The Comic History of Rome

by Gilbert Abbott À Beckett

The war with Jugurtha was no sooner at an end, than Rome found herself threatened by the swords of half-a-dozen different foes; and, in default of being able to cut herself into six, for the purpose of dividing her strength, she seemed in danger of such a cutting-up at the hands of her enemies. It would be a tedious task to unravel the excessive tangle into which the threads of history are thrown by the windings of those numerous lines of barbarians who kept themselves suspended over Rome at about this period. The Cimbri, a Celtic race, entered into an alliance with the Teutoni—a German band—and threw themselves upon Gaul; which was unable to throw them off again. They encountered the Consul, M. Junius Silanus, to whom they applied for a country to be assigned to them; but, as this modest request could not be attended to, they set upon Silanus, and gave him a sound beating. At length the Consul, Q. Servilius Cœpio, offered to meet the difficulty, and approached the Rhone, but the Cimbri cut to pieces 80,000 soldiers and 40,000 camp followers; at least, if we are to believe the authorities, who are always ready to mince men, though never mincing matters. Cœpio—according to the same authentic accounts—was glad to make his escape across the Rhone with a handful of men, and the term, "handful" is in this instance not misapplied; for as the number is said to have been exactly ten, he might have easily told them off on his fingers. As if to show that they had not been actuated by mercenary motives, the Cimbri threw into the river the whole of their booty; and, not satisfied with spoiling the foe, they proceeded to spoil the property taken in battle.

It says little to the credit of Rome that her dangers seemed to damp the ambition of her citizens, and no one evinced an anxiety for the perilous honours of the Consulship. Those among the aristocracy who claimed a sort of prescriptive right to the government in times when there was everything to be got, now that there was a prospect of everything being lost, shrunk from the responsibility of a high position. The plebeian, Marius, was declared to be the only man for the situation; and, instead of being obliged to solicit the Consulship, it was thrust upon him even before he had returned from Africa.

His first care was to get together an army capable of bearing the fatigues of a military life, in preference to those who were only fit to support its gaudy trappings. He enlisted large numbers of working men, and tested their strength by putting into their hands a spade before he entrusted them with a sword, subjecting them to all sorts of privations, and putting them even upon reduced rations—an experiment that was by no means rational. Many of the soldiers, who, under a generous diet, would have become strong healthy men, dwindled to mere skeletons, and many of the recruits were reduced so low that their strength was past recruiting. Those who were able to stand against the fatigue, were hardy enough to stand against anything; and, in order to give them the benefit of a lengthy training, he refused to accept battle until a convenient opportunity. He allowed the Teutoni to pass his camp, and, as they did so, they inquired tauntingly if there were any messages or parcels for Rome, as they—the Teutoni—were on their journey thither. Marius pursued them to Aquæ Sextiæ—now Aix—and purposely pitched his camp in such a place, that water could not be obtained without a fight for it. Every soldier who went down to the river was obliged to draw his sword as he drew the water he required, and, while he fought with one hand, defended himself as well as he could with a bucket in the other. The Teutoni were completely defeated, and rushed, for safety, to their wagons; but all who remained in the rear, together with many who had got into the van, were cut to pieces.

Marius had no sooner disposed of the Teutoni, than he heard that the Cimbri were pouring themselves all over the plains of Lombardy; and, proceeding to meet them, he threatened to "turn their bones into whitening for the fields," a menace that proves the practice of bone manuring to be an agricultural process of great antiquity. He drew up his army near Verona, at a place called the Campi Raudii, and found the front ranks of the Cimbri linked together by chains,—an arrangement adopted, probably, to prevent their running away, and making them feel bound to stand against the enemy. Marius, with considerable tact, got into such a position that the sun got into their eyes, and the wind blew their noses. Unable to look their danger in the face, they were sent winking and sneezing to destruction.

Marius celebrated the success of the day in a magnificent triumph, and paraded, among his trophies, a Cimbric king of such a gigantic height, that, notwithstanding his humiliating position, everybody looked up to him.

For the sixth time the consulship was bestowed on Marius, though not without a vast amount of bribery on the part of the successful candidate, who, while he corrupted the electors with one hand, raised a temple to Virtue and Honour with the other. He had now become so inflated with vanity, that he came swelling into the Senate in his triumphal robes; but he was so coldly received, that he pretended he had forgotten to change his dress, though his astonishment was as clearly put on as his objectionable attire. He caused to be engraved upon his buckler the image of a Gaul pulling out his tongue; an allegory rather difficult to comprehend, except by adopting the somewhat vulgar reading, that the design was emblematical of the fact that, after the victory of Marius, the Gaul might as well pull out his tongue at once, as there could be no chance of his giving a licking to the Romans.

Marius was so popular, that he was acknowledged as the third founder of Rome; Romulus, Camillus, and himself being figuratively regarded as so many bricks that the city had been built upon.

Success had rendered Marius so arrogant, that he committed many illegal acts, declaring that, amid the clashing of the swords of war, the silent motion of the sword of justice could neither be heard nor attended to. His morbid appetite for mob popularity caused him to enter into a disgraceful alliance with an unprincipled demagogue, named L. Appuleius Saturninus, whose performances equalled his promises; but he always promised one thing, and performed another. He adopted the extremely liberal side in politics, and proposed, among other liberal measures, that every member of the Senate should bind himself by an oath to support some very liberal law for dealing with property, by taking it from those who had it, and giving it to those who were ready to take it. This friend of freedom suggested, further, that every senator attempting to exercise a free will, should pay a heavy penalty. One of the aristocratic party having ventured on proposing an amendment, was driven from the Senate by a shower of missiles. Another having suggested that he heard thunder—a sign at which the Assembly should have broken up—was told that there would probably be some hail, with hail-stones of real stone, if he opposed the project of Saturninus. Marius had the courage to declare that he would never take the degrading oath; Metellus seconded his resolution; and the whole Senate, with one voice—which turned out, ultimately, to be vox et præterea nihil—swore that they would never swear to what the people had dared to demand of them. Notwithstanding this spirited proposition, Marius had not sufficient bravery to brave the popular clamour, and his courage had died away before five days had expired. Having called a special meeting of the Senate, he intimated that second thoughts were sometimes best, and that, after his first thought, there had occurred to him a second, which he proposed that they should place upon their minutes. He concluded by intimating that he had been pelted in public for the part he had taken, and, as the people were determined, apparently, on having their fling, there was little use in opposing them. He declared his attachment to his native soil; and, though he had always kept it in his eye, he objected to its being thrown in his face by his own countrymen. He finished by proposing that the oath should be taken, with a mental reservation that it should not be kept—a disgraceful compromise between cowardice and conscience, which the Senate without hesitation assented to. There was, after this, so little disposition to freedom among the members, that Metellus Numidicus was the only one who held out; and he, instead of remaining to battle with the abuse, preferred sneaking away from it into voluntary exile.

Saturninus not only put himself up for the tribuneship a third time, but endeavoured to get the Consulship for one Servilius Glaucia; and these noisy demagogues—by way of guiding the people in their choice—coolly murdered C. Memmius, who had started as an opposition candidate.

Marius now began to perceive that he had connected himself with a disreputable set, and finding his popularity on the wane, he repudiated his new political allies as suddenly as he had joined with them. He drove Saturninus to the Capitol, where, being without provisions, the demagogue found himself at last driven to an unprovisional surrender. Saturninus, Glaucia, and others were put to death by the command of Marius, who thus regained the good opinion of the people, though he had, in fact, simply trampled under foot, when down, those whom he had taken by the hand when they were uppermost. Having so far reinstated himself in the favour of the public, Marius retired into private life; and it was time that he should do so, while he had yet a certain amount of popularity left to fall back upon.