by Will Durant
It was some such circle as this that, about 394, welcomed into its number a poet destined to sing the swan song of Rome’s magnificence. Claudius Claudianus, like Ammianus, was born in the East, and spoke Greek as a mother tongue; but he must have learned Latin at an early age to write it so fluently well. After a short stay in Rome he went to Milan, found a place on Stilicho’s staff, became unofficial poet laureate to the Emperor Honorius, and married a lady of birth and wealth; Claudian had an eye to the main chance, and did not propose to be buried in Potter’s Field. He served Stilicho with melodious panegyrics and with savagely vituperative poems against Stilicho’s rivals. In 400 he returned to Rome, and was gratefully acclaimed when, in a poem “On the Consulate of Stilicho,” he wrote for the Eternal City a eulogy worthy of Virgil himself:
Consul all but peer of the gods, protector of a city greater than any that on earth the air encompasses, whose amplitude no eye can measure, whose beauty no imagination can picture, whose praise no voice can sound, who raises a golden head under the neighboring stars, and with her seven hills imitates the seven regions of heaven; mother of arms and of law, who extends her sway over all the earth, and was the earliest cradle of justice: this is the city which, sprung from humble beginnings, has stretched to either pole, and from one small place extended its power so as to be coterminous with the light of the sun. … ’Tis she alone who has received the conquered into her bosom, and like a mother, not an empress, protected the human race with a common name, summoning those whom she has defeated to share her citizenship, and drawing together distant races with bonds of affection. To her rule of peace we owe it that the world is our home, that we can live where we please, and that to visit Thule and explore its once dreaded wilds is but a sport; thanks to her, all and sundry may drink the waters of the Rhone and quaff Orontes’ stream. Thanks to her we are all one people.36
The grateful Senate raised a statue to Claudian in Trajan’s Forum “as to the most glorious of poets,” who had united Virgil’s felicity with Homer’s power. After further verses in honor of remunerative subjects, Claudian turned his talents to The Rape of Proserpine, and told the old tale with haunting pictures of land and sea, and a tender note that recalls the Greek love romances of the time. In 408 he learned that Stilicho had been assassinated, and that many of the general’s friends were being arrested and executed. We do not know the remainder of his story.
In Rome, as in Athens and Alexandria, substantial pagan minorities survived, and 700 pagan temples were still standing at the end of the fourth century.37 Jovian and Valentinian I do not seem to have closed the temples opened by Julian. The Roman priests still (394) met in their sacred colleges, the Lupercalia were celebrated with their old half-savage rites, and the Via Sacra now and then resounded with the prescient bellowing of oxen driven to sacrifice.
The most highly respected of Rome’s latter-day pagans was Vettius Praetextatus, leader of the pagan majority in the Senate. All men admitted his virtues—integrity, learning, patriotism, fine family life; some compared him to old Cato and Cincinnatus. Time remembers better his friend Symmachus (345–410), whose letters paint so pleasant a picture of that charming aristocracy which thought itself immortal on the eve of death. Even his family seemed immortal: his grandfather had been consul in 330, his father prefect in 364; he himself was prefect in 384, and consul in 391. His son was a praetor, his grandson would be consul in 446, his great-grandson would be consul in 485, his great-great-grandsons would both be consuls in 522. His wealth was immense; he had three villas near Rome, seven others in Latium, five on the Bay of Naples, others elsewhere in Italy, so that “he could travel up and down the peninsula and be everywhere at home.”38 No one is recorded as having grudged him this wealth, for he spent it generously, and redeemed it with a life of study, public service, blameless morals, and a thousand acts of inconspicuous philanthropy. Christians as well as pagans, barbarians as well as Romans, were among his faithful friends. Perhaps he was a pagan before he was a patriot; he suspected that the culture that he represented and enjoyed was bound up with the old religion, and he feared that the one could not fall without the other. Through fidelity to the ancient rites the citizen would feel himself a link in a chain of marvelous continuity from Romulus to Valentinian, and would learn to love a city and a civilization so bravely built through a thousand years. Not without reason his fellow citizens chose Quintus Aurelius Symmachus as their representative in their last dramatic struggle for their gods.
In 380 the Emperor Gratian, won to a passionate orthodoxy by the eloquent Ambrose, proclaimed the Nicene Creed as compulsory “on all the peoples subject to the governments of our clemency,” and denounced as “mad and insane” the followers of other faiths.39 In 382 he ordered an end to payments by the imperial or municipal treasuries for pagan ceremonies, vestal virgins, or priests; confiscated all lands belonging to temples and priestly colleges; and bade his agents remove from the Senate House in Rome that statue of the goddess Victory which Augustus had placed there in 29 B.C., and before which twelve generations of senators had taken their vows of allegiance to the emperor. A delegation headed by Symmachus was appointed by the Senate to acquaint Gratian with the case for Victoria; Gratian refused to receive them, and ordered Symmachus banished from Rome (382). In 383 Gratian was killed, and the hopeful Senate sent a deputation to his suecessor. The speech of Symmachus before Valentinian II was acclaimed as a masterpiece of eloquent pleading. It was not expedient, he argued, to end so abruptly religious practices that had through a millennium been associated with the stability of social order and the prestige of the state. After all, “What does it matter by what road each man seeks the truth? By no one road can men come to the understanding of so great a mystery” (uno itinere non potest perveniri ad tam grande secretum).40
The young Valentinian was moved; Ambrose tells us that even the Christians in the imperial council advised the restoration of the statue of Victory. But Ambrose, who had been absent on a diplomatic mission for the state, overruled the council with an imperious letter to the Emperor. He took up one by one the arguments of Symmachus, and countered them with characteristic force. In effect he threatened to excommunicate the ruler if the plea should be granted. “You may enter the churches, but you will find no priest there to receive you, or you will find them there to forbid you entrance.”41 Valentinian denied the Senate’s appeal.
The pagans of Italy made a last effort in 393, risking all on revolution. The half-pagan Emperor Eugenius, refused recognition by Theodosius, and hoping to enlist the pagans of the West in his defense, restored the statue of Victory, and boasted that after defeating Theodosius he would stable his horses in Christian basilicas. Nicomachus Flavianus, son-in-law of Symmachus, led an army to support Eugenius, shared in the defeat, and killed himself. Theodosius marched into Rome, and compelled the Senate to decree the abolition of paganism in all its forms (394). When Alaric sacked Rome the pagans saw in the humiliation of the once lordly city the anger of their neglected gods. The war of the faiths broke the unity and morale of the people, and when the torrent of invasion reached them they could only meet it with mutual curses and divided prayers.
IV. THE BARBARIAN FLOOD
As a postscript to the assassination of Stilicho, Olympius ordered the slaughter of thousands of Stilicho’s followers, including the leaders of his barbarian legions. Alaric, who had awaited his opportunity behind the Alps, seized it now. He complained that the 4000 pounds of gold that the Romans had promised him had not been paid; in return for this payment he pledged the noblest Gothic youth as hostages for his future loyalty. When Honorius refused, he marched over the Alps, pillaged Aquileia and Cremona, won to his side 30,000 mercenaries resentful of the slaughter of their leaders, and swept down the Flaminian Way to the very walls of Rome (408). No one resisted him except a solitary monk who denounced him as a robber; Alaric bemused him by declaring that God Himself had commanded the invasion. The frightened Senate, as in Hannibal’s day, was stampeded into barbari
sm; it suspected Stilicho’s widow as an accomplice of Alaric, and put her to death. Alaric responded by cutting off every avenue by which food could enter the capital. Soon the populace began to starve; men killed men, and women their children, to eat them. A delegation was sent to Alaric, asking terms. They warned him that a million Romans were ready to resist; he laughed, and answered, “The thicker the hay, the more easily it is mowed.” Relenting, he consented to withdraw on receiving all the gold and silver and valuable movable property in the city. “What will then be left to us?” the envoys asked. “Your lives,” was the scornful reply. Rome chose further resistance, but starvation compelled a new offer of surrender. Alaric accepted 5000 pounds of gold, 30,000 pounds of silver, 4000 silk tunics, 3000 skins, 3000 pounds of pepper.
Meanwhile an incalculable number of barbarian slaves, escaping from their Roman masters, entered the service of Alaric. As if in compensation, a Gothic leader, Sarus, deserted Alaric for Honorius, took with him a considerable force of Goths, and attacked the main barbarian army. Alaric, holding this to be a violation of the truce that had been signed, again besieged Rome. A slave opened the gates; the Goths poured in, and for the first time in 800 years the great city was taken by an enemy (410). For three days Rome was subjected to a discriminate pillage that left the churches of St. Peter and St. Paul untouched, and spared the refugees who sought sanctuary in them. But the Huns and slaves in the army of 40,000 men could not be controlled. Hundreds of rich men were slaughtered, their women were raped and killed; it was found almost impossible to bury all the corpses that littered the streets. Thousands of prisoners were taken, among them Honorius’ half sister Galla Placidia. Gold and silver were seized wherever found; works of art were melted down for the precious metals they contained; and many masterpieces of sculpture and pottery were joyously destroyed by former slaves who could not forgive the poverty and toil that had generated this beauty and wealth. Alaric restored discipline, and led his troops southward to conquer Sicily; but in that same year he was stricken with fever, and died at Cosenza. Slaves diverted the flow of the river Busento to bare a secure and spacious grave for him; the stream was then brought back to its course; and to conceal the spot the slaves who had performed these labors were slain.42
Ataulf (Adolf), Alaric’s brother-in-law, was chosen to succeed him as king. He agreed to withdraw his army from Italy on condition that he should be given Placidia in marriage, and that his Visigoths, as foederati of Rome, should receive southern Gaul, including Narbonne, Toulouse, and Bordeaux, for their self-governed realm. Honorius refused the marriage; Placidia consented. The Gothic chieftain proclaimed that his ambition was not to destroy the Roman Empire but to preserve and strengthen it. He marched his army out of Italy, and by a judicious mixture of diplomacy and force founded the Visigothic kingdom of Gaul, theoretically subject to the Empire and with its capital at Toulouse (414). A year later he was assassinated. Placidia, who loved him, wished to remain a perpetual widow, but was awarded by Honorius to the general Constantius. After the death of Constantius (421) and Honorius (423), Placidia became regent for her son Valentinian III, and for twenty-five years ruled the Empire of the West with no discredit to her sex.
Even in Tacitus’ days the Vandals were a numerous and powerful nation, possessing the central and eastern portions of modern Prussia. By the time of Constantine they had moved southward into Hungary. Their armies having suffered an overwhelming defeat at the hands of the Visigoths, the remaining Vandals asked permission to cross the Danube and enter the Empire. Constantine consented, and for seventy years they increased and multiplied in Pannonia. The successes of Alaric stirred their imagination; the withdrawal of legions from beyond the Alps to defend Italy left the rich West invitingly open; and in 406 great masses of Vandals, Alani, and Suevi poured over the Rhine and ravaged Gaul. They plundered Mainz, and massacred many of the inhabitants. They moved north into Belgica, and sacked and burned the imperial city of Trier. They bridged the Meuse and the Aisne, and pillaged Reims, Amiens, Arras, and Tournai, almost reaching the English Channel. Turning south, they crossed the Seine and the Loire into Aquitaine and wreaked their vandal fury upon almost all its cities except Toulouse, which was heroically defended by its Bishop Exuperius. They paused at the Pyrenees, then turned east and pillaged Narbonne. Gaul had seldom known so thorough a devastation.
In 409 they entered Spain, 100,000 strong. There, as in Gaul and the East, Roman rule had brought oppressive taxation and orderly administration, wealth concentrated in immense estates, a populace of slaves and serfs and impoverished freemen; and yet, by the mere grace of stability and law, Spain was now among the most prosperous of Roman provinces, and Merida, Cartagena, Cordova, Seville, and Tarragona were among the richest and most cultured cities of the Empire. Into this apparently secure peninsula the Vandals, Suevi, and Alani descended; for two years they plundered Spain from the Pyrenees to the Strait, and extended their conquest even to the African coast. Honorius, unable to defend Roman soil with Roman arms, bribed the Visigoths of southwestern Gaul to recapture Spain for the Empire; their able King Wallia accomplished the task in well-planned campaigns (420); the Suevi retreated into northwest Spain, the Vandals southward into the Andalusia that still bears their name; and Wallia shamed the faithlessness of Roman diplomats by restoring Spain to the imperial power.
Still hungry for conquest and bread, the Vandals crossed over into Africa (429). If we may believe Procopius43 and Jordanes,44 they came by the invitation of the Roman governor of Africa, Boniface, who wished their aid against his rival Aëtius, successor to Stilicho; the story is of uncertain authority. In any case the Vandal king was quite capable of originating the plan. Gaiseric was the proud bastard son of a slave, lame but strong, ascetic in regimen, undaunted in conflict, furious in anger, cruel in enmity, but with an unbeaten genius for both negotiation and war. Arrived in Africa, his 80,000 Vandal and Alani warriors, women, and children were joined by the savage Moors, long resentful of Roman domination, and the Donatist heretics, who had been persecuted by the orthodox Christians, and now welcomed a new rule. Out of a population of some 8,000,000 souls in Roman North Africa, Boniface could muster only a negligible number to help his small regular army; overwhelmingly defeated by Gaiseric’s horde, he retreated to Hippo, where the aged St. Augustine aroused the population to heroic resistance. For fourteen months the city stood siege (430–1); Gaiseric then withdrew to meet another Roman force, and so overwhelmed it that Valentinian’s ambassador signed a truce recognizing the Vandal conquest in Africa. Gaiseric observed the truce until the Romans were off their guard; then he pounced upon rich Carthage and took it without a blow (439). The nobles and the Catholic clergy were dispossessed of their property, and were banished or enserfed; lay and ecclesiastical property was seized wherever found, and torture was not spared to discover its hiding place.45
Gaiseric was still young. Though a capable administrator, who reorganized Africa into a lucrative state, he was happiest when engaged in war. Building a great fleet, he ravaged with it the coasts of Spain, Italy, and Greece. No one could tell where his cavalry-laden ships would land next; never in Roman history had such unhindered piracy prevailed in the western Mediterranean. At last the Emperor, as the price of the African corn on which Ravenna as well as Rome lived, made peace with the barbarian king, and even pledged him an imperial daughter in marriage. Rome, soon to be destroyed, continued to laugh and play.
Three quarters of a century had passed since the Huns had precipitated the barbarian invasions by crossing the Volga. Their further movement westward had been a slow migration, less like the conquest of Alaric and Gaiseric than like the spread of colonists across the American continent. Gradually they had settled down in and near Hungary and had brought under their rule many of the German tribes.
About the year 433 the Hun king Rua died, and left his throne to his nephews Bleda and Attila. Bleda was slain—some said by Attila—about 444, and Attila (i.e., in Gothic, “Little Father”) ruled divers trib
es north of the Danube from the Don to the Rhine. The Gothic historian Jordanes describes him, we do not know how accurately:
He was a man born into the world to shake the nations, the scourge of all lands, who in some way terrified all mankind by the rumors noised abroad concerning him. He was haughty in his walk, rolling his eyes hither and thither, so that the power of his proud spirit appeared in the movement of his body. He was indeed a lover of war, yet restrained in action; mighty in counsel, gracious to suppliants, and lenient to those who were once received under his protection. He was short of stature, with a broad chest and a large head; his eyes were small, his beard was thin and sprinkled with gray. He had a flat nose and a swarthy complexion, revealing his origin.46
He differed from the other barbarian conquerors in trusting to cunning more than to force. He ruled by using the heathen superstitions of his people to sanctify his majesty; his victories were prepared by the exaggerated stories of his cruelty which perhaps he had himself originated; at last even his Christian enemies called him the “scourge of God,” and were so terrified by his cunning that only the Goths could save them. He could neither read nor write, but this did not detract from his intelligence. He was not a savage; he had a sense of honor and justice, and often proved himself more magnanimous than the Romans. He lived and dressed simply, ate and drank moderately, and left luxury to his inferiors, who loved to display their gold and silver utensils, harness, and swords, and the delicate embroidery that attested the skillful fingers of their wives. Attila had many wives, but scorned that mixture of monogamy and debauchery which was popular in some circles of Ravenna and Rome. His palace was a huge loghouse floored and walled with planed planks, but adorned with elegantly carved or polished wood, and reinforced with carpets and skins to keep out the cold. His capital was a large village probably on the site of the present Buda—a city which until our century was by some Hungarians called Etzelnburg, the City of Attila.
