CHAPTER 14.
THE FAMINE.
The end of November is approaching. Nearly a month has elapsed sincethe occurrence of the events mentioned in the last chapter, yet stillthe Gothic lines stretch round the city walls. Rome, that we lefthaughty and luxurious even while ruin threatened her at her gates, hasnow suffered a terrible and warning change. As we approach her again,woe, horror, and desolation have already gone forth to shadow her loftypalaces and to darken her brilliant streets.
Over Pomp that spurned it, over Pleasure that defied it, over Plentythat scared it in its secret rounds, the spectre Hunger has now risentriumphant at last. Day by day has the city's insufficient allowanceof food been more and more sparingly doled out; higher and higher hasrisen the value of the coarsest and simplest provision; the hoardedsupplies that pity and charity have already bestowed to cheer thesinking people have reached their utmost limits. For the rich, thereis still corn in the city--treasure of food to be bartered for treasureof gold. For the poor, man's natural nourishment exists no more; theseason of famine's loathsome feasts, the first days of the sacrifice ofchoice to necessity have darkly and irretrievably begun.
It is morning. A sad and noiseless throng is advancing over the coldflagstones of the great square before the Basilica of St. John Lateran.The members of the assembly speak in whispers. The weak aretearful--the strong are gloomy--they all move with slow and languidgait, and hold in their arms their dogs or other domestic animals. Onthe outskirts of the crowd march the enfeebled guards of the city,grasping in their rough hands rare favourite birds of gaudy plumage andmelodious note, and followed by children and young girls vainly andpiteously entreating that their favourites may be restored.
This strange procession pauses, at length, before a mighty caldronslung over a great fire in the middle of the square, round which standthe city butchers with bare knives, and the trustiest men of the Romanlegions with threatening weapons. A proclamation is then repeated,commanding the populace who have no money left to purchase food, tobring up their domestic animals to be boiled together over the publicfurnace, for the sake of contributing to the public support.
The next minute, in pursuance of this edict, the dumb favourites of thecrowd passed from the owner's caressing hand into the butcher's readygrasp. The faint cries of the animals, starved like their masters,mingled for a few moments with the sobs and lamentations of the womenand children, to whom the greater part of them belonged. For, in thisthe first stage of their calamities, that severity of hunger whichextinguishes pity and estranges grief was unknown to the populace; andthough fast losing spirit, they had not yet sunk to the depths offerocious despair which even now were invisibly opening between them.A thousand pangs were felt, a thousand humble tragedies were acted, inthe brief moments of separation between guardian and charge. The childsnatched its last kiss of the bird that had sung over its bed; the doglooked its last entreaty for protection from the mistress who had oncenever met it without a caress. Then came the short interval of agonyand death, then the steam rose fiercely from the greedy caldron, andthen the people for a time dispersed; the sorrowful to linger near theconfines of the fire, and the hungry to calm their impatience by avisit to the neighbouring church.
The marble aisles of the noble basilica held a gloomy congregation.Three small candles were alone lighted on the high altar. No sweetvoices sang melodious anthems or exulting hymns. The monks, in hoarsetones and monotonous harmonics, chanted the penitential psalms. Hereand there knelt a figure clothed in mourning robes, and absorbed insecret prayer; but over the majority of the assembly either blankdespondency or sullen inattention universally prevailed.
As the last dull notes of the last psalm died away among the loftyrecesses of the church, a procession of pious Christians appeared atthe door and advanced slowly to the altar. It was composed both of menand women barefooted, clothed in black garments, and with ashesscattered over their dishevelled hair. Tears flowed from their eyes,and they beat their breasts as they bowed their foreheads on the marblepavement of the altar steps.
This humble public expression of penitence under the calamity that hadnow fallen on the city was, however, confined only to its few reallyreligious inhabitants, and commanded neither sympathy nor attentionfrom the heartless and obstinate population of Rome. Some stillcherished the delusive hope of assistance from the court at Ravenna;others believed that the Goths would ere long impatiently abandon theirprotracted blockade, to stretch their ravages over the rich andunprotected fields of Southern Italy. But the same blind confidence inthe lost terrors of the Roman name, the same fierce and recklessdetermination to defy the Goths to the very last, sustained the sinkingcourage and suppressed the despondent emotions of the great mass of thesuffering people, from the beggar who prowled for garbage, to thepatrician who sighed over his new and unwelcome nourishment of simplebread.
While the penitents who formed the procession above described were yetengaged in the performance of their unnoticed and unshared duties ofpenance and prayer, a priest ascended the great pulpit of the basilica,to attempt the ungrateful task of preaching patience and piety to thehungry multitude at his feet.
He began his sermon by retracing the principal occurrences in Romesince the beginning of the Gothic blockade. He touched cautiously uponthe first event that stained the annals of the besieged city--theexecution of the widow of the Roman general Stilicho, on theunauthorised suspicion that she had held treasonable communication withAlaric and the invading army; he noticed lengthily the promises ofassistance transmitted from Ravenna, after the perpetration of thatill-omened act. He spoke admiringly of the skill displayed by thegovernment in making the necessary and immediate reductions in thedaily supplies of food; he lamented the terrible scarcity whichfollowed, too inevitably, those seasonable reductions. He pronouncedan eloquent eulogium on the noble charity of Laeta, the widow of theEmperor Gratian, who, with her mother, devoted the store of provisionsobtained by their imperial revenues to succouring, at that importantjuncture, the starving and desponding poor: he admitted the newscarcity, consequent on the dissipation of Laeta's stores; deplored thepresent necessity of sacrificing the domestic animals of the citizens;condemned the enormous prices now demanded for the last remnants ofwholesome food that were garnered up; announced it as the firmpersuasion of every one that a few days more would bring help fromRavenna; and ended his address by informing his auditory that, as theyhad suffered so much already, they could patiently suffer a littlemore, and that if, after this, they were so ill-fated as to sink undertheir calamities, they would feel it a noble consolation to die in thecause of Catholic and Apostolic Rome, and would assuredly be canonisedas saints and martyrs by the next generation of the pious in the firstinterval of fertile and restoring peace.
Flowing as was the eloquence of this oration, it yet possessed not thepower of inducing one among those whom it addressed to forget thesensation of his present suffering, and to fix his attention on thevision of future advantage, spread before all listeners by the fluentpriest. With the same murmurs of querulous complaint, and the sameexpressions of impotent hatred and defiance of the Goths which hadfallen from them as they entered the church, the populace now departedfrom it, to receive from the city officers the stinted allowance ofrepugnant food, prepared for their hunger from the caldron in thepublic square.
And see, already from other haunts in the neighbouring quarter of Rometheir fellow-citizens press onward at the given signal, to meet themround the caldron's sides! The languid sentinel, released from duty,turns his gaze from the sickening prospect of the Gothic camp, andhastens to share the public meal; the baker starts from sleeping on hisempty counter, the beggar rises from his kennel in the butcher's vacantout-house, the slave deserts his place by the smoulderingkitchen-fire--all hurry to swell the numbers of the guests that arebidden to the wretched feast. Rapidly and confusedly, the congregationin the basilica pours through its lofty gates; the priests andpenitents retire from the altar's foot, and in the g
reat church, socrowded but a few moments before, there now only remains the figure ofa solitary man.
Since the commencement of the service, neither addressed nor observed,this lonely being has faltered round the circle of the congregation,gazing long and wistfully over the faces that met his view. Now thatthe sermon is ended, and the last lingerer has quitted the church, heturns from the spot whence he has anxiously watched the differentmembers of the departing throng, and feebly crouches down on his kneesat the base of a pillar that is near him. His eyes are hollow, and hischeeks are wan; his thin grey hairs are few and fading on his agedhead. He makes no effort to follow the crowd and partake theirsustenance; no one is left behind to urge, no one returns to lead himto the public meal. Though weak and old, he is perfectly forsaken inhis loneliness, perfectly unsolaced in his grief; his friends have lostall trace of him; his enemies have ceased to fear or to hate him now.As he crouches by the pillar alone, he covers his forehead with hispale, palsied hands, his dim eyes fill with bitter tears, and suchexpressions as these are ever and anon faintly audible in the intervalsof his heavy sighs: 'Day after day! Day after day! And my lost oneis not found! my loved and wronged one is not restored! Antonina!Antonina!'
Some days after the public distribution of food in the square of St.John Lateran, Vetranio's favourite freedman might have been observedpursuing his way homeward, sadly and slowly, to his master's palace.
It was not without cause that the pace of the intelligent Carrio wasfunereal and his expression disconsolate. Even during the short periodthat had elapsed since the scene in the basilica already described, thecondition of the city had altered fearfully for the worse. The famineadvanced with giant strides; every succeeding hour endued it with newvigour, every effort to repel it served but to increase its spreadingand overwhelming influence. One after another the pleasures andpursuits of the city declined beneath the dismal oppression of theuniversal ill, until the public spirit in Rome became moved alike inall classes by one gloomy inspiration--a despairing defiance of thefamine and the Goths.
The freedman entered his master's palace neither saluted nor welcomedby the once obsequious slaves in the outer lodge. Neither harps norsinging-boys, neither woman's ringing laughter nor man's bacchanalianglee, now woke the echoes in the lonely halls. The pulse of pleasureseemed to have throbbed its last in the joyless being of Vetranio'saltered household.
Hastening his steps as he entered the mansion, Carrio passed into thechamber where the senator awaited him.
On two couches, separated by a small table, reclined the lord of thepalace and his pupil and companion at Ravenna, the once sprightlyCamilla. Vetranio's open brow had contracted a clouded and severeexpression, and he neither regarded nor addressed his visitor, who, onher part, remained as silent and as melancholy as himself. Every traceof the former characteristics of the gay, elegant voluptuary and thelively, prattling girl seemed to have completely vanished. On the tablebetween them stood a large bottle containing Falernian wine, and a vasefilled with a little watery soup, in the middle of which floated asmall dough cake, sparingly sprinkled with common herbs. As for theusual accompaniments of Vetranio's luxurious privacy, they were nowhereto be seen. Poems, pictures, trinkets, lutes, all were absent. Eventhe 'inestimable kitten of the breed most worshipped by the ancientEgyptians' appeared no more. It had been stolen, cooked, and eaten bya runaway slave, who had already bartered its ruby collar for a leanparrot and the unroasted half of the carcase of a dog.
'I lament to confess it, O estimable patron, but my mission hasfailed,' observed Carrio, producing from his cloak several bags ofmoney and boxes of jewels, which he carefully deposited on the table.'The Prefect has himself assisted in searching the public and privategranaries, and has arrived at the conclusion that not a handful of cornis left in the city. I offered publicly in the market-place fivethousand sestertii for a living cock and hen, but was told that therace had long since been exterminated, and that, as money would nolonger buy food, money was no longer desired by the poorest beggar inRome. There is no more even of the hay I yesterday purchased to beobtained for the most extravagant bribes. Those still possessing thesmallest supplies of provision guard and hide them with the mostjealous care. I have done nothing but obtain for the consumption ofthe few slaves who yet remain faithful in the house this small store ofdogs' hides, reserved from the public distribution of some days sincein the square of the Basilica of St. John.'
And the freedman, with an air of mingled triumph and disgust, producedas he spoke his provision of dirty skins.
'What supplies have we still left in our possession?' demandedVetranio, after drinking a deep draught of the Falernian, and motioninghis servant to place his treasured burden out of sight.
'I have hidden in a secure receptacle, for I know not how soon hungermay drive the slaves to disobedience,' rejoined Carrio, 'seven bags ofhay, three baskets stocked with salted horse-flesh, a sweetmeat-boxfilled with oats, and another with dried parsley; the rare Indiansinging birds are still preserved inviolate in their aviary; there is agreat store of spices, and some bottles of the Nightingale Sauce yetremain.'
'What is the present aspect of the city?' interrupted Vetranioimpatiently.
'Rome is as gloomy as a subterranean sepulchre,' replied Carrio, with ashudder. 'The people congregate in speechless and hungry mobs at thedoors of their houses and the corners of the streets, the sentinels atthe ramparts totter on their posts, women and children are sleepingexhausted on the very pavements of the churches, the theatres areemptied of actors and audience alike, the baths resound with cries forfood and curses on the Goths, thefts are already committed in the openand unguarded shops, and the barbarians remain fixed in theirencampments, unapproached by our promised legions from Ravenna, neitherassaulting us in our weakness, nor preparing to raise the blockade!Our situation grows more and more perilous. I have great hopes in ourstore of provisions; but--'
'Cast your hopes to the court at Ravenna, and your beasts' provender tothe howling mob!' cried Vetranio with sudden energy. 'It is now toolate to yield; if the next few days bring us no assistance, the citywill be a human shambles! And think you that I, who have already lostin this public suspension of social joys my pleasures, my employments,and my companions, will wait serenely for the lingering and ignobledeath that must then threaten us all? No, it shall never be said thatI died starving with the herd, like a slave that his master deserts!Though the plates in my banqueting hall must now be empty, my vases andwine-cups shall yet sparkle for my guests! There is still wine in thecellar, and spices and perfumes remain in the larder stores! I willinvite my friends to a last feast; a saturnalia in a city of famine; abanquet of death, spread by the jovial labours of Silenus and hisfauns! Though the Parcae have woven for me the destiny of a dog, it isthe hand of Bacchus that shall sever the fatal thread!'
His cheeks were flushed, his eyes sparkled; all the mad energy of hisdetermination appeared in his face as he spoke. He was no longer thelight, amiable, smooth-tongued trifler, but a moody, reckless,desperate man, careless of every obligation and pursuit which hadhitherto influenced the easy surface of his patrician life. Thestartled Camilla, who had as yet preserved a melancholy silence, rantowards him with affrighted looks and undissembled tears. Carriostared in vacant astonishment on his master's disordered countenance;and, forgetting his bundle of dogskins, suffered them to drop unheededon the floor. A momentary silence followed, which was suddenlyinterrupted by the abrupt entrance of a fourth person, pale, tremblingand breathless, who was no other than Vetranio's former visitor, thePrefect Pompeianus.
'I bid you welcome to my approaching feast of brimming wine-cups andempty dishes!' cried Vetranio, pouring the sparkling Falernian into hisempty glass. 'The last banquet given in Rome, ere the city isannihilated, will be mine! The Goths and the famine shall have no partin my death! Pleasure shall preside at my last moments, as it haspresided at my whole life! I will die like Sardanapalus, with my lovesand my treasures around me, an
d the last of my guests who remains proofagainst our festivity shall set fire to my palace, as the kinglyAssyrian set fire to his!'
'This is no season for jesting,' exclaimed the Prefect, staring roundhim with bewildered eyes and colourless cheeks. 'Our miseries are butdawning as yet! In the next street lies the corpse of a woman,and--horrible omen!--a coil of serpents is wreathed about her neck! Wehave no burial-place to receive her, and the thousands who may die likeher, ere assistance arrives. The city sepulchres outside the walls arein the hands of the Goths. The people stand round the body in a tranceof horror, for they have now discovered a fatal truth we would fainhave concealed from them--' Here the Prefect paused, looked roundaffrightedly on his listeners, and then added in low trembling tones--
'The citizens are lying dead from famine in the streets of Rome!'