that the
city of Nisibis might be established for the place of mutual exchange,
or, as we should formerly have termed it, for the staple of trade,
between the two empires. There is no difficulty in conceiving the
intention of the Roman princes to improve their revenue by some
restraints upon commerce; but as Nisibis was situated within their own
dominions, and as they were masters both of the imports and exports, it
should seem that such restraints were the objects of an internal law,
rather than of a foreign treaty. To render them more effectual, some
stipulations were probably required on the side of the king of Persia,
which appeared so very repugnant either to his interest or to his
dignity, that Narses could not be persuaded to subscribe them. As this
was the only article to which he refused his consent, it was no longer
insisted on; and the emperors either suffered the trade to flow in its
natural channels, or contented themselves with such restrictions, as it
depended on their own authority to establish.

As soon as this difficulty was removed, a solemn peace was concluded and
ratified between the two nations. The conditions of a treaty so glorious
to the empire, and so necessary to Persia Persian, may deserve a more
peculiar attention, as the history of Rome presents very few
transactions of a similar nature; most of her wars having either been
terminated by absolute conquest, or waged against barbarians ignorant of
the use of letters. I. The Aboras, or, as it is called by Xenophon, the
Araxes, was fixed as the boundary between the two monarchies.  That
river, which rose near the Tigris, was increased, a few miles below
Nisibis, by the little stream of the Mygdonius, passed under the walls
of Singara, and fell into the Euphrates at Circesium, a frontier town,
which, by the care of Diocletian, was very strongly fortified.
Mesopotomia, the object of so many wars, was ceded to the empire; and
the Persians, by this treaty, renounced all pretensions to that great
province. II. They relinquished to the Romans five provinces beyond the
Tigris.  Their situation formed a very useful barrier, and their natural
strength was soon improved by art and military skill. Four of these, to
the north of the river, were districts of obscure fame and
inconsiderable extent; Intiline, Zabdicene, Arzanene, and Moxoene;  but
on the east of the Tigris, the empire acquired the large and mountainous
territory of Carduene, the ancient seat of the Carduchians, who
preserved for many ages their manly freedom in the heart of the despotic
monarchies of Asia. The ten thousand Greeks traversed their country,
after a painful march, or rather engagement, of seven days; and it is
confessed by their leader, in his incomparable relation of the retreat,
that they suffered more from the arrows of the Carduchians, than from
the power of the Great King.  Their posterity, the Curds, with very
little alteration either of name or manners, * acknowledged the nominal
sovereignty of the Turkish sultan. III. It is almost needless to
observe, that Tiridates, the faithful ally of Rome, was restored to the
throne of his fathers, and that the rights of the Imperial supremacy
were fully asserted and secured. The limits of Armenia were extended as
far as the fortress of Sintha in Media, and this increase of dominion
was not so much an act of liberality as of justice. Of the provinces
already mentioned beyond the Tigris, the four first had been dismembered
by the Parthians from the crown of Armenia;  and when the Romans
acquired the possession of them, they stipulated, at the expense of the
usurpers, an ample compensation, which invested their ally with the
extensive and fertile country of Atropatene. Its principal city, in the
same situation perhaps as the modern Tauris, was frequently honored by
the residence of Tiridates; and as it sometimes bore the name of
Ecbatana, he imitated, in the buildings and fortifications, the splendid
capital of the Medes.  IV. The country of Iberia was barren, its
inhabitants rude and savage. But they were accustomed to the use of
arms, and they separated from the empire barbarians much fiercer and
more formidable than themselves. The narrow defiles of Mount Caucasus
were in their hands, and it was in their choice, either to admit or to
exclude the wandering tribes of Sarmatia, whenever a rapacious spirit
urged them to penetrate into the richer climes of the South.  The
nomination of the kings of Iberia, which was resigned by the Persian
monarch to the emperors, contributed to the strength and security of the
Roman power in Asia.  The East enjoyed a profound tranquillity during
forty years; and the treaty between the rival monarchies was strictly
observed till the death of Tiridates; when a new generation, animated
with different views and different passions, succeeded to the government
of the world; and the grandson of Narses undertook a long and memorable
war against the princes of the house of Constantine.

The arduous work of rescuing the distressed empire from tyrants and
barbarians had now been completely achieved by a succession of Illyrian
peasants. As soon as Diocletian entered into the twentieth year of his
reign, he celebrated that memorable æra, as well as the success of his
arms, by the pomp of a Roman triumph.  Maximian, the equal partner of
his power, was his only companion in the glory of that day. The two
Cæsars had fought and conquered, but the merit of their exploits was
ascribed, according to the rigor of ancient maxims, to the auspicious
influence of their fathers and emperors.  The triumph of Diocletian and
Maximian was less magnificent, perhaps, than those of Aurelian and
Probus, but it was dignified by several circumstances of superior fame
and good fortune. Africa and Britain, the Rhine, the Danube, and the
Nile, furnished their respective trophies; but the most distinguished
ornament was of a more singular nature, a Persian victory followed by an
important conquest. The representations of rivers, mountains, and
provinces, were carried before the Imperial car. The images of the
captive wives, the sisters, and the children of the Great King, afforded
a new and grateful spectacle to the vanity of the people.  In the eyes
of posterity, this triumph is remarkable, by a distinction of a less
honorable kind. It was the last that Rome ever beheld. Soon after this
period, the emperors ceased to vanquish, and Rome ceased to be the
capital of the empire.

The spot on which Rome was founded had been consecrated by ancient
ceremonies and imaginary miracles. The presence of some god, or the
memory of some hero, seemed to animate every part of the city, and the
empire of the world had been promised to the Capitol.  The native Romans
felt and confessed the power of this agreeable illusion. It was derived
from their ancestors, had grown up with their earliest habits of life,
and was protected, in some measure, by the opinion of political utility.
The form and the seat of government were intimately blended together,
nor was it esteemed possible to transport the one without destroying the
other.  But the sovereignty of the capital was gradually annihilated in
the extent of conquest; the provinces rose to the same level, and the
vanquished nations acquired the name and privileges, without imbibing
the partial affections, of Romans. During a long period, however, the
remains of the ancient constitution, and the influence of custom,
preserved the dignity of Rome. The emperors, though perhaps of African
or Illyrian extraction, respected their adopted country, as the seat of
their power, and the centre of their extensive dominions. The
emergencies of war very frequently required their presence on the
frontiers; but Diocletian and Maximian were the first Roman princes who
fixed, in time of peace, their ordinary residence in the provinces; and
their conduct, however it might be suggested by private motives, was
justified by very specious considerations of policy. The court of the
emperor of the West was, for the most part, established at Milan, whose
situation, at the foot of the Alps, appeared far more convenient than
that of Rome, for the important purpose of watching the motions of the
barbarians of Germany. Milan soon assumed the splendor of an Imperial
city. The houses are described as numerous and well built; the manners
of the people as polished and liberal. A circus, a theatre, a mint, a
palace, baths, which bore the name of their founder Maximian; porticos
adorned with statues, and a double circumference of walls, contributed
to the beauty of the new capital; nor did it seem oppressed even by the
proximity of Rome.  To rival the majesty of Rome was the ambition
likewise of Diocletian, who employed his leisure, and the wealth of the
East, in the embellishment of Nicomedia, a city placed on the verge of
Europe and Asia, almost at an equal distance between the Danube and the
Euphrates. By the taste of the monarch, and at the expense of the
people, Nicomedia acquired, in the space of a few years, a degree of
magnificence which might appear to have required the labor of ages, and
became inferior only to Rome, Alexandria, and Antioch, in extent of
populousness.  The life of Diocletian and Maximian was a life of action,
and a considerable portion of it was spent in camps, or in the long and
frequent marches; but whenever the public business allowed them any
relaxation, they seemed to have retired with pleasure to their favorite
residences of Nicomedia and Milan. Till Diocletian, in the twentieth
year of his reign, celebrated his Roman triumph, it is extremely
doubtful whether he ever visited the ancient capital of the empire. Even
on that memorable occasion his stay did not exceed two months. Disgusted
with the licentious familiarity of the people, he quitted Rome with
precipitation thirteen days before it was expected that he should have
appeared in the senate, invested with the ensigns of the consular
dignity.

The dislike expressed by Diocletian towards Rome and Roman freedom, was
not the effect of momentary caprice, but the result of the most artful
policy. That crafty prince had framed a new system of Imperial
government, which was afterwards completed by the family of Constantine;
and as the image of the old constitution was religiously preserved in
the senate, he resolved to deprive that order of its small remains of
power and consideration. We may recollect, about eight years before the
elevation, of Diocletian the transient greatness, and the ambitious
hopes, of the Roman senate. As long as that enthusiasm prevailed, many
of the nobles imprudently displayed their zeal in the cause of freedom;
and after the successes of Probus had withdrawn their countenance from
the republican party, the senators were unable to disguise their
impotent resentment. As the sovereign of Italy, Maximian was intrusted
with the care of extinguishing this troublesome, rather than dangerous
spirit, and the task was perfectly suited to his cruel temper. The most
illustrious members of the senate, whom Diocletian always affected to
esteem, were involved, by his colleague, in the accusation of imaginary
plots; and the possession of an elegant villa, or a well-cultivated
estate, was interpreted as a convincing evidence of guilt.  The camp of
the Prætorians, which had so long oppressed, began to protect, the
majesty of Rome; and as those haughty troops were conscious of the
decline of their power, they were naturally disposed to unite their
strength with the authority of the senate. By the prudent measures of
Diocletian, the numbers of the Prætorians were insensibly reduced, their
privileges abolished,  and their place supplied by two faithful legions
of Illyricum, who, under the new titles of Jovians and Herculians, were
appointed to perform the service of the Imperial guards.  But the most
fatal though secret wound, which the senate received from the hands of
Diocletian and Maximian, was inflicted by the inevitable operation of
their absence. As long as the emperors resided at Rome, that assembly
might be oppressed, but it could scarcely be neglected. The successors
of Augustus exercised the power of dictating whatever laws their wisdom
or caprice might suggest; but those laws were ratified by the sanction
of the senate. The model of ancient freedom was preserved in its
deliberations and decrees; and wise princes, who respected the
prejudices of the Roman people, were in some measure obliged to assume
the language and behavior suitable to the general and first magistrate
of the republic. In the armies and in the provinces, they displayed the
dignity of monarchs; and when they fixed their residence at a distance
from the capital, they forever laid aside the dissimulation which
Augustus had recommended to his successors. In the exercise of the
legislative as well as the executive power, the sovereign advised with
his ministers, instead of consulting the great council of the nation.
The name of the senate was mentioned with honor till the last period of
the empire; the vanity of its members was still flattered with honorary
distinctions;  but the assembly which had so long been the source, and
so long the instrument of power, was respectfully suffered to sink into
oblivion. The senate of Rome, losing all connection with the Imperial
court and the actual constitution, was left a venerable but useless
monument of antiquity on the Capitoline hill.

Chapter XIII: Reign Of Diocletian And This Three Associates. -- Part IV.

When the Roman princes had lost sight of the senate and of their ancient
capital, they easily forgot the origin and nature of their legal power.
The civil offices of consul, of proconsul, of censor, and of tribune, by
the union of which it had been formed, betrayed to the people its
republican extraction. Those modest titles were laid aside;  and if they
still distinguished their high station by the appellation of Emperor, or
Imperator, that word was understood in a new and more dignified sense,
and no longer denoted the general of the Roman armies, but the sovereign
of the Roman world. The name of Emperor, which was at first of a
military nature, was associated with another of a more servile kind. The
epithet of Dominus, or Lord, in its primitive signification, was
expressive, not of the authority of a prince over his subjects, or of a
commander over his soldiers, but of the despotic power of a master over
his domestic slaves.  Viewing it in that odious light, it had been
rejected with abhorrence by the first Cæsars. Their resistance
insensibly became more feeble, and the name less odious; till at length
the style of our Lord and Emperorwas not only bestowed by flattery, but
was regularly admitted into the laws and public monuments. Such lofty
epithets were sufficient to elate and satisfy the most excessive vanity;
and if the successors of Diocletian still declined the title of King, it
seems to have been the effect not so much of their moderation as of
their delicacy. Wherever the Latin tongue was in use, (and it was the
language of government throughout the empire,) the Imperial title, as it
was peculiar to themselves, conveyed a more respectable idea than the
name of king, which they must have shared with a hundred barbarian
chieftains; or which, at the best, they could derive only from Romulus,
or from Tarquin. But the sentiments of the East were very different from
those of the West. From the earliest period of history, the sovereigns
of Asia had been celebrated in the Greek language by the title of
Basileus, or King; and since it was considered as the first distinction
among men, it was soon employed by the servile provincials of the East,
in their humble addresses to the Roman throne.  Even the attributes, or
at least the titles, of the Divinity, were usurped by Diocletian and
Maximian, who transmitted them to a succession of Christian emperors.
Such extravagant compliments, however, soon lose their impiety by losing
their meaning; and when the ear is once accustomed to the sound, they
are heard with indifference, as vague though excessive professions of
respect.

From the time of Augustus to that of Diocletian, the Roman princes,
conversing in a familiar manner among their fellow-citizens, were
saluted only with the same respect that was usually paid to senators and
magistrates. Their principal distinction was the Imperial or military
robe of purple; whilst the senatorial garment was marked by a broad, and
the equestrian by a narrow, band or stripe of the same honorable color.
The pride, or rather the policy, of Diocletian, engaged that artful
prince to introduce the stately magnificence of the court of Persia.  He
ventured to assume the diadem, an ornament detested by the Romans as the
odious ensign of royalty, and the use of which had been considered as
the most desperate act of the madness of Caligula. It was no more than a
broad white fillet set with pearls, which encircled the emperor's head.
The sumptuous robes of Diocletian and his successors were of silk and
gold; and it is remarked with indignation, that even their shoes were
studded with the most precious gems. The access to their sacred person
was every day rendered more difficult by the institution of new forms
and ceremonies. The avenues of the palace were strictly guarded by the
various schools, as they began to be called, of domestic officers. The
interior apartments were intrusted to the jealous vigilance of the
eunuchs, the increase of whose numbers and influence was the most
infallible symptom of the progress of despotism. When a subject was at
length admitted to the Imperial presence, he was obliged, whatever might
be his rank, to fall prostrate on the ground, and to adore, according to
the eastern fashion, the divinity of his lord and master.  Diocletian
was a man of sense, who, in the course of private as well as public
life, had formed a just estimate both of himself and of mankind: nor is
it easy to conceive, that in substituting the manners of Persia to those
of Rome, he was seriously actuated by so mean a principle as that of
vanity. He flattered himself, that an ostentation of splendor and luxury
would subdue the imagination of the multitude; that the monarch would be
less exposed to the rude license of the people and the soldiers, as his
person was secluded from the public view; and that habits of submission
would insensibly be productive of sentiments of veneration. Like the
modesty affected by Augustus, the state maintained by Diocletian was a
theatrical representation; but it must be confessed, that of the two
comedies, the former was of a much more liberal and manly character than
the latter. It was the aim of the one to disguise, and the object of the
other to display, the unbounded power which the emperors possessed over
the Roman world.

Ostentation was the first principle of the new system instituted by
Diocletian. The second was division. He divided the empire, the
provinces, and every branch of the civil as well as military
administration. He multiplied the wheels of the machine of government,
and rendered its operations less rapid, but more secure. Whatever
advantages and whatever defects might attend these innovations, they
must be ascribed in a very great degree to the first inventor; but as
the new frame of policy was gradually improved and completed by
succeeding princes, it will be more satisfactory to delay the
consideration of it till the season of its full maturity and perfection.
Reserving, therefore, for the reign of Constantine a more exact picture
of the new empire, we shall content ourselves with describing the
principal and decisive outline, as it was traced by the hand of
Diocletian. He had associated three colleagues in the exercise of the
supreme power; and as he was convinced that the abilities of a single
man were inadequate to the public defence, he considered the joint
administration of four princes not as a temporary expedient, but as a
fundamental law of the constitution. It was his intention, that the two
elder princes should be distinguished by the use of the diadem, and the
title of Augusti; that, as affection or esteem might direct their
choice, they should regularly call to their assistance two subordinate
colleagues; and that the Csars, rising in their turn to the first rank,
should supply an uninterrupted succession of emperors. The empire was
divided into four parts. The East and Italy were the most honorable, the
Danube and the Rhine the most laborious stations. The former claimed the
presence of the Augusti, the latter were intrusted to the administration
of the Csars. The strength of the legions was in the hands of the four
partners of sovereignty, and the despair of successively vanquishing
four formidable rivals might intimidate the ambition of an aspiring
general. In their civil government, the emperors were supposed to
exercise the undivided power of the monarch, and their edicts, inscribed
with their joint names, were received in all the provinces, as
promulgated by their mutual councils and authority. Notwithstanding
these precautions, the political union of the Roman world was gradually
dissolved, and a principle of division was introduced, which, in the
course of a few years, occasioned the perpetual separation of the
Eastern and Western Empires.

The system of Diocletian was accompanied with another very material
disadvantage, which cannot even at present be totally overlooked; a more
expensive establishment, and consequently an increase of taxes, and the
oppression of the people. Instead of a modest family of slaves and
freedmen, such as had contented the simple greatness of Augustus and
Trajan, three or four magnificent courts were established in the various
parts of the empire, and as many Roman kingscontended with each other
and with the Persian monarch for the vain superiority of pomp and
luxury. The number of ministers, of magistrates, of officers, and of
servants, who filled the different departments of the state, was
multiplied beyond the example of former times; and (if we may borrow the
warm expression of a contemporary) "when the proportion of those who
received, exceeded the proportion of those who contributed, the
provinces were oppressed by the weight of tributes."  From this period
to the extinction of the empire, it would be easy to deduce an
uninterrupted series of clamors and complaints. According to his
religion and situation, each writer chooses either Diocletian, or
Constantine, or Valens, or Theodosius, for the object of his invectives;
but they unanimously agree in representing the burden of the public
impositions, and particularly the land tax and capitation, as the
intolerable and increasing grievance of their own times. From such a
concurrence, an impartial historian, who is obliged to extract truth
from satire, as well as from panegyric, will be inclined to divide the
blame among the princes whom they accuse, and to ascribe their exactions
much less to their personal vices, than to the uniform system of their
administration. * The emperor Diocletian was indeed the author of that
system; but during his reign, the growing evil was confined within the
bounds of modesty and discretion, and he deserves the reproach of
establishing pernicious precedents, rather than of exercising actual
oppression.  It may be added, that his revenues were managed with
prudent economy; and that after all the current expenses were
discharged, there still remained in the Imperial treasury an ample
provision either for judicious liberality or for any emergency of the
state.

It was in the twenty first year of his reign that Diocletian executed
his memorable resolution of abdicating the empire; an action more
naturally to have been expected from the elder or the younger Antoninus,
than from a prince who had never practised the lessons of philosophy
either in the attainment or in the use of supreme power. Diocletian
acquired the glory of giving to the world the first example of a
resignation,  which has not been very frequently imitated by succeeding
monarchs. The parallel of Charles the Fifth, however, will naturally
offer itself to our mind, not only since the eloquence of a modern
historian has rendered that name so familiar to an English reader, but
from the very striking resemblance between the characters of the two
emperors, whose political abilities were superior to their military
genius, and whose specious virtues were much less the effect of nature
than of art. The abdication of Charles appears to have been hastened by
the vicissitude of fortune; and the disappointment of his favorite
schemes urged him to relinquish a power which he found inadequate to his
ambition. But the reign of Diocletian had flowed with a tide of
uninterrupted success; nor was it till after he had vanquished all his
enemies, and accomplished all his designs, that he seems to have
entertained any serious thoughts of resigning the empire. Neither
Charles nor Diocletian were arrived at a very advanced period of life;
since the one was only fifty-five, and the other was no more than
fifty-nine years of age; but the active life of those princes, their
wars and journeys, the cares of royalty, and their application to
business, had already impaired their constitution, and brought on the
infirmities of a premature old age.

Notwithstanding the severity of a very cold and rainy winter, Diocletian
left Italy soon after the ceremony of his triumph, and began his
progress towards the East round the circuit of the Illyrian provinces.
From the inclemency of the weather, and the fatigue of the journey, he
soon contracted a slow illness; and though he made easy marches, and was
generally carried in a close litter, his disorder, before he arrived at
Nicomedia, about the end of the summer, was become very serious and
alarming. During the whole winter he was confined to his palace: his
danger inspired a general and unaffected concern; but the people could
only judge of the various alterations of his health, from the joy or
consternation which they discovered in the countenances and behavior of
his attendants. The rumor of his death was for some time universally
believed, and it was supposed to be concealed with a view to prevent the
troubles that might have happened during the absence of the Cæsar
Galerius. At length, however, on the first of March, Diocletian once
more appeared in public, but so pale and emaciated, that he could
scarcely have been recognized by those to whom his person was the most
familiar. It was time to put an end to the painful struggle, which he
had sustained during more than a year, between the care of his health
and that of his dignity. The former required indulgence and relaxation,
the latter compelled him to direct, from the bed of sickness, the
administration of a great empire. He resolved to pass the remainder of
his days in honorable repose, to place his glory beyond the reach of
fortune, and to relinquish the theatre of the world to his younger and
more active associates.

The ceremony of his abdication was performed in a spacious plain, about
three miles from Nicomedia. The emperor ascended a lofty throne, and in
a speech, full of reason and dignity, declared his intention, both to
the people and to the soldiers who were assembled on this extraordinary
occasion. As soon as he had divested himself of his purple, he withdrew
from the gazing multitude; and traversing the city in a covered chariot,
proceeded, without delay, to the favorite retirement which he had chosen
in his native country of Dalmatia. On the same day, which was the first
of May,  Maximian, as it had been previously concerted, made his
resignation of the Imperial dignity at Milan. Even in the splendor of
the Roman triumph, Diocletian had meditated his design of abdicating the
government. As he wished to secure the obedience of Maximian, he exacted
from him either a general assurance that he would submit his actions to
the authority of his benefactor, or a particular promise that he would
descend from the throne, whenever he should receive the advice and the
example. This engagement, though it was confirmed by the solemnity of an
oath before the altar of the Capitoline Jupiter,  would have proved a
feeble restraint on the fierce temper of Maximian, whose passion was the
love of power, and who neither desired present tranquility nor future
reputation. But he yielded, however reluctantly, to the ascendant which
his wiser colleague had acquired over him, and retired, immediately
after his abdication, to a villa in Lucania, where it was almost
impossible that such an impatient spirit could find any lasting
tranquility.

Diocletian, who, from a servile origin, had raised himself to the
throne, passed the nine last years of his life in a private condition.
Reason had dictated, and content seems to have accompanied, his retreat,
in which he enjoyed, for a long time, the respect of those princes to
whom he had resigned the possession of the world.  It is seldom that
minds long exercised in business have formed the habits of conversing
with themselves, and in the loss of power they principally regret the
want of occupation. The amusements of letters and of devotion, which
afford so many resources in solitude, were incapable of fixing the
attention of Diocletian; but he had preserved, or at least he soon
recovered, a taste for the most innocent as well as natural pleasures,
and his leisure hours were sufficiently employed in building, planting,
and gardening. His answer to Maximian is deservedly celebrated. He was
solicited by that restless old man to reassume the reins of government,
and the Imperial purple. He rejected the temptation with a smile of
pity, calmly observing, that if he could show Maximian the cabbages
which he had planted with his own hands at Salona, he should no longer
be urged to relinquish the enjoyment of happiness for the pursuit of
power.  In his conversations with his friends, he frequently
acknowledged, that of all arts, the most difficult was the art of
reigning; and he expressed himself on that favorite topic with a degree
of warmth which could be the result only of experience. "How often," was
he accustomed to say, "is it the interest of four or five ministers to
combine together to deceive their sovereign! Secluded from mankind by
his exalted dignity, the truth is concealed from his knowledge; he can
see only with their eyes, he hears nothing but their misrepresentations.
He confers the most important offices upon vice and weakness, and
disgraces the most virtuous and deserving among his subjects. By such
infamous arts," added Diocletian, "the best and wisest princes are sold
to the venal corruption of their courtiers."  A just estimate of
greatness, and the assurance of immortal fame, improve our relish for
the pleasures of retirement; but the Roman emperor had filled too
important a character in the world, to enjoy without alloy the comforts
and security of a private condition. It was impossible that he could
remain ignorant of the troubles which afflicted the empire after his
abdication. It was impossible that he could be indifferent to their
consequences. Fear, sorrow, and discontent, sometimes pursued him into
the solitude of Salona. His tenderness, or at least his pride, was
deeply wounded by the misfortunes of his wife and daughter; and the last
moments of Diocletian were imbittered by some affronts, which Licinius
and Constantine might have spared the father of so many emperors, and
the first author of their own fortune. A report, though of a very
doubtful nature, has reached our times, that he prudently withdrew
himself from their power by a voluntary death.

Before we dismiss the consideration of the life and character of
Diocletian, we may, for a moment, direct our view to the place of his
retirement. Salona, a principal city of his native province of Dalmatia,
was near two hundred Roman miles (according to the measurement of the
public highways) from Aquileia and the confines of Italy, and about two
hundred and seventy from Sirmium, the usual residence of the emperors
whenever they visited the Illyrian frontier.  A miserable village still
preserves the name of Salona; but so late as the sixteenth century, the
remains of a theatre, and a confused prospect of broken arches and
marble columns, continued to attest its ancient splendor.  About six or
seven miles from the city, Diocletian constructed a magnificent palace,
and we may infer, from the greatness of the work, how long he had
meditated his design of abdicating the empire. The choice of a spot
which united all that could contribute either to health or to luxury,
did not require the partiality of a native. "The soil was dry and
fertile, the air is pure and wholesome, and though extremely hot during
the summer months, this country seldom feels those sultry and noxious
winds, to which the coasts of Istria and some parts of Italy are
exposed. The views from the palace are no less beautiful than the soil
and climate were inviting. Towards the west lies the fertile shore that
stretches along the Adriatic, in which a number of small islands are
scattered in such a manner, as to give this part of the sea the
appearance of a great lake. On the north side lies the bay, which led to
the ancient city of Salona; and the country beyond it, appearing in
sight, forms a proper contrast to that more extensive prospect of water,
which the Adriatic presents both to the south and to the east. Towards
the north, the view is terminated by high and irregular mountains,
situated at a proper distance, and in many places covered with villages,
woods, and vineyards."

Though Constantine, from a very obvious prejudice, affects to mention
the palace of Diocletian with contempt,  yet one of their successors,
who could only see it in a neglected and mutilated state, celebrates its
magnificence in terms of the highest admiration.  It covered an extent
of ground consisting of between nine and ten English acres. The form was
quadrangular, flanked with sixteen towers. Two of the sides were near
six hundred, and the other two near seven hundred feet in length. The
whole was constructed of a beautiful freestone, extracted from the
neighboring quarries of Trau, or Tragutium, and very little inferior to
marble itself. Four streets, intersecting each other at right angles,
divided the several parts of this great edifice, and the approach to the
principal apartment was from a very stately entrance, which is still
denominated the Golden Gate. The approach was terminated by a
peristylium of granite columns, on one side of which we discover the
square temple of Æsculapius, on the other the octagon temple of Jupiter.
The latter of those deities Diocletian revered as the patron of his
fortunes, the former as the protector of his health. By comparing the
present remains with the precepts of Vitruvius, the several parts of the
building, the baths, bed-chamber, the atrium, the basilica, and the
Cyzicene, Corinthian, and Egyptian halls have been described with some
degree of precision, or at least of probability. Their forms were
various, their proportions just; but they all were attended with two
imperfections, very repugnant to our modern notions of taste and
conveniency. These stately rooms had neither windows nor chimneys. They
were lighted from the top, (for the building seems to have consisted of
no more than one story,) and they received their heat by the help of
pipes that were conveyed along the walls. The range of principal
apartments was protected towards the south-west by a portico five
hundred and seventeen feet long, which must have formed a very noble and
delightful walk, when the beauties of painting and sculpture were added
to those of the prospect.

Had this magnificent edifice remained in a solitary country, it would
have been exposed to the ravages of time; but it might, perhaps, have
escaped the rapacious industry of man. The village of Aspalathus,  and,
long afterwards, the provincial town of Spalatro, have grown out of its
ruins. The Golden Gate now opens into the market-place. St. John the
Baptist has usurped the honors of Æsculapius; and the temple of Jupiter,
under the protection of the Virgin, is converted into the cathedral
church. For this account of Diocletian's palace we are principally
indebted to an ingenious artist of our own time and country, whom a very
liberal curiosity carried into the heart of Dalmatia.  But there is room
to suspect that the elegance of his designs and engraving has somewhat
flattered the objects which it was their purpose to represent. We are
informed by a more recent and very judicious traveller, that the awful
ruins of Spalatro are not less expressive of the decline of the art than
of the greatness of the Roman empire in the time of Diocletian.  If such
was indeed the state of architecture, we must naturally believe that
painting and sculpture had experienced a still more sensible decay. The
practice of architecture is directed by a few general and even
mechanical rules. But sculpture, and above all, painting, propose to
themselves the imitation not only of the forms of nature, but of the
characters and passions of the human soul. In those sublime arts, the
dexterity of the hand is of little avail, unless it is animated by
fancy, and guided by the most correct taste and observation.

It is almost unnecessary to remark, that the civil distractions of the
empire, the license of the soldiers, the inroads of the barbarians, and
the progress of despotism, had proved very unfavorable to genius, and
even to learning. The succession of Illyrian princes restored the empire
without restoring the sciences. Their military education was not
calculated to inspire them with the love of letters; and even the mind
of Diocletian, however active and capacious in business, was totally
uninformed by study or speculation. The professions of law and physic
are of such common use and certain profit, that they will always secure
a sufficient number of practitioners, endowed with a reasonable degree
of abilities and knowledge; but it does not appear that the students in
those two faculties appeal to any celebrated masters who have flourished
within that period. The voice of poetry was silent. History was reduced
to dry and confused abridgments, alike destitute of amusement and
instruction. A languid and affected eloquence was still retained in the
pay and service of the emperors, who encouraged not any arts except
those which contributed to the gratification of their pride, or the
defence of their power.

The declining age of learning and of mankind is marked, however, by the
rise and rapid progress of the new Platonists. The school of Alexandria
silenced those of Athens; and the ancient sects enrolled themselves
under the banners of the more fashionable teachers, who recommended
their system by the novelty of their method, and the austerity of their
manners. Several of these masters, Ammonius, Plotinus, Amelius, and
Porphyry,  were men of profound thought and intense application; but by
mistaking the true object of philosophy, their labors contributed much
less to improve than to corrupt the human understanding. The knowledge
that is suited to our situation and powers, the whole compass of moral,
natural, and mathematical science, was neglected by the new Platonists;
whilst they exhausted their strength in the verbal disputes of
metaphysics, attempted to explore the secrets of the invisible world,
and studied to reconcile Aristotle with Plato, on subjects of which both
these philosophers were as ignorant as the rest of mankind. Consuming
their reason in these deep but unsubstantial meditations, their minds
were exposed to illusions of fancy. They flattered themselves that they
possessed the secret of disengaging the soul from its corporal prison;
claimed a familiar intercourse with demons and spirits; and, by a very
singular revolution, converted the study of philosophy into that of
magic. The ancient sages had derided the popular superstition; after
disguising its extravagance by the thin pretence of allegory, the
disciples of Plotinus and Porphyry became its most zealous defenders. As
they agreed with the Christians in a few mysterious points of faith,
they attacked the remainder of their theological system with all the
fury of civil war. The new Platonists would scarcely deserve a place in
the history of science, but in that of the church the mention of them
will very frequently occur.

Chapter XIV: Six Emperors At The Same Time, Reunion Of The Empire. Part
I.

Troubles After The Abdication Of Diocletian. -- Death Of Constantius. --
Elevation Of Constantine And Maxen Tius. ­Six Emperors At The Same Time.
-- Death Of Maximian And Galerius. -- Victories Of Constantine Over
Maxentius And Licinus. -- Reunion Of The Empire Under The Authority Of
Constantine.

The balance of power established by Diocletian subsisted no longer than
while it was sustained by the firm and dexterous hand of the founder. It
required such a fortunate mixture of different tempers and abilities, as
could scarcely be found or even expected a second time; two emperors
without jealousy, two Cæsars without ambition, and the same general
interest invariably pursued by four independent princes. The abdication
of Diocletian and Maximian was succeeded by eighteen years of discord
and confusion. The empire was afflicted by five civil wars; and the
remainder of the time was not so much a state of tranquillity as a
suspension of arms between several hostile monarchs, who, viewing each
other with an eye of fear and hatred, strove to increase their
respective forces at the expense of their subjects.

As soon as Diocletian and Maximian had resigned the purple, their
station, according to the rules of the new constitution, was filled by
the two Cæsars, Constantius and Galerius, who immediately assumed the
title of Augustus.

The honors of seniority and precedence were allowed to the former of
those princes, and he continued under a new appellation to administer
his ancient department of Gaul, Spain, and Britain. The government of
those ample provinces was sufficient to exercise his talents and to
satisfy his ambition. Clemency, temperance, and moderation,
distinguished the amiable character of Constantius, and his fortunate
subjects had frequently occasion to compare the virtues of their
sovereign with the passions of Maximian, and even with the arts of
Diocletian.  Instead of imitating their eastern pride and magnificence,
Constantius preserved the modesty of a Roman prince. He declared, with
unaffected sincerity, that his most valued treasure was in the hearts of
his people, and that, whenever the dignity of the throne, or the danger
of the state, required any extraordinary supply, he could depend with
confidence on their gratitude and liberality.  The provincials of Gaul,
Spain, and Britain, sensible of his worth, and of their own happiness,
reflected with anxiety on the declining health of the emperor
Constantius, and the tender age of his numerous family, the issue of his
second marriage with the daughter of Maximian.

The stern temper of Galerius was cast in a very different mould; and
while he commanded the esteem of his subjects, he seldom condescended to
solicit their affections. His fame in arms, and, above all, the success
of the Persian war, had elated his haughty mind, which was naturally
impatient of a superior, or even of an equal. If it were possible to
rely on the partial testimony of an injudicious writer, we might ascribe
the abdication of Diocletian to the menaces of Galerius, and relate the
particulars of a privateconversation between the two princes, in which
the former discovered as much pusillanimity as the latter displayed
ingratitude and arrogance.  But these obscure anecdotes are sufficiently
refuted by an impartia view of the character and conduct of Diocletian.
Whatever might otherwise have been his intentions, if he had apprehended
any danger from the violence of Galerius, his good sense would have
instructed him to prevent the ignominious contest; and as he had held
the sceptre with glory, he would have resigned it without disgrace.

After the elevation of Constantius and Galerius to the rank of Augusti,
two new Csarswere required to supply their place, and to complete the
system of the Imperial government. Diocletian, was sincerely desirous of
withdrawing himself from the world; he considered Galerius, who had
married his daughter, as the firmest support of his family and of the
empire; and he consented, without reluctance, that his successor should
assume the merit as well as the envy of the important nomination. It was
fixed without consulting the interest or inclination of the princes of
the West. Each of them had a son who was arrived at the age of manhood,
and who might have been deemed the most natural candidates for the
vacant honor. But the impotent resentment of Maximian was no longer to
be dreaded; and the moderate Constantius, though he might despise the
dangers, was humanely apprehensive of the calamities, of civil war. The
two persons whom Galerius promoted to the rank of Cæsar, were much
better suited to serve the views of his ambition; and their principal
recommendation seems to have consisted in the want of merit or personal
consequence. The first of these was Daza, or, as he was afterwards
called, Maximin, whose mother was the sister of Galerius. The
unexperienced youth still betrayed, by his manners and language, his
rustic education, when, to his own astonishment, as well as that of the
world, he was invested by Diocletian with the purple, exalted to the
dignity of Cæsar, and intrusted with the sovereign command of Egypt and
Syria.  At the same time, Severus, a faithful servant, addicted to
pleasure, but not incapable of business, was sent to Milan, to receive,
from the reluctant hands of Maximian, the Cæsarian ornaments, and the
possession of Italy and Africa.  According to the forms of the
constitution, Severus acknowledged the supremacy of the western emperor;
but he was absolutely devoted to the commands of his benefactor
Galerius, who, reserving to himself the intermediate countries from the
confines of Italy to those of Syria, firmly established his power over
three fourths of the monarchy. In the full confidence that the
approaching death of Constantius would leave him sole master of the
Roman world, we are assured that he had arranged in his mind a long
succession of future princes, and that he meditated his own retreat from
public life, after he should have accomplished a glorious reign of about
twenty years.

But within less than eighteen months, two unexpected revolutions
overturned the ambitious schemes of Galerius. The hopes of uniting the
western provinces to his empire were disappointed by the elevation of
Constantine, whilst Italy and Africa were lost by the successful revolt
of Maxentius.

I. The fame of Constantine has rendered posterity attentive to the most
minute circumstances of his life and actions. The place of his birth, as
well as the condition of his mother Helena, have been the subject, not
only of literary, but of national disputes. Notwithstanding the recent
tradition, which assigns for her father a British king,  we are obliged
to confess, that Helena was the daughter of an innkeeper; but at the
same time, we may defend the legality of her marriage, against those who
have represented her as the concubine of Constantius.  The great
Constantine was most probably born at Naissus, in Dacia;  and it is not
surprising that, in a family and province distinguished only by the
profession of arms, the youth should discover very little inclination to
improve his mind by the acquisition of knowledge.  He was about eighteen
years of age when his father was promoted to the rank of Cæsar; but that
fortunate event was attended with his mother's divorce; and the splendor
of an Imperial alliance reduced the son of Helena to a state of disgrace
and humiliation. Instead of following Constantius in the West, he
remained in the service of Diocletian, signalized his valor in the wars
of Egypt and Persia, and gradually rose to the honorable station of a
tribune of the first order. The figure of Constantine was tall and
majestic; he was dexterous in all his exercises, intrepid in war,
affable in peace; in his whole conduct, the active spirit of youth was
tempered by habitual prudence; and while his mind was engrossed by
ambition, he appeared cold and insensible to the allurements of
pleasure. The favor of the people and soldiers, who had named him as a
worthy candidate for the rank of Cæsar, served only to exasperate the
jealousy of Galerius; and though prudence might restrain him from
exercising any open violence, an absolute monarch is seldom at a loss
now to execute a sure and secret evenge.  Every hour increased the
danger of Constantine, and the anxiety of his father, who, by repeated
letters, expressed the warmest desire of embracing his son. For some
time the policy of Galerius supplied him with delays and excuses; but it
was impossible long to refuse so natural a request of his associate,
without maintaining his refusal by arms. The permission of the journey
was reluctantly granted, and whatever precautions the emperor might have
taken to intercept a return, the consequences of which he, with so much
reason, apprehended, they were effectually disappointed by the
incredible diligence of Constantine.  Leaving the palace of Nicomedia in
the night, he travelled post through Bithynia, Thrace, Dacia, Pannonia,
Italy, and Gaul, and, amidst the joyful acclamations of the people,
reached the port of Boulogne in the very moment when his father was
preparing to embark for Britain.

The British expedition, and an easy victory over the barbarians of
Caledonia, were the last exploits of the reign of Constantius. He ended
his life in the Imperial palace of York, fifteen months after he had
received the title of Augustus, and almost fourteen years and a half
after he had been promoted to the rank of Cæsar. His death was
immediately succeeded by the elevation of Constantine. The ideas of
inheritance and succession are so very familiar, that the generality of
mankind consider them as founded, not only in reason, but in nature
itself. Our imagination readily transfers the same principles from
private property to public dominion: and whenever a virtuous father
leaves behind him a son whose merit seems to justify the esteem, or even
the hopes, of the people, the joint influence of prejudice and of
affection operates with irresistible weight. The flower of the western
armies had followed Constantius into Britain, and the national troops
were reenforced by a numerous body of Alemanni, who obeyed the orders of
Crocus, one of their hereditary chieftains.  The opinion of their own
importance, and the assurance that Britain, Gaul, and Spain would
acquiesce in their nomination, were diligently inculcated to the legions
by the adherents of Constantine. The soldiers were asked, whether they
could hesitate a moment between the honor of placing at their head the
worthy son of their beloved emperor, and the ignominy of tamely
expecting the arrival of some obscure stranger, on whom it might please
the sovereign of Asia to bestow the armies and provinces of the West. It
was insinuated to them, that gratitude and liberality held a
distinguished place among the virtues of Constantine; nor did that
artful prince show himself to the troops, till they were prepared to
salute him with the names of Augustus and Emperor. The throne was the
object of his desires; and had he been less actuated by ambition, it was
his only means of safety. He was well acquainted with the character and
sentiments of Galerius, and sufficiently apprised, that if he wished to
live he must determine to reign. The decent and even obstinate
resistance which he chose to affect,  was contrived to justify his
usurpation; nor did he yield to the acclamations of the army, till he
had provided the proper materials for a letter, which he immediately
despatched to the emperor of the East. Constantine informed him of the
melancholy event of his father's death, modestly asserted his natural
claim to the succession, and respectfully lamented, that the
affectionate violence of his troops had not permitted him to solicit the
Imperial purple in the regular and constitutional manner. The first
emotions of Galerius were those of surprise, disappointment, and rage;
and as he could seldom restrain his passions, he loudly threatened, that
he would commit to the flames both the letter and the messenger. But his
resentment insensibly subsided; and when he recollected the doubtful
chance of war, when he had weighed the character and strength of his
adversary, he consented to embrace the honorable accommodation which the
prudence of Constantine had left open to him. Without either condemning
or ratifying the choice of the British army, Galerius accepted the son
of his deceased colleague as the sovereign of the provinces beyond the
Alps; but he gave him only the title of Cæsar, and the fourth rank among
the Roman princes, whilst he conferred the vacant place of Augustus on
his favorite Severus. The apparent harmony of the empire was still
preserved, and Constantine, who already possessed the substance,
expected, without impatience, an opportunity of obtaining the honors, of
supreme power.

The children of Constantius by his second marriage were six in number,
three of either sex, and whose Imperial descent might have solicited a
preference over the meaner extraction of the son of Helena. But
Constantine was in the thirty-second year of his age, in the full vigor
both of mind and body, at the time when the eldest of his brothers could
not possibly be more than thirteen years old. His claim of superior
merit had been allowed and ratified by the dying emperor.  In his last
moments Constantius bequeathed to his eldest son the care of the safety
as well as greatness of the family; conjuring him to assume both the
authority and the sentiments of a father with regard to the children of
Theodora. Their liberal education, advantageous marriages, the secure
dignity of their lives, and the first honors of the state with which
they were invested, attest the fraternal affection of Constantine; and
as those princes possessed a mild and grateful disposition, they
submitted without reluctance to the superiority of his genius and
fortune.

II. The ambitious spirit of Galerius was scarcely reconciled to the
disappointment of his views upon the Gallic provinces, before the
unexpected loss of Italy wounded his pride as well as power in a still
more sensible part. The long absence of the emperors had filled Rome
with discontent and indignation; and the people gradually discovered,
that the preference given to Nicomedia and Milan was not to be ascribed
to the particular inclination of Diocletian, but to the permanent form
of government which he had instituted. It was in vain that, a few months
after his abdication, his successors dedicated, under his name, those
magnificent baths, whose ruins still supply the ground as well as the
materials for so many churches and convents.  The tranquility of those
elegant recesses of ease and luxury was disturbed by the impatient
murmurs of the Romans, and a report was insensibly circulated, that the
sums expended in erecting those buildings would soon be required at
their hands. About that time the avarice of Galerius, or perhaps the
exigencies of the state, had induced him to make a very strict and
rigorous inquisition into the property of his subjects, for the purpose
of a general taxation, both on their lands and on their persons. A very
minute survey appears to have been taken of their real estates; and
wherever there was the slightest suspicion of concealment, torture was
very freely employed to obtain a sincere declaration of their personal
wealth.  The privileges which had exalted Italy above the rank of the
provinces were no longer regarded: * and the officers of the revenue
already began to number the Roman people, and to settle the proportion
of the new taxes. Even when the spirit of freedom had been utterly
extinguished, the tamest subjects have sometimes ventured to resist an
unprecedented invasion of their property; but on this occasion the
injury was aggravated by the insult, and the sense of private interest
was quickened by that of national honor. The conquest of Macedonia, as
we have already observed, had delivered the Roman people from the weight
of personal taxes. Though they had experienced every form of despotism,
they had now enjoyed that exemption near five hundred years; nor could
they patiently brook the insolence of an Illyrian peasant, who, from his
distant residence in Asia, presumed to number Rome among the tributary
cities of his empire. The rising fury of the people was encouraged by
the authority, or at least the connivance, of the senate; and the feeble
remains of the Prætorian guards, who had reason to apprehend their own
dissolution, embraced so honorable a pretence, and declared their
readiness to draw their swords in the service of their oppressed
country. It was the wish, and it soon became the hope, of every citizen,
that after expelling from Italy their foreign tyrants, they should elect
a prince who, by the place of his residence, and by his maxims of
government, might once more deserve the title of Roman emperor. The
name, as well as the situation, of Maxentius determined in his favor the
popular enthusiasm.

Maxentius was the son of the emperor Maximian, and he had married the
daughter of Galerius. His birth and alliance seemed to offer him the
fairest promise of succeeding to the empire; but his vices and
incapacity procured him the same exclusion from the dignity of Cæsar,
which Constantine had deserved by a dangerous superiority of merit. The
policy of Galerius preferred such associates as would never disgrace the
choice, nor dispute the commands, of their benefactor. An obscure
stranger was therefore raised to the throne of Italy, and the son of the
late emperor of the West was left to enjoy the luxury of a private
fortune in a villa a few miles distant from the capital. The gloomy
passions of his soul, shame, vexation, and rage, were inflamed by envy
on the news of Constantine's success; but the hopes of Maxentius revived
with the public discontent, and he was easily persuaded to unite his
personal injury and pretensions with the cause of the Roman people. Two
Prætorian tribunes and a commissary of provisions undertook the
management of the conspiracy; and as every order of men was actuated by
the same spirit, the immediate event was neither doubtful nor difficult.
The præfect of the city, and a few magistrates, who maintained their
fidelity to Severus, were massacred by the guards; and Maxentius,
invested with the Imperial ornaments, was acknowledged by the applauding
senate and people as the protector of the Roman freedom and dignity. It
is uncertain whether Maximian was previously acquainted with the
conspiracy; but as soon as the standard of rebellion was erected at
Rome, the old emperor broke from the retirement where the authority of
Diocletian had condemned him to pass a life of melancholy and solitude,
and concealed his returning ambition under the disguise of paternal
tenderness. At the request of his son and of the senate, he condescended
to reassume the purple. His ancient dignity, his experience, and his
fame in arms, added strength as well as reputation to the party of
Maxentius.

According to the advice, or rather the orders, of his colleague, the
emperor Severus immediately hastened to Rome, in the full confidence,
that, by his unexpected celerity, he should easily suppress the tumult
of an unwarlike populace, commanded by a licentious youth. But he found
on his arrival the gates of the city shut against him, the walls filled
with men and arms, an experienced general at the head of the rebels, and
his own troops without spirit or affection. A large body of Moors
deserted to the enemy, allured by the promise of a large donative; and,
if it be true that they had been levied by Maximian in his African war,
preferring the natural feelings of gratitude to the artificial ties of
allegiance. Anulinus, the Prætorian præfect, declared himself in favor
of Maxentius, and drew after him the most considerable part of the
troops, accustomed to obey his commands. Rome, according to the
expression of an orator, recalled her armies; and the unfortunate
Severus, destitute of force and of counsel, retired, or rather fled,
with precipitation, to Ravenna. Here he might for some time have been
safe. The fortifications of Ravenna were able to resist the attempts,
and the morasses that surrounded the town, were sufficient to prevent
the approach, of the Italian army. The sea, which Severus commanded with
a powerful fleet, secured him an inexhaustible supply of provisions, and
gave a free entrance to the legions, which, on the return of spring,
would advance to his assistance from Illyricum and the East. Maximian,
who conducted the siege in person, was soon convinced that he might
waste his time and his army in the fruitless enterprise, and that he had
nothing to hope either from force or famine. With an art more suitable
to the character of Diocletian than to his own, he directed his attack,
not so much against the walls of Ravenna, as against the mind of
Severus. The treachery which he had experienced disposed that unhappy
prince to distrust the most sincere of his friends and adherents. The
emissaries of Maximian easily persuaded his credulity, that a conspiracy
was formed to betray the town, and prevailed upon his fears not to
expose himself to the discretion of an irritated conqueror, but to
accept the faith of an honorable capitulation. He was at first received
with humanity and treated with respect. Maximian conducted the captive
emperor to Rome, and gave him the most solemn assurances that he had
secured his life by the resignation of the purple. But Severus, could
obtain only an easy death and an Imperial funeral. When the sentence was
signified to him, the manner of executing it was left to his own choice;
he preferred the favorite mode of the ancients, that of opening his
veins; and as soon as he expired, his body was carried to the sepulchre
which had been constructed for the family of Gallienus.

Chapter XIV: Six Emperors At The Same Time, Reunion Of The Empire. --
Part II.

Though the characters of Constantine and Maxentius had very little
affinity with each other, their situation and interest were the same;
and prudence seemed to require that they should unite their forces
against the common enemy. Notwithstanding the superiority of his age and
dignity, the indefatigable Maximian passed the Alps, and, courting a
personal interview with the sovereign of Gaul, carried with him his
daughter Fausta as the pledge of the new alliance. The marriage was
celebrated at Arles with every circumstance of magnificence; and the
ancient colleague of Diocletian, who again asserted his claim to the
Western empire, conferred on his son-in-law and ally the title of
Augustus. By consenting to receive that honor from Maximian, Constantine
seemed to embrace the cause of Rome and of the senate; but his
professions were ambiguous, and his assistance slow and ineffectual. He
considered with attention the approaching contest between the masters of
Italy and the emperor of the East, and was prepared to consult his own
safety or ambition in the event of the war.

The importance of the occasion called for the presence and abilities of
Galerius. At the head of a powerful army, collected from Illyricum and
the East, he entered Italy, resolved to revenge the death of Severus,
and to chastise the rebellions Romans; or, as he expressed his
intentions, in the furious language of a barbarian, to extirpate the
senate, and to destroy the people by the sword. But the skill of
Maximian had concerted a prudent system of defence. The invader found
every place hostile, fortified, and inaccessible; and though he forced
his way as far as Narni, within sixty miles of Rome, his dominion in
Italy was confined to the narrow limits of his camp. Sensible of the
increasing difficulties of his enterprise, the haughty Galerius made the
first advances towards a reconciliation, and despatched two of his most
considerable officers to tempt the Roman princes by the offer of a
conference, and the declaration of his paternal regard for Maxentius,
who might obtain much more from his liberality than he could hope from
the doubtful chance of war.  The offers of Galerius were rejected with
firmness, his perfidious friendship refused with contempt, and it was
not long before he discovered, that, unless he provided for his safety
by a timely retreat, he had some reason to apprehend the fate of
Severus. The wealth which the Romans defended against his rapacious
tyranny, they freely contributed for his destruction. The name of
Maximian, the popular arts of his son, the secret distribution of large
sums, and the promise of still more liberal rewards, checked the ardor
and corrupted the fidelity of the Illyrian legions; and when Galerius at
length gave the signal of the retreat, it was with some difficulty that
he could prevail on his veterans not to desert a banner which had so
often conducted them to victory and honor. A contemporary writer assigns
two other causes for the failure of the expedition; but they are both of
such a nature, that a cautious historian will scarcely venture to adopt
them. We are told that Galerius, who had formed a very imperfect notion
of the greatness of Rome by the cities of the East with which he was
acquainted, found his forces inadequate to the siege of that immense
capital. But the extent of a city serves only to render it more
accessible to the enemy: Rome had long since been accustomed to submit
on the approach of a conqueror; nor could the temporary enthusiasm of
the people have long contended against the discipline and valor of the
legions. We are likewise informed that the legions themselves were
struck with horror and remorse, and that those pious sons of the
republic refused to violate the sanctity of their venerable parent.  But
when we recollect with how much ease, in the more ancient civil wars,
the zeal of party and the habits of military obedience had converted the
native citizens of Rome into her most implacable enemies, we shall be
inclined to distrust this extreme delicacy of strangers and barbarians,
who had never beheld Italy till they entered it in a hostile manner. Had
they not been restrained by motives of a more interested nature, they
would probably have answered Galerius in the words of Cæsar's veterans:
"If our general wishes to lead us to the banks of the Tyber, we are
prepared to trace out his camp. Whatsoever walls he has determined to
level with the ground, our hands are ready to work the engines: nor
shall we hesitate, should the name of the devoted city be Rome itself."
These are indeed the expressions of a poet; but of a poet who has been
distinguished, and even censured, for his strict adherence to the truth
of history.

The legions of Galerius exhibited a very melancholy proof of their
disposition, by the ravages which they committed in their retreat. They
murdered, they ravished, they plundered, they drove away the flocks and
herds of the Italians; they burnt the villages through which they
passed, and they endeavored to destroy the country which it had not been
in their power to subdue. During the whole march, Maxentius hung on
their rear, but he very prudently declined a general engagement with
those brave and desperate veterans. His father had undertaken a second
journey into Gaul, with the hope of persuading Constantine, who had
assembled an army on the frontier, to join in the pursuit, and to
complete the victory. But the actions of Constantine were guided by
reason, and not by resentment. He persisted in the wise resolution of
maintaining a balance of power in the divided empire, and he no longer
hated Galerius, when that aspiring prince had ceased to be an object of
terror.

The mind of Galerius was the most susceptible of the sterner passions,
but it was not, however, incapable of a sincere and lasting friendship.
Licinius, whose manners as well as character, were not unlike his own,
seems to have engaged both his affection and esteem. Their intimacy had
commenced in the happier period perhaps of their youth and obscurity. It
had been cemented by the freedom and dangers of a military life; they
had advanced almost by equal steps through the successive honors of the
service; and as soon as Galerius was invested with the Imperial dignity,
he seems to have conceived the design of raising his companion to the
same rank with himself. During the short period of his prosperity, he
considered the rank of Cæsar as unworthy of the age and merit of
Licinius, and rather chose to reserve for him the place of Constantius,
and the empire of the West. While the emperor was employed in the
Italian war, he intrusted his friend with the defence of the Danube; and
immediately after his return from that unfortunate expedition, he
invested Licinius with the vacant purple of Severus, resigning to his
immediate command the provinces of Illyricum.  The news of his promotion
was no sooner carried into the East, than Maximin, who governed, or
rather oppressed, the countries of Egypt and Syria, betrayed his envy
and discontent, disdained the inferior name of Cæsar, and,
notwithstanding the prayers as well as arguments of Galerius, exacted,
almost by violence, the equal title of Augustus.  For the first, and
indeed for the last time, the Roman world was administered by six
emperors. In the West, Constantine and Maxentius affected to reverence
their father Maximian. In the East, Licinius and Maximin honored with
more real consideration their benefactor Galerius. The opposition of
interest, and the memory of a recent war, divided the empire into two
great hostile powers; but their mutual fears produced an apparent
tranquillity, and even a feigned reconciliation, till the death of the
elder princes, of Maximian, and more particularly of Galerius, gave a
new direction to the views and passions of their surviving associates.

When Maximian had reluctantly abdicated the empire, the venal orators of
the times applauded his philosophic moderation. When his ambition
excited, or at least encouraged, a civil war, they returned thanks to
his generous patriotism, and gently censured that love of ease and
retirement which had withdrawn him from the public service.  But it was
impossible that minds like those of Maximian and his son could long
possess in harmony an undivided power. Maxentius considered himself as
the legal sovereign of Italy, elected by the Roman senate and people;
nor would he endure the control of his father, who arrogantly declared
that by his name and abilities the rash youth had been established on
the throne. The cause was solemnly pleaded before the Prætorian guards;
and those troops, who dreaded the severity of the old emperor, espoused
the party of Maxentius.  The life and freedom of Maximian were, however,
respected, and he retired from Italy into Illyricum, affecting to lament
his past conduct, and secretly contriving new mischiefs. But Galerius,
who was well acquainted with his character, soon obliged him to leave
his dominions, and the last refuge of the disappointed Maximian was the
court of his son-in-law Constantine.  He was received with respect by
that artful prince, and with the appearance of filial tenderness by the
empress Fausta. That he might remove every suspicion, he resigned the
Imperial purple a second time,  professing himself at length convinced
of the vanity of greatness and ambition. Had he persevered in this
resolution, he might have ended his life with less dignity, indeed, than
in his first retirement, yet, however, with comfort and reputation. But
the near prospect of a throne brought back to his remembrance the state
from whence he was fallen, and he resolved, by a desperate effort either
to reign or to perish. An incursion of the Franks had summoned
Constantine, with a part of his army, to the banks of the Rhine; the
remainder of the troops were stationed in the southern provinces of
Gaul, which lay exposed to the enterprises of the Italian emperor, and a
considerable treasure was deposited in the city of Arles. Maximian
either craftily invented, or easily credited, a vain report of the death
of Constantine. Without hesitation he ascended the throne, seized the
treasure, and scattering it with his accustomed profusion among the
soldiers, endeavored to awake in their minds the memory of his ancient
dignity and exploits. Before he could establish his authority, or finish
the negotiation which he appears to have entered into with his son
Maxentius, the celerity of Constantine defeated all his hopes. On the
first news of his perfidy and ingratitude, that prince returned by rapid
marches from the Rhine to the Saone, embarked on the last mentioned
river at Chalons, and at Lyons trusting himself to the rapidity of the
Rhone, arrived at the gates of Arles, with a military force which it was
impossible for Maximian to resist, and which scarcely permitted him to
take refuge in the neighboring city of Marseilles. The narrow neck of
land which joined that place to the continent was fortified against the
besiegers, whilst the sea was open, either for the escape of Maximian,
or for the succor of Maxentius, if the latter should choose to disguise
his invasion of Gaul under the honorable pretence of defending a
distressed, or, as he might allege, an injured father. Apprehensive of
the fatal consequences of delay, Constantine gave orders for an
immediate assault; but the scaling-ladders were found too short for the
height of the walls, and Marseilles might have sustained as long a siege
as it formerly did against the arms of Cæsar, if the garrison, conscious
either of their fault or of their danger, had not purchased their pardon
by delivering up the city and the person of Maximian. A secret but
irrevocable sentence of death was pronounced against the usurper; he
obtained only the same favor which he had indulged to Severus, and it
was published to the world, that, oppressed by the remorse of his
repeated crimes, he strangled himself with his own hands. After he had
lost the assistance, and disdained the moderate counsels of Diocletian,
the second period of his active life was a series of public calamities
and personal mortifications, which were terminated, in about three
years, by an ignominious death. He deserved his fate; but we should find
more reason to applaud the humanity of Constantine, if he had spared an
old man, the benefactor of his father, and the father of his wife.
During the whole of this melancholy transaction, it appears that Fausta
sacrificed the sentiments of nature to her conjugal duties.

The last years of Galerius were less shameful and unfortunate; and
though he had filled with more glory the subordinate station of Cæsar
than the superior rank of Augustus, he preserved, till the moment of his
death, the first place among the princes of the Roman world. He survived
his retreat from Italy about four years; and wisely relinquishing his
views of universal empire, he devoted the remainder of his life to the
enjoyment of pleasure, and to the execution of some works of public
utility, among which we may distinguish the discharging into the Danube
the superfluous waters of the Lake Pelso, and the cutting down the
immense forests that encompassed it; an operation worthy of a monarch,
since it gave an extensive country to the agriculture of his Pannonian
subjects.  His death was occasioned by a very painful and lingering
disorder. His body, swelled by an intemperate course of life to an
unwieldy corpulence, was covered with ulcers, and devoured by
innumerable swarms of those insects which have given their name to a
most loathsome disease;  but as Galerius had offended a very zealous and
powerful party among his subjects, his sufferings, instead of exciting
their compassion, have been celebrated as the visible effects of divine
justice.  He had no sooner expired in his palace of Nicomedia, than the
two emperors who were indebted for their purple to his favors, began to
collect their forces, with the intention either of disputing, or of
dividing, the dominions which he had left without a master. They were
persuaded, however, to desist from the former design, and to agree in
the latter. The provinces of Asia fell to the share of Maximin, and
those of Europe augmented the portion of Licinius. The Hellespont and
the Thracian Bosphorus formed their mutual boundary, and the banks of
those narrow seas, which flowed in the midst of the Roman world, were
covered with soldiers, with arms, and with fortifications. The deaths of
Maximian and of Galerius reduced the number of emperors to four. The
sense of their true interest soon connected Licinius and Constantine; a
secret alliance was concluded between Maximin and Maxentius, and their
unhappy subjects expected with terror the bloody consequences of their
inevitable dissensions, which were no longer restrained by the fear or
the respect which they had entertained for Galerius.

Among so many crimes and misfortunes, occasioned by the passions of the
Roman princes, there is some pleasure in discovering a single action
which may be ascribed to their virtue. In the sixth year of his reign,
Constantine visited the city of Autun, and generously remitted the
arrears of tribute, reducing at the same time the proportion of their
assessment from twenty-five to eighteen thousand heads, subject to the
real and personal capitation.  Yet even this indulgence affords the most
unquestionable proof of the public misery. This tax was so extremely
oppressive, either in itself or in the mode of collecting it, that
whilst the revenue was increased by extortion, it was diminished by
despair: a considerable part of the territory of Autun was left
uncultivated; and great numbers of the provincials rather chose to live
as exiles and outlaws, than to support the weight of civil society. It
is but too probable, that the bountiful emperor relieved, by a partial
act of liberality, one among the many evils which he had caused by his
general maxims of administration. But even those maxims were less the
effect of choice than of necessity. And if we except the death of
Maximian, the reign of Constantine in Gaul seems to have been the most
innocent and even virtuous period of his life. The provinces were
protected by his presence from the inroads of the barbarians, who either
dreaded or experienced his active valor. After a signal victory over the
Franks and Alemanni, several of their princes were exposed by his order
to the wild beasts in the amphitheatre of Treves, and the people seem to
have enjoyed the spectacle, without discovering, in such a treatment of
royal captives, any thing that was repugnant to the laws of nations or
of humanity.  *

The virtues of Constantine were rendered more illustrious by the vices
of Maxentius. Whilst the Gallic provinces enjoyed as much happiness as
the condition of the times was capable of receiving, Italy and Africa
groaned under the dominion of a tyrant, as contemptible as he was
odious. The zeal of flattery and faction has indeed too frequently
sacrificed the reputation of the vanquished to the glory of their
successful rivals; but even those writers who have revealed, with the
most freedom and pleasure, the faults of Constantine, unanimously
confess that Maxentius was cruel, rapacious, and profligate.  He had the
good fortune to suppress a slight rebellion in Africa. The governor and
a few adherents had been guilty; the province suffered for their crime.
The flourishing cities of Cirtha and Carthage, and the whole extent of
that fertile country, were wasted by fire and sword. The abuse of
victory was followed by the abuse of law and justice. A formidable army
of sycophants and delators invaded Africa; the rich and the noble were
easily convicted of a connection with the rebels; and those among them
who experienced the emperor's clemency, were only punished by the
confiscation of their estates.  So signal a victory was celebrated by a
magnificent triumph, and Maxentius exposed to the eyes of the people the
spoils and captives of a Roman province. The state of the capital was no
less deserving of compassion than that of Africa. The wealth of Rome
supplied an inexhaustible fund for his vain and prodigal expenses, and
the ministers of his revenue were skilled in the arts of rapine. It was
under his reign that the method of exacting a free giftfrom the senators
was first invented; and as the sum was insensibly increased, the
pretences of levying it, a victory, a birth, a marriage, or an imperial
consulship, were proportionably multiplied.  Maxentius had imbibed the
same implacable aversion to the senate, which had characterized most of
the former tyrants of Rome; nor was it possible for his ungrateful
temper to forgive the generous fidelity which had raised him to the
throne, and supported him against all his enemies. The lives of the
senators were exposed to his jealous suspicions, the dishonor of their
wives and daughters heightened the gratification of his sensual
passions.  It may be presumed, that an Imperial lover was seldom reduced
to sigh in vain; but whenever persuasion proved ineffectual, he had
recourse to violence; and there remains onememorable example of a noble
matron, who preserved her chastity by a voluntary death. The soldiers
were the only order of men whom he appeared to respect, or studied to
please. He filled Rome and Italy with armed troops, connived at their
tumults, suffered them with impunity to plunder, and even to massacre,
the defenceless people;  and indulging them in the same licentiousness
which their emperor enjoyed, Maxentius often bestowed on his military
favorites the splendid villa, or the beautiful wife, of a senator. A
prince of such a character, alike incapable of governing, either in
peace or in war, might purchase the support, but he could never obtain
the esteem, of the army. Yet his pride was equal to his other vices.
Whilst he passed his indolent life either within the walls of his
palace, or in the neighboring gardens of Sallust, he was repeatedly
heard to declare, that healonewas emperor, and that the other princes
were no more than his lieutenants, on whom he had devolved the defence
of the frontier provinces, that he might enjoy without interruption the
elegant luxury of the capital. Rome, which had so long regretted the
absence, lamented, during the six years of his reign, the presence of
her sovereign.

Though Constantine might view the conduct of Maxentius with abhorrence,
and the situation of the Romans with compassion, we have no reason to
presume that he would have taken up arms to punish the one or to relieve
the other. But the tyrant of Italy rashly ventured to provoke a
formidable enemy, whose ambition had been hitherto restrained by
considerations of prudence, rather than by principles of justice.  After
the death of Maximian, his titles, according to the established custom,
had been erased, and his statues thrown down with ignominy. His son, who
had persecuted and deserted him when alive, effected to display the most
pious regard for his memory, and gave orders that a similar treatment
should be immediately inflicted on all the statues that had been erected
in Italy and Africa to the honor of Constantine. That wise prince, who
sincerely wished to decline a war, with the difficulty and importance of
which he was sufficiently acquainted, at first dissembled the insult,
and sought for redress by the milder expedient of negotiation, till he
was convinced that the hostile and ambitious designs of the Italian
emperor made it necessary for him to arm in his own defence. Maxentius,
who openly avowed his pretensions to the whole monarchy of the West, had
already prepared a very considerable force to invade the Gallic
provinces on the side of Rhætia; and though he could not expect any
assistance from Licinius, he was flattered with the hope that the
legions of Illyricum, allured by his presents and promises, would desert
the standard of that prince, and unanimously declare themselves his
soldiers and subjects.  Constantine no longer hesitated. He had
deliberated with caution, he acted with vigor. He gave a private
audience to the ambassadors, who, in the name of the senate and people,
conjured him to deliver Rome from a detested tyrant; and without
regarding the timid remonstrances of his council, he resolved to prevent
the enemy, and to carry the war into the heart of Italy.

The enterprise was as full of danger as of glory; and the unsuccessful
event of two former invasions was sufficient to inspire the most serious
apprehensions. The veteran troops, who revered the name of Maximian, had
embraced in both those wars the party of his son, and were now
restrained by a sense of honor, as well as of interest, from
entertaining an idea of a second desertion. Maxentius, who considered
the Prætorian guards as the firmest defence of his throne, had increased
them to their ancient establishment; and they composed, including the
rest of the Italians who were enlisted into his service, a formidable
body of fourscore thousand men. Forty thousand Moors and Carthaginians
had been raised since the reduction of Africa. Even Sicily furnished its
proportion of troops; and the armies of Maxentius amounted to one
hundred and seventy thousand foot and eighteen thousand horse. The
wealth of Italy supplied the expenses of the war; and the adjacent
provinces were exhausted, to form immense magazines of corn and every
other kind of provisions.

The whole force of Constantine consisted of ninety thousand foot and
eight thousand horse;  and as the defence of the Rhine required an
extraordinary attention during the absence of the emperor, it was not in
his power to employ above half his troops in the Italian expedition,
unless he sacrificed the public safety to his private quarrel.  At the
head of about forty thousand soldiers he marched to encounter an enemy
whose numbers were at least four times superior to his own. But the
armies of Rome, placed at a secure distance from danger, were enervated
by indulgence and luxury. Habituated to the baths and theatres of Rome,
they took the field with reluctance, and were chiefly composed of
veterans who had almost forgotten, or of new levies who had never
acquired, the use of arms and the practice of war. The hardy legions of
Gaul had long defended the frontiers of the empire against the
barbarians of the North; and in the performance of that laborious
service, their valor was exercised and their discipline confirmed. There
appeared the same difference between the leaders as between the armies.
Caprice or flattery had tempted Maxentius with the hopes of conquest;
but these aspiring hopes soon gave way to the habits of pleasure and the
consciousness of his inexperience. The intrepid mind of Constantine had
been trained from his earliest youth to war, to action, and to military
command.

Chapter XIV: Six Emperors At The Same Time, Reunion Of The Empire. --
Part III.

When Hannibal marched from Gaul into Italy, he was obliged, first to
discover, and then to open, a way over mountains, and through savage
nations, that had never yielded a passage to a regular army.  The Alps
were then guarded by nature, they are now fortified by art. Citadels,
constructed with no less skill than labor and expense, command every
avenue into the plain, and on that side render Italy almost inaccessible
to the enemies of the king of Sardinia.  But in the course of the
intermediate period, the generals, who have attempted the passage, have
seldom experienced any difficulty or resistance. In the age of
Constantine, the peasants of the mountains were civilized and obedient
subjects; the country was plentifully stocked with provisions, and the
stupendous highways, which the Romans had carried over the Alps, opened
several communications between Gaul and Italy.  Constantine preferred
the road of the Cottian Alps, or, as it is now called, of Mount Cenis,
and led his troops with such active diligence, that he descended into
the plain of Piedmont before the court of Maxentius had received any
certain intelligence of his departure from the banks of the Rhine. The
city of Susa, however, which is situated at the foot of Mount Cenis, was
surrounded with walls, and provided with a garrison sufficiently
numerous to check the progress of an invader; but the impatience of
Constantine's troops disdained the tedious forms of a siege. The same
day that they appeared before Susa, they applied fire to the gates, and
ladders to the walls; and mounting to the assault amidst a shower of
stones and arrows, they entered the place sword in hand, and cut in
pieces the greatest part of the garrison. The flames were extinguished
by the care of Constantine, and the remains of Susa preserved from total
destruction. About forty miles from thence, a more severe contest
awaited him. A numerous army of Italians was assembled under the
lieutenants of Maxentius, in the plains of Turin. Its principal strength
consisted in a species of heavy cavalry, which the Romans, since the
decline of their discipline, had borrowed from the nations of the East.
The horses, as well as the men, were clothed in complete armor, the
joints of which were artfully adapted to the motions of their bodies.
The aspect of this cavalry was formidable, their weight almost
irresistible; and as, on this occasion, their generals had drawn them up
in a compact column or wedge, with a sharp point, and with spreading
flanks, they flattered themselves that they could easily break and
trample down the army of Constantine. They might, perhaps, have
succeeded in their design, had not their experienced adversary embraced
the same method of defence, which in similar circumstances had been
practised by Aurelian. The skilful evolutions of Constantine divided and
baffled this massy column of cavalry. The troops of Maxentius fled in
confusion towards Turin; and as the gates of the city were shut against
them, very few escaped the sword of the victorious pursuers. By this
important service, Turin deserved to experience the clemency and even
favor of the conqueror. He made his entry into the Imperial palace of
Milan, and almost all the cities of Italy between the Alps and the Po
not only acknowledged the power, but embraced with zeal the party, of
Constantine.

From Milan to Rome, the Æmilian and Flaminian highways offered an easy
march of about four hundred miles; but though Constantine was impatient
to encounter the tyrant, he prudently directed his operations against
another army of Italians, who, by their strength and position, might
either oppose his progress, or, in case of a misfortune, might intercept
his retreat. Ruricius Pompeianus, a general distinguished by his valor
and ability, had under his command the city of Verona, and all the
troops that were stationed in the province of Venetia. As soon as he was
informed that Constantine was advancing towards him, he detached a large
body of cavalry which was defeated in an engagement near Brescia, and
pursued by the Gallic legions as far as the gates of Verona. The
necessity, the importance, and the difficulties of the siege of Verona,
immediately presented themselves to the sagacious mind of Constantine.
The city was accessible only by a narrow peninsula towards the west, as
the other three sides were surrounded by the Adige, a rapid river, which
covered the province of Venetia, from whence the besieged derived an
inexhaustible supply of men and provisions. It was not without great
difficulty, and after several fruitless attempts, that Constantine found
means to pass the river at some distance above the city, and in a place
where the torrent was less violent. He then encompassed Verona with
strong lines, pushed his attacks with prudent vigor, and repelled a
desperate sally of Pompeianus. That intrepid general, when he had used
every means of defence that the strength of the place or that of the
garrison could afford, secretly escaped from Verona, anxious not for his
own, but for the public safety. With indefatigable diligence he soon
collected an army sufficient either to meet Constantine in the field, or
to attack him if he obstinately remained within his lines. The emperor,
attentive to the motions, and informed of the approach of so formidable
an enemy, left a part of his legions to continue the operations of the
siege, whilst, at the head of those troops on whose valor and fidelity
he more particularly depended, he advanced in person to engage the
general of Maxentius. The army of Gaul was drawn up in two lines,
according to the usual practice of war; but their experienced leader,
perceiving that the numbers of the Italians far exceeded his own,
suddenly changed his disposition, and, reducing the second, extended the
front of his first line to a just proportion with that of the enemy.
Such evolutions, which only veteran troops can execute without confusion
in a moment of danger, commonly prove decisive; but as this engagement
began towards the close of the day, and was contested with great
obstinacy during the whole night, there was less room for the conduct of
the generals than for the courage of the soldiers. The return of light
displayed the victory of Constantine, and a field of carnage covered
with many thousands of the vanquished Italians. Their general,
Pompeianus, was found among the slain; Verona immediately surrendered at
discretion, and the garrison was made prisoners of war.  When the
officers of the victorious army congratulated their master on this
important success, they ventured to add some respectful complaints, of
such a nature, however, as the most jealous monarchs will listen to
without displeasure. They represented to Constantine, that, not
contented with all the duties of a commander, he had exposed his own
person with an excess of valor which almost degenerated into rashness;
and they conjured him for the future to pay more regard to the
preservation of a life in which the safety of Rome and of the empire was
involved.

While Constantine signalized his conduct and valor in the field, the
sovereign of Italy appeared insensible of the calamities and danger of a
civil war which reigned in the heart of his dominions. Pleasure was
still the only business of Maxentius. Concealing, or at least attempting
to conceal, from the public knowledge the misfortunes of his arms,  he
indulged himself in a vain confidence which deferred the remedies of the
approaching evil, without deferring the evil itself.  The rapid progress
of Constantine  was scarcely sufficient to awaken him from his fatal
security; he flattered himself, that his well-known liberality, and the
majesty of the Roman name, which had already delivered him from two
invasions, would dissipate with the same facility the rebellious army of
Gaul. The officers of experience and ability, who had served under the
banners of Maximian, were at length compelled to inform his effeminate
son of the imminent danger to which he was reduced; and, with a freedom
that at once surprised and convinced him, to urge the necessity of
preventing his ruin, by a vigorous exertion of his remaining power. The
resources of Maxentius, both of men and money, were still considerable.
The Prætorian guards felt how strongly their own interest and safety
were connected with his cause; and a third army was soon collected, more
numerous than those which had been lost in the battles of Turin and
Verona. It was far from the intention of the emperor to lead his troops
in person. A stranger to the exercises of war, he trembled at the
apprehension of so dangerous a contest; and as fear is commonly
superstitious, he listened with melancholy attention to the rumors of
omens and presages which seemed to menace his life and empire. Shame at
length supplied the place of courage, and forced him to take the field.
He was unable to sustain the contempt of the Roman people. The circus
resounded with their indignant clamors, and they tumultuously besieged
the gates of the palace, reproaching the pusillanimity of their indolent
sovereign, and celebrating the heroic spirit of Constantine.  Before
Maxentius left Rome, he consulted the Sibylline books. The guardians of
these ancient oracles were as well versed in the arts of this world as
they were ignorant of the secrets of fate; and they returned him a very
prudent answer, which might adapt itself to the event, and secure their
reputation, whatever should be the chance of arms.

The celerity of Constantine's march has been compared to the rapid
conquest of Italy by the first of the Cæsars; nor is the flattering
parallel repugnant to the truth of history, since no more than
fifty-eight days elapsed between the surrender of Verona and the final
decision of the war. Constantine had always apprehended that the tyrant
would consult the dictates of fear, and perhaps of prudence; and that,
instead of risking his last hopes in a general engagement, he would shut
himself up within the walls of Rome. His ample magazines secured him
against the danger of famine; and as the situation of Constantine
admitted not of delay, he might have been reduced to the sad necessity
of destroying with fire and sword the Imperial city, the noblest reward
of his victory, and the deliverance of which had been the motive, or
rather indeed the pretence, of the civil war.  It was with equal
surprise and pleasure, that on his arrival at a place called Saxa Rubra,
about nine miles from Rome,  he discovered the army of Maxentius
prepared to give him battle.  Their long front filled a very spacious
plain, and their deep array reached to the banks of the Tyber, which
covered their rear, and forbade their retreat. We are informed, and we
may believe, that Constantine disposed his troops with consummate skill,
and that he chose for himself the post of honor and danger.
Distinguished by the splendor of his arms, he charged in person the
cavalry of his rival; and his irresistible attack determined the fortune
of the day. The cavalry of Maxentius was principally composed either of
unwieldy cuirassiers, or of light Moors and Numidians. They yielded to
the vigor of the Gallic horse, which possessed more activity than the
one, more firmness than the other. The defeat of the two wings left the
infantry without any protection on its flanks, and the undisciplined
Italians fled without reluctance from the standard of a tyrant whom they
had always hated, and whom they no longer feared. The Prætorians,
conscious that their offences were beyond the reach of mercy, were
animated by revenge and despair. Notwithstanding their repeated efforts,
those brave veterans were unable to recover the victory: they obtained,
however, an honorable death; and it was observed that their bodies
covered the same ground which had been occupied by their ranks.  The
confusion then became general, and the dismayed troops of Maxentius,
pursued by an implacable enemy, rushed by thousands into the deep and
rapid stream of the Tyber. The emperor himself attempted to escape back
into the city over the Milvian bridge; but the crowds which pressed
together through that narrow passage forced him into the river, where he
was immediately drowned by the weight of his armor.  His body, which had
sunk very deep into the mud, was found with some difficulty the next
day. The sight of his head, when it was exposed to the eyes of the
people, convinced them of their deliverance, and admonished them to
receive with acclamations of loyalty and gratitude the fortunate
Constantine, who thus achieved by his valor and ability the most
splendid enterprise of his life.

In the use of victory, Constantine neither deserved the praise of
clemency, nor incurred the censure of immoderate rigor.  He inflicted
the same treatment to which a defeat would have exposed his own person
and family, put to death the two sons of the tyrant, and carefully
extirpated his whole race. The most distinguished adherents of Maxentius
must have expected to share his fate, as they had shared his prosperity
and his crimes; but when the Roman people loudly demanded a greater
number of victims, the conqueror resisted with firmness and humanity,
those servile clamors, which were dictated by flattery as well as by
resentment. Informers were punished and discouraged; the innocent, who
had suffered under the late tyranny, were recalled from exile, and
restored to their estates. A general act of oblivion quieted the minds
and settled the property of the people, both in Italy and in Africa.
The first time that Constantine honored the senate with his presence, he
recapitulated his own services and exploits in a modest oration, assured
that illustrious order of his sincere regard, and promised to
reestablish its ancient dignity and privileges. The grateful senate
repaid these unmeaning professions by the empty titles of honor, which
it was yet in their power to bestow; and without presuming to ratify the
authority of Constantine, they passed a decree to assign him the first
rank among the three Augustiwho governed the Roman world.  Games and
festivals were instituted to preserve the fame of his victory, and
several edifices, raised at the expense of Maxentius, were dedicated to
the honor of his successful rival. The triumphal arch of Constantine
still remains a melancholy proof of the decline of the arts, and a
singular testimony of the meanest vanity. As it was not possible to find
in the capital of the empire a sculptor who was capable of adorning that
public monument, the arch of Trajan, without any respect either for his
memory or for the rules of propriety, was stripped of its most elegant
figures. The difference of times and persons, of actions and characters,
was totally disregarded. The Parthian captives appear prostrate at the
feet of a prince who never carried his arms beyond the Euphrates; and
curious antiquarians can still discover the head of Trajan on the
trophies of Constantine. The new ornaments which it was necessary to
introduce between the vacancies of ancient sculpture are executed in the
rudest and most unskillful manner.

The final abolition of the Prætorian guards was a measure of prudence as
well as of revenge. Those haughty troops, whose numbers and privileges
had been restored, and even augmented, by Maxentius, were forever
suppressed by Constantine. Their fortified camp was destroyed, and the
few Prætorians who had escaped the fury of the sword were dispersed
among the legions, and banished to the frontiers of the empire, where
they might be serviceable without again becoming dangerous.  By
suppressing the troops which were usually stationed in Rome, Constantine
gave the fatal blow to the dignity of the senate and people, and the
disarmed capital was exposed without protection to the insults or
neglect of its distant master. We may observe, that in this last effort
to preserve their expiring freedom, the Romans, from the apprehension of
a tribute, had raised Maxentius to the throne. He exacted that tribute
from the senate under the name of a free gift. They implored the
assistance of Constantine. He vanquished the tyrant, and converted the
free gift into a perpetual tax. The senators, according to the
declaration which was required of their property, were divided into
several classes. The most opulent paid annually eight pounds of gold,
the next class paid four, the last two, and those whose poverty might
have claimed an exemption, were assessed, however, at seven pieces of
gold. Besides the regular members of the senate, their sons, their
descendants, and even their relations, enjoyed the vain privileges, and
supported the heavy burdens, of the senatorial order; nor will it any
longer excite our surprise, that Constantine should be attentive to
increase the number of persons who were included under so useful a
description.  After the defeat of Maxentius, the victorious emperor
passed no more than two or three months in Rome, which he visited twice
during the remainder of his life, to celebrate the solemn festivals of
the tenth and of the twentieth years of his reign. Constantine was
almost perpetually in motion, to exercise the legions, or to inspect the
state of the provinces. Treves, Milan, Aquileia, Sirmium, Naissus, and
Thessalonica, were the occasional places of his residence, till he
founded a new Rome on the confines of Europe and Asia.

Before Constantine marched into Italy, he had secured the friendship, or
at least the neutrality, of Licinius, the Illyrian emperor. He had
promised his sister Constantia in marriage to that prince; but the
celebration of the nuptials was deferred till after the conclusion of
the war, and the interview of the two emperors at Milan, which was
appointed for that purpose, appeared to cement the union of their
families and interests.  In the midst of the public festivity they were
suddenly obliged to take leave of each other. An inroad of the Franks
summoned Constantine to the Rhime, and the hostile approach of the
sovereign of Asia demanded the immediate presence of Licinius. Maximin
had been the secret ally of Maxentius, and without being discouraged by
his fate, he resolved to try the fortune of a civil war. He moved out of
Syria, towards the frontiers of Bithynia, in the depth of winter. The
season was severe and tempestuous; great numbers of men as well as
horses perished in the snow; and as the roads were broken up by
incessant rains, he was obliged to leave behind him a considerable part
of the heavy baggage, which was unable to follow the rapidity of his
forced marches. By this extraordinary effort of diligence, he arrived
with a harassed but formidable army, on the banks of the Thracian
Bosphorus before the lieutenants of Licinius were apprised of his
hostile intentions. Byzantium surrendered to the power of Maximin, after
a siege of eleven days. He was detained some days under the walls of
Heraclea; and he had no sooner taken possession of that city, than he
was alarmed by the intelligence, that Licinius had pitched his camp at
the distance of only eighteen miles. After a fruitless negotiation, in
which the two princes attempted to seduce the fidelity of each other's
adherents, they had recourse to arms. The emperor of the East commanded
a disciplined and veteran army of above seventy thousand men; and
Licinius, who had collected about thirty thousand Illyrians, was at
first oppressed by the superiority of numbers. His military skill, and
the firmness of his troops, restored the day, and obtained a decisive
victory. The incredible speed which Maximin exerted in his flight is
much more celebrated than his prowess in the battle. Twenty-four hours
afterwards he was seen, pale, trembling, and without his Imperial
ornaments, at Nicomedia, one hundred and sixty miles from the place of
his defeat. The wealth of Asia was yet unexhausted; and though the
flower of his veterans had fallen in the late action, he had still
power, if he could obtain time, to draw very numerous levies from Syria
and Egypt. But he survived his misfortune only three or four months. His
death, which happened at Tarsus, was variously ascribed to despair, to
poison, and to the divine justice. As Maximin was alike destitute of
abilities and of virtue, he was lamented neither by the people nor by
the soldiers. The provinces of the East, delivered from the terrors of
civil war, cheerfully acknowledged the authority of Licinius.

The vanquished emperor left behind him two children, a boy of about
eight, and a girl of about seven, years old. Their inoffensive age might
have excited compassion; but the compassion of Licinius was a very
feeble resource, nor did it restrain him from extinguishingthe name and
memory of his adversary. The death of Severianus will admit of less
excuse, as it was dictated neither by revenge nor by policy. The
conqueror had never received any injury from the father of that unhappy
youth, and the short and obscure reign of Severus, in a distant part of
the empire, was already forgotten. But the execution of Candidianus was
an act of the blackest cruelty and ingratitude. He was the natural son
of Galerius, the friend and benefactor of Licinius. The prudent father
had judged him too young to sustain the weight of a diadem; but he hoped
that, under the protection of princes who were indebted to his favor for
the Imperial purple, Candidianus might pass a secure and honorable life.
He was now advancing towards the twentieth year of his age, and the
royalty of his birth, though unsupported either by merit or ambition,
was sufficient to exasperate the jealous mind of Licinius.  To these
innocent and illustrious victims of his tyranny, we must add the wife
and daughter of the emperor Diocletian. When that prince conferred on
Galerius the title of Cæsar, he had given him in marriage his daughter
Valeria, whose melancholy adventures might furnish a very singular
subject for tragedy. She had fulfilled and even surpassed the duties of
a wife. As she had not any children herself, she condescended to adopt
the illegitimate son of her husband, and invariably displayed towards
the unhappy Candidianus the tenderness and anxiety of a real mother.
After the death of Galerius, her ample possessions provoked the avarice,
and her personal attractions excited the desires, of his successor,
Maximin.  He had a wife still alive; but divorce was permitted by the
Roman law, and the fierce passions of the tyrant demanded an immediate
gratification. The answer of Valeria was such as became the daughter and
widow of emperors; but it was tempered by the prudence which her
defenceless condition compelled her to observe. She represented to the
persons whom Maximin had employed on this occasion, "that even if honor
could permit a woman of her character and dignity to entertain a thought
of second nuptials, decency at least must forbid her to listen to his
addresses at a time when the ashes of her husband, and his benefactor
were still warm, and while the sorrows of her mind were still expressed
by her mourning garments. She ventured to declare, that she could place
very little confidence in the professions of a man whose cruel
inconstancy was capable of repudiating a faithful and affectionate
wife."  On this repulse, the love of Maximin was converted into fury;
and as witnesses and judges were always at his disposal, it was easy for
him to cover his fury with an appearance of legal proceedings, and to
assault the reputation as well as the happiness of Valeria. Her estates
were confiscated, her eunuchs and domestics devoted to the most inhuman
tortures; and several innocent and respectable matrons, who were honored
with her friendship, suffered death, on a false accusation of adultery.
The empress herself, together with her mother Prisca, was condemned to
exile; and as they were ignominiously hurried from place to place before
they were confined to a sequestered village in the deserts of Syria,
they exposed their shame and distress to the provinces of the East,
which, during thirty years, had respected their august dignity.
Diocletian made several ineffectual efforts to alleviate the misfortunes
of his daughter; and, as the last return that he expected for the
Imperial purple, which he had conferred upon Maximin, he entreated that
Valeria might be permitted to share his retirement of Salona, and to
close the eyes of her afflicted father.  He entreated; but as he could
no longer threaten, his prayers were received with coldness and disdain;
and the pride of Maximin was gratified, in treating Diocletian as a
suppliant, and his daughter as a criminal. The death of Maximin seemed
to assure the empresses of a favorable alteration in their fortune. The
public disorders relaxed the vigilance of their guard, and they easily
found means to escape from the place of their exile, and to repair,
though with some precaution, and in disguise, to the court of Licinius.
His behavior, in the first days of his reign, and the honorable
reception which he gave to young Candidianus, inspired Valeria with a
secret satisfaction, both on her own account and on that of her adopted
son. But these grateful prospects were soon succeeded by horror and
astonishment; and the bloody executions which stained the palace of
Nicomedia sufficiently convinced her that the throne of Maximin was
filled by a tyrant more inhuman than himself. Valeria consulted her
safety by a hasty flight, and, still accompanied by her mother Prisca,
they wandered above fifteen months  through the provinces, concealed in
the disguise of plebeian habits. They were at length discovered at
Thessalonica; and as the sentence of their death was already pronounced,
they were immediately beheaded, and their bodies thrown into the sea.
The people gazed on the melancholy spectacle; but their grief and
indignation were suppressed by the terrors of a military guard. Such was
the unworthy fate of the wife and daughter of Diocletian. We lament
their misfortunes, we cannot discover their crimes; and whatever idea we
may justly entertain of the cruelty of Licinius, it remains a matter of
surprise that he was not contented with some more secret and decent
method of revenge.

The Roman world was now divided between Constantine and Licinius, the
former of whom was master of the West, and the latter of the East. It
might perhaps have been expected that the conquerors, fatigued with
civil war, and connected by a private as well as public alliance, would
have renounced, or at least would have suspended, any further designs of
ambition. And yet a year had scarcely elapsed after the death of
Maximin, before the victorious emperors turned their arms against each
other. The genius, the success, and the aspiring temper of Constantine,
may seem to mark him out as the aggressor; but the perfidious character
of Licinius justifies the most unfavorable suspicions, and by the faint
light which history reflects on this transaction,  we may discover a
conspiracy fomented by his arts against the authority of his colleague.
Constantine had lately given his sister Anastasia in marriage to
Bassianus, a man of a considerable family and fortune, and had elevated
his new kinsman to the rank of Cæsar. According to the system of
government instituted by Diocletian, Italy, and perhaps Africa, were
designed for his department in the empire. But the performance of the
promised favor was either attended with so much delay, or accompanied
with so many unequal conditions, that the fidelity of Bassianus was
alienated rather than secured by the honorable distinction which he had
obtained. His nomination had been ratified by the consent of Licinius;
and that artful prince, by the means of his emissaries, soon contrived
to enter into a secret and dangerous correspondence with the new Cæsar,
to irritate his discontents, and to urge him to the rash enterprise of
extorting by violence what he might in vain solicit from the justice of
Constantine. But the vigilant emperor discovered the conspiracy before
it was ripe for execution; and after solemnly renouncing the alliance of
Bassianus, despoiled him of the purple, and inflicted the deserved
punishment on his treason and ingratitude. The haughty refusal of
Licinius, when he was required to deliver up the criminals who had taken
refuge in his dominions, confirmed the suspicions already entertained of
his perfidy; and the indignities offered at Æmona, on the frontiers of
Italy, to the statues of Constantine, became the signal of discord
between the two princes.

The first battle was fought near Cibalis, a city of Pannonia, situated
on the River Save, about fifty miles above Sirmium.  From the
inconsiderable forces which in this important contest two such powerful
monarchs brought into the field, it may be inferred that the one was
suddenly provoked, and that the other was unexpectedly surprised. The
emperor of the West had only twenty thousand, and the sovereign of the
East no more than five and thirty thousand, men. The inferiority of
number was, however, compensated by the advantage of the ground.
Constantine had taken post in a defile about half a mile in breadth,
between a steep hill and a deep morass, and in that situation he
steadily expected and repulsed the first attack of the enemy. He pursued
his success, and advanced into the plain. But the veteran legions of
Illyricum rallied under the standard of a leader who had been trained to
arms in the school of Probus and Diocletian. The missile weapons on both
sides were soon exhausted; the two armies, with equal valor, rushed to a
closer engagement of swords and spears, and the doubtful contest had
already lasted from the dawn of the day to a late hour of the evening,
when the right wing, which Constantine led in person, made a vigorous
and decisive charge. The judicious retreat of Licinius saved the
remainder of his troops from a total defeat; but when he computed his
loss, which amounted to more than twenty thousand men, he thought it
unsafe to pass the night in the presence of an active and victorious
enemy. Abandoning his camp and magazines, he marched away with secrecy
and diligence at the head of the greatest part of his cavalry, and was
soon removed beyond the danger of a pursuit. His diligence preserved his
wife, his son, and his treasures, which he had deposited at Sirmium.
Licinius passed through that city, and breaking down the bridge on the
Save, hastened to collect a new army in Dacia and Thrace. In his flight
he bestowed the precarious title of Cæsar on Valens, his general of the
Illyrian frontier.

Chapter XIV: Six Emperors At The Same Time, Reunion Of The Empire.--
Part IV.

The plain of Mardia in Thrace was the theatre of a second battle no less
obstinate and bloody than the former. The troops on both sides displayed
the same valor and discipline; and the victory was once more decided by
the superior abilities of Constantine, who directed a body of five
thousand men to gain an advantageous height, from whence, during the
heat of the action, they attacked the rear of the enemy, and made a very
considerable slaughter. The troops of Licinius, however, presenting a
double front, still maintained their ground, till the approach of night
put an end to the combat, and secured their retreat towards the
mountains of Macedonia.  The loss of two battles, and of his bravest
veterans, reduced the fierce spirit of Licinius to sue for peace. His
ambassador Mistrianus was admitted to the audience of Constantine: he
expatiated on the common topics of moderation and humanity, which are so
familiar to the eloquence of the vanquished; represented in the most
insinuating language, that the event of the war was still doubtful,
whilst its inevitable calamities were alike pernicious to both the
contending parties; and declared that he was authorized to propose a
lasting and honorable peace in the name of the two emperors his masters.
Constantine received the mention of Valens with indignation and
contempt. "It was not for such a purpose," he sternly replied, "that we
have advanced from the shores of the western ocean in an uninterrupted
course of combats and victories, that, after rejecting an ungrateful
kinsman, we should accept for our colleague a contemptible slave. The
abdication of Valens is the first article of the treaty."  It was
necessary to accept this humiliating condition; and the unhappy Valens,
after a reign of a few days, was deprived of the purple and of his life.
As soon as this obstacle was removed, the tranquillity of the Roman
world was easily restored. The successive defeats of Licinius had ruined
his forces, but they had displayed his courage and abilities. His
situation was almost desperate, but the efforts of despair are sometimes
formidable, and the good sense of Constantine preferred a great and
certain advantage to a third trial of the chance of arms. He consented
to leave his rival, or, as he again styled Licinius, his friend and
brother, in the possession of Thrace, Asia Minor, Syria, and Egypt; but
the provinces of Pannonia, Dalmatia, Dacia, Macedonia, and Greece, were
yielded to the Western empire, and the dominions of Constantine now
extended from the confines of Caledonia to the extremity of
Peloponnesus. It was stipulated by the same treaty, that three royal
youths, the sons of emperors, should be called to the hopes of the
succession. Crispus and the young Constantine were soon afterwards
declared Cæsars in the West, while the younger Licinius was invested
with the same dignity in the East. In this double proportion of honors,
the conqueror asserted the superiority of his arms and power.

The reconciliation of Constantine and Licinius, though it was imbittered
by resentment and jealousy, by the remembrance of recent injuries, and
by the apprehension of future dangers, maintained, however, above eight
years, the tranquility of the Roman world. As a very regular series of
the Imperial laws commences about this period, it would not be difficult
to transcribe the civil regulations which employed the leisure of
Constantine. But the most important of his institutions are intimately
connected with the new system of policy and religion, which was not
perfectly established till the last and peaceful years of his reign.
There are many of his laws, which, as far as they concern the rights and
property of individuals, and the practice of the bar, are more properly
referred to the private than to the public jurisprudence of the empire;
and he published many edicts of so local and temporary a nature, that
they would ill deserve the notice of a general history. Two laws,
however, may be selected from the crowd; the one for its importance, the
other for its singularity; the former for its remarkable benevolence,
the latter for its excessive severity. 1. The horrid practice, so
familiar to the ancients, of exposing or murdering their new-born
infants, was become every day more frequent in the provinces, and
especially in Italy. It was the effect of distress; and the distress was
principally occasioned by the intolerant burden of taxes, and by the
vexatious as well as cruel prosecutions of the officers of the revenue
against their insolvent debtors. The less opulent or less industrious
part of mankind, instead of rejoicing in an increase of family, deemed
it an act of paternal tenderness to release their children from the
impending miseries of a life which they themselves were unable to
support. The humanity of Constantine; moved, perhaps, by some recent and
extraordinary instances of despair, * engaged him to address an edict to
all the cities of Italy, and afterwards of Africa, directing immediate
and sufficient relief to be given to those parents who should produce
before the magistrates the children whom their own poverty would not
allow them to educate. But the promise was too liberal, and the
provision too vague, to effect any general or permanent benefit.  The
law, though it may merit some praise, served rather to display than to
alleviate the public distress. It still remains an authentic monument to
contradict and confound those venal orators, who were too well satisfied
with their own situation to discover either vice or misery under the
government of a generous sovereign.  2. The laws of Constantine against
rapes were dictated with very little indulgence for the most amiable
weaknesses of human nature; since the description of that crime was
applied not only to the brutal violence which compelled, but even to the
gentle seduction which might persuade, an unmarried woman, under the age
of twenty-five, to leave the house of her parents. "The successful
ravisher was punished with death; and as if simple death was inadequate
to the enormity of his guilt, he was either burnt alive, or torn in
pieces by wild beasts in the amphitheatre. The virgin's declaration,
that she had been carried away with her own consent, instead of saving
her lover, exposed her to share his fate. The duty of a public
prosecution was intrusted to the parents of the guilty or unfortunate
maid; and if the sentiments of nature prevailed on them to dissemble the
injury, and to repair by a subsequent marriage the honor of their
family, they were themselves punished by exile and confiscation. The
slaves, whether male or female, who were convicted of having been
accessory to rape or seduction, were burnt alive, or put to death by the
ingenious torture of pouring down their throats a quantity of melted
lead. As the crime was of a public kind, the accusation was permitted
even to strangers. The commencement of the action was not limited to any
term of years, and the consequences of the sentence were extended to the
innocent offspring of such an irregular union."  But whenever the
offence inspires less horror than the punishment, the rigor of penal law
is obliged to give way to the common feelings of mankind. The most
odious parts of this edict were softened or repealed in the subsequent
reigns;  and even Constantine himself very frequently alleviated, by
partial acts of mercy, the stern temper of his general institutions.
Such, indeed, was the singular humor of that emperor, who showed himself
as indulgent, and even remiss, in the execution of his laws, as he was
severe, and even cruel, in the enacting of them. It is scarcely possible
to observe a more decisive symptom of weakness, either in the character
of the prince, or in the constitution of the government.

The civil administration was sometimes interrupted by the military
defence of the empire. Crispus, a youth of the most amiable character,
who had received with the title of Cæsar the command of the Rhine,
distinguished his conduct, as well as valor, in several victories over
the Franks and Alemanni, and taught the barbarians of that frontier to
dread the eldest son of Constantine, and the grandson of Constantius.
The emperor himself had assumed the more difficult and important
province of the Danube. The Goths, who in the time of Claudius and
Aurelian had felt the weight of the Roman arms, respected the power of
the empire, even in the midst of its intestine divisions. But the
strength of that warlike nation was now restored by a peace of near
fifty years; a new generation had arisen, who no longer remembered the
misfortunes of ancient days; the Sarmatians of the Lake Mæotis followed
the Gothic standard either as subjects or as allies, and their united
force was poured upon the countries of Illyricum. Campona, Margus, and
Benonia,  appear to have been the scenes of several memorable sieges and
battles;  and though Constantine encountered a very obstinate
resistance, he prevailed at length in the contest, and the Goths were
compelled to purchased an ignominious retreat, by restoring the booty
and prisoners which they had taken. Nor was this advantage sufficient to
satisfy the indignation of the emperor. He resolved to chastise as well
as to repulse the insolent barbarians who had dared to invade the
territories of Rome. At the head of his legions he passed the Danube
after repairing the bridge which had been constructed by Trajan,
penetrated into the strongest recesses of Dacia,  and when he had
inflicted a severe revenge, condescended to give peace to the suppliant
Goths, on condition that, as often as they were required, they should
supply his armies with a body of forty thousand soldiers.  Exploits like
these were no doubt honorable to Constantine, and beneficial to the
state; but it may surely be questioned, whether they can justify the
exaggerated assertion of Eusebius, that all Scythia, as far as the
extremity of the North, divided as it was into so many names and nations
of the most various and savage manners, had been added by his victorious
arms to the Roman empire.

In this exalted state of glory, it was impossible that Constantine
should any longer endure a partner in the empire. Confiding in the
superiority of his genius and military power, he determined, without any
previous injury, to exert them for the destruction of Licinius, whose
advanced age and unpopular vices seemed to offer a very easy conquest.
But the old emperor, awakened by the approaching danger, deceived the
expectations of his friends, as well as of his enemies. Calling forth
that spirit and those abilities by which he had deserved the friendship
of Galerius and the Imperial purple, he prepared himself for the
contest, collected the forces of the East, and soon filled the plains of
Hadrianople with his troops, and the Straits of the Hellespont with his
fleet. The army consisted of one hundred and fifty thousand foot, and
fifteen thousand horse; and as the cavalry was drawn, for the most part,
from Phrygia and Cappadocia, we may conceive a more favorable opinion of
the beauty of the horses, than of the courage and dexterity of their
riders. The fleet was composed of three hundred and fifty galleys of
three ranks of oars. A hundred and thirty of these were furnished by
Egypt and the adjacent coast of Africa. A hundred and ten sailed from
the ports of Phoenicia and the Isle of Cyprus; and the maritime
countries of Bithynia, Ionia, and Caria, were likewise obliged to
provide a hundred and ten galleys. The troops of Constantine were
ordered to a rendezvous at Thessalonica; they amounted to above a
hundred and twenty thousand horse and foot.  Their emperor was satisfied
with their martial appearance, and his army contained more soldiers,
though fewer men, than that of his eastern competitor. The legions of
Constantine were levied in the warlike provinces of Europe; action had
confirmed their discipline, victory had elevated their hopes, and there
were among them a great number of veterans, who, after seventeen
glorious campaigns under the same leader, prepared themselves to deserve
an honorable dismission by a last effort of their valor.  But the naval
preparations of Constantine were in every respect much inferior to those
of Licinius. The maritime cities of Greece sent their respective quotas
of men and ships to the celebrated harbor of Piræus, and their united
forces consisted of no more than two hundred small vessels -- a very
feeble armament, if it is compared with those formidable fleets which
were equipped and maintained by the republic of Athens during the
Peloponnesian war.  Since Italy was no longer the seat of government,
the naval establishments of Misenum and Ravenna had been gradually
neglected; and as the shipping and mariners of the empire were supported
by commerce rather than by war, it was natural that they should the most
abound in the industrious provinces of Egypt and Asia. It is only
surprising that the eastern emperor, who possessed so great a
superiority at sea, should have neglected the opportunity of carrying an
offensive war into the centre of his rival's dominions.

Instead of embracing such an active resolution, which might have changed
the whole face of the war, the prudent Licinius expected the approach of
his rival in a camp near Hadrianople, which he had fortified with an
anxious care, that betrayed his apprehension of the event. Constantine
directed his march from Thessalonica towards that part of Thrace, till
he found himself stopped by the broad and rapid stream of the Hebrus,
and discovered the numerous army of Licinius, which filled the steep
ascent of the hill, from the river to the city of Hadrianople. Many days
were spent in doubtful and distant skirmishes; but at length the
obstacles of the passage and of the attack were removed by the intrepid
conduct of Constantine. In this place we might relate a wonderful
exploit of Constantine, which, though it can scarcely be paralleled
either in poetry or romance, is celebrated, not by a venal orator
devoted to his fortune, but by an historian, the partial enemy of his
fame. We are assured that the valiant emperor threw himself into the
River Hebrus, accompanied only by twelve horsemen, and that by the
effort or terror of his invincible arm, he broke, slaughtered, and put
to flight a host of a hundred and fifty thousand men. The credulity of
Zosimus prevailed so strongly over his passion, that among the events of
the memorable battle of Hadrianople, he seems to have selected and
embellished, not the most important, but the most marvellous. The valor
and danger of Constantine are attested by a slight wound which he
received in the thigh; but it may be discovered even from an imperfect
narration, and perhaps a corrupted text, that the victory was obtained
no less by the conduct of the general than by the courage of the hero;
that a body of five thousand archers marched round to occupy a thick
wood in the rear of the enemy, whose attention was diverted by the
construction of a bridge, and that Licinius, perplexed by so many artful
evolutions, was reluctantly drawn from his advantageous post to combat
on equal ground on the plain. The contest was no longer equal. His
confused multitude of new levies was easily vanquished by the
experienced veterans of the West. Thirty-four thousand men are reported
to have been slain. The fortified camp of Licinius was taken by assault
the evening of the battle; the greater part of the fugitives, who had
retired to the mountains, surrendered themselves the next day to the
discretion of the conqueror; and his rival, who could no longer keep the
field, confined himself within the walls of Byzantium.

The siege of Byzantium, which was immediately undertaken by Constantine,
was attended with great labor and uncertainty. In the late civil wars,
the fortifications of that place, so justly considered as the key of
Europe and Asia, had been repaired and strengthened; and as long as
Licinius remained master of the sea, the garrison was much less exposed
to the danger of famine than the army of the besiegers. The naval
commanders of Constantine were summoned to his camp, and received his
positive orders to force the passage of the Hellespont, as the fleet of
Licinius, instead of seeking and destroying their feeble enemy,
continued inactive in those narrow straits, where its superiority of
numbers was of little use or advantage. Crispus, the emperor's eldest
son, was intrusted with the execution of this daring enterprise, which
he performed with so much courage and success, that he deserved the
esteem, and most probably excited the jealousy, of his father. The
engagement lasted two days; and in the evening of the first, the
contending fleets, after a considerable and mutual loss, retired into
their respective harbors of Europe and Asia. The second day, about noon,
a strong south wind  sprang up, which carried the vessels of Crispus
against the enemy; and as the casual advantage was improved by his
skilful intrepidity, he soon obtained a complete victory. A hundred and
thirty vessels were destroyed, five thousand men were slain, and
Amandus, the admiral of the Asiatic fleet, escaped with the utmost
difficulty to the shores of Chalcedon. As soon as the Hellespont was
open, a plentiful convoy of provisions flowed into the camp of
Constantine, who had already advanced the operations of the siege. He
constructed artificial mounds of earth of an equal height with the
ramparts of Byzantium. The lofty towers which were erected on that
foundation galled the besieged with large stones and darts from the
military engines, and the battering rams had shaken the walls in several
places. If Licinius persisted much longer in the defence, he exposed
himself to be involved in the ruin of the place. Before he was
surrounded, he prudently removed his person and treasures to Chalcedon
in Asia; and as he was always desirous of associating companions to the
hopes and dangers of his fortune, he now bestowed the title of Cæsar on
Martinianus, who exercised one of the most important offices of the
empire.

Such were still the resources, and such the abilities, of Licinius,
that, after so many successive defeats, he collected in Bithynia a new
army of fifty or sixty thousand men, while the activity of Constantine
was employed in the siege of Byzantium. The vigilant emperor did not,
however, neglect the last struggles of his antagonist. A considerable
part of his victorious army was transported over the Bosphorus in small
vessels, and the decisive engagement was fought soon after their landing
on the heights of Chrysopolis, or, as it is now called, of Scutari. The
troops of Licinius, though they were lately raised, ill armed, and worse
disciplined, made head against their conquerors with fruitless but
desperate valor, till a total defeat, and a slaughter of five and twenty
thousand men, irretrievably determined the fate of their leader.  He
retired to Nicomedia, rather with the view of gaining some time for
negotiation, than with the hope of any effectual defence. Constantia,
his wife, and the sister of Constantine, interceded with her brother in
favor of her husband, and obtained from his policy, rather than from his
compassion, a solemn promise, confirmed by an oath, that after the
sacrifice of Martinianus, and the resignation of the purple, Licinius
himself should be permitted to pass the remainder of this life in peace
and affluence. The behavior of Constantia, and her relation to the
contending parties, naturally recalls the remembrance of that virtuous
matron who was the sister of Augustus, and the wife of Antony. But the
temper of mankind was altered, and it was no longer esteemed infamous
for a Roman to survive his honor and independence. Licinius solicited
and accepted the pardon of his offences, laid himself and his purple at
the feet of his lord and master, was raised from the ground with
insulting pity, was admitted the same day to the Imperial banquet, and
soon afterwards was sent away to Thessalonica, which had been chosen for
the place of his confinement.  His confinement was soon terminated by
death, and it is doubtful whether a tumult of the soldiers, or a decree
of the senate, was suggested as the motive for his execution. According
to the rules of tyranny, he was accused of forming a conspiracy, and of
holding a treasonable correspondence with the barbarians; but as he was
never convicted, either by his own conduct or by any legal evidence, we
may perhaps be allowed, from his weakness, to presume his innocence.
The memory of Licinius was branded with infamy, his statues were thrown
down, and by a hasty edict, of such mischievous tendency that it was
almost immediately corrected, all his laws, and all the judicial
proceedings of his reign, were at once abolished.  By this victory of
Constantine, the Roman world was again united under the authority of one
emperor, thirty-seven years after Diocletian had divided his power and
provinces with his associate Maximian.

The successive steps of the elevation of Constantine, from his first
assuming the purple at York, to the resignation of Licinius, at
Nicomedia, have been related with some minuteness and precision, not
only as the events are in themselves both interesting and important, but
still more, as they contributed to the decline of the empire by the
expense of blood and treasure, and by the perpetual increase, as well of
the taxes, as of the military establishment. The foundation of
Constantinople, and the establishment of the Christian religion, were
the immediate and memorable consequences of this revolution.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion.

Part I.

The Progress Of The Christian Religion, And The Sentiments, Manners,
Numbers, And Condition Of The Primitive Christians. *

A candid but rational inquiry into the progress and establishment of
Christianity may be considered as a very essential part of the history
of the Roman empire. While that great body was invaded by open violence,
or undermined by slow decay, a pure and humble religion gently
insinuated itself into the minds of men, grew up in silence and
obscurity, derived new vigor from opposition, and finally erected the
triumphant banner of the Cross on the ruins of the Capitol. Nor was the
influence of Christianity confined to the period or to the limits of the
Roman empire. After a revolution of thirteen or fourteen centuries, that
religion is still professed by the nations of Europe, the most
distinguished portion of human kind in arts and learning as well as in
arms. By the industry and zeal of the Europeans, it has been widely
diffused to the most distant shores of Asia and Africa; and by the means
of their colonies has been firmly established from Canada to Chili, in a
world unknown to the ancients.

But this inquiry, however useful or entertaining, is attended with two
peculiar difficulties. The scanty and suspicious materials of
ecclesiastical history seldom enable us to dispel the dark cloud that
hangs over the first age of the church. The great law of impartiality
too often obliges us to reveal the imperfections of the uninspired
teachers and believers of the gospel; and, to a careless observer, their
faultsmay seem to cast a shade on the faith which they professed. But
the scandal of the pious Christian, and the fallacious triumph of the
Infidel, should cease as soon as they recollect not only by whom, but
likewise to whom, the Divine Revelation was given. The theologian may
indulge the pleasing task of describing Religion as she descended from
Heaven, arrayed in her native purity. A more melancholy duty is imposed
on the historian. He must discover the inevitable mixture of error and
corruption, which she contracted in a long residence upon earth, among a
weak and degenerate race of beings. *

Our curiosity is naturally prompted to inquire by what means the
Christian faith obtained so remarkable a victory over the established
religions of the earth. To this inquiry, an obvious but satisfactory
answer may be returned; that it was owing to the convincing evidence of
the doctrine itself, and to the ruling providence of its great Author.
But as truth and reason seldom find so favorable a reception in the
world, and as the wisdom of Providence frequently condescends to use the
passions of the human heart, and the general circumstances of mankind,
as instruments to execute its purpose, we may still be permitted, though
with becoming submission, to ask, not indeed what were the first, but
what were the secondary causes of the rapid growth of the Christian
church. It will, perhaps, appear, that it was most effectually favored
and assisted by the five following causes: I. The inflexible, and if we
may use the expression, the intolerant zeal of the Christians, derived,
it is true, from the Jewish religion, but purified from the narrow and
unsocial spirit, which, instead of inviting, had deterred the Gentiles
from embracing the law of Moses.  II. The doctrine of a future life,
improved by every additional circumstance which could give weight and
efficacy to that important truth. III. The miraculous powers ascribed to
the primitive church. IV. The pure and austere morals of the Christians.
V. The union and discipline of the Christian republic, which gradually
formed an independent and increasing state in the heart of the Roman
empire.

I. We have already described the religious harmony of the ancient world,
and the facility * with which the most different and even hostile
nations embraced, or at least respected, each other's superstitions. A
single people refused to join in the common intercourse of mankind. The
Jews, who, under the Assyrian and Persian monarchies, had languished for
many ages the most despised portion of their slaves,  emerged from
obscurity under the successors of Alexander; and as they multiplied to a
surprising degree in the East, and afterwards in the West, they soon
excited the curiosity and wonder of other nations.  The sullen obstinacy
with which they maintained their peculiar rites and unsocial manners,
seemed to mark them out as a distinct species of men, who boldly
professed, or who faintly disguised, their implacable habits to the rest
of human kind.  Neither the violence of Antiochus, nor the arts of
Herod, nor the example of the circumjacent nations, could ever persuade
the Jews to associate with the institutions of Moses the elegant
mythology of the Greeks.  According to the maxims of universal
toleration, the Romans protected a superstition which they despised.
The polite Augustus condescended to give orders, that sacrifices should
be offered for his prosperity in the temple of Jerusalem;  whilst the
meanest of the posterity of Abraham, who should have paid the same
homage to the Jupiter of the Capitol, would have been an object of
abhorrence to himself and to his brethren. But the moderation of the
conquerors was insufficient to appease the jealous prejudices of their
subjects, who were alarmed and scandalized at the ensigns of paganism,
which necessarily introduced themselves into a Roman province.  The mad
attempt of Caligula to place his own statue in the temple of Jerusalem
was defeated by the unanimous resolution of a people who dreaded death
much less than such an idolatrous profanation.  Their attachment to the
law of Moses was equal to their detestation of foreign religions. The
current of zeal and devotion, as it was contracted into a narrow
channel, ran with the strength, and sometimes with the fury, of a
torrent.

This inflexible perseverance, which appeared so odious or so ridiculous
to the ancient world, assumes a more awful character, since Providence
has deigned to reveal to us the mysterious history of the chosen people.
But the devout and even scrupulous attachment to the Mosaic religion, so
conspicuous among the Jews who lived under the second temple, becomes
still more surprising, if it is compared with the stubborn incredulity
of their forefathers. When the law was given in thunder from Mount
Sinai, when the tides of the ocean and the course of the planets were
suspended for the convenience of the Israelites, and when temporal
rewards and punishments were the immediate consequences of their piety
or disobedience, they perpetually relapsed into rebellion against the
visible majesty of their Divine King, placed the idols of the nations in
the sanctuary of Jehovah, and imitated every fantastic ceremony that was
practised in the tents of the Arabs, or in the cities of Phoenicia.  As
the protection of Heaven was deservedly withdrawn from the ungrateful
race, their faith acquired a proportionable degree of vigor and purity.
The contemporaries of Moses and Joshua had beheld with careless
indifference the most amazing miracles. Under the pressure of every
calamity, the belief of those miracles has preserved the Jews of a later
period from the universal contagion of idolatry; and in contradiction to
every known principle of the human mind, that singular people seems to
have yielded a stronger and more ready assent to the traditions of their
remote ancestors, than to the evidence of their own senses.

The Jewish religion was admirably fitted for defence, but it was never
designed for conquest; and it seems probable that the number of
proselytes was never much superior to that of apostates. The divine
promises were originally made, and the distinguishing rite of
circumcision was enjoined, to a single family. When the posterity of
Abraham had multiplied like the sands of the sea, the Deity, from whose
mouth they received a system of laws and ceremonies, declared himself
the proper and as it were the national God of Israel and with the most
jealous care separated his favorite people from the rest of mankind. The
conquest of the land of Canaan was accompanied with so many wonderful
and with so many bloody circumstances, that the victorious Jews were
left in a state of irreconcilable hostility with all their neighbors.
They had been commanded to extirpate some of the most idolatrous tribes,
and the execution of the divine will had seldom been retarded by the
weakness of humanity. With the other nations they were forbidden to
contract any marriages or alliances; and the prohibition of receiving
them into the congregation, which in some cases was perpetual, almost
always extended to the third, to the seventh, or even to the tenth
generation. The obligation of preaching to the Gentiles the faith of
Moses had never been inculcated as a precept of the law, nor were the
Jews inclined to impose it on themselves as a voluntary duty.

In the admission of new citizens, that unsocial people was actuated by
the selfish vanity of the Greeks, rather than by the generous policy of
Rome. The descendants of Abraham were flattered by the opinion that they
alone were the heirs of the covenant, and they were apprehensive of
diminishing the value of their inheritance by sharing it too easily with
the strangers of the earth. A larger acquaintance with mankind extended
their knowledge without correcting their prejudices; and whenever the
God of Israel acquired any new votaries, he was much more indebted to
the inconstant humor of polytheism than to the active zeal of his own
missionaries.  The religion of Moses seems to be instituted for a
particular country as well as for a single nation; and if a strict
obedience had been paid to the order, that every male, three times in
the year, should present himself before the Lord Jehovah, it would have
been impossible that the Jews could ever have spread themselves beyond
the narrow limits of the promised land.  That obstacle was indeed
removed by the destruction of the temple of Jerusalem; but the most
considerable part of the Jewish religion was involved in its
destruction; and the Pagans, who had long wondered at the strange report
of an empty sanctuary,  were at a loss to discover what could be the
object, or what could be the instruments, of a worship which was
destitute of temples and of altars, of priests and of sacrifices. Yet
even in their fallen state, the Jews, still asserting their lofty and
exclusive privileges, shunned, instead of courting, the society of
strangers. They still insisted with inflexible rigor on those parts of
the law which it was in their power to practise. Their peculiar
distinctions of days, of meats, and a variety of trivial though
burdensome observances, were so many objects of disgust and aversion for
the other nations, to whose habits and prejudices they were
diametrically opposite. The painful and even dangerous rite of
circumcision was alone capable of repelling a willing proselyte from the
door of the synagogue.

Under these circumstances, Christianity offered itself to the world,
armed with the strength of the Mosaic law, and delivered from the weight
of its fetters. An exclusive zeal for the truth of religion, and the
unity of God, was as carefully inculcated in the new as in the ancient
system: and whatever was now revealed to mankind concerning the nature
and designs of the Supreme Being, was fitted to increase their reverence
for that mysterious doctrine. The divine authority of Moses and the
prophets was admitted, and even established, as the firmest basis of
Christianity. From the beginning of the world, an uninterrupted series
of predictions had announced and prepared the long-expected coming of
the Messiah, who, in compliance with the gross apprehensions of the
Jews, had been more frequently represented under the character of a King
and Conqueror, than under that of a Prophet, a Martyr, and the Son of
God. By his expiatory sacrifice, the imperfect sacrifices of the temple
were at once consummated and abolished. The ceremonial law, which
consisted only of types and figures, was succeeded by a pure and
spiritual worship, equally adapted to all climates, as well as to every
condition of mankind; and to the initiation of blood was substituted a
more harmless initiation of water. The promise of divine favor, instead
of being partially confined to the posterity of Abraham, was universally
proposed to the freeman and the slave, to the Greek and to the
barbarian, to the Jew and to the Gentile. Every privilege that could
raise the proselyte from earth to heaven, that could exalt his devotion,
secure his happiness, or even gratify that secret pride which, under the
semblance of devotion, insinuates itself into the human heart, was still
reserved for the members of the Christian church; but at the same time
all mankind was permitted, and even solicited, to accept the glorious
distinction, which was not only proffered as a favor, but imposed as an
obligation. It became the most sacred duty of a new convert to diffuse
among his friends and relations the inestimable blessing which he had
received, and to warn them against a refusal that would be severely
punished as a criminal disobedience to the will of a benevolent but
all-powerful Deity.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion. -- Part II.

The enfranchisement of the church from the bonds of the synagogue was a
work, however, of some time and of some difficulty. The Jewish converts,
who acknowledged Jesus in the character of the Messiah foretold by their
ancient oracles, respected him as a prophetic teacher of virtue and
religion; but they obstinately adhered to the ceremonies of their
ancestors, and were desirous of imposing them on the Gentiles, who
continually augmented the number of believers. These Judaizing
Christians seem to have argued with some degree of plausibility from the
divine origin of the Mosaic law, and from the immutable perfections of
its great Author. They affirmed, thatif the Being, who is the same
through all eternity, had designed to abolish those sacred rites which
had served to distinguish his chosen people, the repeal of them would
have been no less clear and solemn than their first promulgation: that,
instead of those frequent declarations, which either suppose or assert
the perpetuity of the Mosaic religion, it would have been represented as
a provisionary scheme intended to last only to the coming of the
Messiah, who should instruct mankind in a more perfect mode of faith and
of worship:  that the Messiah himself, and his disciples who conversed
with him on earth, instead of authorizing by their example the most
minute observances of the Mosaic law,  would have published to the world
the abolition of those useless and obsolete ceremonies, without
suffering Christianity to remain during so many years obscurely
confounded among the sects of the Jewish church. Arguments like these
appear to have been used in the defence of the expiring cause of the
Mosaic law; but the industry of our learned divines has abundantly
explained the ambiguous language of the Old Testament, and the ambiguous
conduct of the apostolic teachers. It was proper gradually to unfold the
system of the gospel, and to pronounce, with the utmost caution and
tenderness, a sentence of condemnation so repugnant to the inclination
and prejudices of the believing Jews.

The history of the church of Jerusalem affords a lively proof of the
necessity of those precautions, and of the deep impression which the
Jewish religion had made on the minds of its sectaries. The first
fifteen bishops of Jerusalem were all circumcised Jews; and the
congregation over which they presided united the law of Moses with the
doctrine of Christ.  It was natural that the primitive tradition of a
church which was founded only forty days after the death of Christ, and
was governed almost as many years under the immediate inspection of his
apostle, should be received as the standard of orthodoxy.  The distant
churches very frequently appealed to the authority of their venerable
Parent, and relieved her distresses by a liberal contribution of alms.
But when numerous and opulent societies were established in the great
cities of the empire, in Antioch, Alexandria, Ephesus, Corinth, and
Rome, the reverence which Jerusalem had inspired to all the Christian
colonies insensibly diminished. The Jewish converts, or, as they were
afterwards called, the Nazarenes, who had laid the foundations of the
church, soon found themselves overwhelmed by the increasing multitudes,
that from all the various religions of polytheism enlisted under the
banner of Christ: and the Gentiles, who, with the approbation of their
peculiar apostle, had rejected the intolerable weight of the Mosaic
ceremonies, at length refused to their more scrupulous brethren the same
toleration which at first they had humbly solicited for their own
practice. The ruin of the temple of the city, and of the public religion
of the Jews, was severely felt by the Nazarenes; as in their manners,
though not in their faith, they maintained so intimate a connection with
their impious countrymen, whose misfortunes were attributed by the
Pagans to the contempt, and more justly ascribed by the Christians to
the wrath, of the Supreme Deity. The Nazarenes retired from the ruins of
Jerusalem * to the little town of Pella beyond the Jordan, where that
ancient church languished above sixty years in solitude and obscurity.
They still enjoyed the comfort of making frequent and devout visits to
the Holy City, and the hope of being one day restored to those seats
which both nature and religion taught them to love as well as to revere.
But at length, under the reign of Hadrian, the desperate fanaticism of
the Jews filled up the measure of their calamities; and the Romans,
exasperated by their repeated rebellions, exercised the rights of
victory with unusual rigor. The emperor founded, under the name of Ælia
Capitolina, a new city on Mount Sion,  to which he gave the privileges
of a colony; and denouncing the severest penalties against any of the
Jewish people who should dare to approach its precincts, he fixed a
vigilant garrison of a Roman cohort to enforce the execution of his
orders. The Nazarenes had only one way left to escape the common
proscription, and the force of truth was on this occasion assisted by
the influence of temporal advantages. They elected Marcus for their
bishop, a prelate of the race of the Gentiles, and most probably a
native either of Italy or of some of the Latin provinces. At his
persuasion, the most considerable part of the congregation renounced the
Mosaic law, in the practice of which they had persevered above a
century. By this sacrifice of their habits and prejudices, they
purchased a free admission into the colony of Hadrian, and more firmly
cemented their union with the Catholic church.

When the name and honors of the church of Jerusalem had been restored to
Mount Sion, the crimes of heresy and schism were imputed to the obscure
remnant of the Nazarenes, which refused to accompany their Latin bishop.
They still preserved their former habitation of Pella, spread themselves
into the villages adjacent to Damascus, and formed an inconsiderable
church in the city of Beroea, or, as it is now called, of Aleppo, in
Syria.  The name of Nazarenes was deemed too honorable for those
Christian Jews, and they soon received, from the supposed poverty of
their understanding, as well as of their condition, the contemptuous
epithet of Ebionites.  In a few years after the return of the church of
Jerusalem, it became a matter of doubt and controversy, whether a man
who sincerely acknowledged Jesus as the Messiah, but who still continued
to observe the law of Moses, could possibly hope for salvation. The
humane temper of Justin Martyr inclined him to answer this question in
the affirmative; and though he expressed himself with the most guarded
diffidence, he ventured to determine in favor of such an imperfect
Christian, if he were content to practise the Mosaic ceremonies, without
pretending to assert their general use or necessity. But when Justin was
pressed to declare the sentiment of the church, he confessed that there
were very many among the orthodox Christians, who not only excluded
their Judaizing brethren from the hope of salvation, but who declined
any intercourse with them in the common offices of friendship,
hospitality, and social life.  The more rigorous opinion prevailed, as
it was natural to expect, over the milder; and an eternal bar of
separation was fixed between the disciples of Moses and those of Christ.
The unfortunate Ebionites, rejected from one religion as apostates, and
from the other as heretics, found themselves compelled to assume a more
decided character; and although some traces of that obsolete sect may be
discovered as late as the fourth century, they insensibly melted away,
either into the church or the synagogue.

While the orthodox church preserved a just medium between excessive
veneration and improper contempt for the law of Moses, the various
heretics deviated into equal but opposite extremes of error and
extravagance. From the acknowledged truth of the Jewish religion, the
Ebionites had concluded that it could never be abolished. From its
supposed imperfections, the Gnostics as hastily inferred that it never
was instituted by the wisdom of the Deity. There are some objections
against the authority of Moses and the prophets, which too readily
present themselves to the sceptical mind; though they can only be
derived from our ignorance of remote antiquity, and from our incapacity
to form an adequate judgment of the divine economy. These objections
were eagerly embraced and as petulantly urged by the vain science of the
Gnostics.  As those heretics were, for the most part, averse to the
pleasures of sense, they morosely arraigned the polygamy of the
patriarchs, the gallantries of David, and the seraglio of Solomon. The
conquest of the land of Canaan, and the extirpation of the unsuspecting
natives, they were at a loss how to reconcile with the common notions of
humanity and justice. * But when they recollected the sanguinary list of
murders, of executions, and of massacres, which stain almost every page
of the Jewish annals, they acknowledged that the barbarians of Palestine
had exercised as much compassion towards their idolatrous enemies, as
they had ever shown to their friends or countrymen.  Passing from the
sectaries of the law to the law itself, they asserted that it was
impossible that a religion which consisted only of bloody sacrifices and
trifling ceremonies, and whose rewards as well as punishments were all
of a carnal and temporal nature, could inspire the love of virtue, or
restrain the impetuosity of passion. The Mosaic account of the creation
and fall of man was treated with profane derision by the Gnostics, who
would not listen with patience to the repose of the Deity after six
days' labor, to the rib of Adam, the garden of Eden, the trees of life
and of knowledge, the speaking serpent, the forbidden fruit, and the
condemnation pronounced against human kind for the venial offence of
their first progenitors.  The God of Israel was impiously represented by
the Gnostics as a being liable to passion and to error, capricious in
his favor, implacable in his resentment, meanly jealous of his
superstitious worship, and confining his partial providence to a single
people, and to this transitory life. In such a character they could
discover none of the features of the wise and omnipotent Father of the
universe.  They allowed that the religion of the Jews was somewhat less
criminal than the idolatry of the Gentiles; but it was their fundamental
doctrine, that the Christ whom they adored as the first and brightest
emanation of the Deity appeared upon earth to rescue mankind from their
various errors, and to reveal a new system of truth and perfection. The
most learned of the fathers, by a very singular condescension, have
imprudently admitted the sophistry of the Gnostics. * Acknowledging that
the literal sense is repugnant to every principle of faith as well as
reason, they deem themselves secure and invulnerable behind the ample
veil of allegory, which they carefully spread over every tender part of
the Mosaic dispensation.

It has been remarked with more ingenuity than truth, that the virgin
purity of the church was never violated by schism or heresy before the
reign of Trajan or Hadrian, about one hundred years after the death of
Christ.  We may observe with much more propriety, that, during that
period, the disciples of the Messiah were indulged in a freer latitude,
both of faith and practice, than has ever been allowed in succeeding
ages. As the terms of communion were insensibly narrowed, and the
spiritual authority of the prevailing party was exercised with
increasing severity, many of its most respectable adherents, who were
called upon to renounce, were provoked to assert their private opinions,
to pursue the consequences of their mistaken principles, and openly to
erect the standard of rebellion against the unity of the church. The
Gnostics were distinguished as the most polite, the most learned, and
the most wealthy of the Christian name; and that general appellation,
which expressed a superiority of knowledge, was either assumed by their
own pride, or ironically bestowed by the envy of their adversaries. They
were almost without exception of the race of the Gentiles, and their
principal founders seem to have been natives of Syria or Egypt, where
the warmth of the climate disposes both the mind and the body to
indolent and contemplative devotion. The Gnostics blended with the faith
of Christ many sublime but obscure tenets, which they derived from
oriental philosophy, and even from the religion of Zoroaster, concerning
the eternity of matter, the existence of two principles, and the
mysterious hierarchy of the invisible world.  As soon as they launched
out into that vast abyss, they delivered themselves to the guidance of a
disordered imagination; and as the paths of error are various and
infinite, the Gnostics were imperceptibly divided into more than fifty
particular sects,  of whom the most celebrated appear to have been the
Basilidians, the Valentinians, the Marcionites, and, in a still later
period, the Manichæans. Each of these sects could boast of its bishops
and congregations, of its doctors and martyrs;  and, instead of the Four
Gospels adopted by the church,  the heretics produced a multitude of
histories, in which the actions and discourses of Christ and of his
apostles were adapted to their respective tenets.  The success of the
Gnostics was rapid and extensive.  They covered Asia and Egypt,
established themselves in Rome, and sometimes penetrated into the
provinces of the West. For the most part they arose in the second
century, flourished during the third, and were suppressed in the fourth
or fifth, by the prevalence of more fashionable controversies, and by
the superior ascendant of the reigning power. Though they constantly
disturbed the peace, and frequently disgraced the name, of religion,
they contributed to assist rather than to retard the progress of
Christianity. The Gentile converts, whose strongest objections and
prejudices were directed against the law of Moses, could find admission
into many Christian societies, which required not from their untutored
mind any belief of an antecedent revelation. Their faith was insensibly
fortified and enlarged, and the church was ultimately benefited by the
conquests of its most inveterate enemies.

But whatever difference of opinion might subsist between the Orthodox,
the Ebionites, and the Gnostics, concerning the divinity or the
obligation of the Mosaic law, they were all equally animated by the same
exclusive zeal; and by the same abhorrence for idolatry, which had
distinguished the Jews from the other nations of the ancient world. The
philosopher, who considered the system of polytheism as a composition of
human fraud and error, could disguise a smile of contempt under the mask
of devotion, without apprehending that either the mockery, or the
compliance, would expose him to the resentment of any invisible, or, as
he conceived them, imaginary powers. But the established religions of
Paganism were seen by the primitive Christians in a much more odious and
formidable light. It was the universal sentiment both of the church and
of heretics, that the dæmons were the authors, the patrons, and the
objects of idolatry.  Those rebellious spirits who had been degraded
from the rank of angels, and cast down into the infernal pit, were still
permitted to roam upon earth, to torment the bodies, and to seduce the
minds, of sinful men. The dæmons soon discovered and abused the natural
propensity of the human heart towards devotion, and artfully withdrawing
the adoration of mankind from their Creator, they usurped the place and
honors of the Supreme Deity. By the success of their malicious
contrivances, they at once gratified their own vanity and revenge, and
obtained the only comfort of which they were yet susceptible, the hope
of involving the human species in the participation of their guilt and
misery. It was confessed, or at least it was imagined, that they had
distributed among themselves the most important characters of
polytheism, one dæmon assuming the name and attributes of Jupiter,
another of Æsculapius, a third of Venus, and a fourth perhaps of Apollo;
and that, by the advantage of their long experience and ærial nature,
they were enabled to execute, with sufficient skill and dignity, the
parts which they had undertaken. They lurked in the temples, instituted
festivals and sacrifices, invented fables, pronounced oracles, and were
frequently allowed to perform miracles. The Christians, who, by the
interposition of evil spirits, could so readily explain every
preternatural appearance, were disposed and even desirous to admit the
most extravagant fictions of the Pagan mythology. But the belief of the
Christian was accompanied with horror. The most trifling mark of respect
to the national worship he considered as a direct homage yielded to the
dæmon, and as an act of rebellion against the majesty of God.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion. -- Part III.

In consequence of this opinion, it was the first but arduous duty of a
Christian to preserve himself pure and undefiled by the practice of
idolatry. The religion of the nations was not merely a speculative
doctrine professed in the schools or preached in the temples. The
innumerable deities and rites of polytheism were closely interwoven with
every circumstance of business or pleasure, of public or of private
life; and it seemed impossible to escape the observance of them,
without, at the same time, renouncing the commerce of mankind, and all
the offices and amusements of society.  The important transactions of
peace and war were prepared or concluded by solemn sacrifices, in which
the magistrate, the senator, and the soldier, were obliged to preside or
to participate.  The public spectacles were an essential part of the
cheerful devotion of the Pagans, and the gods were supposed to accept,
as the most grateful offering, the games that the prince and people
celebrated in honor of their peculiar festivals.  The Christians, who
with pious horror avoided the abomination of the circus or the theatre,
found himself encompassed with infernal snares in every convivial
entertainment, as often as his friends, invoking the hospitable deities,
poured out libations to each other's happiness.  When the bride,
struggling with well-affected reluctance, was forced into hymenæal pomp
over the threshold of her new habitation,  or when the sad procession of
the dead slowly moved towards the funeral pile;  the Christian, on these
interesting occasions, was compelled to desert the persons who were the
dearest to him, rather than contract the guilt inherent to those impious
ceremonies. Every art and every trade that was in the least concerned in
the framing or adorning of idols was polluted by the stain of idolatry;
a severe sentence, since it devoted to eternal misery the far greater
part of the community, which is employed in the exercise of liberal or
mechanic professions. If we cast our eyes over the numerous remains of
antiquity, we shall perceive, that besides the immediate representations
of the gods, and the holy instruments of their worship, the elegant
forms and agreeable fictions consecrated by the imagination of the
Greeks, were introduced as the richest ornaments of the houses, the
dress, and the furniture of the Pagan.  Even the arts of music and
painting, of eloquence and poetry, flowed from the same impure origin.
In the style of the fathers, Apollo and the Muses were the organs of the
infernal spirit; Homer and Virgil were the most eminent of his servants;
and the beautiful mythology which pervades and animates the compositions
of their genius, is destined to celebrate the glory of the dæmons. Even
the common language of Greece and Rome abounded with familiar but
impious expressions, which the imprudent Christian might too carelessly
utter, or too patiently hear.

The dangerous temptations which on every side lurked in ambush to
surprise the unguarded believer, assailed him with redoubled violence on
the days of solemn festivals. So artfully were they framed and disposed
throughout the year, that superstition always wore the appearance of
pleasure, and often of virtue.  Some of the most sacred festivals in the
Roman ritual were destined to salute the new calends of January with
vows of public and private felicity; to indulge the pious remembrance of
the dead and living; to ascertain the inviolable bounds of property; to
hail, on the return of spring, the genial powers of fecundity; to
perpetuate the two memorable areas of Rome, the foundation of the city
and that of the republic, and to restore, during the humane license of
the Saturnalia, the primitive equality of mankind. Some idea may be
conceived of the abhorrence of the Christians for such impious
ceremonies, by the scrupulous delicacy which they displayed on a much
less alarming occasion. On days of general festivity, it was the custom
of the ancients to adorn their doors with lamps and with branches of
laurel, and to crown their heads with a garland of flowers. This
innocent and elegant practice might perhaps have been tolerated as a
mere civil institution. But it most unluckily happened that the doors
were under the protection of the household gods, that the laurel was
sacred to the lover of Daphne, and that garlands of flowers, though
frequently worn as a symbol of joy or mourning, had been dedicated in
their first origin to the service of superstition. The trembling
Christians, who were persuaded in this instance to comply with the
fashion of their country, and the commands of the magistrate, labored
under the most gloomy apprehensions, from the reproaches of his own
conscience, the censures of the church, and the denunciations of divine
vengeance.

Such was the anxious diligence which was required to guard the chastity
of the gospel from the infectious breath of idolatry. The superstitious
observances of public or private rites were carelessly practised, from
education and habit, by the followers of the established religion. But
as often as they occurred, they afforded the Christians an opportunity
of declaring and confirming their zealous opposition. By these frequent
protestations their attachment to the faith was continually fortified;
and in proportion to the increase of zeal, they combated with the more
ardor and success in the holy war, which they had undertaken against the
empire of the demons.

II. The writings of Cicero  represent in the most lively colors the
ignorance, the errors, and the uncertainty of the ancient philosophers
with regard to the immortality of the soul. When they are desirous of
arming their disciples against the fear of death, they inculcate, as an
obvious, though melancholy position, that the fatal stroke of our
dissolution releases us from the calamities of life; and that those can
no longer suffer, who no longer exist. Yet there were a few sages of
Greece and Rome who had conceived a more exalted, and, in some respects,
a juster idea of human nature, though it must be confessed, that in the
sublime inquiry, their reason had been often guided by their
imagination, and that their imagination had been prompted by their
vanity. When they viewed with complacency the extent of their own mental
powers, when they exercised the various faculties of memory, of fancy,
and of judgment, in the most profound speculations, or the most
important labors, and when they reflected on the desire of fame, which
transported them into future ages, far beyond the bounds of death and of
the grave, they were unwilling to confound themselves with the beasts of
the field, or to suppose that a being, for whose dignity they
entertained the most sincere admiration, could be limited to a spot of
earth, and to a few years of duration. With this favorable prepossession
they summoned to their aid the science, or rather the language, of
Metaphysics. They soon discovered, that as none of the properties of
matter will apply to the operations of the mind, the human soul must
consequently be a substance distinct from the body, pure, simple, and
spiritual, incapable of dissolution, and susceptible of a much higher
degree of virtue and happiness after the release from its corporeal
prison. From these specious and noble principles, the philosophers who
trod in the footsteps of Plato deduced a very unjustifiable conclusion,
since they asserted, not only the future immortality, but the past
eternity, of the human soul, which they were too apt to consider as a
portion of the infinite and self-existing spirit, which pervades and
sustains the universe.  A doctrine thus removed beyond the senses and
the experience of mankind, might serve to amuse the leisure of a
philosophic mind; or, in the silence of solitude, it might sometimes
impart a ray of comfort to desponding virtue; but the faint impression
which had been received in the schools, was soon obliterated by the
commerce and business of active life. We are sufficiently acquainted
with the eminent persons who flourished in the age of Cicero, and of the
first Cæsars, with their actions, their characters, and their motives,
to be assured that their conduct in this life was never regulated by any
serious conviction of the rewards or punishments of a future state. At
the bar and in the senate of Rome the ablest orators were not
apprehensive of giving offence to their hearers, by exposing that
doctrine as an idle and extravagant opinion, which was rejected with
contempt by every man of a liberal education and understanding.

Since therefore the most sublime efforts of philosophy can extend no
further than feebly to point out the desire, the hope, or, at most, the
probability, of a future state, there is nothing, except a divine
revelation, that can ascertain the existence, and describe the
condition, of the invisible country which is destined to receive the
souls of men after their separation from the body. But we may perceive
several defects inherent to the popular religions of Greece and Rome,
which rendered them very unequal to so arduous a task. 1. The general
system of their mythology was unsupported by any solid proofs; and the
wisest among the Pagans had already disclaimed its usurped authority. 2.
The description of the infernal regions had been abandoned to the fancy
of painters and of poets, who peopled them with so many phantoms and
monsters, who dispensed their rewards and punishments with so little
equity, that a solemn truth, the most congenial to the human heart, was
opposed and disgraced by the absurd mixture of the wildest fictions.  3.
The doctrine of a future state was scarcely considered among the devout
polytheists of Greece and Rome as a fundamental article of faith. The
providence of the gods, as it related to public communities rather than
to private individuals, was principally displayed on the visible theatre
of the present world. The petitions which were offered on the altars of
Jupiter or Apollo, expressed the anxiety of their worshippers for
temporal happiness, and their ignorance or indifference concerning a
future life.  The important truth of the of the immortality of the soul
was inculcated with more diligence, as well as success, in India, in
Assyria, in Egypt, and in Gaul; and since we cannot attribute such a
difference to the superior knowledge of the barbarians, we must ascribe
it to the influence of an established priesthood, which employed the
motives of virtue as the instrument of ambition.

We might naturally expect that a principle so essential to religion,
would have been revealed in the clearest terms to the chosen people of
Palestine, and that it might safely have been intrusted to the
hereditary priesthood of Aaron. It is incumbent on us to adore the
mysterious dispensations of Providence,  when we discover that the
doctrine of the immortality of the soul is omitted in the law of Moses
it is darkly insinuated by the prophets; and during the long period
which clasped between the Egyptian and the Babylonian servitudes, the
hopes as well as fears of the Jews appear to have been confined within
the narrow compass of the present life.  After Cyrus had permitted the
exiled nation to return into the promised land, and after Ezra had
restored the ancient records of their religion, two celebrated sects,
the Sadducees and the Pharisees, insensibly arose at Jerusalem.  The
former, selected from the more opulent and distinguished ranks of
society, were strictly attached to the literal sense of the Mosaic law,
and they piously rejected the immortality of the soul, as an opinion
that received no countenance from the divine book, which they revered as
the only rule of their faith. To the authority of Scripture the
Pharisees added that of tradition, and they accepted, under the name of
traditions, several speculative tenets from the philosophy or religion
of the eastern nations. The doctrines of fate or predestination, of
angels and spirits, and of a future state of rewards and punishments,
were in the number of these new articles of belief; and as the
Pharisees, by the austerity of their manners, had drawn into their party
the body of the Jewish people, the immortality of the soul became the
prevailing sentiment of the synagogue, under the reign of the Asmonæan
princes and pontiffs. The temper of the Jews was incapable of contenting
itself with such a cold and languid assent as might satisfy the mind of
a Polytheist; and as soon as they admitted the idea of a future state,
they embraced it with the zeal which has always formed the
characteristic of the nation. Their zeal, however, added nothing to its
evidence, or even probability: and it was still necessary that the
doctrine of life and immortality, which had been dictated by nature,
approved by reason, and received by superstition, should obtain the
sanction of divine truth from the authority and example of Christ.

When the promise of eternal happiness was proposed to mankind on
condition of adopting the faith, and of observing the precepts, of the
gospel, it is no wonder that so advantageous an offer should have been
accepted by great numbers of every religion, of every rank, and of every
province in the Roman empire. The ancient Christians were animated by a
contempt for their present existence, and by a just confidence of
immortality, of which the doubtful and imperfect faith of modern ages
cannot give us any adequate notion. In the primitive church, the
influence of truth was very powerfully strengthened by an opinion,
which, however it may deserve respect for its usefulness and antiquity,
has not been found agreeable to experience. It was universally believed,
that the end of the world, and the kingdom of heaven, were at hand. *
The near approach of this wonderful event had been predicted by the
apostles; the tradition of it was preserved by their earliest disciples,
and those who understood in their literal senses the discourse of Christ
himself, were obliged to expect the second and glorious coming of the
Son of Man in the clouds, before that generation was totally
extinguished, which had beheld his humble condition upon earth, and
which might still be witness of the calamities of the Jews under
Vespasian or Hadrian. The revolution of seventeen centuries has
instructed us not to press too closely the mysterious language of
prophecy and revelation; but as long as, for wise purposes, this error
was permitted to subsist in the church, it was productive of the most
salutary effects on the faith and practice of Christians, who lived in
the awful expectation of that moment, when the globe itself, and all the
various race of mankind, should tremble at the appearance of their
divine Judge.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion. -- Part IV.

The ancient and popular doctrine of the Millennium was intimately
connected with the second coming of Christ. As the works of the creation
had been finished in six days, their duration in their present state,
according to a tradition which was attributed to the prophet Elijah, was
fixed to six thousand years.  By the same analogy it was inferred, that
this long period of labor and contention, which was now almost elapsed,
would be succeeded by a joyful Sabbath of a thousand years; and that
Christ, with the triumphant band of the saints and the elect who had
escaped death, or who had been miraculously revived, would reign upon
earth till the time appointed for the last and general resurrection. So
pleasing was this hope to the mind of believers, that the New Jerusalem,
the seat of this blissful kingdom, was quickly adorned with all the
gayest colors of the imagination. A felicity consisting only of pure and
spiritual pleasure would have appeared too refined for its inhabitants,
who were still supposed to possess their human nature and senses. A
garden of Eden, with the amusements of the pastoral life, was no longer
suited to the advanced state of society which prevailed under the Roman
empire. A city was therefore erected of gold and precious stones, and a
supernatural plenty of corn and wine was bestowed on the adjacent
territory; in the free enjoyment of whose spontaneous productions, the
happy and benevolent people was never to be restrained by any jealous
laws of exclusive property.  The assurance of such a Millennium was
carefully inculcated by a succession of fathers from Justin Martyr,  and
Irenæus, who conversed with the immediate disciples of the apostles,
down to Lactantius, who was preceptor to the son of Constantine.  Though
it might not be universally received, it appears to have been the
reigning sentiment of the orthodox believers; and it seems so well
adapted to the desires and apprehensions of mankind, that it must have
contributed in a very considerable degree to the progress of the
Christian faith. But when the edifice of the church was almost
completed, the temporary support was laid aside. The doctrine of
Christ's reign upon earth was at first treated as a profound allegory,
was considered by degrees as a doubtful and useless opinion, and was at
length rejected as the absurd invention of heresy and fanaticism.  A
mysterious prophecy, which still forms a part of the sacred canon, but
which was thought to favor the exploded sentiment, has very narrowly
escaped the proscription of the church.

Whilst the happiness and glory of a temporal reign were promised to the
disciples of Christ, the most dreadful calamities were denounced against
an unbelieving world. The edification of a new Jerusalem was to advance
by equal steps with the destruction of the mystic Babylon; and as long
as the emperors who reigned before Constantine persisted in the
profession of idolatry, the epithet of babylon was applied to the city
and to the empire of Rome. A regular series was prepared of all the
moral and physical evils which can afflict a flourishing nation;
intestine discord, and the invasion of the fiercest barbarians from the
unknown regions of the North; pestilence and famine, comets and
eclipses, earthquakes and inundations.  All these were only so many
preparatory and alarming signs of the great catastrophe of Rome, when
the country of the Scipios and Cæsars should be consumed by a flame from
Heaven, and the city of the seven hills, with her palaces, her temples,
and her triumphal arches, should be buried in a vast lake of fire and
brimstone. It might, however, afford some consolation to Roman vanity,
that the period of their empire would be that of the world itself;
which, as it had once perished by the element of water, was destined to
experience a second and a speedy destruction from the element of fire.
In the opinion of a general conflagration, the faith of the Christian
very happily coincided with the tradition of the East, the philosophy of
the Stoics, and the analogy of Nature; and even the country, which, from
religious motives, had been chosen for the origin and principal scene of
the conflagration, was the best adapted for that purpose by natural and
physical causes; by its deep caverns, beds of sulphur, and numero is
volcanoes, of which those of Ætna, of Vesuvius, and of Lipari, exhibit a
very imperfect representation. The calmest and most intrepid sceptic
could not refuse to acknowledge that the destruction of the present
system of the world by fire, was in itself extremely probable. The
Christian, who founded his belief much less on the fallacious arguments
of reason than on the authority of tradition and the interpretation of
Scripture, expected it with terror and confidence as a certain and
approaching event; and as his mind was perpetually filled with the
solemn idea, he considered every disaster that happened to the empire as
an infallible symptom of an expiring world.

The condemnation of the wisest and most virtuous of the Pagans, on
account of their ignorance or disbelief of the divine truth, seems to
offend the reason and the humanity of the present age.  But the
primitive church, whose faith was of a much firmer consistence,
delivered over, without hesitation, to eternal torture, the far greater
part of the human species. A charitable hope might perhaps be indulged
in favor of Socrates, or some other sages of antiquity, who had
consulted the light of reason before that of the gospel had arisen.  But
it was unanimously affirmed, that those who, since the birth or the
death of Christ, had obstinately persisted in the worship of the dæmons,
neither deserved nor could expect a pardon from the irritated justice of
the Deity. These rigid sentiments, which had been unknown to the ancient
world, appear to have infused a spirit of bitterness into a system of
love and harmony. The ties of blood and friendship were frequently torn
asunder by the difference of religious faith; and the Christians, who,
in this world, found themselves oppressed by the power of the Pagans,
were sometimes seduced by resentment and spiritual pride to delight in
the prospect of their future triumph. "You are fond of spectacles,"
exclaims the stern Tertullian; "expect the greatest of all spectacles,
the last and eternal judgment of the universe. How shall I admire, how
laugh, how rejoice, how exult, when I behold so many proud monarchs, so
many fancied gods, groaning in the lowest abyss of darkness; so many
magistrates, who persecuted the name of the Lord, liquefying in fiercer
fires than they ever kindled against the Christians; so many sage
philosophers blushing in red-hot flames with their deluded scholars; so
many celebrated poets trembling before the tribunal, not of Minos, but
of Christ; so many tragedians, more tuneful in the expression of their
own sufferings; so many dancers." * But the humanity of the reader will
permit me to draw a veil over the rest of this infernal description,
which the zealous African pursues in a long variety of affected and
unfeeling witticisms.

Doubtless there were many among the primitive Christians of a temper
more suitable to the meekness and charity of their profession. There
were many who felt a sincere compassion for the danger of their friends
and countrymen, and who exerted the most benevolent zeal to save them
from the impending destruction. The careless Polytheist, assailed by new
and unexpected terrors, against which neither his priests nor his
philosophers could afford him any certain protection, was very
frequently terrified and subdued by the menace of eternal tortures. His
fears might assist the progress of his faith and reason; and if he could
once persuade himself to suspect that the Christian religion might
possibly be true, it became an easy task to convince him that it was the
safest and most prudent party that he could possibly embrace.

III. The supernatural gifts, which even in this life were ascribed to
the Christians above the rest of mankind, must have conduced to their
own comfort, and very frequently to the conviction of infidels. Besides
the occasional prodigies, which might sometimes be effected by the
immediate interposition of the Deity when he suspended the laws of
Nature for the service of religion, the Christian church, from the time
of the apostles and their first disciples,  has claimed an uninterrupted
succession of miraculous powers, the gift of tongues, of vision, and of
prophecy, the power of expelling dæmons, of healing the sick, and of
raising the dead. The knowledge of foreign languages was frequently
communicated to the contemporaries of Irenæus, though Irenæus himself
was left to struggle with the difficulties of a barbarous dialect,
whilst he preached the gospel to the natives of Gaul.  The divine
inspiration, whether it was conveyed in the form of a waking or of a
sleeping vision, is described as a favor very liberally bestowed on all
ranks of the faithful, on women as on elders, on boys as well as upon
bishops. When their devout minds were sufficiently prepared by a course
of prayer, of fasting, and of vigils, to receive the extraordinary
impulse, they were transported out of their senses, and delivered in
ecstasy what was inspired, being mere organs of the Holy Spirit, just as
a pipe or flute is of him who blows into it.  We may add, that the
design of these visions was, for the most part, either to disclose the
future history, or to guide the present administration, of the church.
The expulsion of the dæmons from the bodies of those unhappy persons
whom they had been permitted to torment, was considered as a signal
though ordinary triumph of religion, and is repeatedly alleged by the
ancient apoligists, as the most convincing evidence of the truth of
Christianity. The awful ceremony was usually performed in a public
manner, and in the presence of a great number of spectators; the patient
was relieved by the power or skill of the exorcist, and the vanquished
dæmon was heard to confess that he was one of the fabled gods of
antiquity, who had impiously usurped the adoration of mankind.  But the
miraculous cure of diseases of the most inveterate or even preternatural
kind, can no longer occasion any surprise, when we recollect, that in
the days of Iranæus, about the end of the second century, the
resurrection of the dead was very far from being esteemed an uncommon
event; that the miracle was frequently performed on necessary occasions,
by great fasting and the joint supplication of the church of the place,
and that the persons thus restored to their prayers had lived afterwards
among them many years.  At such a period, when faith could boast of so
many wonderful victories over death, it seems difficult to account for
the scepticism of those philosophers, who still rejected and derided the
doctrine of the resurrection. A noble Grecian had rested on this
important ground the whole controversy, and promised Theophilus, Bishop
of Antioch, that if he could be gratified with the sight of a single
person who had been actually raised from the dead, he would immediately
embrace the Christian religion. It is somewhat remarkable, that the
prelate of the first eastern church, however anxious for the conversion
of his friend, thought proper to decline this fair and reasonable
challenge.

The miracles of the primitive church, after obtaining the sanction of
ages, have been lately attacked in a very free and ingenious inquiry,
which, though it has met with the most favorable reception from the
public, appears to have excited a general scandal among the divines of
our own as well as of the other Protestant churches of Europe.  Our
different sentiments on this subject will be much less influenced by any
particular arguments, than by our habits of study and reflection; and,
above all, by the degree of evidence which we have accustomed ourselves
to require for the proof of a miraculous event. The duty of an historian
does not call upon him to interpose his private judgment in this nice
and important controversy; but he ought not to dissemble the difficulty
of adopting such a theory as may reconcile the interest of religion with
that of reason, of making a proper application of that theory, and of
defining with precision the limits of that happy period, exempt from
error and from deceit, to which we might be disposed to extend the gift
of supernatural powers. From the first of the fathers to the last of the
popes, a succession of bishops, of saints, of martyrs, and of miracles,
is continued without interruption; and the progress of superstition was
so gradual, and almost imperceptible, that we know not in what
particular link we should break the chain of tradition. Every age bears
testimony to the wonderful events by which it was distinguished, and its
testimony appears no less weighty and respectable than that of the
preceding generation, till we are insensibly led on to accuse our own
inconsistency, if in the eighth or in the twelfth century we deny to the
venerable Bede, or to the holy Bernard, the same degree of confidence
which, in the second century, we had so liberally granted to Justin or
to Irenæus.  If the truth of any of those miracles is appreciated by
their apparent use and propriety, every age had unbelievers to convince,
heretics to confute, and idolatrous nations to convert; and sufficient
motives might always be produced to justify the interposition of Heaven.
And yet, since every friend to revelation is persuaded of the reality,
and every reasonable man is convinced of the cessation, of miraculous
powers, it is evident that there must have been some periodin which they
were either suddenly or gradually withdrawn from the Christian church.
Whatever æra is chosen for that purpose, the death of the apostles, the
conversion of the Roman empire, or the extinction of the Arian heresy,
the insensibility of the Christians who lived at that time will equally
afford a just matter of surprise. They still supported their pretensions
after they had lost their power. Credulity performed the office of
faith; fanaticism was permitted to assume the language of inspiration,
and the effects of accident or contrivance were ascribed to supernatural
causes. The recent experience of genuine miracles should have instructed
the Christian world in the ways of Providence, and habituated their eye
(if we may use a very inadequate expression) to the style of the divine
artist. Should the most skilful painter of modern Italy presume to
decorate his feeble imitations with the name of Raphael or of Correggio,
the insolent fraud would be soon discovered, and indignantly rejected.

Whatever opinion may be entertained of the miracles of the primitive
church since the time of the apostles, this unresisting softness of
temper, so conspicuous among the believers of the second and third
centuries, proved of some accidental benefit to the cause of truth and
religion. In modern times, a latent and even involuntary scepticism
adheres to the most pious dispositions. Their admission of supernatural
truths is much less an active consent than a cold and passive
acquiescence. Accustomed long since to observe and to respect the
variable order of Nature, our reason, or at least our imagination, is
not sufficiently prepared to sustain the visible action of the Deity.
But, in the first ages of Christianity, the situation of mankind was
extremely different. The most curious, or the most credulous, among the
Pagans, were often persuaded to enter into a society which asserted an
actual claim of miraculous powers. The primitive Christians perpetually
trod on mystic ground, and their minds were exercised by the habits of
believing the most extraordinary events. They felt, or they fancied,
that on every side they were incessantly assaulted by dæmons, comforted
by visions, instructed by prophecy, and surprisingly delivered from
danger, sickness, and from death itself, by the supplications of the
church. The real or imaginary prodigies, of which they so frequently
conceived themselves to be the objects, the instruments, or the
spectators, very happily disposed them to adopt with the same ease, but
with far greater justice, the authentic wonders of the evangelic
history; and thus miracles that exceeded not the measure of their own
experience, inspired them with the most lively assurance of mysteries
which were acknowledged to surpass the limits of their understanding. It
is this deep impression of supernatural truths, which has been so much
celebrated under the name of faith; a state of mind described as the
surest pledge of the divine favor and of future felicity, and
recommended as the first, or perhaps the only merit of a Christian.
According to the more rigid doctors, the moral virtues, which may be
equally practised by infidels, are destitute of any value or efficacy in
the work of our justification.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion. -- Part V.

IV. But the primitive Christian demonstrated his faith by his virtues;
and it was very justly supposed that the divine persuasion, which
enlightened or subdued the understanding, must, at the same time, purify
the heart, and direct the actions, of the believer. The first apologists
of Christianity who justify the innocence of their brethren, and the
writers of a later period who celebrate the sanctity of their ancestors,
display, in the most lively colors, the reformation of manners which was
introduced into the world by the preaching of the gospel. As it is my
intention to remark only such human causes as were permitted to second
the influence of revelation, I shall slightly mention two motives which
might naturally render the lives of the primitive Christians much purer
and more austere than those of their Pagan contemporaries, or their
degenerate successors; repentance for their past sins, and the laudable
desire of supporting the reputation of the society in which they were
engaged. *

It is a very ancient reproach, suggested by the ignorance or the malice
of infidelity, that the Christians allured into their party the most
atrocious criminals, who, as soon as they were touched by a sense of
remorse, were easily persuaded to wash away, in the water of baptism,
the guilt of their past conduct, for which the temples of the gods
refused to grant them any expiation. But this reproach, when it is
cleared from misrepresentation, contributes as much to the honor as it
did to the increase of the church.  The friends of Christianity may
acknowledge without a blush, that many of the most eminent saints had
been before their baptism the most abandoned sinners. Those persons, who
in the world had followed, though in an imperfect manner, the dictates
of benevolence and propriety, derived such a calm satisfaction from the
opinion of their own rectitude, as rendered them much less susceptible
of the sudden emotions of shame, of grief, and of terror, which have
given birth to so many wonderful conversions. After the example of their
divine Master, the missionaries of the gospel disdained not the society
of men, and especially of women, oppressed by the consciousness, and
very often by the effects, of their vices. As they emerged from sin and
superstition to the glorious hope of immortality, they resolved to
devote themselves to a life, not only of virtue, but of penitence. The
desire of perfection became the ruling passion of their soul; and it is
well known, that while reason embraces a cold mediocrity, our passions
hurry us, with rapid violence, over the space which lies between the
most opposite extremes.

When the new converts had been enrolled in the number of the faithful,
and were admitted to the sacraments of the church, they found themselves
restrained from relapsing into their past disorders by another
consideration of a less spiritual, but of a very innocent and
respectable nature. Any particular society that has departed from the
great body of the nation, or the religion to which it belonged,
immediately becomes the object of universal as well as invidious
observation. In proportion to the smallness of its numbers, the
character of the society may be affected by the virtues and vices of the
persons who compose it; and every member is engaged to watch with the
most vigilant attention over his own behavior, and over that of his
brethren, since, as he must expect to incur a part of the common
disgrace, he may hope to enjoy a share of the common reputation. When
the Christians of Bithynia were brought before the tribunal of the
younger Pliny, they assured the proconsul, that, far from being engaged
in any unlawful conspiracy, they were bound by a solemn obligation to
abstain from the commission of those crimes which disturb the private or
public peace of society, from theft, robbery, adultery, perjury, and
fraud.   Near a century afterwards, Tertullian with an honest pride,
could boast, that very few Christians had suffered by the hand of the
executioner, except on account of their religion.  Their serious and
sequestered life, averse to the gay luxury of the age, inured them to
chastity, temperance, economy, and all the sober and domestic virtues.
As the greater number were of some trade or profession, it was incumbent
on them, by the strictest integrity and the fairest dealing, to remove
the suspicions which the profane are too apt to conceive against the
appearances of sanctity. The contempt of the world exercised them in the
habits of humility, meekness, and patience. The more they were
persecuted, the more closely they adhered to each other. Their mutual
charity and unsuspecting confidence has been remarked by infidels, and
was too often abused by perfidious friends.

It is a very honorable circumstance for the morals of the primitive
Christians, that even their faults, or rather errors, were derived from
an excess of virtue. The bishops and doctors of the church, whose
evidence attests, and whose authority might influence, the professions,
the principles, and even the practice of their contemporaries, had
studied the Scriptures with less skill than devotion; and they often
received, in the most literal sense, those rigid precepts of Christ and
the apostles, to which the prudence of succeeding commentators has
applied a looser and more figurative mode of interpretation. Ambitious
to exalt the perfection of the gospel above the wisdom of philosophy,
the zealous fathers have carried the duties of self-mortification, of
purity, and of patience, to a height which it is scarcely possible to
attain, and much less to preserve, in our present state of weakness and
corruption. A doctrine so extraordinary and so sublime must inevitably
command the veneration of the people; but it was ill calculated to
obtain the suffrage of those worldly philosophers, who, in the conduct
of this transitory life, consult only the feelings of nature and the
interest of society.

There are two very natural propensities which we may distinguish in the
most virtuous and liberal dispositions, the love of pleasure and the
love of action. If the former is refined by art and learning, improved
by the charms of social intercourse, and corrected by a just regard to
economy, to health, and to reputation, it is productive of the greatest
part of the happiness of private life. The love of action is a principle
of a much stronger and more doubtful nature. It often leads to anger, to
ambition, and to revenge; but when it is guided by the sense of
propriety and benevolence, it becomes the parent of every virtue, and if
those virtues are accompanied with equal abilities, a family, a state,
or an empire, may be indebted for their safety and prosperity to the
undaunted courage of a single man. To the love of pleasure we may
therefore ascribe most of the agreeable, to the love of action we may
attribute most of the useful and respectable, qualifications. The
character in which both the one and the other should be united and
harmonized, would seem to constitute the most perfect idea of human
nature. The insensible and inactive disposition, which should be
supposed alike destitute of both, would be rejected, by the common
consent of mankind, as utterly incapable of procuring any happiness to
the individual, or any public benefit to the world. But it was not in
this world, that the primitive Christians were desirous of making
themselves either agreeable or useful. *

The acquisition of knowledge, the exercise of our reason or fancy, and
the cheerful flow of unguarded conversation, may employ the leisure of a
liberal mind. Such amusements, however, were rejected with abhorrence,
or admitted with the utmost caution, by the severity of the fathers, who
despised all knowledge that was not useful to salvation, and who
considered all levity of discours eas a criminal abuse of the gift of
speech. In our present state of existence the body is so inseparably
connected with the soul, that it seems to be our interest to taste, with
innocence and moderation, the enjoyments of which that faithful
companion is susceptible. Very different was the reasoning of our devout
predecessors; vainly aspiring to imitate the perfection of angels, they
disdained, or they affected to disdain, every earthly and corporeal
delight.  Some of our senses indeed are necessary for our preservation,
others for our subsistence, and others again for our information; and
thus far it was impossible to reject the use of them. The first
sensation of pleasure was marked as the first moment of their abuse. The
unfeeling candidate for heaven was instructed, not only to resist the
grosser allurements of the taste or smell, but even to shut his ears
against the profane harmony of sounds, and to view with indifference the
most finished productions of human art. Gay apparel, magnificent houses,
and elegant furniture, were supposed to unite the double guilt of pride
and of sensuality; a simple and mortified appearance was more suitable
to the Christian who was certain of his sins and doubtful of his
salvation. In their censures of luxury, the fathers are extremely minute
and circumstantial;  and among the various articles which excite their
pious indignation, we may enumerate false hair, garments of any color
except white, instruments of music, vases of gold or silver, downy
pillows, (as Jacob reposed his head on a stone,) white bread, foreign
wines, public salutations, the use of warm baths, and the practice of
shaving the beard, which, according to the expression of Tertullian, is
a lie against our own faces, and an impious attempt to improve the works
of the Creator.  When Christianity was introduced among the rich and the
polite, the observation of these singular laws was left, as it would be
at present, to the few who were ambitious of superior sanctity. But it
is always easy, as well as agreeable, for the inferior ranks of mankind
to claim a merit from the contempt of that pomp and pleasure which
fortune has placed beyond their reach. The virtue of the primitive
Christians, like that of the first Romans, was very frequently guarded
by poverty and ignorance.

The chaste severity of the fathers, in whatever related to the commerce
of the two sexes, flowed from the same principle; their abhorrence of
every enjoyment which might gratify the sensual, and degrade the
spiritual, nature of man. It was their favorite opinion, that if Adam
had preserved his obedience to the Creator, he would have lived forever
in a state of virgin purity, and that some harmless mode of vegetation
might have peopled paradise with a race of innocent and immortal beings.
The use of marriage was permitted only to his fallen posterity, as a
necessary expedient to continue the human species, and as a restraint,
however imperfect, on the natural licentiousness of desire. The
hesitation of the orthodox casuists on this interesting subject, betrays
the perplexity of men, unwilling to approve an institution which they
were compelled to tolerate.  The enumeration of the very whimsical laws,
which they most circumstantially imposed on the marriage-bed, would
force a smile from the young and a blush from the fair. It was their
unanimous sentiment, that a first marriage was adequate to all the
purposes of nature and of society. The sensual connection was refined
into a resemblance of the mystic union of Christ with his church, and
was pronounced to be indissoluble either by divorce or by death. The
practice of second nuptials was branded with the name of a egal
adultery; and the persons who were guilty of so scandalous an offence
against Christian purity, were soon excluded from the honors, and even
from the alms, of the church.  Since desire was imputed as a crime, and
marriage was tolerated as a defect, it was consistent with the same
principles to consider a state of celibacy as the nearest approach to
the divine perfection. It was with the utmost difficulty that ancient
Rome could support the institution of six vestals;  but the primitive
church was filled with a great number of persons of either sex, who had
devoted themselves to the profession of perpetual chastity.  A few of
these, among whom we may reckon the learned Origen, judged it the most
prudent to disarm the tempter.  Some were insensible and some were
invincible against the assaults of the flesh. Disdaining an ignominious
flight, the virgins of the warm climate of Africa encountered the enemy
in the closest engagement; they permitted priests and deacons to share
their bed, and gloried amidst the flames in their unsullied purity. But
insulted Nature sometimes vindicated her rights, and this new species of
martyrdom served only to introduce a new scandal into the church.  Among
the Christian ascetics, however, (a name which they soon acquired from
their painful exercise,) many, as they were less presumptuous, were
probably more successful. The loss of sensual pleasure was supplied and
compensated by spiritual pride. Even the multitude of Pagans were
inclined to estimate the merit of the sacrifice by its apparent
difficulty; and it was in the praise of these chaste spouses of Christ
that the fathers have poured forth the troubled stream of their
eloquence.  Such are the early traces of monastic principles and
institutions, which, in a subsequent age, have counterbalanced all the
temporal advantages of Christianity.

The Christians were not less averse to the business than to the
pleasures of this world. The defence of our persons and property they
knew not how to reconcile with the patient doctrine which enjoined an
unlimited forgiveness of past injuries, and commanded them to invite the
repetition of fresh insults. Their simplicity was offended by the use of
oaths, by the pomp of magistracy, and by the active contention of public
life; nor could their humane ignorance be convinced that it was lawful
on any occasion to shed the blood of our fellow-creatures, either by the
sword of justice, or by that of war; even though their criminal or
hostile attempts should threaten the peace and safety of the whole
community.  It was acknowledged, that, under a less perfect law, the
powers of the Jewish constitution had been exercised, with the
approbation of Heaven, by inspired prophets and by anointed kings. The
Christians felt and confessed that such institutions might be necessary
for the present system of the world, and they cheerfully submitted to
the authority of their Pagan governors. But while they inculcated the
maxims of passive obedience, they refused to take any active part in the
civil administration or the military defence of the empire. Some
indulgence might, perhaps, be allowed to those persons who, before their
conversion, were already engaged in such violent and sanguinary
occupations;  but it was impossible that the Christians, without
renouncing a more sacred duty, could assume the character of soldiers,
of magistrates, or of princes.  This indolent, or even criminal
disregard to the public welfare, exposed them to the contempt and
reproaches of the Pagans who very frequently asked, what must be the
fate of the empire, attacked on every side by the barbarians, if all
mankind should adopt the pusillanimous sentiments of the new sect.  To
this insulting question the Christian apologists returned obscure and
ambiguous answers, as they were unwilling to reveal the secret cause of
their security; the expectation that, before the conversion of mankind
was accomplished, war, government, the Roman empire, and the world
itself, would be no more. It may be observed, that, in this instance
likewise, the situation of the first Christians coincided very happily
with their religious scruples, and that their aversion to an active life
contributed rather to excuse them from the service, than to exclude them
from the honors, of the state and army.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion. -- Part VI.

V. But the human character, however it may be exalted or depressed by a
temporary enthusiasm, will return by degrees to its proper and natural
level, and will resume those passions that seem the most adapted to its
present condition. The primitive Christians were dead to the business
and pleasures of the world; but their love of action, which could never
be entirely extinguished, soon revived, and found a new occupation in
the government of the church. A separate society, which attacked the
established religion of the empire, was obliged to adopt some form of
internal policy, and to appoint a sufficient number of ministers,
intrusted not only with the spiritual functions, but even with the
temporal direction of the Christian commonwealth. The safety of that
society, its honor, its aggrandizement, were productive, even in the
most pious minds, of a spirit of patriotism, such as the first of the
Romans had felt for the republic, and sometimes of a similar
indifference, in the use of whatever means might probably conduce to so
desirable an end. The ambition of raising themselves or their friends to
the honors and offices of the church, was disguised by the laudable
intention of devoting to the public benefit the power and consideration,
which, for that purpose only, it became their duty to solicit. In the
exercise of their functions, they were frequently called upon to detect
the errors of heresy or the arts of faction, to oppose the designs of
perfidious brethren, to stigmatize their characters with deserved
infamy, and to expel them from the bosom of a society whose peace and
happiness they had attempted to disturb. The ecclesiastical governors of
the Christians were taught to unite the wisdom of the serpent with the
innocence of the dove; but as the former was refined, so the latter was
insensibly corrupted, by the habits of government. If the church as well
as in the world, the persons who were placed in any public station
rendered themselves considerable by their eloquence and firmness, by
their knowledge of mankind, and by their dexterity in business; and
while they concealed from others, and perhaps from themselves, the
secret motives of their conduct, they too frequently relapsed into all
the turbulent passions of active life, which were tinctured with an
additional degree of bitterness and obstinacy from the infusion of
spiritual zeal.

The government of the church has often been the subject, as well as the
prize, of religious contention. The hostile disputants of Rome, of
Paris, of Oxford, and of Geneva, have alike struggled to reduce the
primitive and apostolic model  to the respective standards of their own
policy. The few who have pursued this inquiry with more candor and
impartiality, are of opinion,  that the apostles declined the office of
legislation, and rather chose to endure some partial scandals and
divisions, than to exclude the Christians of a future age from the
liberty of varying their forms of ecclesiastical government according to
the changes of times and circumstances. The scheme of policy, which,
under their approbation, was adopted for the use of the first century,
may be discovered from the practice of Jerusalem, of Ephesus, or of
Corinth. The societies which were instituted in the cities of the Roman
empire, were united only by the ties of faith and charity. Independence
and equality formed the basis of their internal constitution. The want
of discipline and human learning was supplied by the occasional
assistance of the prophets,  who were called to that function without
distinction of age, of sex, * or of natural abilities, and who, as often
as they felt the divine impulse, poured forth the effusions of the
Spirit in the assembly of the faithful. But these extraordinary gifts
were frequently abused or misapplied by the prophetic teachers. They
displayed them at an improper season, presumptuously disturbed the
service of the assembly, and, by their pride or mistaken zeal, they
introduced, particularly into the apostolic church of Corinth, a long
and melancholy train of disorders.  As the institution of prophets
became useless, and even pernicious, their powers were withdrawn, and
their office abolished. The public functions of religion were solely
intrusted to the established ministers of the church, the bishopsand the
presbyters; two appellations which, in their first origin, appear to
have distinguished the same office and the same order of persons. The
name of Presbyter was expressive of their age, or rather of their
gravity and wisdom. The title of Bishop denoted their inspection over
the faith and manners of the Christians who were committed to their
pastoral care. In proportion to the respective numbers of the faithful,
a larger or smaller number of these episcopalpresbytersguided each
infant congregation with equal authority and with united counsels.

But the most perfect equality of freedom requires the directing hand of
a superior magistrate: and the order of public deliberations soon
introduces the office of a president, invested at least with the
authority of collecting the sentiments, and of executing the
resolutions, of the assembly. A regard for the public tranquillity,
which would so frequently have been interrupted by annual or by
occasional elections, induced the primitive Christians to constitute an
honorable and perpetual magistracy, and to choose one of the wisest and
most holy among their presbyterians to execute, during his life, the
duties of their ecclesiastical governor. It was under these
circumstances that the lofty title of Bishop began to raise itself above
the humble appellation of Presbyter; and while the latter remained the
most natural distinction for the members of every Christian senate, the
former was appropriated to the dignity of its new president.  The
advantages of this episcopal form of government, which appears to have
been introduced before the end of the first century,  were so obvious,
and so important for the future greatness, as well as the present peace,
of Christianity, that it was adopted without delay by all the societies
which were already scattered over the empire, had acquired in a very
early period the sanction of antiquity,  and is still revered by the
most powerful churches, both of the East and of the West, as a primitive
and even as a divine establishment.  It is needless to observe, that the
pious and humble presbyters, who were first dignified with the episcopal
title, could not possess, and would probably have rejected, the power
and pomp which now encircles the tiara of the Roman pontiff, or the
mitre of a German prelate. But we may define, in a few words, the narrow
limits of their original jurisdiction, which was chiefly of a spiritual,
though in some instances of a temporal nature.  It consisted in the
administration of the sacraments and discipline of the church, the
superintendency of religious ceremonies, which imperceptibly increased
in number and variety, the consecration of ecclesiastical ministers, to
whom the bishop assigned their respective functions, the management of
the public fund, and the determination of all such differences as the
faithful were unwilling to expose before the tribunal of an idolatrous
judge. These powers, during a short period, were exercised according to
the advice of the presbyteral college, and with the consent and
approbation of the assembly of Christians. The primitive bishops were
considered only as the first of their equals, and the honorable servants
of a free people. Whenever the episcopal chair became vacant by death, a
new president was chosen among the presbyters by the suffrages of the
whole congregation, every member of which supposed himself invested with
a sacred and sacerdotal character.

Such was the mild and equal constitution by which the Christians were
governed more than a hundred years after the death of the apostles.
Every society formed within itself a separate and independent republic;
and although the most distant of these little states maintained a mutual
as well as friendly intercourse of letters and deputations, the
Christian world was not yet connected by any supreme authority or
legislative assembly. As the numbers of the faithful were gradually
multiplied, they discovered the advantages that might result from a
closer union of their interest and designs. Towards the end of the
second century, the churches of Greece and Asia adopted the useful
institutions of provincial synods, * and they may justly be supposed to
have borrowed the model of a representative council from the celebrated
examples of their own country, the Amphictyons, the Achæan league, or
the assemblies of the Ionian cities. It was soon established as a custom
and as a law, that the bishops of the independent churches should meet
in the capital of the province at the stated periods of spring and
autumn. Their deliberations were assisted by the advice of a few
distinguished presbyters, and moderated by the presence of a listening
multitude.  Their decrees, which were styled Canons, regulated every
important controversy of faith and discipline; and it was natural to
believe that a liberal effusion of the Holy Spirit would be poured on
the united assembly of the delegates of the Christian people. The
institution of synods was so well suited to private ambition, and to
public interest, that in the space of a few years it was received
throughout the whole empire. A regular correspondence was established
between the provincial councils, which mutually communicated and
approved their respective proceedings; and the catholic church soon
assumed the form, and acquired the strength, of a great foederative
republic.

As the legislative authority of the particular churches was insensibly
superseded by the use of councils, the bishops obtained by their
alliance a much larger share of executive and arbitrary power; and as
soon as they were connected by a sense of their common interest, they
were enabled to attack with united vigor, the original rights of their
clergy and people. The prelates of the third century imperceptibly
changed the language of exhortation into that of command, scattered the
seeds of future usurpations, and supplied, by scripture allegories and
declamatory rhetoric, their deficiency of force and of reason. They
exalted the unity and power of the church, as it was represented in the
Episcopal Office, of which every bishop enjoyed an equal and undivided
portion.  Princes and magistrates, it was often repeated, might boast an
earthly claim to a transitory dominion; it was the episcopal authority
alone which was derived from the Deity, and extended itself over this
and over another world. The bishops were the vicegerents of Christ, the
successors of the apostles, and the mystic substitutes of the high
priest of the Mosaic law. Their exclusive privilege of conferring the
sacerdotal character, invaded the freedom both of clerical and of
popular elections; and if, in the administration of the church, they
still consulted the judgment of the presbyters, or the inclination of
the people, they most carefully inculcated the merit of such a voluntary
condescension. The bishops acknowledged the supreme authority which
resided in the assembly of their brethren; but in the government of his
peculiar diocese, each of them exacted from his flock the same implicit
obedience as if that favorite metaphor had been literally just, and as
if the shepherd had been of a more exalted nature than that of his
sheep.  This obedience, however, was not imposed without some efforts on
one side, and some resistance on the other. The democratical part of the
constitution was, in many places, very warmly supported by the zealous
or interested opposition of the inferior clergy. But their patriotism
received the ignominious epithets of faction and schism; and the
episcopal cause was indebted for its rapid progress to the labors of
many active prelates, who, like Cyprian of Carthage, could reconcile the
arts of the most ambitious statesman with the Christian virtues which
seem adapted to the character of a saint and martyr.

The same causes which at first had destroyed the equality of the
presbyters introduced among the bishops a preeminence of rank, and from
thence a superiority of jurisdiction. As often as in the spring and
autumn they met in provincial synod, the difference of personal merit
and reputation was very sensibly felt among the members of the assembly,
and the multitude was governed by the wisdom and eloquence of the few.
But the order of public proceedings required a more regular and less
invidious distinction; the office of perpetual presidents in the
councils of each province was conferred on the bishops of the principal
city; and these aspiring prelates, who soon acquired the lofty titles of
Metropolitans and Primates, secretly prepared themselves to usurp over
their episcopal brethren the same authority which the bishops had so
lately assumed above the college of presbyters.  Nor was it long before
an emulation of preeminence and power prevailed among the Metropolitans
themselves, each of them affecting to display, in the most pompous
terms, the temporal honors and advantages of the city over which he
presided; the numbers and opulence of the Christians who were subject to
their pastoral care; the saints and martyrs who had arisen among them;
and the purity with which they preserved the tradition of the faith, as
it had been transmitted through a series of orthodox bishops from the
apostle or the apostolic disciple, to whom the foundation of their
church was ascribed.  From every cause, either of a civil or of an
ecclesiastical nature, it was easy to foresee that Rome must enjoy the
respect, and would soon claim the obedience of the provinces. The
society of the faithful bore a just proportion to the capital of the
empire; and the Roman church was the greatest, the most numerous, and,
in regard to the West, the most ancient of all the Christian
establishments, many of which had received their religion from the pious
labors of her missionaries. Instead of oneapostolic founder, the utmost
boast of Antioch, of Ephesus, or of Corinth, the banks of the Tyber were
supposed to have been honored with the preaching and martyrdom of the
two most eminent among the apostles;  and the bishops of Rome very
prudently claimed the inheritance of whatsoever prerogatives were
attributed either to the person or to the office of St. Peter.  The
bishops of Italy and of the provinces were disposed to allow them a
primacy of order and association (such was their very accurate
expression) in the Christian aristocracy.  But the power of a monarch
was rejected with abhorrence, and the aspiring genius of Rome
experienced from the nations of Asia and Africa a more vigorous
resistance to her spiritual, than she had formerly done to her temporal,
dominion. The patriotic Cyprian, who ruled with the most absolute sway
the church of Carthage and the provincial synods, opposed with
resolution and success the ambition of the Roman pontiff, artfully
connected his own cause with that of the eastern bishops, and, like
Hannibal, sought out new allies in the heart of Asia.  If this Punic war
was carried on without any effusion of blood, it was owing much less to
the moderation than to the weakness of the contending prelates.
Invectives and excommunications were theironly weapons; and these,
during the progress of the whole controversy, they hurled against each
other with equal fury and devotion. The hard necessity of censuring
either a pope, or a saint and martyr, distresses the modern Catholics
whenever they are obliged to relate the particulars of a dispute in
which the champions of religion indulged such passions as seem much more
adapted to the senate or to the camp.

The progress of the ecclesiastical authority gave birth to the memorable
distinction of the laity and of the clergy, which had been unknown to
the Greeks and Romans.  The former of these appellations comprehended
the body of the Christian people; the latter, according to the
signification of the word, was appropriated to the chosen portion that
had been set apart for the service of religion; a celebrated order of
men, which has furnished the most important, though not always the most
edifying, subjects for modern history. Their mutual hostilities
sometimes disturbed the peace of the infant church, but their zeal and
activity were united in the common cause, and the love of power, which
(under the most artful disguises) could insinuate itself into the
breasts of bishops and martyrs, animated them to increase the number of
their subjects, and to enlarge the limits of the Christian empire. They
were destitute of any temporal force, and they were for a long time
discouraged and oppressed, rather than assisted, by the civil
magistrate; but they had acquired, and they employed within their own
society, the two most efficacious instruments of government, rewards and
punishments; the former derived from the pious liberality, the latter
from the devout apprehensions, of the faithful.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion. -- Part VII

I. The community of goods, which had so agreeably amused the imagination
of Plato,  and which subsisted in some degree among the austere sect of
the Essenians,  was adopted for a short time in the primitive church.
The fervor of the first proselytes prompted them to sell those worldly
possessions, which they despised, to lay the price of them at the feet
of the apostles, and to content themselves with receiving an equal share
out of the general distribution.  The progress of the Christian religion
relaxed, and gradually abolished, this generous institution, which, in
hands less pure than those of the apostles, would too soon have been
corrupted and abused by the returning selfishness of human nature; and
the converts who embraced the new religion were permitted to retain the
possession of their patrimony, to receive legacies and inheritances, and
to increase their separate property by all the lawful means of trade and
industry. Instead of an absolute sacrifice, a moderate proportion was
accepted by the ministers of the gospel; and in their weekly or monthly
assemblies, every believer, according to the exigency of the occasion,
and the measure of his wealth and piety, presented his voluntary
offering for the use of the common fund.  Nothing, however
inconsiderable, was refused; but it was diligently inculcated; that, in
the article of Tithes, the Mosaic law was still of divine obligation;
and that since the Jews, under a less perfect discipline, had been
commanded to pay a tenth part of all that they possessed, it would
become the disciples of Christ to distinguish themselves by a superior
degree of liberality,  and to acquire some merit by resigning a
superfluous treasure, which must so soon be annihilated with the world
itself.  It is almost unnecessary to observe, that the revenue of each
particular church, which was of so uncertain and fluctuating a nature,
must have varied with the poverty or the opulence of the faithful, as
they were dispersed in obscure villages, or collected in the great
cities of the empire. In the time of the emperor Decius, it was the
opinion of the magistrates, that the Christians of Rome were possessed
of very considerable wealth; that vessels of gold and silver were used
in their religious worship, and that many among their proselytes had
sold their lands and houses to increase the public riches of the sect,
at the expense, indeed, of their unfortunate children, who found
themselves beggars, because their parents had been saints.  We should
listen with distrust to the suspicions of strangers and enemies: on this
occasion, however, they receive a very specious and probable color from
the two following circumstances, the only ones that have reached our
knowledge, which define any precise sums, or convey any distinct idea.
Almost at the same period, the bishop of Carthage, from a society less
opulent than that of Rome, collected a hundred thousand sesterces,
(above eight hundred and fifty pounds sterling,) on a sudden call of
charity to redeem the brethren of Numidia, who had been carried away
captives by the barbarians of the desert.  About a hundred years before
the reign of Decius, the Roman church had received, in a single
donation, the sum of two hundred thousand sesterces from a stranger of
Pontus, who proposed to fix his residence in the capital.  These
oblations, for the most part, were made in money; nor was the society of
Christians either desirous or capable of acquiring, to any considerable
degree, the encumbrance of landed property. It had been provided by
several laws, which were enacted with the same design as our statutes of
mortmain, that no real estates should be given or bequeathed to any
corporate body, without either a special privilege or a particular
dispensation from the emperor or from the senate;  who were seldom
disposed to grant them in favor of a sect, at first the object of their
contempt, and at last of their fears and jealousy. A transaction,
however, is related under the reign of Alexander Severus, which
discovers that the restraint was sometimes eluded or suspended, and that
the Christians were permitted to claim and to possess lands within the
limits of Rome itself.  The progress of Christianity, and the civil
confusion of the empire, contributed to relax the severity of the laws;
and before the close of the third century many considerable estates were
bestowed on the opulent churches of Rome, Milan, Carthage, Antioch,
Alexandria, and the other great cities of Italy and the provinces.

The bishop was the natural steward of the church; the public stock was
intrusted to his care without account or control; the presbyters were
confined to their spiritual functions, and the more dependent order of
the deacons was solely employed in the management and distribution of
the ecclesiastical revenue.  If we may give credit to the vehement
declamations of Cyprian, there were too many among his African brethren,
who, in the execution of their charge, violated every precept, not only
of evangelical perfection, but even of moral virtue. By some of these
unfaithful stewards the riches of the church were lavished in sensual
pleasures; by others they were perverted to the purposes of private
gain, of fraudulent purchases, and of rapacious usury.  But as long as
the contributions of the Christian people were free and unconstrained,
the abuse of their confidence could not be very frequent, and the
general uses to which their liberality was applied reflected honor on
the religious society. A decent portion was reserved for the maintenance
of the bishop and his clergy; a sufficient sum was allotted for the
expenses of the public worship, of which the feasts of love, the agap,
as they were called, constituted a very pleasing part. The whole
remainder was the sacred patrimony of the poor. According to the
discretion of the bishop, it was distributed to support widows and
orphans, the lame, the sick, and the aged of the community; to comfort
strangers and pilgrims, and to alleviate the misfortunes of prisoners
and captives, more especially when their sufferings had been occasioned
by their firm attachment to the cause of religion.  A generous
intercourse of charity united the most distant provinces, and the
smaller congregations were cheerfully assisted by the alms of their more
opulent brethren.  Such an institution, which paid less regard to the
merit than to the distress of the object, very materially conduced to
the progress of Christianity. The Pagans, who were actuated by a sense
of humanity, while they derided the doctrines, acknowledged the
benevolence, of the new sect.  The prospect of immediate relief and of
future protection allured into its hospitable bosom many of those
unhappy persons whom the neglect of the world would have abandoned to
the miseries of want, of sickness, and of old age. There is some reason
likewise to believe that great numbers of infants, who, according to the
inhuman practice of the times, had been exposed by their parents, were
frequently rescued from death, baptized, educated, and maintained by the
piety of the Christians, and at the expense of the public treasure.

II. It is the undoubted right of every society to exclude from its
communion and benefits such among its members as reject or violate those
regulations which have been established by general consent. In the
exercise of this power, the censures of the Christian church were
chiefly directed against scandalous sinners, and particularly those who
were guilty of murder, of fraud, or of incontinence; against the authors
or the followers of any heretical opinions which had been condemned by
the judgment of the episcopal order; and against those unhappy persons,
who, whether from choice or compulsion, had polluted themselves after
their baptism by any act of idolatrous worship. The consequences of
excommunication were of a temporal as well as a spiritual nature. The
Christian against whom it was pronounced, was deprived of any part in
the oblations of the faithful. The ties both of religious and of private
friendship were dissolved: he found himself a profane object of
abhorrence to the persons whom he the most esteemed, or by whom he had
been the most tenderly beloved; and as far as an expulsion from a
respectable society could imprint on his character a mark of disgrace,
he was shunned or suspected by the generality of mankind. The situation
of these unfortunate exiles was in itself very painful and melancholy;
but, as it usually happens, their apprehensions far exceeded their
sufferings. The benefits of the Christian communion were those of
eternal life; nor could they erase from their minds the awful opinion,
that to those ecclesiastical governors by whom they were condemned, the
Deity had committed the keys of Hell and of Paradise. The heretics,
indeed, who might be supported by the consciousness of their intentions,
and by the flattering hope that they alone had discovered the true path
of salvation, endeavored to regain, in their separate assemblies, those
comforts, temporal as well as spiritual, which they no longer derived
from the great society of Christians. But almost all those who had
reluctantly yielded to the power of vice or idolatry were sensible of
their fallen condition, and anxiously desirous of being restored to the
benefits of the Christian communion.

With regard to the treatment of these penitents, two opposite opinions,
the one of justice, the other of mercy, divided the primitive church.
The more rigid and inflexible casuists refused them forever, and without
exception, the meanest place in the holy community, which they had
disgraced or deserted; and leaving them to the remorse of a guilty
conscience, indulged them only with a faint ray of hope that the
contrition of their life and death might possibly be accepted by the
Supreme Being.  A milder sentiment was embraced in practice as well as
in theory, by the purest and most respectable of the Christian churches.
The gates of reconciliation and of heaven were seldom shut against the
returning penitent; but a severe and solemn form of discipline was
instituted, which, while it served to expiate his crime, might
powerfully deter the spectators from the imitation of his example.
Humbled by a public confession, emaciated by fasting and clothed in
sackcloth, the penitent lay prostrate at the door of the assembly,
imploring with tears the pardon of his offences, and soliciting the
prayers of the faithful.  If the fault was of a very heinous nature,
whole years of penance were esteemed an inadequate satisfaction to the
divine justice; and it was always by slow and painful gradations that
the sinner, the heretic, or the apostate, was readmitted into the bosom
of the church. A sentence of perpetual excommunication was, however,
reserved for some crimes of an extraordinary magnitude, and particularly
for the inexcusable relapses of those penitents who had already
experienced and abused the clemency of their ecclesiastical superiors.
According to the circumstances or the number of the guilty, the exercise
of the Christian discipline was varied by the discretion of the bishops.
The councils of Ancyra and Illiberis were held about the same time, the
one in Galatia, the other in Spain; but their respective canons, which
are still extant, seem to breathe a very different spirit. The Galatian,
who after his baptism had repeatedly sacrificed to idols, might obtain
his pardon by a penance of seven years; and if he had seduced others to
imitate his example, only three years more were added to the term of his
exile. But the unhappy Spaniard, who had committed the same offence, was
deprived of the hope of reconciliation, even in the article of death;
and his idolatry was placed at the head of a list of seventeen other
crimes, against which a sentence no less terrible was pronounced. Among
these we may distinguish the inexpiable guilt of calumniating a bishop,
a presbyter, or even a deacon.

The well-tempered mixture of liberality and rigor, the judicious
dispensation of rewards and punishments, according to the maxims of
policy as well as justice, constituted the human strength of the church.
The Bishops, whose paternal care extended itself to the government of
both worlds, were sensible of the importance of these prerogatives; and
covering their ambition with the fair pretence of the love of order,
they were jealous of any rival in the exercise of a discipline so
necessary to prevent the desertion of those troops which had enlisted
themselves under the banner of the cross, and whose numbers every day
became more considerable. From the imperious declamations of Cyprian, we
should naturally conclude that the doctrines of excommunication and
penance formed the most essential part of religion; and that it was much
less dangerous for the disciples of Christ to neglect the observance of
the moral duties, than to despise the censures and authority of their
bishops. Sometimes we might imagine that we were listening to the voice
of Moses, when he commanded the earth to open, and to swallow up, in
consuming flames, the rebellious race which refused obedience to the
priesthood of Aaron; and we should sometimes suppose that we hear a
Roman consul asserting the majesty of the republic, and declaring his
inflexible resolution to enforce the rigor of the laws. * "If such
irregularities are suffered with impunity," (it is thus that the bishop
of Carthage chides the lenity of his colleague,) "if such irregularities
are suffered, there is an end of Episcopal Vigor;  an end of the sublime
and divine power of governing the Church, an end of Christianity
itself." Cyprian had renounced those temporal honors, which it is
probable he would never have obtained; * but the acquisition of such
absolute command over the consciences and understanding of a
congregation, however obscure or despised by the world, is more truly
grateful to the pride of the human heart, than the possession of the
most despotic power, imposed by arms and conquest on a reluctant people.

In the course of this important, though perhaps tedious inquiry, I have
attempted to display the secondary causes which so efficaciously
assisted the truth of the Christian religion. If among these causes we
have discovered any artificial ornaments, any accidental circumstances,
or any mixture of error and passion, it cannot appear surprising that
mankind should be the most sensibly affected by such motives as were
suited to their imperfect nature. It was by the aid of these causes,
exclusive zeal, the immediate expectation of another world, the claim of
miracles, the practice of rigid virtue, and the constitution of the
primitive church, that Christianity spread itself with so much success
in the Roman empire. To the first of these the Christians were indebted
for their invincible valor, which disdained to capitulate with the enemy
whom they were resolved to vanquish. The three succeeding causes
supplied their valor with the most formidable arms. The last of these
causes united their courage, directed their arms, and gave their efforts
that irresistible weight, which even a small band of well-trained and
intrepid volunteers has so often possessed over an undisciplined
multitude, ignorant of the subject, and careless of the event of the
war. In the various religions of Polytheism, some wandering fanatics of
Egypt and Syria, who addressed themselves to the credulous superstition
of the populace, were perhaps the only order of priests  that derived
their whole support and credit from their sacerdotal profession, and
were very deeply affected by a personal concern for the safety or
prosperity of their tutelar deities. The ministers of Polytheism, both
in Rome and in the provinces, were, for the most part, men of a noble
birth, and of an affluent fortune, who received, as an honorable
distinction, the care of a celebrated temple, or of a public sacrifice,
exhibited, very frequently at their own expense, the sacred games,  and
with cold indifference performed the ancient rites, according to the
laws and fashion of their country. As they were engaged in the ordinary
occupations of life, their zeal and devotion were seldom animated by a
sense of interest, or by the habits of an ecclesiastical character.
Confined to their respective temples and cities, they remained without
any connection of discipline or government; and whilst they acknowledged
the supreme jurisdiction of the senate, of the college of pontiffs, and
of the emperor, those civil magistrates contented themselves with the
easy task of maintaining in peace and dignity the general worship of
mankind. We have already seen how various, how loose, and how uncertain
were the religious sentiments of Polytheists. They were abandoned,
almost without control, to the natural workings of a superstitious
fancy. The accidental circumstances of their life and situation
determined the object as well as the degree of their devotion; and as
long as their adoration was successively prostituted to a thousand
deities, it was scarcely possible that their hearts could be susceptible
of a very sincere or lively passion for any of them.

When Christianity appeared in the world, even these faint and imperfect
impressions had lost much of their original power. Human reason, which
by its unassisted strength is incapable of perceiving the mysteries of
faith, had already obtained an easy triumph over the folly of Paganism;
and when Tertullian or Lactantius employ their labors in exposing its
falsehood and extravagance, they are obliged to transcribe the eloquence
of Cicero or the wit of Lucian. The contagion of these sceptical
writings had been diffused far beyond the number of their readers. The
fashion of incredulity was communicated from the philosopher to the man
of pleasure or business, from the noble to the plebeian, and from the
master to the menial slave who waited at his table, and who eagerly
listened to the freedom of his conversation. On public occasions the
philosophic part of mankind affected to treat with respect and decency
the religious institutions of their country; but their secret contempt
penetrated through the thin and awkward disguise; and even the people,
when they discovered that their deities were rejected and derided by
those whose rank or understanding they were accustomed to reverence,
were filled with doubts and apprehensions concerning the truth of those
doctrines, to which they had yielded the most implicit belief. The
decline of ancient prejudice exposed a very numerous portion of human
kind to the danger of a painful and comfortless situation. A state of
scepticism and suspense may amuse a few inquisitive minds. But the
practice of superstition is so congenial to the multitude, that if they
are forcibly awakened, they still regret the loss of their pleasing
vision. Their love of the marvellous and supernatural, their curiosity
with regard to future events, and their strong propensity to extend
their hopes and fears beyond the limits of the visible world, were the
principal causes which favored the establishment of Polytheism. So
urgent on the vulgar is the necessity of believing, that the fall of any
system of mythology will most probably be succeeded by the introduction
of some other mode of superstition. Some deities of a more recent and
fashionable cast might soon have occupied the deserted temples of
Jupiter and Apollo, if, in the decisive moment, the wisdom of Providence
had not interposed a genuine revelation, fitted to inspire the most
rational esteem and conviction, whilst, at the same time, it was adorned
with all that could attract the curiosity, the wonder, and the
veneration of the people. In their actual disposition, as many were
almost disengaged from their artificial prejudices, but equally
susceptible and desirous of a devout attachment; an object much less
deserving would have been sufficient to fill the vacant place in their
hearts, and to gratify the uncertain eagerness of their passions. Those
who are inclined to pursue this reflection, instead of viewing with
astonishment the rapid progress of Christianity, will perhaps be
surprised that its success was not still more rapid and still more
universal.

It has been observed, with truth as well as propriety, that the
conquests of Rome prepared and facilitated those of Christianity. In the
second chapter of this work we have attempted to explain in what manner
the most civilized provinces of Europe, Asia, and Africa were united
under the dominion of one sovereign, and gradually connected by the most
intimate ties of laws, of manners, and of language. The Jews of
Palestine, who had fondly expected a temporal deliverer, gave so cold a
reception to the miracles of the divine prophet, that it was found
unnecessary to publish, or at least to preserve, any Hebrew gospel.  The
authentic histories of the actions of Christ were composed in the Greek
language, at a considerable distance from Jerusalem, and after the
Gentile converts were grown extremely numerous.  As soon as those
histories were translated into the Latin tongue, they were perfectly
intelligible to all the subjects of Rome, excepting only to the peasants
of Syria and Egypt, for whose benefit particular versions were
afterwards made. The public highways, which had been constructed for the
use of the legions, opened an easy passage for the Christian
missionaries from Damascus to Corinth, and from Italy to the extremity
of Spain or Britain; nor did those spiritual conquerors encounter any of
the obstacles which usually retard or prevent the introduction of a
foreign religion into a distant country. There is the strongest reason
to believe, that before the reigns of Diocletian and Constantine, the
faith of Christ had been preached in every province, and in all the
great cities of the empire; but the foundation of the several
congregations, the numbers of the faithful who composed them, and their
proportion to the unbelieving multitude, are now buried in obscurity, or
disguised by fiction and declamation. Such imperfect circumstances,
however, as have reached our knowledge concerning the increase of the
Christian name in Asia and Greece, in Egypt, in Italy, and in the West,
we shall now proceed to relate, without neglecting the real or imaginary
acquisitions which lay beyond the frontiers of the Roman empire.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion. -- Part VIII.

The rich provinces that extend from the Euphrates to the Ionian Sea,
were the principal theatre on which the apostle of the Gentiles
displayed his zeal and piety. The seeds of the gospel, which he had
scattered in a fertile soil, were diligently cultivated by his
disciples; and it should seem that, during the two first centuries, the
most considerable body of Christians was contained within those limits.
Among the societies which were instituted in Syria, none were more
ancient or more illustrious than those of Damascus, of Berea or Aleppo,
and of Antioch. The prophetic introduction of the Apocalypse has
described and immortalized the seven churches of Asia; Ephesus, Smyrna,
Pergamus, Thyatira,  Sardes, Laodicea and Philadelphia; and their
colonies were soon diffused over that populous country. In a very early
period, the islands of Cyprus and Crete, the provinces of Thrace and
Macedonia, gave a favorable reception to the new religion; and Christian
republics were soon founded in the cities of Corinth, of Sparta, and of
Athens.  The antiquity of the Greek and Asiatic churches allowed a
sufficient space of time for their increase and multiplication; and even
the swarms of Gnostics and other heretics serve to display the
flourishing condition of the orthodox church, since the appellation of
hereties has always been applied to the less numerous party. To these
domestic testimonies we may add the confession, the complaints, and the
apprehensions of the Gentiles themselves. From the writings of Lucian, a
philosopher who had studied mankind, and who describes their manners in
the most lively colors, we may learn that, under the reign of Commodus,
his native country of Pontus was filled with Epicureans and Christians.
Within fourscore years after the death of Christ,  the humane Pliny
laments the magnitude of the evil which he vainly attempted to
eradicate. In his very curious epistle to the emperor Trajan, he
affirms, that the temples were almost deserted, that the sacred victims
scarcely found any purchasers, and that the superstition had not only
infected the cities, but had even spread itself into the villages and
the open country of Pontus and Bithynia.

Without descending into a minute scrutiny of the expressions or of the
motives of those writers who either celebrate or lament the progress of
Christianity in the East, it may in general be observed, that none of
them have left us any grounds from whence a just estimate might be
formed of the real numbers of the faithful in those provinces. One
circumstance, however, has been fortunately preserved, which seems to
cast a more distinct light on this obscure but interesting subject.
Under the reign of Theodosius, after Christianity had enjoyed, during
more than sixty years, the sunshine of Imperial favor, the ancient and
illustrious church of Antioch consisted of one hundred thousand persons,
three thousand of whom were supported out of the public oblations.  The
splendor and dignity of the queen of the East, the acknowledged
populousness of Cæsarea, Seleucia, and Alexandria, and the destruction
of two hundred and fifty thousand souls in the earthquake which
afflicted Antioch under the elder Justin,  are so many convincing proofs
that the whole number of its inhabitants was not less than half a
million, and that the Christians, however multiplied by zeal and power,
did not exceed a fifth part of that great city. How different a
proportion must we adopt when we compare the persecuted with the
triumphant church, the West with the East, remote villages with populous
towns, and countries recently converted to the faith with the place
where the believers first received the appellation of Christians! It
must not, however, be dissembled, that, in another passage, Chrysostom,
to whom we are indebted for this useful information, computes the
multitude of the faithful as even superior to that of the Jews and
Pagans.  But the solution of this apparent difficulty is easy and
obvious. The eloquent preacher draws a parallel between the civil and
the ecclesiastical constitution of Antioch; between the list of
Christians who had acquired heaven by baptism, and the list of citizens
who had a right to share the public liberality. Slaves, strangers, and
infants were comprised in the former; they were excluded from the
latter.

The extensive commerce of Alexandria, and its proximity to Palestine,
gave an easy entrance to the new religion. It was at first embraced by
great numbers of the Theraputæ, or Essenians, of the Lake Mareotis, a
Jewish sect which had abated much of its reverence for the Mosaic
ceremonies. The austere life of the Essenians, their fasts and
excommunications, the community of goods, the love of celibacy, their
zeal for martyrdom, and the warmth though not the purity of their faith,
already offered a very lively image of the primitive discipline.  It was
in the school of Alexandria that the Christian theology appears to have
assumed a regular and scientific form; and when Hadrian visited Egypt,
he found a church composed of Jews and of Greeks, sufficiently important
to attract the notice of that inquisitive prince.  But the progress of
Christianity was for a long time confined within the limits of a single
city, which was itself a foreign colony, and till the close of the
second century the predecessors of Demetrius were the only prelates of
the Egyptian church. Three bishops were consecrated by the hands of
Demetrius, and the number was increased to twenty by his successor
Heraclas.  The body of the natives, a people distinguished by a sullen
inflexibility of temper,  entertained the new doctrine with coldness and
reluctance; and even in the time of Origen, it was rare to meet with an
Egyptian who had surmounted his early prejudices in favor of the sacred
animals of his country.  As soon, indeed, as Christianity ascended the
throne, the zeal of those barbarians obeyed the prevailing impulsion;
the cities of Egypt were filled with bishops, and the deserts of Thebais
swarmed with hermits.

A perpetual stream of strangers and provincials flowed into the
capacious bosom of Rome. Whatever was strange or odious, whoever was
guilty or suspected, might hope, in the obscurity of that immense
capital, to elude the vigilance of the law. In such a various conflux of
nations, every teacher, either of truth or falsehood, every founder,
whether of a virtuous or a criminal association, might easily multiply
his disciples or accomplices. The Christians of Rome, at the time of the
accidental persecution of Nero, are represented by Tacitus as already
amounting to a very great multitude,  and the language of that great
historian is almost similar to the style employed by Livy, when he
relates the introduction and the suppression of the rites of Bacchus.
After the Bacchanals had awakened the severity of the senate, it was
likewise apprehended that a very great multitude, as it were another
people, had been initiated into those abhorred mysteries. A more careful
inquiry soon demonstrated, that the offenders did not exceed seven
thousand; a number indeed sufficiently alarming, when considered as the
object of public justice.  It is with the same candid allowance that we
should interpret the vague expressions of Tacitus, and in a former
instance of Pliny, when they exaggerate the crowds of deluded fanatics
who had forsaken the established worship of the gods. The church of Rome
was undoubtedly the first and most populous of the empire; and we are
possessed of an authentic record which attests the state of religion in
that city about the middle of the third century, and after a peace of
thirty-eight years. The clergy, at that time, consisted of a bishop,
forty-six presbyters, seven deacons, as many sub-deacons, forty-two
acolythes, and fifty readers, exorcists, and porters. The number of
widows, of the infirm, and of the poor, who were maintained by the
oblations of the faithful, amounted to fifteen hundred.  From reason, as
well as from the analogy of Antioch, we may venture to estimate the
Christians of Rome at about fifty thousand. The populousness of that
great capital cannot perhaps be exactly ascertained; but the most modest
calculation will not surely reduce it lower than a million of
inhabitants, of whom the Christians might constitute at the most a
twentieth part.

The western provincials appeared to have derived the knowledge of
Christianity from the same source which had diffused among them the
language, the sentiments, and the manners of Rome. In this more
important circumstance, Africa, as well as Gaul, was gradually fashioned
to the imitation of the capital. Yet notwithstanding the many favorable
occasions which might invite the Roman missionaries to visit their Latin
provinces, it was late before they passed either the sea or the Alps;
nor can we discover in those great countries any assured traces either
of faith or of persecution that ascend higher than the reign of the
Antonines.  The slow progress of the gospel in the cold climate of Gaul,
was extremely different from the eagerness with which it seems to have
been received on the burning sands of Africa. The African Christians
soon formed one of the principal members of the primitive church. The
practice introduced into that province of appointing bishops to the most
inconsiderable towns, and very frequently to the most obscure villages,
contributed to multiply the splendor and importance of their religious
societies, which during the course of the third century were animated by
the zeal of Tertullian, directed by the abilities of Cyprian, and
adorned by the eloquence of Lactantius. But if, on the contrary, we turn
our eyes towards Gaul, we must content ourselves with discovering, in
the time of Marcus Antoninus, the feeble and united congregations of
Lyons and Vienna; and even as late as the reign of Decius, we are
assured, that in a few cities only, Arles, Narbonne, Thoulouse, Limoges,
Clermont, Tours, and Paris, some scattered churches were supported by
the devotion of a small number of Christians.  Silence is indeed very
consistent with devotion; but as it is seldom compatible with zeal, we
may perceive and lament the languid state of Christianity in those
provinces which had exchanged the Celtic for the Latin tongue, since
they did not, during the three first centuries, give birth to a single
ecclesiastical writer. From Gaul, which claimed a just preeminence of
learning and authority over all the countries on this side of the Alps,
the light of the gospel was more faintly reflected on the remote
provinces of Spain and Britain; and if we may credit the vehement
assertions of Tertullian, they had already received the first rays of
the faith, when he addressed his apology to the magistrates of the
emperor Severus.  But the obscure and imperfect origin of the western
churches of Europe has been so negligently recorded, that if we would
relate the time and manner of their foundation, we must supply the
silence of antiquity by those legends which avarice or superstition long
afterwards dictated to the monks in the lazy gloom of their convents.
Of these holy romances, that of the apostle St. James can alone, by its
singular extravagance, deserve to be mentioned. From a peaceful
fisherman of the Lake of Gennesareth, he was transformed into a valorous
knight, who charged at the head of the Spanish chivalry in their battles
against the Moors. The gravest historians have celebrated his exploits;
the miraculous shrine of Compostella displayed his power; and the sword
of a military order, assisted by the terrors of the Inquisition, was
sufficient to remove every objection of profane criticism.

The progress of Christianity was not confined to the Roman empire; and
according to the primitive fathers, who interpret facts by prophecy, the
new religion, within a century after the death of its divine Author, had
already visited every part of the globe. "There exists not," says Justin
Martyr, "a people, whether Greek or Barbarian, or any other race of men,
by whatsoever appellation or manners they may be distinguished, however
ignorant of arts or agriculture, whether they dwell under tents, or
wander about in covered wagons, among whom prayers are not offered up in
the name of a crucified Jesus to the Father and Creator of all things."
But this splendid exaggeration, which even at present it would be
extremely difficult to reconcile with the real state of mankind, can be
considered only as the rash sally of a devout but careless writer, the
measure of whose belief was regulated by that of his wishes. But neither
the belief nor the wishes of the fathers can alter the truth of history.
It will still remain an undoubted fact, that the barbarians of Scythia
and Germany, who afterwards subverted the Roman monarchy, were involved
in the darkness of paganism; and that even the conversion of Iberia, of
Armenia, or of Æthiopia, was not attempted with any degree of success
till the sceptre was in the hands of an orthodox emperor.  Before that
time, the various accidents of war and commerce might indeed diffuse an
imperfect knowledge of the gospel among the tribes of Caledonia,  and
among the borderers of the Rhine, the Danube, and the Euphrates.  Beyond
the last-mentioned river, Edessa was distinguished by a firm and early
adherence to the faith.  From Edessa the principles of Christianity were
easily introduced into the Greek and Syrian cities which obeyed the
successors of Artaxerxes; but they do not appear to have made any deep
impression on the minds of the Persians, whose religious system, by the
labors of a well disciplined order of priests, had been constructed with
much more art and solidity than the uncertain mythology of Greece and
Rome.

Chapter XV: Progress Of The Christian Religion. -- Part IX.

From this impartial though imperfect survey of the progress of
Christianity, it may perhaps seem probable, that the number of its
proselytes has been excessively magnified by fear on the one side, and
by devotion on the other. According to the irreproachable testimony of
Origen,  the proportion of the faithful was very inconsiderable, when
compared with the multitude of an unbelieving world; but, as we are left
without any distinct information, it is impossible to determine, and it
is difficult even to conjecture, the real numbers of the primitive
Christians. The most favorable calculation, however, that can be deduced
from the examples of Antioch and of Rome, will not permit us to imagine
that more than a themselves under the banner of the cross before the
important conversion of Constantine. But their habits of faith, of zeal,
and of union, seemed to multiply their numbers; and the same causes
which contributed to their future increase, served to render their
actual strength more apparent and more formidable.

Such is the constitution of civil society, that whilst a few persons are
distinguished by riches, by honors, and by knowledge, the body of the
people is condemned to obscurity, ignorance and poverty. The Christian
religion, which addressed itself to the whole human race, must
consequently collect a far greater number of proselytes from the lower
than from the superior ranks of life. This innocent and natural
circumstance has been improved into a very odious imputation, which
seems to be less strenuously denied by the apologists, than it is urged
by the adversaries, of the faith; that the new sect of Christians was
almost entirely composed of the dregs of the populace, of peasants and
mechanics, of boys and women, of beggars and slaves, the last of whom
might sometimes introduce the missionaries into the rich and noble
families to which they belonged. These obscure teachers (such was the
charge of malice and infidelity) are as mute in public as they are
loquacious and dogmatical in private. Whilst they cautiously avoid the
dangerous encounter of philosophers, they mingle with the rude and
illiterate crowd, and insinuate themselves into those minds, whom their
age, their sex, or their education, has the best disposed to receive the
impression of superstitious terrors.

This unfavorable picture, though not devoid of a faint resemblance,
betrays, by its dark coloring and distorted features, the pencil of an
enemy. As the humble faith of Christ diffused itself through the world,
it was embraced by several persons who derived some consequence from the
advantages of nature or fortune. Aristides, who presented an eloquent
apology to the emperor Hadrian, was an Athenian philosopher.  Justin
Martyr had sought divine knowledge in the schools of Zeno, of Aristotle,
of Pythagoras, and of Plato, before he fortunately was accosted by the
old man, or rather the angel, who turned his attention to the study of
the Jewish prophets.  Clemens of Alexandria had acquired much various
reading in the Greek, and Tertullian in the Latin, language. Julius
Africanus and Origen possessed a very considerable share of the learning
of their times; and although the style of Cyprian is very different from
that of Lactantius, we might almost discover that both those writers had
been public teachers of rhetoric. Even the study of philosophy was at
length introduced among the Christians, but it was not always productive
of the most salutary effects; knowledge was as often the parent of
heresy as of devotion, and the description which was designed for the
followers of Artemon, may, with equal propriety, be applied to the
various sects that resisted the successors of the apostles. "They
presume to alter the Holy Scriptures, to abandon the ancient rule of
faith, and to form their opinions according to the subtile precepts of
logic. The science of the church is neglected for the study of geometry,
and they lose sight of heaven while they are employed in measuring the
earth. Euclid is perpetually in their hands. Aristotle and Theophrastus
are the objects of their admiration; and they express an uncommon
reverence for the works of Galen. Their errors are derived from the
abuse of the arts and sciences of the infidels, and they corrupt the
simplicity of the gospel by the refinements of human reason."

Nor can it be affirmed with truth, that the advantages of birth and
fortune were always separated from the profession of Christianity.
Several Roman citizens were brought before the tribunal of Pliny, and he
soon discovered, that a great number of persons of every orderof men in
Bithynia had deserted the religion of their ancestors.  His unsuspected
testimony may, in this instance, obtain more credit than the bold
challenge of Tertullian, when he addresses himself to the fears as well
as the humanity of the proconsul of Africa, by assuring him, that if he
persists in his cruel intentions, he must decimate Carthage, and that he
will find among the guilty many persons of his own rank, senators and
matrons of nobles' extraction, and the friends or relations of his most
intimate friends.  It appears, however, that about forty years
afterwards the emperor Valerian was persuaded of the truth of this
assertion, since in one of his rescripts he evidently supposes, that
senators, Roman knights, and ladies of quality, were engaged in the
Christian sect.  The church still continued to increase its outward
splendor as it lost its internal purity; and, in the reign of
Diocletian, the palace, the courts of justice, and even the army,
concealed a multitude of Christians, who endeavored to reconcile the
interests of the present with those of a future life.

And yet these exceptions are either too few in number, or too recent in
time, entirely to remove the imputation of ignorance and obscurity which
has been so arrogantly cast on the first proselytes of Christianity. *
Instead of employing in our defence the fictions of later ages, it will
be more prudent to convert the occasion of scandal into a subject of
edification. Our serious thoughts will suggest to us, that the apostles
themselves were chosen by Providence among the fishermen of Galilee, and
that the lower we depress the temporal condition of the first
Christians, the more reason we shall find to admire their merit and
success. It is incumbent on us diligently to remember, that the kingdom
of heaven was promised to the poor in spirit, and that minds afflicted
by calamity and the contempt of mankind, cheerfully listen to the divine
promise of future happiness; while, on the contrary, the fortunate are
satisfied with the possession of this world; and the wise abuse in doubt
and dispute their vain superiority of reason and knowledge.

We stand in need of such reflections to comfort us for the loss of some
illustrious characters, which in our eyes might have seemed the most
worthy of the heavenly present. The names of Seneca, of the elder and
the younger Pliny, of Tacitus, of Plutarch, of Galen, of the slave
Epictetus, and of the emperor Marcus Antoninus, adorn the age in which
they flourished, and exalt the dignity of human nature. They filled with
glory their respective stations, either in active or contemplative life;
their excellent understandings were improved by study; Philosophy had
purified their minds from the prejudices of the popular superstition;
and their days were spent in the pursuit of truth and the practice of
virtue. Yet all these sages (it is no less an object of surprise than of
concern) overlooked or rejected the perfection of the Christian system.
Their language or their silence equally discover their contempt for the
growing sect, which in their time had diffused itself over the Roman
empire. Those among them who condescended to mention the Christians,
consider them only as obstinate and perverse enthusiasts, who exacted an
implicit submission to their mysterious doctrines, without being able to
produce a single argument that could engage the attention of men of
sense and learning.

It is at least doubtful whether any of these philosophers perused the
apologies * which the primitive Christians repeatedly published in
behalf of themselves and of their religion; but it is much to be
lamented that such a cause was not defended by abler advocates. They
expose with superfluous with and eloquence the extravagance of
Polytheism. They interest our compassion by displaying the innocence and
sufferings of their injured brethren. But when they would demonstrate
the divine origin of Christianity, they insist much more strongly on the
predictions which announced, than on the miracles which accompanied, the
appearance of the Messiah. Their favorite argument might serve to edify
a Christian or to convert a Jew, since both the one and the other
acknowledge the authority of those prophecies, and both are obliged,
with devout reverence, to search for their sense and their
accomplishment. But this mode of persuasion loses much of its weight and
influence, when it is addressed to those who neither understand nor
respect the Mosaic dispensation and the prophetic style.  In the
unskilful hands of Justin and of the succeeding apologists, the sublime
meaning of the Hebrew oracles evaporates in distant types, affected
conceits, and cold allegories; and even their authenticity was rendered
suspicious to an unenlightened Gentile, by the mixture of pious
forgeries, which, under the names of Orpheus, Hermes, and the Sibyls,
were obtruded on him as of equal value with the genuine inspirations of
Heaven. The adoption of fraud and sophistry in the defence of revelation
too often reminds us of the injudicious conduct of those poets who load
their invulnerableheroes with a useless weight of cumbersome and brittle
armor.

But how shall we excuse the supine inattention of the Pagan and
philosophic world, to those evidences which were represented by the hand
of Omnipotence, not to their reason, but to their senses? During the age
of Christ, of his apostles, and of their first disciples, the doctrine
which they preached was confirmed by innumerable prodigies. The lame
walked, the blind saw, the sick were healed, the dead were raised,
dæmons were expelled, and the laws of Nature were frequently suspended
for the benefit of the church. But the sages of Greece and Rome turned
aside from the awful spectacle, and, pursuing the ordinary occupations
of life and study, appeared unconscious of any alterations in the moral
or physical government of the world. Under the reign of Tiberius, the
whole earth,  or at least a celebrated province of the Roman empire,
was involved in a preternatural darkness of three hours. Even this
miraculous event, which ought to have excited the wonder, the curiosity,
and the devotion of mankind, passed without notice in an age of science
and history.  It happened during the lifetime of Seneca and the elder
Pliny, who must have experienced the immediate effects, or received the
earliest intelligence, of the prodigy. Each of these philosophers, in a
laborious work, has recorded all the great phenomena of Nature,
earthquakes, meteors comets, and eclipses, which his indefatigable
curiosity could collect.  Both the one and the other have omitted to
mention the greatest phenomenon to which the mortal eye has been witness
since the creation of the globe. A distinct chapter of Pliny  is
designed for eclipses of an extraordinary nature and unusual duration;
but he contents himself with describing the singular defect of light
which followed the murder of Cæsar, when, during the greatest part of a
year, the orb of the sun appeared pale and without splendor. The season
of obscurity, which cannot surely be compared with the preternatural
darkness of the Passion, had been already celebrated by most of the
poets  and historians of that memorable age.

End Of Vol. I.