The Roman victor showed no mercy. Longinus, the illustrious scholar, was sent to the block. Palmyra was sacked, and nearly destroyed. All the aged men and women and the young children were put to the sword. Zenobia and a multitude of boys and girls were carried captive to Rome. Such a triumph the decaying city had not witnessed for years. It was the dying flickering of the lamp. Twenty elephants, four tigers, and two hundred of the most imposing animals of the East, led the pompous procession. The vast plunder of the Oriental cities was ostentatiously paraded.
An immense train of captives followed to give éclat to thetriumph. Conspicuous among these slaves was Zenobia, radiant with pensive beauty. She was robed in the most gorgeous attire of the Orient. Fetters of gold bound her beautiful arms; and she tottered beneath the burden of jewelry and precious stones with which she was decorated. Her magnificent chariot was drawn by Arabian chargers richly caparisoned. The captive queen followed it on foot. All eyes were riveted upon her.
Aurelian rode in a triumphal car drawn by four stags. The Roman senate in flowing robes, the bannered army, and the countless populace, closed the procession. This was the last of Rome’s triumphs. The reign of anarchy commenced. Aurelian was cut down by assassins.
For two or three hundred years, but three or four Roman emperors had died a natural death. For eight months after the assassination of Aurelian, there was no emperor. No man seemed willing to accept the crown,—it was so sure to bring upon him the assassin’s dagger. The glory of Rome had departed forever.
Such was the condition of the world about the middle of the third century. Pagan Rome had fallen through her own corruption. Her polluted shrines were abandoned, and her idolatrous temples were mouldering to decay. Christianity was steadily undermining the proudest temples of pagan worship. The disciples of Jesus, purified by persecution, were preaching that pure faith which was dethroning idols, breaking fetters, educating the ignorant, and regenerating the wicked.
There was at this time in Rome a venerable old man, of vast wealth and singular purity of character, named Tacitus. He had been a kind friend to the poor. Weary of anarchy, the people gathered in tumultuous thousands around his mansion, demanding that he should be emperor. Earnestly he begged to be excused.
But, just at this time, tidings came that the barbarians from the East were crowding across the Euphrates and the Tigris. They were plundering, burning, and massacring in all directions.The soldiers were clamorous for an emperor to lead them to repel this invasion. This noble old man of seventy-five years was compelled to yield. He put himself at the head of the army, and had advanced to within a hundred and fifty miles of the Euphrates, when the soldiers rose in mutiny, and killed him.
Diocletian, who had been a slave, grasped the crown by the energies of his strong mind and his brawny arm. A few bloody conflicts ensued; but he was a resolute man, and opposition soon melted before him. As it was no longer possible to hold the empire together, assailed as it was in every quarter by the barbarians, Diocletian sagaciously divided it into four parts:—
1. France, Spain, and England were made one kingdom, and assigned to Constantius.
2. The German provinces on the Danube made another kingdom, which was allotted to Galerius.