The Comic History of Rome

by Gilbert Abbott À Beckett

s a prophet is sure to come right in the end, if he will go on prophesying a thing until it really happens; so the soothsayers, who had been constantly predicting the taking of Rome, seemed likely, at last, to have their forebodings verified.

The Gauls were destined to be the invaders, and tradition tells us that they were attracted to cross the Alps by the reputation of the Italian grapes, which induced them to expect a superior glass of wine on the other side of the mountains. The Gauls were remarkable for the hugeness of their bodies, which presented a series of gigantic pictures in their iron frames; and their faces being covered with long shaggy hair, they seemed ready, by their ferocious aspect, to beard an enemy. These people were the ancient inhabitants of modern France, and it is a curious fact, that the occupants of the country have, up to the present time, cultivated that hairiness of visage, in which they may be said to have literally aped their ancestors. Tradition—that wholesale carrier, who delivers so many parcels at the historian's door, some of which are scarcely worth the carriage—has handed to us a small packet, with reference to the Gauls and their origin, the contents of which we proceed to examine. On taking it up, we find that it possesses very little weight; but we, nevertheless, proceed to the operation of unpacking. Beginning as we would with a basket, we find ourselves hampered to a considerable extent, for on opening the lid, and using the eye of discernment, we turn over the contents with eagerness, and after all catch at little better than straw, in our attempts to take hold of something tangible. Turning over the flimsy mass, we arrive at very little of a solid description, though, on getting to the bottom of it, we establish the fact that the Gauls, under Brennus, their chief, marched upon Clusium, one of the states of Etruria. People in difficulties are apt to grow exceedingly amiable towards those who are in a position to help them; the man of money becomes the very "dear Sir" of one who needs a loan, and the Clusians appealed to their "friends," the Romans, of whom they knew nothing, for their kind assistance.

The Roman Senate, adopting the quarrel of the Clusians, sent three ambassadors, the sons of M. Fabius Ambustus, to the Gauls, desiring them to withdraw; but the Gauls sent back a very galling answer. They declared their own country was little, and their necessities were large; that they had not land enough to supply them with bread; and, though they wished not to tread on a neighbour's corn, they could not help feeling where the shoe was pinching. They added, that, as to Clusium, they did not want it all, but would willingly share it with its owners; a proposition similar to that of a pickpocket, who, while robbing you of your handkerchief, politely offers you the joint use of it.

This arrangement not having been acceded to, the Clusians and the Gauls came into collision; when the Roman ambassadors, who only went to have a few words, so far forgot their diplomatic character as to come to blows; and, though it is not unusual for peace-makers to cause more mischief than they prevent, it was rather too much to find the pacificators, who had gone forth to knock discord on the head, engaged in fracturing the skulls of those whom they went to propitiate. One of the Fabii not only killed a Gallic chief, but, having made away with the individual, was making off with his arms and accoutrements; when a cry of "shame!" arose from the Gauls, who did not approve of an arrangement by which the envoy was killing several of them, while a delicate regard to the law of nations prevented them from killing the envoy. It is difficult for men to stand upon a point of etiquette when threatened with the point of the sword; but the Gauls, with extreme moderation, resolved on sending envoys to complain of the envoys; and thus, as it were, fight the ambassadors with their own weapons. The Roman Senate felt the justice of the complaint; but, seeing that public feeling ran the other way, the Senators were base enough to do an injustice rather than make an honourable stand against the wilfulness of the people.

The Fabii, whom the Senate had been too cowardly to punish, the million thought proper to reward by appointing them Consular Tribunes for the year ensuing; and when the news reached the Gauls, it excited in them a very natural bitterness. After their first burst of rage, they began to collect themselves; and finding, when collected, they could muster 30,000 strong, they were joined by upwards of 40,000 Senones, in alliance with whom they reached Allia, a little stream flowing towards the Tiber. Here they were met by the Romans, who threw up entrenchments to prevent the enemy from entrenching upon their domain; but being comparatively few in numbers, they endeavoured to spread themselves out as far apart as possible.

As a kettle of water thrown upon a spoonful of tea, with the intention of making it go further, produces a weakening effect; so did the expansion of the Roman line dilute its strength to such a degree, that the right wing became panic-stricken, and the left catching the infection, both wings began to fly together. Several of the Romans plunged into the Tiber, to save their lives, and the dux or general set the ignominious example. Some lost all self-possession, and fell helplessly into the possession of the enemy; while others finding their heads beginning to swim violently on shore, could not obtain the chance of safety by swimming across the river.

A few only of the soldiers got home in safety, soaked to the skin; and though there may be something ignoble in the picture of a party of Roman warriors dripping in their wet clothes, we are compelled to follow the dry threads of history. Those who escaped by means of the friendly tide, took the sad tidings to Rome, which would now have fallen an easy prey to the Gauls, had they not remained on the field of battle, uttering horrid yells, shaking their yellow locks, and intoxicating themselves with something more potent than the stream cup of success which they had quaffed so easily. When the bad news reached Rome, the citizens began to fly apace, and some were startled by their own shadows, as if, like guilty creatures, they were unable to bear their own reflections. Many of the patricians ran for safety into the Arx, or topmost part of the city, which was carrying cowardice to the utmost height; and some who tried to save their goods as well as their lives, packed their property in casks with the hope of preserving it.

On the arrival of the Gauls, they found the walls and the inhabitants completely unmanned, and though nearly every one who remained was somebody beside himself, the population had, owing to the foolish panic, been most sensibly diminished. Among those who remained were eighty old patricians, who had filled in their turns, the chief offices of state, and who, having sworn to die, took the oaths and their seats in the Forum. They wore their official robes, occupied their ivory chairs, and being carefully got up with venerable white beards, they had all the imposing effect of a tableau vivant upon the Gauls who entered the Forum. One of the barbarians, attracted by the singularity of the scene, stroked the beard of the aged Papirius to ascertain if he was real, when the aged P. having returned the salutation by a smart stroke with his sceptre, the inquisitive Gaul found his head and the charm broken together. Though the patricians had, at first, worn the appearance of mere wax-work, they now began to wax warm, which led to their speedy dissolution; for the Gauls, falling violently upon them, converted the whole scene into a chamber of horrors. The eighty senators were slain, to the immense satisfaction of the Romans themselves, who felt a conviction that after this alarming sacrifice they were sure of a triumph. They seemed to look upon the venerable victims as so much old stock that must be cleared off, and the previously depressed citizens began to rally with all the renewed vigour of a bankrupt who has just undergone the operation of an extensive failure. The Gauls invested the Capitol, but its defenders feeling that no one had a right to invest that Capitol but themselves, did their utmost to keep it standing in their own names; and, not even for the sake of ensuring their own lives, would they agree to an unconditional surrender. The barbarians, finding nothing better to do, commenced firing the city in several parts, pulling down the walls and throwing them into the Tiber; a species of sacking that must have been very injurious to the bed of the river.

The occupants of the Capitol continued to hold out, or rather, to keep in, and it being desirable to communicate with them, a bold youth, named Pontius Cominius, attempted the hazardous enterprise. Having encased himself in a suit of cork, he crossed the Tiber, and clambering on his hands, he performed the wonderful feat of reaching the Capitol. He returned in the same manner; and, on the following day the Gauls observing the track, thought to be all fours with him, by stealing up on the points of their fingers and the tips of their toes, to the point he had arrived at. With a cat-like caution, which eluded even the vigilance of the dogs, and while the sentinels were off their guard, a party of the Gauls crept up one by one to the top of the rock, which was the summit of their wishes. Just as they had effected their object, a wakeful goose,[24] with a head not unworthy of the sage, commenced a vehement cackle, and the solo of one old bird was soon followed by a full chorus from a score of others. Marcus Manlius, who resided near the poultry, was so alarmed at the sound that he instantly jumped out of his skin—for, in those days, a sheep's skin was the usual bedding—and ran to the spot, where he caught hold of the first Gaul he came to, and, giving him a smart push, the whole pack behind fell like so many cards to the bottom.

Manlius was rewarded with the scarcest luxury the city contained, in the shape of plenty to eat, and it cannot be said that we have greatly improved upon the early Romans in matters of the same kind, for a dinner is still a common mode of acknowledging the services of a public man, and literally feeding his vanity.