n the general calamities of mankind, the death of an individual, however exalted, the ruin of an
edifice, however famous, are passed over with careless inattention. Yet we cannot forget that the
temple of Diana at Ephesus, after having risen with increasing splendor from seven repeated
misfortunes, was finally burnt by the Goths in their third naval invasion. The arts of Greece, and
the wealth of Asia, had conspired to erect that sacred and magnificent structure. It was supported
by a hundred and twenty-seven marble columns of the Ionic order. They were the gifts of devout
monarchs, and each was sixty feet high. The altar was adorned with the masterly sculptures of
Praxiteles, who had, perhaps, selected from the favorite legends of the place the birth of the
divine children of Latona, the concealment of Apollo after the slaughter of the Cyclops, and the
clemency of Bacchus to the vanquished Amazons. Yet the length of the temple of Ephesus was
only four hundred and twenty-five feet, about two thirds of the measure of the church of St.
Peter's at Rome. In the other dimensions, it was still more inferior to that sublime production of
modern architecture. The spreading arms of a Christian cross require a much greater breadth
than the oblong temples of the Pagans; and the boldest artists of antiquity would have been
startled at the proposal of raising in the air a dome of the size and proportions of the Pantheon.
The temple of Diana was, however, admired as one of the wonders of the world. Successive
empires, the Persian, the Macedonian, and the Roman, had revered its sanctity and enriched its
splendor. But the rude savages of the Baltic were destitute of a taste for the elegant arts, and
they despised the ideal terrors of a foreign superstition.
Another circumstance is related of these invasions, which might deserve our notice, were it not
justly to be suspected as the fanciful conceit of a recent sophist. We are told, that in the sack of
Athens the Goths had collected all the libraries, and were on the point of setting fire to this
funeral pile of Grecian learning, had not one of their chiefs, of more refined policy than his
brethren, dissuaded them from the design; by the profound observation, that as long as the
Greeks were addicted to the study of books, they would never apply themselves to the exercise
of arms. The sagacious counsellor (should the truth of the fact be admitted) reasoned like an
ignorant barbarian. In the most polite and powerful nations, genius of every kind has displayed
itself about the same period; and the age of science has generally been the age of military virtue
and success.
IV. The new sovereign of Persia, Artaxerxes and his son Sapor, had triumphed (as we have
already seen) over the house of Arsaces. Of the many princes of that ancient race. Chosroes, king
of Armenia, had alone preserved both his life and his independence. He defended himself by the
natural strength of his country; by the perpetual resort of fugitives and malecontents; by the
alliance of the Romans, and above all, by his own courage. Invincible in arms, during a thirty
years' war, he was at length assassinated by the emissaries of Sapor, king of Persia. The patriotic
satraps of Armenia, who asserted the freedom and dignity of the crown, implored the protection
of Rome in favor of Tiridates, the lawful heir. But the son of Chosroes was an infant, the allies
were at a distance, and the Persian monarch advanced towards the frontier at the head of an
irresistible force. Young Tiridates, the future hope of his country, was saved by the fidelity of a
servant, and Armenia continued above twenty-seven years a reluctant province of the great
monarchy of Persia. Elated with this easy conquest, and presuming on the distresses or the
degeneracy of the Romans, Sapor obliged the strong garrisons of Carrhæ and Nisibis * to
surrender, and spread devastation and terror on either side of the Euphrates.
The loss of an important frontier, the ruin of a faithful and natural ally, and the rapid success of
Sapor's ambition, affected Rome with a deep sense of the insult as well as of the danger.
Valerian flattered himself, that the vigilance of his lieutenants would sufficiently provide for the
safety of the Rhine and of the Danube; but he resolved, notwithstanding his advanced age, to
march in person to the defence of the Euphrates. During his progress through Asia Minor, the
naval enterprises of the Goths were suspended, and the afflicted province enjoyed a transient and
fallacious calm. He passed the Euphrates, encountered the Persian monarch near the walls of
Edessa, was vanquished, and taken prisoner by Sapor. The particulars of this great event are
darkly and imperfectly represented; yet, by the glimmering light which is afforded us, we may
discover a long series of imprudence, of error, and of deserved misfortunes on the side of the
Roman emperor. He reposed an implicit confidence in Macrianus, his Prætorian præfect. That
worthless minister rendered his master formidable only to the oppressed subjects, and
contemptible to the enemies of Rome. By his weak or wicked counsels, the Imperial army was
betrayed into a situation where valor and military skill were equally unavailing. The vigorous
attempt of the Romans to cut their way through the Persian host was repulsed with great
slaughter; and Sapor, who encompassed the camp with superior numbers, patiently waited till
the increasing rage of famine and pestilence had insured his victory. The licentious murmurs of
the legions soon accused Valerian as the cause of their calamities; their seditious clamors
demanded an instant capitulation. An immense sum of gold was offered to purchase the
permission of a disgraceful retreat. But the Persian, conscious of his superiority, refused the
money with disdain; and detaining the deputies, advanced in order of battle to the foot of the
Roman rampart, and insisted on a personal conference with the emperor. Valerian was reduced
to the necessity of intrusting his life and dignity to the faith of an enemy. The interview ended as
it was natural to expect. The emperor was made a prisoner, and his astonished troops laid down
their arms. In such a moment of triumph, the pride and policy of Sapor prompted him to fill the
vacant throne with a successor entirely dependent on his pleasure. Cyriades, an obscure fugitive
of Antioch, stained with every vice, was chosen to dishonor the Roman purple; and the will of
the Persian victor could not fail of being ratified by the acclamations, however reluctant, of the
captive army.
The Imperial slave was eager to secure the favor of his master by an act of treason to his native
country. He conducted Sapor over the Euphrates, and, by the way of Chalcis, to the metropolis of
the East. So rapid were the motions of the Persian cavalry, that, if we may credit a very judicious
historian, the city of Antioch was surprised when the idle multitude was fondly gazing on the
amusements of the theatre. The splendid buildings of Antioch, private as well as public, were
either pillaged or destroyed; and the numerous inhabitants were put to the sword, or led away
into captivity. The tide of devastation was stopped for a moment by the resolution of the high
priest of Emesa. Arrayed in his sacerdotal robes, he appeared at the head of a great body of
fanatic peasants, armed only with slings, and defended his god and his property from the
sacrilegious hands of the followers of Zoroaster. But the ruin of Tarsus, and of many other
cities, furnishes a melancholy proof that, except in this singular instance, the conquest of Syria
and Cilicia scarcely interrupted the progress of the Persian arms. The advantages of the narrow
passes of Mount Taurus were abandoned, in which an invader, whose principal force consisted
in his cavalry, would have been engaged in a very unequal combat: and Sapor was permitted to
form the siege of Cæsarea, the capital of Cappadocia; a city, though of the second rank, which
was supposed to contain four hundred thousand inhabitants. Demosthenes commanded in the
place, not so much by the commission of the emperor, as in the voluntary defence of his country.
For a long time he deferred its fate; and when at last Cæsarea was betrayed by the perfidy of a
physician, he cut his way through the Persians, who had been ordered to exert their utmost
diligence to take him alive. This heroic chief escaped the power of a foe who might either have
honored or punished his obstinate valor; but many thousands of his fellow-citizens were
involved in a general massacre, and Sapor is accused of treating his prisoners with wanton and
unrelenting cruelty. Much should undoubtedly be allowed for national animosity, much for
humbled pride and impotent revenge; yet, upon the whole, it is certain, that the same prince,
who, in Armenia, had displayed the mild aspect of a legislator, showed himself to the Romans
under the stern features of a conqueror. He despaired of making any permanent establishment in
the empire, and sought only to leave behind him a wasted desert, whilst he transported into
Persia the people and the treasures of the provinces.
At the time when the East trembled at the name of Sapor, he received a present not unworthy of
the greatest kings; a long train of camels, laden with the most rare and valuable merchandises.
The rich offering was accompanied with an epistle, respectful, but not servile, from Odenathus,
one of the noblest and most opulent senators of Palmyra. "Who is this Odenathus," (said the
haughty victor, and he commanded that the present should be cast into the Euphrates,) "that he
thus insolently presumes to write to his lord? If he entertains a hope of mitigating his
punishment, let him fall prostrate before the foot of our throne, with his hands bound behind his
back. Should he hesitate, swift destruction shall be poured on his head, on his whole race, and on
his country." The desperate extremity to which the Palmyrenian was reduced, called into action
all the latent powers of his soul. He met Sapor; but he met him in arms. Infusing his own spirit
into a little army collected from the villages of Syria and the tents of the desert, he hovered
round the Persian host, harassed their retreat, carried off part of the treasure, and, what was
dearer than any treasure, several of the women of the great king; who was at last obliged to
repass the Euphrates with some marks of haste and confusion. By this exploit, Odenathus laid
the foundations of his future fame and fortunes. The majesty of Rome, oppressed by a Persian,
was protected by a Syrian or Arab of Palmyra.
The voice of history, which is often little more than the organ of hatred or flattery, reproaches
Sapor with a proud abuse of the rights of conquest. We are told that Valerian, in chains, but
invested with the Imperial purple, was exposed to the multitude, a constant spectacle of fallen
greatness; and that whenever the Persian monarch mounted on horseback, he placed his foot on
the neck of a Roman emperor. Notwithstanding all the remonstrances of his allies, who
repeatedly advised him to remember the vicissitudes of fortune, to dread the returning power of
Rome, and to make his illustrious captive the pledge of peace, not the object of insult, Sapor still
remained inflexible. When Valerian sunk under the weight of shame and grief, his skin, stuffed
with straw, and formed into the likeness of a human figure, was preserved for ages in the most
celebrated temple of Persia; a more real monument of triumph, than the fancied trophies of brass
and marble so often erected by Roman vanity. The tale is moral and pathetic, but the truth of it
may very fairly be called in question. The letters still extant from the princes of the East to Sapor
are manifest forgeries; nor is it natural to suppose that a jealous monarch should, even in the
person of a rival, thus publicly degrade the majesty of kings. Whatever treatment the unfortunate
Valerian might experience in Persia, it is at least certain that the only emperor of Rome who had
ever fallen into the hands of the enemy, languished away his life in hopeless captivity.
The emperor Gallienus, who had long supported with impatience the censorial severity of his
father and colleague, received the intelligence of his misfortunes with secret pleasure and
avowed indifference. "I knew that my father was a mortal," said he; "and since he has acted as it
becomes a brave man, I am satisfied." Whilst Rome lamented the fate of her sovereign, the
savage coldness of his son was extolled by the servile courtiers as the perfect firmness of a hero
and a stoic. It is difficult to paint the light, the various, the inconstant character of Gallienus,
which he displayed without constraint, as soon as he became sole possessor of the empire. In
every art that he attempted, his lively genius enabled him to succeed; and as his genius was
destitute of judgment, he attempted every art, except the important ones of war and government.
He was a master of several curious, but useless sciences, a ready orator, an elegant poet, a
skilful gardener, an excellent cook, and most contemptible prince. When the great emergencies
of the state required his presence and attention, he was engaged in conversation with the
philosopher Plotinus, wasting his time in trifling or licentious pleasures, preparing his initiation
to the Grecian mysteries, or soliciting a place in the Arcopagus of Athens. His profuse
magnificence insulted the general poverty; the solemn ridicule of his triumphs impressed a
deeper sense of the public disgrace. The repeated intelligence of invasions, defeats, and
rebellions, he received with a careless smile; and singling out, with affected contempt, some
particular production of the lost province, he carelessly asked, whether Rome must be ruined,
unless it was supplied with linen from Egypt, and arras cloth from Gaul. There were, however, a
few short moments in the life of Gallienus, when, exasperated by some recent injury, he
suddenly appeared the intrepid soldier and the cruel tyrant; till, satiated with blood, or fatigued
by resistance, he insensibly sunk into the natural mildness and indolence of his character.
At the time when the reins of government were held with so loose a hand, it is not surprising,
that a crowd of usurpers should start up in every province of the empire against the son of
Valerian. It was probably some ingenious fancy, of comparing the thirty tyrants of Rome with
the thirty tyrants of Athens, that induced the writers of the Augustan History to select that
celebrated number, which has been gradually received into a popular appellation. But in every
light the parallel is idle and defective. What resemblance can we discover between a council of
thirty persons, the united oppressors of a single city, and an uncertain list of independent rivals,
who rose and fell in irregular succession through the extent of a vast empire? Nor can the
number of thirty be completed, unless we include in the account the women and children who
were honored with the Imperial title. The reign of Gallienus, distracted as it was, produced only
nineteen pretenders to the throne: Cyriades, Macrianus, Balista, Odenathus, and Zenobia, in the
East; in Gaul, and the western provinces, Posthumus, Lollianus, Victorinus, and his mother
Victoria, Marius, and Tetricus; in Illyricum and the confines of the Danube, Ingenuus,
Regillianus, and Aureolus; in Pontus, Saturninus; in Isauria, Trebellianus; Piso in Thessaly;
Valens in Achaia; Æmilianus in Egypt; and Celsus in Africa. * To illustrate the obscure
monuments of the life and death of each individual, would prove a laborious task, alike barren of
instruction and of amusement. We may content ourselves with investigating some general
characters, that most strongly mark the condition of the times, and the manners of the men, their
pretensions, their motives, their fate, and their destructive consequences of their usurpation.
It is sufficiently known, that the odious appellation of Tyrant was often employed by the
ancients to express the illegal seizure of supreme power, without any reference to the abuse of it.
Several of the pretenders, who raised the standard of rebellion against the emperor Gallienus,
were shining models of virtue, and almost all possessed a considerable share of vigor and ability.
Their merit had recommended them to the favor of Valerian, and gradually promoted them to
the most important commands of the empire. The generals, who assumed the title of Augustus,
were either respected by their troops for their able conduct and severe discipline, or admired for
valor and success in war, or beloved for frankness and generosity. The field of victory was often
the scene of their election; and even the armorer Marius, the most contemptible of all the
candidates for the purple, was distinguished, however by intrepid courage, matchless strength,
and blunt honesty. His mean and recent trade cast, indeed, an air of ridicule on his elevation; *
but his birth could not be more obscure than was that of the greater part of his rivals, who were
born of peasants, and enlisted in the army as private soldiers. In times of confusion, every active
genius finds the place assigned him by nature: in a general state of war, military merit is the road
to glory and to greatness. Of the nineteen tyrants Tetricus only was a senator; Piso alone was a
noble. The blood of Numa, through twenty-eight successive generations, ran in the veins of
Calphurnius Piso, who, by female alliances, claimed a right of exhibiting, in his house, the
images of Crassus and of the great Pompey. His ancestors had been repeatedly dignified with all
the honors which the commonwealth could bestow; and of all the ancient families of Rome, the
Calphurnian alone had survived the tyranny of the Cæsars. The personal qualities of Piso added
new lustre to his race. The usurper Valens, by whose order he was killed, confessed, with deep
remorse, that even an enemy ought to have respected the sanctity of Piso; and although he died
in arms against Gallienus, the senate, with the emperor's generous permission, decreed the
triumphal ornaments to the memory of so virtuous a rebel.
[See Roman Coins: From The British Museum. Number four depicts Crassus.]
The lieutenants of Valerian were grateful to the father, whom they esteemed. They disdained to
serve the luxurious indolence of his unworthy son. The throne of the Roman world was
unsupported by any principle of loyalty; and treason against such a prince might easily be
considered as patriotism to the state. Yet if we examine with candor the conduct of these
usurpers, it will appear, that they were much oftener driven into rebellion by their fears, than
urged to it by their ambition. They dreaded the cruel suspicions of Gallienus; they equally
dreaded the capricious violence of their troops. If the dangerous favor of the army had
imprudently declared them deserving of the purple, they were marked for sure destruction; and
even prudence would counsel them to secure a short enjoyment of empire, and rather to try the
fortune of war than to expect the hand of an executioner. When the clamor of the soldiers
invested the reluctant victims with the ensigns of sovereign authority, they sometimes mourned
in secret their approaching fate. "You have lost," said Saturninus, on the day of his elevation,
"you have lost a useful commander, and you have made a very wretched emperor."
The apprehensions of Saturninus were justified by the repeated experience of revolutions. Of the
nineteen tyrants who started up under the reign of Gallienus, there was not one who enjoyed a
life of peace, or a natural death. As soon as they were invested with the bloody purple, they
inspired their adherents with the same fears and ambition which had occasioned their own
revolt. Encompassed with domestic conspiracy, military sedition, and civil war, they trembled on
the edge of precipices, in which, after a longer or shorter term of anxiety, they were inevitably
lost. These precarious monarchs received, however, such honors as the flattery of their
respective armies and provinces could bestow; but their claim, founded on rebellion, could never
obtain the sanction of law or history. Italy, Rome, and the senate, constantly adhered to the cause
of Gallienus, and he alone was considered as the sovereign of the empire. That prince
condescended, indeed, to acknowledge the victorious arms of Odenathus, who deserved the
honorable distinction, by the respectful conduct which he always maintained towards the son of
Valerian. With the general applause of the Romans, and the consent of Gallienus, the senate
conferred the title of Augustus on the brave Palmyrenian; and seemed to intrust him with the
government of the East, which he already possessed, in so independent a manner, that, like a
private succession, he bequeathed it to his illustrious widow, Zenobia.
The rapid and perpetual transitions from the cottage to the throne, and from the throne to the
grave, might have amused an indifferent philosopher; were it possible for a philosopher to
remain indifferent amidst the general calamities of human kind. The election of these precarious
emperors, their power and their death, were equally destructive to their subjects and adherents.
The price of their fatal elevation was instantly discharged to the troops by an immense donative,
drawn from the bowels of the exhausted people. However virtuous was their character, however
pure their intentions, they found themselves reduced to the hard necessity of supporting their
usurpation by frequent acts of rapine and cruelty. When they fell, they involved armies and
provinces in their fall. There is still extant a most savage mandate from Gallienus to one of his
ministers, after the suppression of Ingenuus, who had assumed the purple in Illyricum. "It is not
enough," says that soft but inhuman prince, "that you exterminate such as have appeared in arms;
the chance of battle might have served me as effectually. The male sex of every age must be
extirpated; provided that, in the execution of the children and old men, you can contrive means
to save our reputation. Let every one die who has dropped an expression, who has entertained a
thought against me, against me, the son of Valerian, the father and brother of so many princes.
Remember that Ingenuus was made emperor: tear, kill, hew in pieces. I write to you with my
own hand, and would inspire you with my own feelings." Whilst the public forces of the state
were dissipated in private quarrels, the defenceless provinces lay exposed to every invader. The
bravest usurpers were compelled, by the perplexity of their situation, to conclude ignominious
treaties with the common enemy, to purchase with oppressive tributes the neutrality or services
of the Barbarians, and to introduce hostile and independent nations into the heart of the Roman
monarchy.
Such were the barbarians, and such the tyrants, who, under the reigns of Valerian and Gallienus,
dismembered the provinces, and reduced the empire to the lowest pitch of disgrace and ruin,
from whence it seemed impossible that it should ever emerge. As far as the barrenness of
materials would permit, we have attempted to trace, with order and perspicuity, the general
events of that calamitous period. There still remain some particular facts; I. The disorders of
Sicily; II. The tumults of Alexandria; and, III. The rebellion of the Isaurians, which may serve to
reflect a strong light on the horrid picture.
I. Whenever numerous troops of banditti, multiplied by success and impunity, publicly defy,
instead of eluding the justice of their country, we may safely infer, that the excessive weakness
of the government is felt and abused by the lowest ranks of the community. The situation of
Sicily preserved it from the Barbarians; nor could the disarmed province have supported a
usurper. The sufferings of that once flourishing and still fertile island were inflicted by baser
hands. A licentious crowd of slaves and peasants reigned for a while over the plundered country,
and renewed the memory of the servile wars of more ancient times. Devastations, of which the
husbandman was either the victim or the accomplice, must have ruined the agriculture of Sicily;
and as the principal estates were the property of the opulent senators of Rome, who often
enclosed within a farm the territory of an old republic, it is not improbable, that this private
injury might affect the capital more deeply, than all the conquests of the Goths or the Persians.
II. The foundation of Alexandria was a noble design, at once conceived and executed by the son
of Philip. The beautiful and regular form of that great city, second only to Rome itself,
comprehended a circumference of fifteen miles; it was peopled by three hundred thousand free
inhabitants, besides at least an equal number of slaves. The lucrative trade of Arabia and India
flowed through the port of Alexandria, to the capital and provinces of the empire. * Idleness was
unknown. Some were employed in blowing of glass, others in weaving of linen, others again
manufacturing the papyrus. Either sex, and every age, was engaged in the pursuits of industry,
nor did even the blind or the lame want occupations suited to their condition. But the people of
Alexandria, a various mixture of nations, united the vanity and inconstancy of the Greeks with
the superstition and obstinacy of the Egyptians. The most trifling occasion, a transient scarcity of
flesh or lentils, the neglect of an accustomed salutation, a mistake of precedency in the public
baths, or even a religious dispute, were at any time sufficient to kindle a sedition among that
vast multitude, whose resentments were furious and implacable. After the captivity of Valerian
and the insolence of his son had relaxed the authority of the laws, the Alexandrians abandoned
themselves to the ungoverned rage of their passions, and their unhappy country was the theatre
of a civil war, which continued (with a few short and suspicious truces) above twelve years. All
intercourse was cut off between the several quarters of the afflicted city, every street was
polluted with blood, every building of strength converted into a citadel; nor did the tumults
subside till a considerable part of Alexandria was irretrievably ruined. The spacious and
magnificent district of Bruchion, * with its palaces and musæum, the residence of the kings and
philosophers of Egypt, is described above a century afterwards, as already reduced to its present
state of dreary solitude.
III. The obscure rebellion of Trebellianus, who assumed the purple in Isauria, a petty province of
Asia Minor, was attended with strange and memorable consequences. The pageant of royalty
was soon destroyed by an officer of Gallienus; but his followers, despairing of mercy, resolved
to shake off their allegiance, not only to the emperor, but to the empire, and suddenly returned to
the savage manners from which they had never perfectly been reclaimed. Their craggy rocks, a
branch of the wide-extended Taurus, protected their inaccessible retreat. The tillage of some
fertile valleys supplied them with necessaries, and a habit of rapine with the luxuries of life. In
the heart of the Roman monarchy, the Isaurians long continued a nation of wild barbarians.
Succeeding princes, unable to reduce them to obedience, either by arms or policy, were
compelled to acknowledge their weakness, by surrounding the hostile and independent spot with
a strong chain of fortifications, which often proved insufficient to restrain the incursions of
these domestic foes. The Isaurians, gradually extending their territory to the sea-coast, subdued
the western and mountainous part of Cilicia, formerly the nest of those daring pirates, against
whom the republic had once been obliged to exert its utmost force, under the conduct of the
great Pompey.
Our habits of thinking so fondly connect the order of the universe with the fate of man, that this
gloomy period of history has been decorated with inundations, earthquakes, uncommon meteors,
preternatural darkness, and a crowd of prodigies fictitious or exaggerated. But a long and
general famine was a calamity of a more serious kind. It was the inevitable consequence of
rapine and oppression, which extirpated the produce of the present, and the hope of future
harvests. Famine is almost always followed by epidemical diseases, the effect of scanty and
unwholesome food. Other causes must, however, have contributed to the furious plague, which,
from the year two hundred and fifty to the year two hundred and sixty-five, raged without
interruption in every province, every city, and almost every family, of the Roman empire. During
some time five thousand persons died daily in Rome; and many towns, that had escaped the
hands of the Barbarians, were entirely depopulated.
We have the knowledge of a very curious circumstance, of some use perhaps in the melancholy
calculation of human calamities. An exact register was kept at Alexandria of all the citizens
entitled to receive the distribution of corn. It was found, that the ancient number of those
comprised between the ages of forty and seventy, had been equal to the whole sum of claimants,
from fourteen to fourscore years of age, who remained alive after the reign of Gallienus.
Applying this authentic fact to the most correct tables of mortality, it evidently proves, that
above half the people of Alexandria had perished; and could we venture to extend the analogy to
the other provinces, we might suspect, that war, pestilence, and famine, had consumed, in a few
years, the moiety of the human species.