/> aspect, warlike in character, the first contingent of that great

invasion from the north which, centuries afterwards, was to overthrow

the empire of Rome.



These were the Gauls, barbarian tribes from the region now known as

France, who had long before crossed the Alps and made themselves lords

of much of Northern Italy. Just when this took place we do not know, but

about the time with which we are now concerned they pushed farther

south, overthrew the Etruscans, and in the year 389 B.C. crossed the

Apennines and penetrated into Central Italy.



And now the proud city of Rome was to come face to face with an enemy

more powerful and courageous than any it had hitherto known. In the year

named the Gauls besieged the city of Clusium, in Etruria, the city of

Lars Porsenna, who in former years had aided Tarquin against Rome. The

Roman senate, alarmed at their approach, sent three deputies to observe

these barbarian bands. What follows is the story as told in Roman

annals. It cannot be accepted as the exact truth, though no one

questions the destruction of Rome by the Gauls.



The story goes, then, that the deputies sent to the barbarians, and

asked by what right they sought to take a part of the territory of

Clusium, a city in alliance with Rome. Brennus, the leader of the Gauls,

who knew little and cared less about Rome, replied, with insolent pride,

that all things belonged to the brave, and that their right lay in their

swords.



Soon after, in a sortie that was made from the city, one of the Roman

deputies joined the soldiers, and killed a Gaulish champion of great

size and stature. On this being reported to Brennus he sent messengers

to Rome, demanding that the man who had slain one of his chiefs, when no

war existed between the Gauls and Romans, should be delivered into his

hands for punishment. The senate voted to do so, as the demand seemed

reasonable; but an appeal was made to the people, and they declared that

the culprit should not be given up. On this answer being taken to

Brennus, he at once ordered that the siege of Clusium should be

abandoned, and marched with his whole army upon Rome.



A Roman army, forty thousand strong, was hastily raised, and crossed the

Tiber, marching towards Veii, where they expected to meet the advancing

enemy. But they reckoned wrongly: the Gauls came down the left bank of

the river, plundering and burning as they marched. This threw the Romans

into the greatest alarm. For many miles above Rome the Tiber could not

be forded, there were no bridges, and boats could not be had to convey

so large an army. The Romans were forced to march back with all speed to

the city, cross the river there, and hasten to meet their foes before

they got too near at hand. But when they came within sight of the Gauls

the latter were already within twelve miles of Rome.



The Roman army was drawn up behind the Alia, a little stream whose deep

bed formed a line of defence. But the Gauls made their attack upon the

weakest section of the Roman army, hewing them down with their great

broadswords, and assailing their ears with frightful yells. The Roman

right wing, formed of new recruits, gave way before this vigorous

charge, and in its flight threw the regular legions of the left wing

into disorder. The Gauls pursued so fiercely that in a short time the

whole army was in total rout, and flying as Roman army had never fled

before.



Many plunged into the river, in hope of escaping by swimming across it.

But of these the Gauls slew multitudes on the banks, and killed most of

those in the stream with their javelins. Others took refuge in a dense

wood near the road, where they lay hidden till nightfall. The remainder

fled back to the city, where they brought the frightful tidings of the

utter ruin of the Roman army.



The news threw Rome into a panic. Of those who escaped from the battle,

the majority had crossed the river and made their way to Veii. No other

army could be raised. Most of the other inhabitants left the city, as

the people of Athens had done when the army of Xerxes approached. It was

resolved to abandon the city to the barbarians, but to maintain the

citadel, the home of the gods of Rome. The holy articles in the temples

were buried or removed, the Vestal Virgins sent away, and the flower of

the patricians took refuge in the Capitol, determined to defend to the

last that abiding-place of the guardian gods of Rome.



But there were aged members of the senate, old patricians who had filled

the highest offices in the state, and venerable ministers of the gods,

who felt that they had a different duty to perform. They could not serve

their country by their deeds; they might by their death. They devoted

themselves and the army of the Gauls, in solemn invocations, to the

spirits of the dead and to the earth, the common grave of man. Then,

attiring themselves in their richest robes of office, each took his seat

on his ivory chair of magistracy in the gate-way of his house.



Meanwhile the Gauls had delayed for a day their attack on the city,

fearing that the silence portended some snare. When they did enter, the

people had escaped with such valuables as they could carry. The Capitol

was provisioned and garrisoned, and the aged senators awaited death in

solemn calm.



On seeing these venerable men, sitting in motionless silence amid the

confusion of the sack of the city, the Gauls viewed them with awe,

regarding them at first as more than human. One of the soldiers

approached M. Papirius, and began reverently to stroke his long white

beard. Papirius was a minister of the gods, and looked on this touch of

a barbarian hand as profanation. With an impulse of anger he struck the

Gaul on the head with his ivory sceptre. Instantly the barbarian,

breaking into rage, cut him down with his sword. This put an end to the

feeling of awe. All the old men were attacked and slain, their vow being

thus fulfilled.



Rome, except its Capitol, was now in the hands of the Gauls. The sack

and ruin of the city went mercilessly on. But the Capitol defied their

efforts. It stood on a hill which, except at a single point, presented

precipitous sides. The Gauls tried to storm it by this single approach,

but were driven back with loss. They then blockaded the hill, and spent

their time in devastating the city and neighboring country.



While this was going on the fugitives from Rome had gathered at Veii,

where they daily became more reorganized. And now they turned in their

distress to a man whom they had injured in their prosperity. Camillus,

the conqueror of Veii, had been exiled from Rome on a charge of having

been dishonest in distributing the spoils of the conquered city. He was

now living at Ardea, whither messengers were sent, begging him to come

to the aid of Rome. He sent word back that he had been condemned for an

offence of which he was not guilty, and would not return unless

requested to do so by the senate.



But the senate was shut up in the Capitol. How could it be reached? In

this dilemma a young man, Pontius Cominius, volunteered for the

adventure. He swam the Tiber at night, climbed the hill by the aid of

shrubs and projecting stones, obtained for Camillus the appointment as

dictator, and returned by the same route.



The feat of Cominius, whatever its real purpose, came near being a fatal

one to Rome. He had left his marks on the cliff. Here the soil had been

trodden away and stones loosened; there bushes had been broken or torn

from the soil. The sharp eyes of the Gauls saw, in the morning light,

these proofs that some one had climbed or descended the hill. The cliff,

then, could be climbed. Some Roman had climbed it; why not they? The

spot, supposed to be inaccessible, was not guarded. There was no wall at

its top. Here was an open route to that stubborn citadel. They resolved

to attempt it as soon as night should fall.



It was midnight when the Gauls began to make their way slowly and with

difficulty up the steep cliff. The moon may have aided them with its

rays, but, if so, it revealed them to no sentinel above. The very

watch-dogs failed to scent and signal their approach. They reached the

summit, and, to their gratification, no alarm had been given. The Romans

slept on.



The fate of Rome in that hour hung in the balance. Had the citadel been

taken and its defenders slain, Rome might never have recovered from the

blow. The whole course of history might have been changed. It was the

merest chance that saved the city from this impending disaster.



It chanced that on this part of the hill stood the temple of the

guardian gods of Rome,--Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva,--and in this temple

were kept a number of geese, sacred to Juno. Though food was not

abundant, the garrison had spared these sacred geese. They were now to

be amply repaid, for the geese alone heard the noise of the ascending

Gauls, and in alarm began a loud screaming and flapping of wings.



The noise aroused Marcus Manlius, who slept near. Hastily seizing his

sword and shield, he called to his comrades and ran to the edge of the

cliff. He reached there just in time to see the head and shoulders of a

burly Gaul, who had nearly attained the summit. Dashing the rim of his

shield into the face of the barbarian, Manlius tumbled him down the

rock, and with him those who followed in his track. The others,

dismayed, dropped their arms to cling more closely to the rocks. Unable

to ascend or descend, they were easily slaughtered by the guards who

followed Manlius. The Capitol was saved. As for the captain of the

watch, from whose neglect of duty this peril had come, he was punished

the next morning by being hurled down the cliff upon the slaughtered

Gauls.



Manlius was rewarded, says the story, by each man giving him from his

scanty store a day's allowance of food,--namely, half a pound of corn

and five ounces in weight of wine. As for the real defenders of Rome,

the geese of the Capitol, they were ever after held in the highest honor

and veneration.



As the Capitol could not be taken by assault or surprise, there

remained only the slow process of siege. For six or eight months the

Gauls blockaded the hill. So says the story, but it was probably not so

long. However, in the end the Romans were brought to the point of

famine, and offered to ransom their city by paying a large sum of gold.

Brennus, the Gaulish king, was ready to accept the offer. His men were

suffering from the Roman fever; food had grown scarce; he agreed, if

paid a thousand pounds' weight of gold, to withdraw his army from Rome.



Much gold had been brought by the fugitive patricians into the Capitol.

From this the delegates brought down and placed in the scales a

sufficient quantity. But while they found the gold, the Gauls found the

weights, and it was soon discovered that the wily barbarians were

cheating. Their weights were too heavy. Complaint of this fraud was made

by the Roman tribune of the soldiers. In reply Brennus drew his heavy

broadsword and threw it into the scale with the weights.



"What does this mean?" asked the tribune.



"It means," answered the barbarian, haughtily, "woe to the vanquished!"

"Vae victis esse!"



While this was going on, says the legend, Camillus, the dictator, was

marching to Rome with the legions he had organized at Veii. He appeared

at the right minute for the dramatic interest of the story, entered the

Forum while the gold was being weighed, bade the Romans take back their

gold, threw the weights to the Gauls, and told Brennus proudly that it

was the Roman custom to pay their debts in iron, not in gold.



A fight ensued, as might be expected. The Gauls were driven from the

city. The next day Camillus attacked them in their camp, eight miles

from Rome, and defeated them so utterly that not a man was left alive to

carry home the tale of the slaughter.



This story of the coming of Camillus is too much like the last act of a

stage-play, or the denouement of a novel, to be true. Most likely the

Gauls marched off with their gold, though they may have been attacked on

their retreat, and most or all of the gold regained.



Camillus, however, is said to have saved Rome in still another way. The

old city was in ashes. Most of the citizens were at Veii, where they had

found or built new homes. They were loath to come back to rebuild a

ruined city. This Camillus induced them to do. Every appeal was made to

the local pride and the religious sentiments of the people. A centurion,

marching with his company, and being obliged to halt in front of the

senate-house, called to the standard-bearer, "Pitch your standard here,

for this is the best place to stop at." This casual remark was looked

upon as an omen from heaven, and by this and the like means the people

were induced to return.



Then the rebuilding of Rome began. The sites of the temples were

retraced as far as could be done in the ruins. The laws of the twelve

tables and some other records were recovered, but the mass of the

historical annals of Rome had been destroyed. Some relics were said to

have been miraculously preserved, among them the shepherd's crook of

Romulus.



But the bulk of the possessions of the Romans had vanished in the

flames; the streets were mere heaps of ashes; the very walls had been in

part pulled down; rubbish and ruin lay everywhere. Rome, like the

phoenix, had to be born again from its ashes. Men built wherever they

could find a clear spot. Stones and roofing-material were brought from

Veii, and one city was dismantled that another might be restored. Stones

and timber were supplied to any man from the public lands. The city

rapidly rose again. But it was an irregular city; the streets ran

anywhere; no effort was made at rule or system in the making of the new

Rome.



As for Camillus, he came to be honored as the second founder of Rome.

While the Romans were at work on their new homes they were harassed by

their foes, and he was kept busy with the army in the field. He lived

for twenty-five years longer, and in the year 367 B.C., when some eighty

years of age, he marched again to meet the Gauls in a new assault upon

Rome, and defeated them with such slaughter that they left Rome alone

for many years afterwards.



Marcus Manlius, the preserver of the Capitol, was not so fortunate. He

came forward as the patron of the poor, who began to suffer again from

the severe laws against debtors. Finally he began to use his large

fortune to relieve suffering debtors, and is said to have paid the debts

of four hundred debtors, thus saving them from bondage. This generosity

won him the unbounded affection of the people, who called him the

"Father of the Commons." But it aroused the suspicion of the patricians,

and some of these, against whom he had used violent language, had him

arrested on a charge of treason, perhaps with good reason. Though he

showed the many honors he had received for services to his country, he

was condemned to death and his house razed to the ground. Thus the

patricians dealt with the benefactors of the poor.