CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SECOND.

WARS IN SPAIN. VIRIATHUS. DESTRUCTION OF NUMANTIA. THE SERVILE
WAR IN SICILY. APPROPRIATION OF PERGAMUS.

War had become so familiar to the Romans, that they never felt at home unless they were fighting abroad, and the sword was the only thing they took in hand with real earnestness. The intoxication of success, like other habits of intoxication, cannot be easily got rid of, and the Romans sought to indulge their thirst for conquest in a manner wholly at variance with sober judgment. Their design was to conquer Spain, and in the execution of this design they cruelly executed large numbers of the Lusitanians, who had laid down their arms, in consequence of a promise that if they quitted the field of battle, they should be allowed quiet possession of the fields of peaceful industry. On this assurance, they divided themselves into three parts, and were then—as we are gravely assured by the chroniclers—treacherously cut into several thousand pieces. One of the few that escaped was Viriathus, who combined the qualities of the wolf and the lamb, for he had turned a desperate robber, after having been employed as a gentle shepherd. Abandoning the honest hook of a pastoral life, he had adopted the more crooked ways of the common thief; and he seems to have gradually stolen upon the confidence of his countrymen, until they made him a general. He had passed his early days among the mountains, and was prepared for the ups and downs of life, which he afterwards experienced. His predatory properties had taught him how to attack, and his practice as a robber—which rendered it necessary for him frequently to keep out of the way—had familiarised him with the art of avoiding an enemy. He would appear suddenly from the thick of a thicket, and after doing considerable mischief, he would find concealment in the hollow of some rock which his companions would never split upon. Though he had commenced his career as a poor country clown, he had trained himself to perform feats of activity worthy of the most experienced Harlequin. Life, which is a drama in the case of most men, was, in his case, a series of scenes in a pantomime. He was here, there, and everywhere, when he was not expected, and he was immediately nowhere when his opponents were in pursuit of him. His policy was first to scatter, and then to destroy; to divide an enemy en gros, and cut it to pieces en detail. He had encountered Vitellius, the Roman Prætor, near a place called Tribula, where the latter got into the utmost tribulation by being led through briers and bushes into an ambush, where he lost half his army. The other half lost him, for he was killed by the sword of some one who did not know him, though, had he been known, the acquaintance would, most probably, have been cut in the same barbarous manner.

Assassination of Viriathus. Assassination of Viriathus.

Viriathus for some time baffled the enemy by cunning and address, or rather by having no address at all, for he had no fixed residence; and there was, consequently, much difficulty in finding him. At length he fought a battle, in which he was so far successful that a peace was concluded, in which he was acknowledged as the friend and ally of Rome; but having no one to save him from his friends, he was basely murdered in his sleep by some Lusitanian assassins that the Roman general had hired. The instigators of this barbarous act refused to pay when the sanguinary work was done; and the murderers, in making a demand on account of their crime, may be said to have, figuratively, cut their own throats, for they were threatened with punishment for the iniquity they confessed themselves guilty of. After the death of Viriathus, the Lusitanians having lost their head, were without the brains necessary to defend themselves, and fell an easy prey into the hands of Q. Pompeius. This individual was the son of a musician; but instead of following his father's profession, he had become the leader of a warlike band, and he found the soldiers willing instruments to play into his hands, or act in concert with him, for the gratification of his personal ambition. He attacked Numantia, though with so little success, that he was compelled to conclude a peace; but treacherously declaring that the conclusion of a peace meant the beginning of a war, he renewed hostilities at the first convenient opportunity. Subsequently, C. Hostilius Mancinus commenced an attack, but 10,000 of his men having been killed, and 20,000 more being blocked up in a ravine, he could not exactly see his way out of it without a surrender. The Numantines refused to treat with him, until young Tib. Sempronius Gracchus, whom they trusted, came forward to pledge his honour that Numantia should be fairly treated. The Senate, however, repudiated the arrangement, and the honour of young Tib. remains among the enormous stock of unredeemed pledges which history has handed down to us.

The Romans began to feel that none but the best man was likely to win, and they accordingly looked out for the best man, whom they found in Scipio Africanus, the destroyer of Carthage. He was sent against Numantia, which he surrounded by fortifications, in order that he might starve out the inhabitants by keeping them in, and he did his utmost to restore the discipline of the Roman army. He hardened the soldiers by making them carry loads of wood, a novel plan of providing them with a billet; he forced them to sleep on the ground, which they complained of as hard; and he allowed them no other cooking utensils than a saucepan, which caused the indignation of many to boil over.

Numantia stood upon a lofty rock, and its inhabitants displayed a courage worthy of its high position. The river Durius (now the Douro) washed its feet; there were forests on either hand; while the mounds and ditches abounding in the vale before it, rendered any attempt to approach it in the front almost unavailable. Scipio Africanus soon perceived the hopelessness of succeeding by a direct attack, and he proceeded, therefore, to raise round the place a double stockade, to prevent any aid in the form of a stock of provisions being carried into it. He impeded the navigation of the river by throwing across it large beams, perforated with swords, which, revolving with the tide, cut off all communication by means of water.

Notwithstanding all the precautions that had been taken, a party of about half-a-dozen young men, having slipped through the lines—and very hard lines they were—succeeded in reaching the town of Lutia. The head of the party, holding an olive-branch, begged for assistance with such effect, that the Lutians offered to lend him a hand in his terrible emergency. Scipio, who had been in pursuit, no sooner heard of the Lutians having offered to lend a hand, than he savagely declared that they should have no hands to spare, and he barbarously ordered the cutting off of the hands of four hundred citizens.

The Numantines being completely hemmed in, were unable to obtain provisions; but though reduced at last to eat cats, they became only the more dogged in their resistance to the enemy. Eventually, they begged for a truce of three days, which they employed in destroying their wives and children—a species of heroism not easily understood; for to kill those who are dear, by way of protecting them, is a mode of insurance of which we must dispute the policy. The men were so sadly dispirited, and so fearfully cut up by their own or each other's swords, that the conquerors had only a remnant to take, in the shape of population, when they entered the city.

In conformity with the custom of the period, Scipio Africanus Minor, whose atrocities, in connexion with the siege of Numantia, have branded his name for ever with disgrace, proceeded to make arrangements for a triumph. Instead of feeling a decent shame, he manifested a most unbecoming pride in what he had done; and to identify himself more completely with the horrors of the siege, he took the name of Numantinus. So thoroughly had starvation done its work, that of the few citizens who were found alive, only fifty were in sufficiently good condition to appear in the show got up in celebration of his dishonourable victory.

While Rome was thus extending her arms, she may be said to have been painfully on the stretch; and Scipio, during his consulship, seeing the republic was likely to outgrow its strength, caused prayers to be said for its safety. Rome was certainly in danger, though from a different cause than that which had been apprehended; for the free population had been greatly reduced by war, and the captives, or slaves to circumstances, had been vastly multiplied. The office of the latter was to tend flocks; and they were so thoroughly regarded as a portion of the stock, that they were treated like brutes by their masters.

The system of slavery which existed at Rome, had so much influence upon her fate, and is calculated to afford such an insight into her morals, that the fetters she placed upon others may be regarded as so many links in her history. We will, therefore, break for a moment the chain of narrative, and proceed to a brief consideration of the Roman system of slavery and chains, to which we cannot hope that the attention of the reader can remain long riveted.

According to the strict letter of the Roman law, a master could treat, or maltreat, his slave in any way he pleased, either by death, sale, or punishment. Though the slave could hold no property, he had the power of taking anything he could get, but simply as a medium for conveying it to his master. So thoroughly were the slaves looked upon as articles of traffic, that they were liable to be pledged or put into pawn—a position in which they were the subjects of a melancholy sort of interest.

The demand for slave labour in Rome was caused by the annual consumption of the free population in war, at whose bidding many who should have remained to cultivate the land, were sent forth to plough the ocean. The result was a redundancy of slave population, accustomed to agricultural labour of every kind, and which, having been already brought under the yoke, had become sufficiently brutalised to do the work of oxen. The chief supply of slaves was drawn from the prisoners taken in war, and an army was generally attended by dealers, who, in case of a glut, could frequently buy a lot cheap; and at the camp of Lucullus they were being picked up for about three shillings and three-pence of our money—or four drachmas. In Rome it was usual to sell slaves by auction, and, as if the poor wretches were not already low enough, they were knocked down by the hammer. The dealers were in the habit of practising the same sort of tricks to conceal the defects of a slave, as are, in these days, employed to hide the faults of a horse, and it was customary therefore, in purchasing, to require a warranty. The character was often suspended on a scroll round the neck, and their chief recommendation consisted in a guarantee that they would neither commit suicide, nor steal—having no tendency to make away with either themselves or their master's property. There was a considerable variation in the value of slaves, and fancy prices have been known to be given for some curious specimens of captive humanity. A fool has been known to fetch 20,000 sesterces—about one hundred and seventy pounds—a sum that would seem to show that folly was scarce; but when we remember how wise a man is required to make a fool, we may take it for granted that the wisdom comprised in the subject of the bargain was the rare and costly part of it. Literary men were often exposed for sale like cattle when they happened to be slaves, and the useful hack, or occasionally the literary lion, might be seen chained to a pen in the public market-place. Slaves had no distinctive dress; and when it was once proposed to give them one, the measure was rejected, on the ground that it might show them their numerical strength, and that if they once saw their power by obtaining their livery, they might attempt to take up their freedom. It was deemed better to keep them in the dark, by clothing them in sombre colours, and their numbers not being manifested to them by any peculiar dress, it was not likely they would unite in order to redress their grievances.

There is, however, something elastic in human nature, which causes it to rise after being trodden on. Such was the case with the slaves, who began to swell with indignation, which was rendered particularly tumid by the inflated and inflating eloquence of one Eunus, a Syrian, who was a member of their own body. This individual possessed the art of oratory in a high degree, and there is nothing more stimulating to the breeze of discontent than the breath of an enthusiastic demagogue. He persuaded the slaves to revolt, and while preaching to them the doctrine of equality, he claimed to be not only their leader, but their prince and ruler—a species of practice which is not uncommon with the propounders of the most levelling theories. Pretending to possess the gift of prophecy, he predicted that he would be a king one day; and the rich, putting a mimic crown on his head for a few hours, jeeringly told him that he had been a king one day—or at least half a day, and that his prediction had been therefore verified. The slaves, however, put faith in him, and shouldering their spades, axes, poles, and hatchets, made themselves, as well as their implements, the tools of Eunus. No less than 70,000 slaves acknowledged as their head the man who taught them that they ought to have no head at all, and he urged them to a merciless massacre of their vanquished foes, while inculcating the doctrines of humanity. Rage without restraint, and revenge without reason, were, however, of no permanent avail, and the slaves under Eunus were soon routed by the disciplined forces of the Consul, Rupilius. He besieged Tauromenium; and the slaves, by being completely shut in, were altogether shut out from the chance of obtaining provisions. Their condition from day to day was so desperate and monotonous, that, with nothing to eat, they furnish but sorry food to the historian. Having swallowed their last morsel, the inhabitants could not satisfy their hunger by bolting the gates, and Rupilius was admitted within the city. Eunus escaped into a cutting in the rocks; but when he relied on the friendly shelter of the cave, he found it a hollow mockery. His retreat was discovered, and he was taken into custody with his cook, his confectioner, his butler, and his buffoon, who, with the exception of the last, must have held sinecures in their master's limited establishment. The buffoon must have been worked the hardest of the party, for the pursuit of mirth under difficulties is one of the most melancholy tasks that can be imposed on the professed humorist. Eunus himself was transferred from his subterranean cellar to an underground cell, where it is said he was devoured by rats; but happily this horrid tale receives no authentic ratification at the hands of history.

The Servile War had not yet ceased, when Attalus, the King of Pergamus, died, and left no sign; for there was no succeeding king's head for the crown of Pergamus to rest upon. It was fortunate, perhaps, that Attalus left no heir; for had there been any inheritor of his qualities as well as his title, the perpetuation of a nuisance would have been the deplorable consequence. The man was so thoroughly wicked that it is charity to pronounce him mad, and we accordingly set him down as a lunatic, though we feel scarcely justified in acquitting him of his many crimes on the single ground of insanity. He is said to have been so much addicted to the practice of poisoning his relations, that he found it cheaper to grow his own plants; and he cultivated the hemlock, or the night-shade, as others grew their own faba or cicer, their beans and chickweed. Death lurked at the root of everything his garden contained, and it is probable that he sent many a present of putative mushrooms to his unsuspecting kindred. So odious had he become, that it is said he would have been murdered, if he had not died a little too soon for the arrangements of the assassins to be completed. Having been in the habit of expressing his will very briefly in his lifetime, it is not surprising that he should have left at his death a will, so short, that it purported to say in four letters all he desired. His last testament was comprised in the characters P. R. H. E.; and all his property was supposed to be represented in this small collection of capitals. The Romans affecting to be initiated in the meaning of these initials, declared them to signify, Populus Romanus hæres est, Let the Roman people be the heirs of my property. Regarding these letters as letters of administration, the Romans possessed themselves of all the effects of Attalus; but the will was disputed by the next of kin, one Aristonicus, a natural brother, whose claim to succeed, as a member of the testator's line, was stifled by a rope, with which the unfortunate claimant was cruelly strangled.

Arrest of Eunus. Arrest of Eunus.

Pergamus became a Roman province under the name of Asia Proper—a species of appropriation which there was nothing to justify.

Rome was now in the position of a man who had outgrown his strength, or rather of an adult still wearing the clothes of its infancy. Its measures had been adapted to a social body which had since spread itself in all directions, while the constitution, with which it was clothed, had not been extended to the new growth; and the extreme points of the Republic were therefore reduced to all sorts of extremities. The people at large had become so miserably poor, that they were easily bribed to become the tools of their own further abasement; and they were not only ready to sell themselves for a mere nothing, but to lend themselves to almost anything.

The tribuneship, which had been originally a purely popular institution, had changed, or rather lost, its character. Instead of being stationed outside the entrance of the Senate House, to prevent the door from being opened to abuse, the Tribunes were, by a law of C. Atinius, constituted ex-officio members of that aristocratic body. The design of the tribuneship was to insure to the people a certain number of friends invested with high authority; but the people were eventually anxious to be saved from their friends—a result that is by no means rare in ancient or modern history. As the bitterest vinegar can be made from the most generous wine, the sharpest of despots is often created out of the blandest of demagogues.

So great had the power of the Tribunes become, and so much had it been abused, that even the Senate grew jealous of it; and a law was enacted to bring the tribuneship under the operation of signs and omens. These were interpreted by the Augurs, who of course had the power of reading in the lightning, and hearing in the reports of the thunder, whatever it suited their purpose to circulate.

Aristocracy had lost its exclusive privileges; but these had only become more objectionable by being spread over a larger surface; for they were now extended to a certain portion of the plebeians, who went by the name of novi homines, or upstarts. These were distinguished from the Nobiles, or, to speak shortly, the nobs, who enjoyed the right of having the images of their ancestors in wax; but this jus imaginum, as it was termed, conferred only an imaginary dignity. There was no legal privilege attached to the sort of nobility above described; but those persons who were qualified by the possession of the waxen forms of their fathers, were looked upon as men making in society a highly respectable figure.

Notwithstanding the liberty which is declared by republicans to be inseparable from the Republican form of Government, laws were passed to restrain the liberty of private action in the days of the Roman Commonwealth. By the Orchian law, made in the year of the city 572 (B.C. 181), the number of guests that might sit down to dinner was limited: and as a further illustration of republican freedom, it may be mentioned that the entertainer was obliged to keep open his doors , so that all who were freely-and-easily inclined might enter his house to see that the law was complied with. Twenty years later, it was decreed by the law of Fannius, that no entertainment should cost more than one hundred asses, or six shillings and five-pence farthing, on high days and holidays; on ten other days in the month, the meal was not to exceed thirty asses, or one and eleven-pence farthing; but on ordinary occasions seven-pence farthing was the figure to which even the richest man was to limit the cost of his dinner. The law not only interfered with the bill of expenses, but with the bill of fare; and, under the Consulship of M. Scaurus, the dormouse was excluded from the dinner-table as an enervating luxury. Vegetables were allowed to any extent, and bread might be eaten at—or even beyond—discretion.

To such a ridiculous extent did the Romans carry their interference with the private expenditure of each other, that when Crassus and Cn. Demetrius were Censors, they endeavoured in the most absurd manner to damage each other's popularity. Demetrius publicly charged Crassus with having been guilty of extravagance for going into mourning on the death of a favourite fish; and Crassus retorted by declaring that Demetrius had lost three wives without exhibiting signs of mourning for any one of them.[64]

FOOTNOTE:

[64] Macrobius, Saturnal., lib. ii., c. 1.