[Sidenote: Fate of the city.]
At last (439 A.D.), the storm burst out, and the world was thunderstruck with the intelligence that Genseric had seized and plundered Carthage. Suddenly, without warning, in a day looked not for, this magnificent city was plundered, and her inhabitants butchered by the most faithless and perfidious barbarians, who trampled out the dying glories of the empire. Her doom was like that pronounced upon Tyre and Sidon. The bitter cry which went up from the devastated city proclaimed the retribution of God for sins more hideous than those of Antioch or Babylon. Of all the cities of the world, Carthage was probably the wickedest—a seething caldron of impurities and abominations, the home of all the vices which disgraced humanity—so indecent and scandalous as to excite the disgust of the barbarians themselves. According to one of the authors of those times, as quoted by Sheppard, [Footnote: Salvian, De Gub. Dei, vii. 251.] "they were notorious for drunkenness, avarice, and perjury—the peculiar sins of degenerate commercial capitals. The Goths are perfidious but chaste, the Franks are liars but hospitable, the Saxons are cruel but continent; but the Africans are a blazing fire of impurity and lust; the rich are drunk with debauchery, the poor are ground down with relentless oppression, while other vices, too indecent to be named, pollute every class. Who can wonder at the fall of Roman society? What hope can there be for Rome, when barbarians are more chaste and temperate than they?"
In the sack of Carthage, the voluminous writings of Augustine, then breathing his last in prayer to God that the fate of Sodom might be averted, were fortunately preserved, and have doubtless done more to instruct, and perhaps civilize, the western nations, than all the arts and sciences of the commercial metropolis. It is singular how little remains of the commercial cities of antiquity, which we value as trophies of civilization. A few sculptured ruins are all that attest ancient pride and glory. The poems of a blind schoolmaster at Chios, and the rhapsodies of a wandering philosopher on the hills of Greece, have proved greater legacies to the world than the combined treasures of Africa and Asia Minor. Where is the literature of Carthage, except as preserved in the writings of Augustine, the influence of which in developing the character of the barbarians cannot be estimated.
[Sidenote: Renewed dangers of Rome.]
The cry of agony which went from Carthage across the Mediterranean, announced to Rome that her turn would come. She looked in vain to every quarter for assistance. Every city and province had need of their own forces. Theodoric, king of the Visigoths, was contending with Aetius; in Spain the Sueves were extending their ravages; Attila menaced the eastern provinces; the Emperor Valentinian was forced to hide in the marshes of Ravenna, and see the second sack of the imperial capital, now a prostrate power—a corpse in a winding-sheet.
[Sidenote: The Vandals in Italy.]
The Vandals landed on the Italian coast. They advanced to the Tiber's banks. The Queen of Cities wrapped around her the faded folds of her imperial purple, rent by faction, pierced with barbaric daggers, and trampled in the dust. Yet not with the dignity of her great Julius did she die. She begged for mercy, not proud and stately amid her executioners, but like a withered hag, with the wine-cup of sorceries in her hand, pale, haggard, ghastly, staggering, helpless.
[Sidenote: Sack and fall of Rome.]
The last hope of Rome was her Christian bishop, and the great Leo, who was to Rome what Augustine had been to Carthage, in his pontifical robes, hastened to the barbarians' camp. But all he could secure was the promise that the unresisting should be spared, the buildings protected from fire, and the captives from torture. Even this promise was only partially fulfilled. The pillage lasted fourteen days and fourteen nights, and all that the Goths had spared was transported to the ships of Genseric. Among the spoils were the statues of the old pagan gods which adorned the capitol, the holy vessels of the Jewish temples which Titus had brought away from Jerusalem, and the shrines and altars of the Christian churches enriched by the liberality of popes and emperors. The gilding of the capitol had cost Domitian twelve million dollars, or twelve thousand talents, but the bronze on which it was gilt was carried away. The imperial ornaments of the palace, the magnificent furniture and wardrobe of senatorial mansions, and the sideboards of massive plate, gold, silver, brass, copper, whatever could be found, were transported to the ships. The Empress Eudoxia herself was stripped of her jewels, and carried away captive with her two daughters, the only survivors of the great Theodosius. Thousands of Romans were forced upon the fleet, while wives were separated from their husbands, and children from their parents, and sold into slavery. [Footnote: Gibbon, chap. xxxvi.]
[Sidenote: The doom of Rome.]