Then he sailed for the Archipelago, swept its inlets, spread his ships everywhere, and drove the foe towards Cilicia. Here they gathered their fleet and gave him battle, but suffered a total defeat. A surrender followed, to which he won them over by lenient terms. In three months from the day he began his work the war was ended, and the pirates who had so long troubled the republic of Rome had retired from business.



CAESAR AND POMPEY.

There were three leaders in Rome, Pompey, whom Sulla had named the Great, Crassus, the rich, and Caesar, the shrewd and wise. Two of these had reached their utmost height. For Pompey there was to be no more greatness, for Crassus no more riches. But Caesar was the coming man of Rome. After a youth given to profligate pleasures, in which he spent money as fast as Crassus collected it, and accumulated debt more rapidly than Pompey accumulated fame, the innate powers of the man began to declare themselves. He studied oratory and made his mark in the Roman Forum; he studied the political situation, and step by step made himself a power among men. He was shrewd enough to cultivate Pompey, then the Roman favorite, and brought himself into closer relations with him by marrying his relative. Steadily he grew into public favor and respect, and laid his hands on the reins of control.

There was a fourth man of prominence, Cicero, the great scholar, philosopher, and orator. He prosecuted Verres, who, as governor of Sicily, had committed frightful excesses, and drove him from Rome. He prosecuted Catiline, who had made a conspiracy to seize the government, and even to burn Rome. The conspirators were foiled and Catiline killed. But Cicero, earnest and eloquent as he was, lacked manliness and courage, and was driven into exile by his enemies.

There remained the three leaders, Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus, and these three made a secret compact to control the government, forming what became known as a triumvirate, or three man power. Pompey married Julia, the young and beautiful daughter of Caesar, and the two seemed very closely united.

Caesar was elected consul, and in this position won public favor by proposing some highly popular laws. After his year as consul he was made governor of Gaul, and now began an extraordinary career. The man who had by turns shown himself a dissolute spendthrift, an orator, and a political leader, suddenly developed a new power, and proved himself one of the greatest soldiers the world has ever known.

Gaul, as then known, had two divisions,—Cisalpine Gaul, or the Gaulish settlements in Northern Italy; and Transalpine Gaul, or Gaul beyond the Alps, including the present countries of France and Switzerland. In the latter country Rome possessed only a narrow strip of land, then known as the Province, since then known as the country of Provence.

From this centre Caesar, with the small army under his command, consisting of three legions, entered upon a career of conquest which astonished Rome and drew upon him the eyes of the civilized world. He had hardly been appointed when he received word that the Helvetian tribes of Switzerland were advancing on Geneva, the northern outpost of the Province, with a view of invading the West. He hastened thither, met and defeated them, killed a vast multitude, and drove the remnant back to their own country. Then, invited by some northern tribes, he attacked a great German band which had invaded Northern Gaul, and defeated them so utterly that few escaped across the Rhine. From that point he made his way into and conquered Belgium. In a year's time he had vastly extended the Roman dominion in the West.

For nine years this career of conquest continued. The barbarian Gauls proved fierce and valiant soldiers, but at the end of that time they had been completely subdued and made passive subjects of Rome. Caesar even crossed the sea into Britain, and look the first step towards the conquest of that island, of which Rome had barely heard before.

During this career of conquest many hundreds of thousands of men were slain. But, then, Caesar was victorious and Rome triumphant, and what mattered it if a million or two of barbarians were sacrificed to the demon of conquest? It mattered little to Rome, in which great city barbarian life was scarcely worth a second thought. It mattered little to Caesar, who, like all great conquerors, was quite willing to mount to power on a ladder of human lives.

Meanwhile what were Caesar's partners in the Triumvirate doing? When Caesar was given the province of Gaul, Pompey was made governor of Spain, and Crassus of Syria. Crassus, who had gained some military fame by overcoming Spartacus the gladiator, wished to gain more, and sailed for Asia, where he stirred up a war with distant Parthia. That was the end of Crassus. He marched into the desert of Mesopotamia, and left his body on the sands. His head was sent to Orodes, the Parthian king, who ordered molten gold to be poured into his mouth,—a ghastly commentary on his thirst for wealth.

Pompey left Spain to take care of itself, and remained in Rome, where he sought to add to his popularity by building a great stone theatre, large enough to hold forty thousand people, where for many days he amused the people with plays and games. Here, for the first time, a rhinoceros was shown. Eighteen elephants were killed by Libyan hunters, and five hundred lions were slain, while hosts of gladiators fought for life and honor.

While thus seeking popular favor, Pompey was secretly working against the interests of Caesar, of whose fame he had grown jealous. His wife Julia died, and he joined his strength with that of the aristocrats; while Caesar, a nephew of old Marius, was looked upon as a leader of the party of the people.

Pompey's power and influence over the senate increased until he was virtually dictator in Rome. Caesar's ten years' governorship in Gaul would expire on the 1st of January, 49 B.C., and it was resolved by Pompey and the senate to deprive him of the command of the army. But Caesar was not the man to be dealt with in this summary manner. His career of conquest ended, he entered his province of Cisalpine Gaul, or Northern Italy, where he was received as a great hero and conqueror. From here he sent secret agents to Rome, bribed with large sums a number of important persons, and took other steps to guard his interests.

Meanwhile the senate tried to disarm Caesar by unfair means. They had the power to shorten or lengthen the year as they pleased, and announced that that year would end on November 12, and that Caesar must resign his authority on the 13th. Curio, a tribune of Rome and Caesar's agent, said that it was only fair that Pompey also should give up the command of the army which he had near Rome. This he refused to do, and Curio publicly declared that he was trying to make himself a tyrant.

Finally the senate decreed that each general should give up one legion, to be used in a war with the Parthians. There was no such war, but it was pretended that there soon would be. Pompey agreed, but he called upon Caesar to send him back a legion which he had lent him three years before. Caesar did not hesitate to do so: he sent Pompey's legion and his own; but he took care to win the soldiers by giving each a valuable present as he went away. These legions were not sent to Asia, but to Capua. The senate wanted them for use nearer than Parthia.

Caesar was then at Ravenna, a sea-side city on the southern limit of his province. South of it flowed a little stream called the Rubicon, which formed his border-line. Here he took a bold step. He sent a letter to the senate, offering to give up his command if Pompey would do the same. A violent debate followed in the senate, and a decree was passed that unless Caesar laid down his command by a certain day he should be declared an outlaw and enemy of Rome. At the same time the two consuls were made dictators, and the two tribunes who favored Caesar—one of them the afterwards famous Marc Antony—fled for safety from Rome.

The decree of the senate was equivalent to a declaration of war. On the one side was Pompey, proud, over-confident, and unprepared. On the other was Caesar, knowing his strength, satisfied in the power of the money he had so freely distributed, and sure of his men. He called his soldiers together and asked if they would support him. They answered that they would follow wherever he led. At once he marched for the Rubicon, the limit of his province, to cross which stream meant an invasion of Italy and civil war.

Plutarch tells us that he halted here and deeply meditated, troubled by the thought that to cross that stream meant the death of thousands of his countrymen. After a period of such meditation, he cried aloud, "The die is cast; let us go where the gods and the injustice of our foes direct!" and, spurring his horse forward, he plunged into the stream.

This story, which has been effectively used by a great epic poet of Rome, probably relates what never happened. From all we know of Caesar, the question of bloodshed in attaining the aims of his ambition did not greatly trouble his mind. Yet the story has taken hold, and "to cross the Rubicon" has become a proverb, signifying the taking of a step of momentous importance.

Caesar, after the legions sent the senate, had but a single legion left with him. He sent orders to others to join him with all haste, but they were distant. As for Pompey, knowing and despising the weakness of his rival, he had made no preparations. He had Caesar's two legions at Capua and one of his own at Rome, while thousands of Sulla's veterans were settled in the country round. "I have but to stamp my foot," he said, "and armed men will start from the soil of Italy."

He did not stamp, or, if he did, the armed men did not start. Caesar marched southward with his accustomed rapidity. Town after town opened its gates to him. Labienus, one of his principal officers, deserted to Pompey. Caesar showed his contempt by sending his baggage after him. Two legions from Gaul having reached him, he pushed more boldly still to the south. The cities taken were treated as friends; there was no pillage, no violence. Everywhere Caesar won golden opinions by his humanity.

Meanwhile Pompey's armed men came not; his rival was rapidly approaching; he and his party of the senate fled from Rome. They reached Brundusium, where Caesar with six legions quickly appeared. The town was strong, and Pompey took his time to embark his men and sail from Italy. Disappointed of his prey, Caesar turned back, and entered Rome on April 1, now full lord and master of Italy and its capital city. In the treasury of that city was a sacred hoard of money, which had been set aside since the invasion of the Gauls, centuries before. The people voted this money for his use. There was no more danger from the Gauls, it was said, for they had all become subjects of Rome. Yet the keeper of the treasury refused to produce the keys, and when Caesar ordered the doors to be broken open, tried to bar his passage into the sacred chamber.

"Stand aside, young man," said Caesar, with stern dignity; "it is easier for me to do than to say."

Caesar was not the man to rest while an enemy was at large. Pompey had gone to the East. There was no fleet with which to follow him; and in Spain Pompey had an army of veterans, who might enter Italy as soon as he left it. These must first be dealt with.

This did not delay him long. Before the year closed all Spain was his. Most of the soldiers of Pompey joined his army. Those who did not were dismissed unharmed. Everywhere he showed the greatest leniency, and everywhere won friends. On his return to Rome he gained new friends by passing laws relieving debtors and restoring their civil rights to the children of Sulla's victims.

He remained in Rome only eleven days, and then sailed for Greece, where Pompey had gathered a large army. It was January 4, 48 B.C., when he sailed. On June 6 of the same year was fought, at Pharsalia, in Thessaly, a great battle which decided the fate of the Roman world.

Pompey's army consisted of about forty-four thousand men. Caesar had but half as many. But his men were all veterans; many of those of Pompey were new levies, collected in Asia and Macedonia. The battle was fierce and desperate. During its course the cavalry of Pompey attacked Caesar's weak troops and drove them back. The infantry advanced to their support, and struck straight at the faces of the foe. Plutarch tells us that this cavalry was made up of young Romans, of the aristocratic class and proud of their beauty, and that the order was given to Caesar's soldiers to spoil their beauty for them. But this story, like many told by Plutarch, lacks proof.

Whatever was the cause, the cavalry were broken and fled in disorder. Caesar's reserve force now attacked Pompey's worn troops, who gave way everywhere. Caesar ordered that all Romans should be spared, and only the Asiatics pursued. The legions, hearing of this, ceased to resist. The foreign soldiers fled, after great slaughter. Pompey rode hastily from the field.

The camp was taken. The booty captured was immense. But Caesar would not let his soldiers rest or plunder till they had completed their work. This proved easy; all the Romans submitted; the Asiatics fled. Pompey put to sea, where he had still a powerful fleet. Africa was his, and he determined to take refuge in Egypt. It proved that he had enemies there. A small boat was sent off to bring him ashore. Among those on board was an officer named Septimius, who had served under Pompey in the war with the pirates.

Pompey recognized his old officer, and entered the boat alone, his wife and friends watching from the vessel as he was rowed ashore. On the beach a number of persons were collected, as if to receive him with honor. The boat stopped. Pompey took the hand of the person next him to assist him to rise. As he did so Septimius, who stood behind, struck him with his sword. Pompey, finding that he was among enemies, made no resistance, and the next blow laid him low in death. His assassins cut off his head and left his body on the beach. Here one of his freedmen and an old soldier of his army broke up a fishing-boat and made him a rude funeral pile. Such were the obsequies of the one-time master of the world.

The battle of Pharsalia practically ended the struggle that made Caesar lord of Rome. Some more fighting was necessary. Africa was still in arms. But a few short campaigns sufficed to bring it to terms, while a campaign against a son of Mithridates ended in five days, Caesar's victory being announced to the senate in three short words, "Veni, vidi, vici" (I came, I saw, I conquered). Then he returned to Rome, where he shed not a drop of the blood of his enemies, though that of gladiators and wild animals was freely spilled in the gorgeous games and festivals with which he amused the sovereign people.



THE ASSASSINATION OF CAESAR.

The republic of Rome was at an end. The army had become the power, and the will of the head of the army was the law, of the state. Caesar celebrated his victories with grand triumphs; but he celebrated them more notably still by a clemency that signified his innate nobility of character. Instead of dyeing the streets of Rome with blood, as Marius and Sulla had done before him, he proclaimed a general amnesty, and his rise to power was not signalized by the slaughter of one of his foes.



He signalized it, on the contrary, by an activity in civil reform as marked as had been his energy in war. The title and privilege of Roman citizenship had so far been confined to Italians. He extended it to many parts of Gaul and Spain. He formed plans to drain the Pontine marshes, to make a survey and map of the empire, to form a code of laws, and other great works, which he did not live to fulfil. Of all his reforms, the best known is the revision of the Calendar. Before his time the Roman year was three hundred and fifty-five days long, an extra month being occasionally added, so as to regain the lost days. But this was very irregularly done, and the civil year had got to be far away from the solar year. To correct this Caesar was obliged to add ninety days to the year 46 B.C., which was therefore given the unprecedented length of four hundred and forty-five days. He ordered that the year in future should be three hundred and sixty-five and one-fourth days in length, a change which brought it very nearly, but not quite, to the true length. A new reform was made in 1582, by Pope Gregory XIII., which made the civil and solar years almost exactly agree.

Caesar did not live to see his reforms consummated. He was murdered, perhaps because he had refused to murder. In a few months after he had brought the civil war to an end he fell the victim of assassins. The story of his death is famous in Roman history, and must here be told.

After his triumphs Caesar, who had been dictator twice before, was named dictator for the term of ten years. He was also made censor for three years. These offices gave him such unlimited power that he was declared absolute master of the lives and fortunes of the citizens and subjects of Rome. Imperator men called him, a term we translate emperor, and after his return from Spain, where he overthrew the last army of his foes, the senate named him dictator and imperator for life.

These high honors were not sufficient for Caesar's ambition. He wished to be made king. He had no son of his own, but desired to make his power hereditary, and chose his grandnephew Octavius as his heir. But he was to find the people resolutely bent on having no king over Rome.

To try their temper some of his friends placed a crown on his statue in the Forum. Two of the tribunes tore it off, and the crowd loudly applauded. Later, at the festival of the Alban Mount, some voices in the crowd hailed him as king. But the mutterings of the multitude grew so loud, that he quickly cried, "I am no king, but Caesar."

At the feast of the Lupercalia, on February 15, he was approached by Marc Antony, as he sat in his golden chair, and offered an embroidered band, such as the sovereigns of Asia wore on their heads. The crowd failed to applaud, and Caesar pushed it aside. Then the multitude broke out in a roar of applause. Again and again he rejected the glittering bauble, and again the people broke into loud cries of approval. It was evident that they would have no king. At a later date it was moved in the senate that Caesar should be king in the provinces; but he died before this decree could be put in effect.

There was discontent at Rome. Even the clemency of Caesar had made him enemies, for there were many who hoped to profit by proscription. His justice made foes among those who wished to grow rich through extortion and oppression. He secluded himself while engaged on his reforms, and this lost him popularity. A conspiracy was organized against him by a soldier named Caius Cassius and others of the discontented. For leader they selected Marcus Junius Brutus, who believed himself a descendant of the Brutus of old, and was won to their plot by being told that, while his great ancestor had expelled the last king of Rome, he was resting content under the rule of a new king.

Brutus, at length convinced that Caesar was seeking to overthrow the Roman republic, and that patriotism required him to emulate the famous Brutus of old, joined the conspiracy, which now included more than sixty persons, most of whom had received benefits and honors from the man they wished to kill. But no considerations of gratitude prevailed; they determined on Caesar's death; and the meeting of the senate called for the Ides of March (March 15) was fixed for the time and place of the projected murder.

The morning of that day seemed full of omens and warnings. The secret was oozing out. Caesar received more than one intimation of impending danger. A soothsayer had even bidden him to "beware of the Ides of March." During the preceding night his wife was so disturbed by dreams that in the morning she begged him not to go that day to the senate, as she was sure some peril was at hand. Her words failed to trouble Caesar's resolute mind, but to quiet her apprehensions he agreed not to go, and directed Marc Antony to preside over the senate in his stead.

When this word was brought to the assembled senate the conspirators were in despair. Their secret was known to too many to remain a secret long. Even a day's delay might be fatal. An hour might put Caesar on his guard. What was to be done? Unless their victim could be brought to the senate chamber all would be lost.

Decimus Brutus, one of the conspirators who had been favored by Caesar's bounty, went hastily to his house, and, telling him that the senate proposed that day to make him king of the provinces, bade him not to yield to such idle matters as auguries and dreams, but show himself above any such superstitious weakness. These cunning arguments induced Caesar to change his mind, and he called for his litter and was carried forth.

On his way to the senate new intimations of danger came to him. A slave had in some way discovered the conspiracy, and tried to force himself through the crowd to the dictator's litter, but was driven back by the throng. Another informant was more fortunate. A Greek philosopher, Artemidorus by name, had also discovered the conspiracy, and succeeded in reaching Caesar's side. He thrust into his hand a roll of paper containing a full account of the impending peril. But the star of Caesar that day was against him. Thinking the roll to contain a petition of some sort, he laid it in the litter by his side, to examine at a more convenient time. And thus he went on to his death, despite all the warnings sent him by the fates.

The conspirators meanwhile were far from easy in mind. There were signs among them that their plot had leaked out. Casca, one of their number, was accosted by a friend, "Ah, Casca, Brutus has told me your secret." The conspirator started in alarm, but was relieved by the next words, "Where will you find money for the expenses of the aedileship?" The man evidently referred to an expected office.

Another senator, Popillius Laenas, hit the mark closer. "You have my good wishes; but what you do, do quickly," he said to Brutus and Cassius.

The alarm caused by his words was doubled when he stepped up to Caesar, on his entrance to the chamber, and began to whisper in his ear. Cassius was so terrified that he grasped his dagger with the thought of killing himself. He was stopped by Brutus, who quietly said that Popillius seemed rather to be asking a favor than telling a secret. Whatever his purpose, Caesar was not checked, but moved quietly on and took his seat.

Immediately Cimber, one of the conspirators, approached with a petition, in which he begged for the recall of his brother from banishment. The others pressed round, praying Caesar to grant his request. Displeased by their importunity, Caesar attempted to rise, but was pulled down into his seat by Cimber, while Casca stabbed him in the side, but inflicted only a slight wound. Then they all assailed him with drawn daggers.

Caesar kept them off for a brief time by winding his gown as a shield round his left arm, and using his sharp writing style for a weapon. But when he saw Brutus approach prepared to strike he exclaimed in deep sorrow and reproach, "Et tu, Brute!" (Thou too, Brutus!) and covering his face with his gown, he ceased to resist. Their daggers pierced his body till he had received twenty-three wounds, when he fell dead at the base of the statue of Pompey, which looked silently down on the slaughter of his great and successful rival.

What followed this base and fruitless deed may be briefly told. The senators not in the plot rose in alarm and fled from the house. When Brutus turned to seek to justify his deed only empty benches remained. Then the assassins hurried to the Forum, to tell the people that they had freed Rome from a despot. But the people were hostile, and the words of Brutus fell on unfriendly ears.

Marc Antony followed, and delivered a telling oration, which Shakespeare has magnificently paraphrased. He showed the mob a waxen image of Caesar's body, pierced with wounds, and the garment rent by murderous blades. His words wrought his hearers to fury. They tore up benches, tables, and everything on which they could lay their hands, for a funeral pile, placed on it the corpse, and set it on fire. Then, seizing blazing embers from the pile, they rushed in quest of vengeance to the houses of the conspirators. They were too late; all had fled. The will of the dictator, in which he had made a large donation to every citizen of Rome, added to the popular fury, and a frenzy of vengeance took possession of the people of Rome.



We must give the sequel of this murderous deed in a few words. Marc Antony was now master of Rome. He increased his power by pretending moderation, and having a law passed to abolish the dictatorship forever. But there were other actors on the scene. Octavius, whom Caesar's will had named as his heir, took quick steps to gain his heritage. Antony had taken possession of Caesar's wealth, but Octavius managed to raise money enough to pay his uncle's legacy to the citizens of Rome. A third man of power was Lepidus, who commanded an army near Rome, and was prepared to take part in the course of events.

Octavius was still only a boy, not yet twenty years of age. But he was shrewd and ambitious, and soon succeeded in having himself elected consul and put at the head of a large army. Cicero aided him with a series of orations directed against Antony, which were so keen and bitter, and had such an effect upon the people, that Antony was declared a public enemy. Octavius marched to meet him and Lepidus, who were marching southward with another large army.

Instead of fighting, however, the three leaders met in secret conclave, and agreed to divide the power in Rome between them. This compact is known as the Second Triumvirate. Its members followed the example of Marius and Sulla, not that of Caesar, and resolved to extirpate their enemies. Each of them gave up personal friends to the vengeance of the others. Of their victims the most famous was Cicero, who had delivered his orations against Antony in aid of Octavius. The ambitious boy was base enough to yield his friend to the vengeance of the incensed Antony. No less than three hundred senators and two thousand knights fell victims to this new proscription, which while it lasted made a reign of terror in Rome.

Brutus and Cassius had meanwhile made themselves masters of Greece and the eastern provinces of Rome, and were ready to meet the forces of the Triumvirate in the field. The decisive battle was fought on the field of Philippi in Northern Greece. The division of Cassius was defeated, and he killed himself in despair. Twenty days afterwards another battle was fought on the same field, in which Brutus was defeated, and likewise put an end to his life. The triumvirs were undisputed lords of Rome. The imperial rule of Caesar had lasted but a few months, and ended with his life. But with Octavius began an imperial era which lasted till the end of the dominion of Rome.



ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA.

The battles of Philippi and the death of Brutus and Cassius put an end to the republican party to whom Caesar owed his death. The whole realm was handed over to the imperial Triumvirate, who now made a new division of the vast Roman world. Antony took as his share all the mighty realm of the East; Octavius all the West. To Lepidus, whom his powerful confederates did not take the trouble to consult, only Africa was left.

The after-career of Antony was a curious and impressive one. He loved a bewitching Egyptian queen, and for a false love lost the vast dominion he had won. The story is one of the most romantic and popular of all that have come to us from the past. It has been told in detail by Plutarch and richly dramatized by Shakespeare. We give it here in brief epitome.

Fourteen years previously Antony had visited Alexandria, and had there seen the youthful Cleopatra, then a girl of fifteen, but already so beautiful and attractive that the susceptible Roman was deeply smitten with her charms. Later she had charmed Caesar, and now when the lord of the East set out on a tour of his new dominions, the love queen of Egypt left her capital for Cilicia with the purpose of making him her captive.

It was midsummer of the year 41 B.C. when Antony arrived at Tarsus, on the river Cydnus. Up this stream to visit him came, in more than Oriental pomp, the beautiful Egyptian queen. The galley that bore her was gorgeous beyond comparison. Its sails were of Tyrian purple; silver oars fretted the yielding wave, while music timed their rise and fall; the poop glittered with burnished gold; rich perfumes filled the air with fragrance. Here, on a splendid couch, under a spangled canopy, reclined Cleopatra, attired as Venus, and surrounded by attendants dressed as Graces and Cupids. Beautiful slaves moved oars and ropes, and the whole array was one of wondrous charm. We cannot do better than quote Shakespeare's vivid description of this unequalled spectacle:

"The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water; the poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water that they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, It beggared all description; she did lie In her pavilion—cloth-of-gold of tissue— Outpicturing that Venus where we see The fancy outwork nature; on each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colored fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool."

The people of Tarsus ran in crowds to gaze on this wondrous spectacle, leaving Antony alone in the Forum. At the request of Cleopatra he came also, and was so captivated at sight that he became her slave. He forgot Rome, forgot his wife Fulvia, forgot honor and dignity, through his wild passion for this Egyptian sorceress. Following her to Alexandria, he laid aside his Roman garb for the Oriental costume of the Egyptian court, gave way to all Cleopatra's pleasure-loving caprices, and lived in a perpetual round of orgies and festivities, heedless of honor and duty, and caring for naught but love and sensual enjoyment.

Intoxicated with pleasure, Antony did not know what risk he ran. Shortly before Octavius had been spoken of as a boy, whom it would be easy to manage and control. He was feeble and sickly,—so much so, indeed, that just at this time his death was reported in Rome. But the "boy" was ambitious, astute, and far-seeing, and Marc Antony was descending to ruin with every step he took in his career of folly and profligacy.

The history of the succeeding years is long, but must here be made short. The two lords of Rome were changed from friends to enemies by the act of Fulvia, the wife of Antony. Octavius had married her daughter Claudia, and now divorced her. Anger at this, and a hope of winning Antony from the seductions of the Egyptian queen, caused her to organize a formidable revolt against Octavius. She succeeded in raising a large army, but Antony was still too absorbed in Cleopatra to come to her aid, and Agrippa, the able general of Octavius, soon put down the revolt.

Then, when it was too late to help her, Antony awoke from his lethargy, and sailed to battle with Octavius. He besieged Brundusium. But Fulvia had died, the soldiers had no heart for civil war, and the great rivals again made peace. Antony married Octavia, the sister of Octavius, they divided the Roman world between them as before, and Rome was made happy by a grand round of games and festivities.



For three years Antony remained true to his new wife, and aided Octavius in putting down the foes of Rome. Then, during a campaign in Syria, his old passion for the fascinating Egyptian returned, he called Cleopatra to him, dallied with her instead of prosecuting his march, and in the end was forced to retreat in haste from the barbarian foe.

For three years now Antony was the willing slave of the enchanting queen. The courage and stoical endurance of the soldier vanished, and were replaced by the soft indulgence of the voluptuary. The rigid discipline of the camp was exchanged for the idle and often childish amusements of the Oriental court. Cleopatra enchained him with an endless round of pleasures and profligacies. Now, while in a fishing-boat on the Nile, the queen amused him by having salted fish fixed by divers on his hook, which he drew up amid the laughter of the party. Again she wagered that she would consume ten million sesterces at a meal, and won her wager by drinking vinegar in which she had dissolved a priceless pearl. All the enjoyments that the fancy of the cunning enchantress could devise were spread around him, and he let the world roll unheeded by while he yielded to their alluring charm.

Antony posed at festive tables in the character of the god Osiris, while Cleopatra played the role of Isis. He issued coins which bore her head and his. He gave away kingdoms and principalities in the East to please her fancy. It was her hope and aim to lead her yielding lover to the conquest of Rome, and to rule as empress of that imperial city.

But the madness of Antony led to destruction, not empire. The story of his doings was repeated at Rome, where the voluptuary lost credit as Octavius gained it. Antony's friends urged him to dismiss Cleopatra and fight for the empire. Instead of this the infatuated madman divorced Octavia and clung to the Egyptian queen.

This act led to an open rupture. Octavius, by authority of the senate, declared war, not against Antony, but against Cleopatra. Antony was at length roused. He gathered an army in haste, passed to Ephesus and Athens, and everywhere levied men and collected ships. A last and great struggle for the supreme headship of the Roman world was at hand.

Octavius was not skilled in war, but he had in Agrippa one of the ablest of ancient generals, and was wise enough to trust all warlike operations to him. Antony had strongly fortified himself at Actium, on the west coast of Greece, while the strong fleet he had gathered lay in its spacious bay. Here took place one of the decisive battles of the world's history.

Antony had made the fatal mistake of bringing Cleopatra with him. Under her advice he played the part of a poltroon instead of a soldier. His chief officers, disgusted by his fascination, deserted him in numbers, and, yielding to her urgent fears, he resolved to fly with the fleet and abandon the army.

In this act of folly he failed. A strong gale from the south kept the fleet for four days in the harbor. Then the ships of Octavius came up, and the two fleets joined battle off the headland of Actium.

The ships of Antony were much larger and more powerful than those of Octavius. Little impression was made on them by the light Italian vessels, and had Antony been a soldier still, or Cleopatra possessed as much courage as guile, the victory might well have been theirs. But battle was no place for the pleasure-loving queen. Filled with terror, she took advantage of the first wind that came, and sailed hastily away, followed by sixty Egyptian ships.

The moment Antony discovered her flight he gave up the world for love. Springing from his ship-of-war into a light galley, he hastened in wild pursuit after his flying mistress. Overtaking her vessel, he went on board, but seated himself in morose misery at a distance, and would have nothing to do with her. Ruin and despair were now his mistresses.

Their commander fled, the ships fought on, and yielded not till the greater part of them were in flames. Before night they were all destroyed, and with them perished most of those on board, while all the treasure was lost. When the army heard of Antony's desertion the legions went over to the conqueror. That brief sea-fight had ended the war.

For a year Octavius did not trouble his rival. He spent the time in cementing his power in Greece and Asia Minor. Cleopatra tried her fascinations on him, as she had on Caesar and Antony, but in vain. She sought to fly to some place beyond the reach of Rome, but Arabs destroyed her ships. At length Octavius came. Antony made some show of hostility, but Cleopatra betrayed the fleet to his rival and all resistance ended. Octavius entered the open gates of Alexandria as a conqueror.

The queen shut herself up in a building which she had erected as a mausoleum. It had no door, being built to receive her body after death, and word was sent out that she was already dead.

When these false tidings were brought to Antony all his anger against the fair traitress was replaced by a flood of his old tenderness. In despair he stabbed himself, bidding his attendants to lay his body beside that of Cleopatra.

Still living, he was borne to the queen's retreat, where, moved by pity, she had him drawn up by cords into an upper window. Here she threw herself in agony on his body, bathed his face with her tears, and continued to bemoan his fate until he was dead.

She afterwards consented to receive Octavius. He spoke her fairly, but she was wise enough to see that all her charms were lost on him, and that he proposed to degrade her by making her walk as a captive in his triumph.

With a cunning greater than his own, Cleopatra promised to submit. She had no apparent means of taking her life in the cell, every dangerous weapon was removed by his orders, and he left her, as he supposed, a safe victim of his wiles.

He did not know Cleopatra. When his messengers returned, at the hour fixed, to conduct her away, they found only the dead body of Cleopatra stretched upon her couch, and by her side her two faithful attendants, Iris and Charmion. It is said that she died from the bite of an asp, a venomous Egyptian serpent, which had been secretly conveyed to her concealed in a basket of fruit; but this story remains unconfirmed.

Plutarch tells the story thus: "But when they opened the doors they found Cleopatra stark dead, laid upon a bed of gold, attired and arrayed in her royal robes, and one of her two women, who was called Iris, dead at her feet, and the other woman (called Charmion) half dead, and trembling, trimming the diadem which Cleopatra wore upon her head.

"One of the soldiers, seeing her, angrily said to her, 'Is that well done, Charmion?' 'Very well,' said she again, 'and meet for a princess descended from the race of so many noble kings.' She said no more, but fell down dead, hard by the bed.

"Now Caesar, though he was marvellous sorry for the death of Cleopatra, yet he wondered at her noble mind and courage, and therefore commanded that she should be nobly buried and laid by Antony."

Thus ends the story of these two famous lovers of old. Octavius, afterwards known as Caesar Augustus, reigned sole emperor of Rome, and the republic was at an end. He was not formally proclaimed emperor, but liberty and independence were thereafter forgotten words in Rome. He ended the old era of Roman history by closing the Temple of Janus, for the third time since it was built, and by freely forgiving all the friends of Antony. He had nothing to fear and had no thirst for blood and misery. Base as he had shown himself in his youth, his reign was a noble one, and during it Rome reached its highest level of literary and military glory.



AN IMPERIAL MONSTER.

A being, half monster, half madman, had come to empire in Rome. This was Caius Caesar, great-grandson of Augustus, who in his short career as emperor displayed a malignant cruelty unsurpassed by the worst of Roman emperors, and a mad folly unequalled by any. The only conceivable excuse for him is mental disease; but insanity which takes the form of thirst for blood, and is combined with unlimited power, is a spectacle to make the very gods weep. We describe his career as the most exaggerated instance on record of mingled folly and malignity.

Brought up in the camp, he was christened by the soldiers Caligula, from the soldier's boots (caligae) which he wore. By shrewd dissimulation he preserved his life through the reign of Tiberius, and was left heir to the throne along with the emperor's grandson. But, deceiving the senate by his pretended moderation, he was appointed by that body sole emperor.

They little knew what they did. Tiberius, who appears to have read him truly, spoke of educating him "for the destruction of the Roman people," and Caligula seemed eager to make these words good. At first, indeed, he seemed generous and merciful, mingling this affectation with a savage profligacy and voluptuousness. Illness, however, apparently affected his brain or destroyed what little moral nature he possessed, and he quickly embarked on a career of frightful excess and barbarity.

The great wealth left by Tiberius—over twenty-five million dollars—was expended by him in a single year, and to gain new funds he taxed and robbed his subjects to an incredible extent. One of his methods of finance was to force wealthy citizens to gamble with him for enormous sums, and when they lost their all (they dared not win), he would make their lives the stake and bid their friends redeem them. In addition to this open robbery of the rich, taxes of all sorts were laid and unlimited oppressions enforced. The new edicts of the emperor were written so small and posted so high as to be unreadable, yet no excuse of ignorance of the law was admitted in extenuation of a fault.

The funds obtained by such oppressive means were lavished on the most extravagant follies. We are told of loaves of solid gold set before his guests, and the prows of galleys adorned with diamonds. His favorite horse was kept in an ivory stable and fed from a golden manger, and when invited to a banquet at his own table was regaled with gilded oats, served in a golden basin of exquisite workmanship.

In addition to these domestic follies, he built villas and laid out gardens without regard to cost; and, that he might vie with Xerxes, he constructed a bridge of ships three miles long, from Baiae to Puteoli, on which he built houses and planted trees. This madness was concluded by throwing a great many of his guests from the bridge into the sea, and by driving recklessly with his war-galley through the throng of boats that had gathered to witness the spectacle.

These cruelties were mild compared with his more deliberate ones. Rome was filled with executions, the estates of his victims being confiscated; and it was his choice delight to have these victims tortured and slain in his presence while at dinner, the officers being bidden to protract their sufferings, that they might "feel themselves die." On one occasion he expressed the mad wish that all the Roman people had but one neck, that he might strike it off at a blow.

Priding himself on the indifference with which he could gaze on human torture, it was one of his enjoyments to witness criminals torn to pieces by wild beasts, and if criminals proved scarce he did not hesitate to order some of the spectators to be thrown into the arena. In the same manner, if a full supply of gladiators was wanting, he would command Roman knights to battle in the arena, taking delight in the fact that this was viewed as an infamous pursuit. He kept two lists containing names of knights and senators whom he intended to put to death, and these contained the majority of both those bodies of Roman patricians. He is said to have put one man to death for being better dressed than himself, and another for being better looking.

He married more wives than he had years of empire; but when one of these wives, Drusilla by name, died, he affected the bitterest grief, exiling himself to Sicily, and letting his beard and hair grow into wild disorder. On his return to Rome his subjects found themselves in a dangerous quandary. Those who made a show of sadness were declared guilty of disrespect to the memory of the queen, who had been translated to the joys of heaven. Those who seemed glad were adjudged equally guilty for not mourning her loss. And those who showed neither joy nor sorrow were accused of criminal indifference to his feelings. One man, who sold warm water in the streets, was sentenced to death for daring to pursue his occupation on so solemn an occasion.

At a loss, as it would appear, in what madness next to indulge, Caligula finally not only declared himself a god, but erected a temple to his own divinity, and created a college of priests to serve at his altar. Among these were some of the first senators of Rome, who vied with each other in adulation to this impious wretch. Not content with these, he made his wife a priest, then his horse, and at length became a priest to himself. He played with the dignities of the realm in the same manner as with its religion, raised the ministers of his lusts to the highest offices, and finally went so far as to make his horse a consul of Rome.

In his position as a deity he pretended to be equal to and on friendly terms with Jupiter, and would whisper in the ears of his statue as if they were in familiar intercourse. He had a machine constructed to vie with Jupiter's thunder, and during the lightning of a storm would challenge the god to mortal combat by hurling stones into the air.

This succession of mad frolics and ruthless cruelties should, it would seem, have satisfied even a Caligula, but he managed to overtop them all by a supreme piece of folly, which stands alone among human freaks. Hitherto his doings had been those of peace; he now resolved to gain glory in war, and show the Romans what a man of soldierly mettle they had in their emperor. There were no particular wars then afoot, but he would make one, and resolved on an invasion of Germany, whose people were at that time quiet subjects or allies of Rome.

To decide with him was to act. The army was ordered to prepare with the utmost haste, and was driven so fiercely that all was in confusion, the roads everywhere being blocked up with hurrying troops and great convoys of provisions, all converging rapidly on the line of march. Not waiting their arrival, he put himself at the head of the first legions gathered, and set out on the march with such furious speed that the legionaries were utterly exhausted with fatigue. Then, suddenly changing his mood, he affected the slow progress and military pomp of an Oriental king.

On reaching the borders of Germany the emperor found no foes and showed no fancy for fighting. Concealing some boys in a wood, he got up a mock battle with them, and at its end congratulated the troops on their valor and felicitated himself on his success. Next, the British island being still under process of conquest, he marched his army, two hundred thousand strong, to the sea-shore of Gaul, and drew them up in line of battle. The legionaries stolidly obeyed, wondering in their stern souls what new madness the emperor had in mind.

They were soon to know. He bade them to fill their helmets with sea-shells, "the spoils of the ocean due to the Capitol and the palace." Then he distributed large sums of money among the troops, giving a reward for valor to each, and bidding them "henceforth to be happy and rich."

This was all well for the army, but the people of Rome must be impressed with the glory and victorious success of their emperor. Such a career was worthy a triumph; and to the German hostages and criminals, destined to figure in the procession to the Capitol, he added a number of tall and martial Gauls, chosen without regard to rank or condition, whom he ordered to learn German, that they might pass for German captives.

And now, his military expedition having ended without shedding the blood of a foe, Caligula's insane thirst for blood arose, and he determined to glut it out of the ranks of his own army. There were in it some regiments which had mutinied against his father on the death of Augustus. He ordered these to be slaughtered for their crime. Some of his higher officers representing to him the danger of such a proceeding, he changed his mind, and gave orders that these legions should be decimated. But the whole army showed such symptoms of discontent with this cruel order that Caligula was seized with consternation, and fled in a panic to Rome.

On reaching the city the senate proved bold enough to vote him an ovation instead of the triumph on which he had set his mind. Incensed at this, he met the advances of the patricians with stinging insults, and perhaps determined in his mind to be deeply revenged for this premeditated slight.

Whatever he had in view, he did not live much longer to afflict mankind. Four months more brought him to the end of his flagitious career. There was a brave soldier of the palace guard, Cassius Chaerea by name, who happened to have a weak voice, and whom Caligula frequently insulted in public for this fault of nature. These insults in time grew heavier and viler than the veteran could bear, and he organized a conspiracy with a few others against the emperor's life. Meeting him without guards, the conspirators assailed him with their daggers and put an end to his base life.

Thus died, after twenty-nine years of life and four years of power, one of the vilest, cruellest, and maddest of the imperial demons who so long made Rome a slaughter-house and an abomination among the nations.



THE MURDER OF AN EMPRESS.

Nero was lord of Rome. Chance had placed a weak and immoral boy in unlimited control of the greatest of nations. Utterly destitute of principle, he gradually descended into the deepest vice and profligacy, which was soon succeeded by the basest cruelty and treachery. And one of the first victims of his treachery was his own mother, who had murdered her husband, the Emperor Claudius, to place him on the throne, and had now committed the deeper fault of attempting to control her worthless and faithless son.

She had threatened to replace him on the throne with his half-brother Britannicus, and Nero had escaped this difficulty by poisoning Britannicus. She then opposed his vicious passions, and made a bitter foe of his mistress Poppaea, who by every artifice incensed the weak-minded emperor against his mother, representing her as the only obstacle to his full enjoyment of power and pleasure.

At length the detestable son was wrought up to the resolution of murdering her to whom he owed his life. But how? He was too cowardly and irresolute to take open means. Should he remove her by poison or the poignard? The first was doubtful. Agrippina was too practised in guilt, too accustomed to vile deeds, to be easily deceived, and had, moreover, by taking poisons, hardened her frame against their effect. Nor could she be killed by the knife and the murder concealed. The murder-seeking wretch, who had no plan, and no stronger person than himself in whom he could confide, was at a loss how to carry out his wicked purpose.

At this juncture his tutor Anicetus came to his aid. This villain, who bitterly hated Agrippina, was now in command of the fleet that lay at Misenum. He proposed to Nero to have a vessel built in such a manner that it might give way in the open sea, and plunge to the bottom with all not prepared to escape. If Agrippina could be lured on board such a vessel, her drowning would seem one of the natural disasters of the open sea.

This suggestion filled with joy the mind of the unnatural son. The court was then at Baiae, celebrating the festival called the Quinquatria. Agrippina was invited to attend, and Nero, pretending a desire for reconciliation, went to the sea-shore to meet her on her arrival, embraced her tenderly, and conducted her to a villa in a pleasant situation, looking out on a charming bay of the Mediterranean.

On the waters of the bay floated a number of vessels, among which was one superbly decorated, being prepared, as she was told, in her honor as the emperor's mother. This was intended to convey her to Baiae, where a banquet was to be given to her that evening.

Agrippina was fond of sailing. She had frequently joined coasting parties and made pleasure trips of her own. But for some reason, perhaps through suspicion of Nero's dark project, she now took a carriage in preference, and arrived safely at Baiae, much to the discomfiture of her worthless son.

Nero, however, was cunning enough to conceal his disappointment. He gave her the most gracious reception, placed her at table above himself, and by his affectionate attentions and his easy flow of talk succeeded in dispelling any suspicions his mother may have entertained.

The banquet was continued till a late hour, and when Agrippina rose to go Nero attended her to the shore, where lay the sumptuously decorated vessel ready to convey her back to her villa. Here he lavished upon her marks of fond affection, clasped her warmly to his bosom, and bade her adieu in words of tender regret, disguising his fell purpose under the utmost show of tenderness.

Agrippina went on board, attended by only two of her train, one of whom, a maid named Acerronia, lay at the foot of her mistress's couch, and gladly expressed her joy at the loving reconciliation which she had just perceived.

The night was calm and serene. The stars shone with their brightest lustre. The sea extended with an unruffled surface. The vessel moved swiftly, at no great distance from the shore, under the regular sweep of the rowers' oars. Yet little way had been made when there came a disastrous change. A signal was given, and suddenly the deck over Agrippina's cabin sank in, borne down by a great weight of lead.

One of the attendants of the empress was crushed to death, but the posts of Agrippina's couch proved strong enough to bear the weight, and she and Acerronia escaped and made their way hastily to the deck. Here confusion and consternation reigned. The plot had failed. The vessel had not fallen to pieces at once, as intended. Those who were not in the plot rushed wildly to and fro, hampering, by their distracted movements, the operations of the guilty. These sought to sink the vessel at once, but in spite of their efforts the ship sank but slowly, giving the intended victims an opportunity to escape.

Acerronia, with instinctive devotion to her mistress, or a desire to save her own life, cried out that she was Agrippina, and pathetically implored the mariners to save her life. She won death instead. The assassins attacked her with oars and other weapons, and beat her down to the sinking deck. Agrippina, on the contrary, kept silent, and, with the exception of a wound on her shoulder, remained unhurt. Dashing into the dark waters of the bay, she swam towards the shore, and managed to keep herself afloat till taken up by a boat, in which some persons who had witnessed the accident from the shore had hastily put out. Telling her rescuers who she was, they conveyed her up the bay to her villa.

Agrippina had been concerned in too many crimes of her own devising to be deceived. The treachery of her son was too evident. Without touching a rock, and in complete calm, the vessel had suddenly broken down, as if constructed for the purpose. Her own wound and the murder of her maid were further proofs of a preconcerted plot. Yet she was too shrewd to make her suspicions public. The plot had failed, and she was still alive. She at once despatched a messenger to her son, saying that by the favor of the gods and his good auspices she had escaped shipwreck, and that she thus hastened to quiet his affectionate fears. She then retired to her couch.

Meanwhile Nero waited impatiently for the news of his mother's death. When word was at length brought him that she had escaped, his craven soul was filled with terror. If this should get abroad; if she should call on her slaves, on the army, on the senate; if the people should learn of the plot of murder, and rise in riot; if any of a dozen contingencies should happen, all might be lost.

The terrified emperor was in a frightful quandary. He sent in all haste for his advisers, but none of them cared to offer any suggestions. At length the villanous Anicetus came to his aid. While they talked the messenger of Agrippina had arrived, and was admitted to give his message to the prince. As he was speaking Anicetus foxily let fall a dagger between his legs. He instantly seized him, snatched up the dagger and showed it to the company, and declared that the wretch had been sent by Agrippina to assassinate her son. The guards were called in, the man was ordered to be dragged away and put in fetters, and the story of the discovered plot of Agrippina was made public.

"Death to the murderess!" cried Anicetus. "Let me hasten at once to her punishment."

Nero gladly assented, and Anicetus hurried from the room, empowered to carry out his murderous intent.

Meanwhile the news of the peril and escape of the empress had spread far and wide. A dreadful accident had occurred, it was said. The people rushed in numbers to the shore, crowded the piers, filled the boats, and gave voice to a medley of cries of alarm. The uproar was at length allayed by some men with lighted torches, who assured the excited multitude that Agrippina had escaped and was now safe in her villa.

While they were speaking a body of soldiers, led by Anicetus, arrived, and with threats of violence dispersed the peasant throng. Then, planting a guard round the mansion, Anicetus burst open its doors, seized the slaves who appeared, and forced his way to the apartment of the empress.

Here Agrippina waited in fear and agitation the return of her messenger. Why came he not? Was new murder in contemplation? She heard the tumult and confusion on the shore, and learned from her attendants what it meant. But the noise was suddenly hushed; a dismal silence prevailed; then came new noises, then loud tones of command, and violent blows on the outer doors. In dread of what was coming, the unhappy woman waited still, till loud steps sounded in the passage, the attendants at her door were thrust aside, and armed men entered her chamber.

The room was in deep shadow, only the pale glimmer of a feeble light breaking the gloom. A single maid remained with the empress, and she, too, hastened to the door on hearing the tramp of warlike feet.

"Do you, too, desert me?" cried Agrippina, in deep reproach.

At that moment Anicetus entered the room, followed by two other ruffians. They approached her bed. She rose to receive them.

"If you come from the prince," she said, "tell him I am well. If your intents are murderous, you are not sent by my son. The guilt of parricide is foreign to his heart."

Her words were checked by a blow on the head with a club. A sword-thrust followed, and she expired under a number of mortal wounds. Thus died the niece, the wife, and the mother of an emperor, the daughter of the celebrated soldier Germanicus, herself so stained with vice that none can pity her fate, particularly as she had committed the further unconscious crime of giving birth to the monster named Nero.



BOADICEA, THE HEROINE OF BRITAIN.

Prasutagus, the king of the Icenians, a tribe of the ancient Britons, had amassed much wealth in the course of a long reign. On his death, in order to secure the favor of the Romans, now masters of the island, he left half his wealth by will to the emperor and half to his two daughters. This well-judged action of the barbarian king did not have the intended effect. No sooner was he dead than the Romans in the vicinity claimed the whole estate as theirs, ruthlessly pillaged his house, and seized all his effects.

This base brigandage roused Boadicea, the widowed queen, to a vigorous protest, but with the sole result of bringing a worse calamity upon her head. She was seized and cruelly scourged by the ruthless Romans, her two daughters were vilely maltreated, and the noblest of the Icenians were robbed of their possessions by the plunderers, who went so far as to reduce to slavery the near relatives of the deceased king.

Roused to madness by this inhuman treatment, the Icenians broke into open revolt. They were joined by a neighboring state, while the surrounding Britons, not yet inured to bondage, secretly resolved to join the cause of liberty. There had lately been planted a colony of Roman veterans at Camalodunum (Colchester), who had treated the Britons cruelly, driven them from their houses, and insulted them with the names of slaves and captives; while the common soldiers, a licentious and greedy crew, still further degraded and robbed the owners of the land.

The invaders went too far for British endurance, and brought a terrible retribution upon themselves. Paulinus Suetonius, an able officer, who then commanded in Britain, was absent on an expedition to conquer the island of Mona. Of this expedition the historian Tacitus gives a vivid account. As the boats of the Romans approached the island they beheld on the shore the Britons prepared to receive them, while through their ranks rushed their women in funereal attire, their hair flying loose in the wind, flaming torches in their hands, and their whole appearance recalling the frantic rage of the fabled Furies. Near by, ranged in order, stood the venerable Druids, or Celtic priests, with uplifted hands, at once invoking the gods and pouring forth imprecations upon the foe.

The novelty and impressiveness of this spectacle filled the Romans with awe and wonder. They stood in stupid amazement, riveted to the spot, and a mark for the foe had they been then attacked. From this brief paralysis the voice of their general recalled them, and, ashamed of being held in awe by a troop of women and a band of fanatic priests, they rushed to the assault, cut down all before them, and set fire to the edifices and the sacred groves of the island with the torches which the Britons themselves had kindled.

But Suetonius had chosen a perilous time for this enterprise. During his absence the wrongs of the Icenians and the exhortations of Boadicea had roused a formidable revolt, and the undefended colonies of the Romans were in danger.

In addition to the actual peril the Romans were frightened with dire omens. The statue of victory at Camalodunum fell without any visible cause, and lay prostrate on the ground. Clamors in a foreign accent were heard in the Roman council chamber, the theatres were filled with the sound of savage howlings, the sea ran purple as with blood, the figures of human bodies were traced on the sands, and the image of a colony in ruins was reflected from the waters of the Thames.

These omens threw the Romans into despair and filled the minds of the Britons with joy. No effort was made by the soldiers for defence, no ditch was dug, no palisade erected, and the assault of the Britons found the colonists utterly unprepared. Taken by surprise, the Romans were overpowered, and the colony was laid waste with fire and sword. The fortified temple alone held out, but after a two days' siege it also was taken, and the legion which marched to its relief was cut to pieces.

Boadicea was now the leading spirit among the Britons. Her wrongs had stirred them to revolt, and her warlike energy led them to victory and revenge. But she was soon to have a master-spirit to meet. Suetonius, recalled from the island of Mona by tidings of rebellion and disaster, marched hastily as far as London, which was even then the chief residence of the merchants and the centre of trade and commerce of the island.

His army was small, not more than ten thousand men in all. That of the Britons was large. The interests of the empire were greater than those of any city, and Suetonius found himself obliged to abandon London to the barbarians, despite the supplications of its imperilled citizens. All he would agree to was to take under his protection those who chose to follow his banner. Many followed him, but many remained, and no sooner had he marched out than the Britons fell in rage on the settlement, and killed all they found. In like manner they ravaged Verulamium (St. Albans). Seventy thousand Romans are said to have been put to the sword.

Meanwhile Suetonius marched through the land, and at length the two armies met. The skilled Roman general drew up his force in a place where a thick forest sheltered the rear and flanks, leaving only a narrow front open to attack. Here the Britons, twenty times his number, and confident of victory, approached. The warlike Boadicea, tall, stern of countenance, her hair hanging to her waist, a spear in her hand, drove along their front in a warlike car, with her two daughters by her side, and eloquently sought to rouse her countrymen to thirst for revenge.

Telling them of the base cruelty with which she and her daughters had been treated, and painting in vivid words the arrogance and insults of the Romans, she besought them to fight for their country and their homes. "On this spot we must either conquer or die with glory," she said. "There is no alternative. Though I am a woman, my resolution is fixed. The men, if they prefer, may survive with infamy and live in bondage. For me there is only victory or death."

Stirred to fury by her words, the British host poured like a deluge on their foes. But the Roman arms and discipline proved far too much for barbarian courage and ferocity. The British were repulsed, and, rushing forward in a wedge shape, the legions cut their way with frightful carnage through the disordered ranks. The cavalry seconded their efforts. Thousands fell. The rest took to flight. But the wagons of the British, which had been massed in the rear, impeded their flight, and a dreadful slaughter, in which neither sex nor age was spared, ensued. Tacitus tells us that eighty thousand Britons fell, while the Roman slain numbered no more than four hundred men.

Boadicea, who had done her utmost to rally her flying hosts, kept to her resolution. When all was lost, she took poison, and perished upon the field where she had vowed to seek victory or death. With her decease the success of the Britons vanished. Though they still kept the field, they gradually yielded to the Roman arms, and Britain became in time a quiet and peaceful part of the great empire of Rome.



ROME SWEPT BY FLAMES.

Nero, the cruel coward under whom Rome for its sins was made to suffer, could scarcely devise follies and atrocities enough to please his profligate fancy. He offended the pride and sense of decorum of Rome by forcing senators and women of the highest rank to appear as gladiators in the arena. He exposed himself to ridicule by appearing as an actor in the theatre at Naples, which theatre, as soon as the audience dispersed, tumbled to pieces,—a little late so far as Nero himself was concerned. Returning to Rome, he indulged in every species of vice and folly, lavishing the wealth of the state with the utmost prodigality. On the lake of Agrippa he had a pavilion erected on a great floating platform, which was moved from point to point by the aid of boats superbly decorated with gold and ivory, while to furnish the banquet here given, animals of the chase were sought in the whole country round, and fish were brought from every sea and even from the distant ocean. When night descended a sudden illumination burst forth from all sides, and music resounded from every grove. These are the mentionable parts of the festival. Vile scenes were exhibited of which nothing can be said.

Finally, at a loss in what deeper excess of vice and ostentation to indulge, the crowned reprobate set fire to Rome that he might enjoy the spectacle of an unlimited conflagration. This wickedness, it is true, is doubted by some historians, but we are told that during the prevalence of the flames a crew of incendiaries threatened anyone with death who should seek to extinguish them, and flung flaming torches into the dwellings, crying that they acted under orders.

In all the history of Rome this fire was far the most violent and destructive. Breaking out in a number of shops stored with combustible goods, and driven by the winds, it raged with the utmost fury, neither the thick walls of the houses nor the enclosures of the temples sufficing to stay its frightful progress. The form of the streets, long, narrow, and winding, added to the mischief, and the flames swiftly sped alike through the humblest and the stateliest quarters of the mighty capital.

"The shrieks and lamentations of women, the infirmities of age, and the weakness of the young and tender," says Tacitus, "added misery to the dreadful scene. Some endeavored to provide for themselves, others to save their friends, in one part dragging along the lame and impotent, in another waiting to receive the tardy, or expecting relief themselves; they hurried, they lingered, they obstructed one another; they looked behind, and the fire broke out in front; they escaped from the flames, and in their place of refuge found no safety; the fire raged in every quarter; all were involved in one general conflagration.

"The unhappy wretches fled to places remote, and thought themselves secure, but soon perceived the flames raging round them. Which way to turn, what to avoid, or what to seek, no one could tell. They crowded the streets; they fell prostrate on the ground; they lay stretched in the fields, in consternation and dismay resigned to their fate. Numbers lost their whole substance, even the tools and implements by which they gained their livelihood, and, in that distress, did not wish to survive. Others, wild with affliction for their friends and relations whom they could not save, embraced voluntary death, and perished in the flames."

The story goes that, while the city was in its intensest blaze, Nero watched it with high enjoyment from a tower in the house of Maecenas, and finally went to his own theatre, where in his scenic dress he mounted the stage, tuned his harp, and sang the destruction of Troy.

How far Nero was guilty and to what extent the stories told of him were true will never be known, but he was destined to feel the calamity himself, for in time the devouring flames reached the imperial palace, and laid it with all its treasures and surrounding buildings in ruins. For six days the fire raged uncontrolled, and then, when it seemed subdued, a new conflagration broke out and burned with all the old fury, spreading still more widely the area of ruin and devastation.

The number of buildings destroyed cannot be ascertained. Not only dwellings and shops, but temples, porticos, and other public buildings, were destroyed, among them the most venerable monuments of antiquity, which the worship of ages had rendered sacred; and with these the trophies of uncounted victories, the inimitable works of the great artists of Greece, and precious monuments of literature and ancient genius, were irrecoverably lost.

Whether or not this fire took place through Nero's orders, and was played to by him on the harp, he showed more feeling for the people and more good sense in the rebuilding of the city than could have been expected from one of his weak and vicious character. By his orders the Field of Mars, the magnificent buildings erected by Agrippa, and even the imperial gardens were thrown open to the houseless people, and sheds for their shelter were erected with all possible haste. Household utensils and all kinds of useful implements were brought from Ostia and other neighboring cities, and the price of grain was reduced. But all this failed to gain the good-will of the people, who were exasperated by the story that Nero had exulted in the grandeur of the flames, and harped over burning Rome.

When the fire was at length subdued, of the fourteen quarters of Rome only four were left entire; the remainder presented more or less utter ruin. The conflagration in the time of the Gauls had been little more complete, while the wealth now consumed was incomparably greater. The whole world had been robbed of its treasures to feed the flames of Rome. But the haste and ill-judged confusion with which the city was rebuilt after the irruption of the Gauls was not now repeated. A regular plan was formed; the new streets were made wide and straight; the elevation of the houses was defined, and each was given an open area before the door, and was adorned with porticos. The expense of these porticos Nero took upon himself. He ordered also that the new houses should not be contiguous, but that each should be surrounded by its own enclosure; and, in order to hurry the work, he offered rewards to those who should finish their buildings in a fixed period. As for the refuse of the fire, it was removed at Nero's expense to the marshes of Ostia in the ships that brought corn up the Tiber.

These regulations, while they must have made much confusion among the rival claimants of building sites, added greatly to the beauty and comfort of the new city, and the Rome which rose from the ruins was far more stately and handsome than the Rome which had vanished in ashes and smoke. But Nero, while showing some passing feeling for the people and some wisdom in the rebuilding of the city, did not hesitate to use a generous portion of the devastated space for his own advantage. His palace had been destroyed, and he built a new and most magnificent one on the Palatine Hill, the famous "golden house," which after-ages beheld with unstinted admiration.

But he did not confine his ostentation to the palace itself. A great space around it was converted into pleasure-grounds for his amusement, in which, as Tacitus says, "expansive lakes and fields of vast extent were intermixed with pleasing variety; woods and forests stretched to an immeasurable length, presenting gloom and solitude amid scenes of open space, where the eye wandered with surprise over an unbounded prospect."

But nothing that Nero could do sufficed to remove from men's minds the belief that on him rested the infamy of the fire. This public sentiment troubled and frightened him, and to remove it he sought to lay the burden of guilt on others. It was now the year 64 A.D., and for at least thirty years the new sect of the Christians had been spreading in Rome, where it had gained many adherents among the humbler and more moral section of the population. The Christians were far from popular. They were accused of secret and evil practices and debasing superstitions, and on this despised sect Nero determined to turn the fury of the populace.



With his usual artifice he induced a number of abandoned wretches to confess themselves guilty, and on their purchased evidence numbers of the Christians were seized and convicted, mainly on the plea of their sullen hatred of the whole human race. A frightful persecution followed, Nero perhaps hoping, by an exhibition of human suffering, so dear to the rabble of Rome, to turn the thoughts of the people from their own losses.

The captives were put to death with every cruelty the emperor could devise, and to their sufferings he added mockery and derision. Many were nailed to the cross; others were covered with the skins of wild beasts, and left to be devoured by dogs; numbers were burned alive, many of these, covered with inflammable matter, being set on fire to serve as torches during the night.

That the public might see this tragic spectacle with the more satisfaction, it was given in the imperial gardens. The sports of the circus were added to the tortures of the victims, Nero himself driving his chariot in the races, or mingling with the rabble in his coachman's dress. These cruel proceedings continued until even the hardened Roman heart became softened with compassion, spectators failed to come, and Nero felt obliged to yield to a general demand that the persecutions should cease.

While all this went on at Rome, the people of the whole empire suffered with those of the capital city. Italy was ravaged and the provinces plundered to supply the demand for the rebuilding of the city and palace and the unbounded prodigality of the emperor. The very gods were taxed, their temples being robbed of golden treasures which had been gathering for ages through the gifts of pious devotees; while in Greece and Asia not alone the treasures of the temples but the statues of the deities were seized. Nero was preparing for himself a load of infamy worthy of the most frightful retribution, and which would not fail soon to reap its fitting reward.



THE DOOM OF NERO.

We have perhaps paid too much attention to the enormities of Caligula and Nero. Yet the mad freakishness of the one and the cowardly dissimulation of the other give to their stories a dramatic interest which seems to render them worth repeating. Nero, one of the basest and cruelest of the Roman emperors, is one of the best known to readers, and the interest felt in him is not alone due to the story of his life, but as well to that of his death, which we therefore here give.

A conspiracy against him among some of the noblest citizens of Rome was discovered and punished with revengeful fury. It was followed, a few years afterwards, by a revolt of the armies in Gaul and Spain. This was in its turn quelled, and Nero triumphed in imagination over all his enemies. But he had lost favor alike with the army and the people, and an event now happened that threw the whole city into a ferment of anger against him.

Food was scarce, and the arrival of a ship from Alexandria, supposed to be loaded with corn, filled the people with joy. It proved instead to be loaded with sand for the arena. In their disappointment the people broke at first into scurrilous jests against Nero, and then into rage and fury. A wild clamor filled the streets. On all sides rose the demand to be delivered from a monster. Even the Praetorian guards, who had hitherto supported the emperor, began to show signs of disaffection, and were wrought to a spirit of revolt by two of the choice companions of Nero's iniquities, who now deserted him as rats desert a sinking ship. The senate was approached and told that Nero was no longer supported by his friends, and that they might now regain the power of which they had been deprived.

Some whisper of what was afloat reached Nero's ears. Filled with craven fury, he resolved to massacre the senate, to set fire again to the city, and to let loose his whole collection of wild beasts. He proposed to fly to Egypt during the consternation that would prevail. A trusted servant, to whom he told this design, revealed it to the senate. It filled them with fear and rage. Yet even in so dire a contingency they could not be prevailed upon to act with vigor, and all might have been lost by their procrastination and timidity but for the two men who had organized the revolt.

These men, Nymphidius and Tigellinus by name, went to the palace, and with a show of deep affliction informed Nero of his danger. "All is lost," they said: "the people call aloud for vengeance; the Praetorian guards have abandoned your cause; the senate is ready to pronounce a dreadful judgment. Only one hope remains to you, to fly for your life, and seek a retreat in Egypt."

It was as they said; revolt was everywhere in the air, and affected the armies near and far. Nero sought assistance, but sought it in vain. The palace, lately swarming with life, was now deserted. Nero wandered through its empty chambers, and found only solitude and gloom. Conscience awoke in his seared heart, and he was filled with horror and remorse. Of all his late crowd of courtiers only three friends now remained with him,—Sporus, a servant; Phaon, a freedman; and Epaphroditus, his secretary.

"'My wife, my father, and my mother doom me dead!'" he bitterly cried, quoting a line from a Greek tragedy.

With a last hope he bade the soldiers on duty to hasten to Ostia and prepare a ship, on which he might embark for Egypt. The men refused.

"'Is it, then, so wretched a thing to die?'" said one of them, quoting from Virgil.

This refusal threw Nero into despair. He hurried to the Servilian gardens, with a vial of deadly poison, which, on getting there, he had not the courage to take. He returned to the palace and threw himself on his bed. Then, too agitated to lie, he sprang up and called for some friendly hand to end his wretched life. No one consented, and in his wild despair he called out, in doleful accents, "My friends desert me, and I cannot find an enemy."

The world had suddenly fallen away from the despicable Nero. A week before he had ordered it at his will, now "none so poor to do him reverence." His craven terror would have been pitiable in any one to whom the word pity could apply. In frantic dread he rushed from the palace, as if with intent to fling himself into the Tiber. Then as hastily he returned, saying that he would fly to Spain, and yield himself to the mercy of Galba, who commanded the revolted army. But no ship was to be had for either Spain or Egypt, and this plan was abandoned as quickly as formed.

These and other projects passed in succession through his distracted brain. One of the most absurd of them was to go in a mourning garb to the Forum, and by his powers of eloquence seek to win back the favor of the people. If they would not have him as emperor, he might by persuasive oratory obtain from them the government of Egypt.

Full of hope in this new project, he was about to put it into effect, when a fresh reflection filled his soul with horror. What if the populace should, without waiting to hear his harmonious accents and unequalled oratory, break out in sudden rage and rend him limb from limb? Might they not assail him in the palace? Might not a seditious mob be already on its way thither, bent on bloody work? Whither should he fly? Where find refuge?