We may take as an example the treatment of Jugurtha, king of Numidia; for whom, indeed, so far as his own merits are concerned, no treatment could have been too severe. “Marius, bringing home his army againe out of Lybia into Italy, took possession of his consulship the first day of January, and therewithall made his triumph into the city of Rome, shewing that to the Romans which they thought never to have seen; and that was, king Jugurth prisoner, who was so subtill a man, and could so well frame himself unto his fortune, and with his craft and subtilty was of so great courage besides, that none of his enemies ever hoped to have had him alive. But it is said that after he was led in this triumph, he fell mad straight upon it; and the pompe of triumph being ended, he was carried unto prison, where the serjeants, for hast to have the spoil of him, tore his apparel by force from off his back: and because they would take away his rich gold earrings, that hung on his eares, they pulled away with them the tippe of his eare, and then cast him naked to the bottome of a deep dungeon, his wits being altogether troubled, Yet when they did throw him downe, laughing he said, ‘O Hercules, how cold are your baths!’ He lived there yet six days, fighting with hunger, and desiring alwaies to prolong his miserable life to the last hour: the which was a just deserved punishment for his wicked life.”[100]
Marius, however, with all his military talents was but a rude and blood–thirsty soldier. From Cæsar, on the contrary, who throughout the civil wars displayed signal generosity and mildness of temper, we might have expected a fairer estimate of the treatment due to a noble enemy. But in his treatment of Vercingetorix those noble qualities are exchanged for the haughty and selfish cruelty which the foreign policy of Rome was most admirably calculated to produce. That prince, after a most gallant and almost successful stand in defence of the liberties of Gaul, being shut up in Alesia, and reduced to extremity by Cæsar, surrendered himself to the victor’s mercy in hope of obtaining better terms for his comrades. The scene is thus described by Dion Cassius:—
“Vercingetorix being still at liberty, and unwounded, might have escaped; but hoping, for the sake of their previous friendship, to obtain forgiveness from Cæsar, he went out to him without notice of his coming. And while the Roman general was seated on the tribunal, he appeared suddenly, so as to alarm some persons, for he was tall of stature, and made a gallant appearance in his armour. All around being hushed, he said nothing, but fell on his knee, stretching out his hand in gesture of supplication. All others were struck with compassion, both by the recollection of his former high state, and by the exceeding piteousness of the spectacle before them. But Cæsar made that from which he chiefly expected to derive safety, the heaviest charge against him; for, dwelling on the return for his friendship, he made the injury appear the heavier. And therefore he pitied him not in that conjuncture, but for the present cast him into bonds, reserving him until his triumph, after which he slew him.”[101]
But Rome, which had so often insulted the majesty of fallen royalty, endured in the person of one of her emperors a greater degradation than any which she had inflicted. When the emperor Valerian was taken prisoner by Sapor, king of Persia, his life was spared, but spared that his age might waste in the most humiliating slavery; and when the haughty monarch mounted his horse, he used the prostrate body of his royal captive for a footstool. That, said the haughty Sapor, was a real triumph; not painting imaginary processions upon walls, as the Romans did. To gratify the victor’s pride still more, he was compelled to wear the imperial purple and decorations, and in this attire, laden with chains, he followed in the train of Sapor, and exhibited to the whole Persian empire a striking picture of the fallen pride of Rome. This system of insult extended even beyond the grave: his skin is related to have been dyed scarlet, and stuffed, and then placed in a temple as an enduring monument of the shame of Rome. The Christian writers, who alone relate all the particulars of Valerian’s humiliation,[102] see in it the just vengeance of God for his persecution of our faith: the reason, probably, that Gibbon seems inclined to consider the story as a pious fiction. If so, however, it soon obtained currency, for the Emperor Constantine, who flourished not much more than half a century after the event, alludes to it in a letter to the king of Persia: “All these emperors (the persecutors of Christianity) have been destroyed by such a dreadful and avenging end, that since their times all mankind doth usually wish their calamities may fall as a curse and punishment upon those who shall study to imitate them. One of which persons I judge him to have been (him, I mean, whom divine vengeance like a thunderbolt drove out of our regions, and conveyed unto your country) who by his own disgrace and ignominy erected that trophy so much boasted of among you.”[103]
Somewhat similar to the indignities offered to Valerian was the treatment which the Sultan Bajazet is said to have experienced from Tamerlane after his defeat and capture.
Closed in a cage, like some destructive beast,
I’ll have thee borne about in public view;
A great example of the righteous vengeance
That waits on cruelty and pride like thine.[104]
Voltaire and other modern writers have discredited this story, chiefly on the authority of D’Herbelot. It has been shown, however, by Sir W. Jones, that the premises of that distinguished orientalist are false, and his authority therefore falls to the ground. On the other hand, Leunclavius, in his History of the Turks, professes to have heard from an old man, who was in Bajazet’s service at the time of his defeat, “that an iron cage was made by Timour’s command, composed on every side of iron gratings, through which he could be seen in any direction. He travelled in this den slung between two horses. Whenever Timour and his retinue, on moving his camp, made ready for a journey, he was usually carried before; and after the march, when they dismounted, he was placed upon the ground in his cage, before Timour’s tent.” Poggio also, himself a contemporary, mentions this strange imprisonment as an undoubted fact.[105]
The English reader will find some countenance for the story in Edward the First’s inhuman treatment of the Countess of Buchan. That lady having dared, it is said, in virtue of hereditary privileges, to place the crown of Scotland on the Bruce’s head, and afterwards falling into the English monarch’s hands, was confined in a cage built upon one of the towers of Berwick Castle, exposed, as it should seem, to the rigour of the elements and the gaze of passers by. One of Bruce’s sisters was similarly dealt with. So much for the devoted respect paid to women in the age of chivalry, and that by a prince who, when young, was inferior to none in knightly renown. But the demoralizing effects of absolute power found a fitting subject to work upon in Edward’s stern and unforgiving temper. The original order for the Countess’s confinement is to this effect:—
“Ordered and commanded, by letters under the privy seal, to the Chamberlain of Scotland, or his deputy at Berwick–upon–Tweed, that in one of the turrets, upon the castle of that place, in such place as he shall chuse, and shall be most convenient, he do make a cage of strong lattice–work and bars, and well strengthened with iron–work, in the which he shall place the Countess of Buchan.
“And that he shall so well and surely guard her in the same cage, that in no manner shall she pass out from it.