The Great Sieges of History (part 2 of 4)

Preface

Late events have proved that, notwithstanding the dreams of visionary philosophers and the hopes of philanthropists, the Millennium is not yet arrived; the lamb cannot yet lie down in peace with the lion. Science has performed miracles to procure comforts and luxuries for man; literature and art have exerted their genial influence over his life and manners; and commerce has brought nations, geographically remote from each other, into the most intimate relations. And yet the roots of all evils--interests, passions, and ambitions--are as actively alive in promoting discord, as at the darkest periods of the world’s history.

Encouraged by the evident advantages arising from the absence of war, a kindly but enthusiastic body of enlightened men came forth to preach a new description of crusade, a crusade for universal peace; and yet, years after the promulgation of this holy mission, a nation, by far the largest in geographical extent, thinks its time arrived, throws off the mask, and boldly avows that, while other peoples have been fostering plans of universal amity and brotherhood, it has been ever insidiously working out its schemes for the subjugation of all the rest to its arbitrary power.

The way in which Great Britain has met this, has been attended by a lesson which I trust she will never forget. It has proved to her, that if she is anxious to maintain the proud station which her patriots, sages, warriors, and merchants have raised her to, she must not only be a producer, a manufacturer, and a carrier; she must not only be intelligent and wealthy; she must be physically as well as morally strong, able to assert her own rights and support those of the weak and oppressed. Most lamentably has she suffered from not attending to this. Like another Quixote, she has rushed upon the enemy of humanity with the nobleness of her nature, unprovided with everything but wealth, courage, and faith in a good cause.

In his eloquent history of the Peninsular war, Sir William Napier had pronounced an emphatic opinion upon the state in which England was ever found at the commencement of a new contest; that her parsimony always left her bare of matériel, men, and leaders. To the neglect of this warning from a practical soldier, may we attribute most of our disasters in the Crimea. We have gone headlong into a game of which we seem to have known neither the moves nor the chances. Our generation had little more real knowledge of war, than schoolboys who fight with wooden swords under the standard of a pocket-handkerchief tied to a stick. It is not necessary for England to be essentially a warlike nation; it is not her part in the world’s progress; she is far more a creator than a destroyer; but she must ever preserve a consciousness of strength about her, that she knows will secure her from aggression and insult. And let no one imagine that this sense of strength will make her quarrelsome or unduly sensitive; every observer must know that the brave and powerful man is always the most peaceful: he fears nobody, and therefore he is slow to take offence.

I by no means wish to convert Britain into a Lacedæmon; I would not have war to be the main business of our lives; but all should cheerfully contribute to the keeping up of such a military force as should make our country respected, even by those who are regardless of all but physical power. Then how commanding would be her march among nations! No people in the world is so morally strong; how divine then would be her influence, if others were made completely aware that she had the power to enforce right as well as to perceive it, to protect the injured as well as to pity them! Witness the advent of a good and strong man into a company of quarrelsome brawlers! it is like the appearance of Neptune above the waves when the storm was scattering and destroying the Trojan fleet.

But if it be necessary that we should always have a powerful armed force ready for action, it is equally important that that force should be acquainted with its trade. Lapped in peace, and surrounded by visions of wealth, Englishmen have said, “We fear not war, we know we are always in possession of the sinews of it.” But they have found themselves mistaken: a soldier can no more be made in a day by the influence of money, than a lawyer can; half a century of official duties will not make a general, nor will all the experiences of the hunting-field teach a dashing nobleman to lead on a charge of cavalry, with a due regard to human life or a judgment that may insure success. In all the disasters we have encountered in the Crimea, the courage and physical strength of our soldiers have signalized themselves, even beyond our hopes; but the readers of history--particularly that part of it which relates to war--perceive at once that our leaders have been wanting in that genius or knowledge which has distinguished great captains. With all our respect for the fine and gentlemanly qualities of the lamented Lord Raglan, we cannot subdue a conviction that if a Hannibal, an Alexander, a Cæsar, a Belisarius, a Turenne, a Condé, a Marlborough, or even a Suwarrow,[1] had been at the head of such a gallant band, Sebastopol would have been subdued long ago. I do not think that either Buonaparte or his conqueror was eminently distinguished in this branch of the art of war. It is not often that a man can, like Clive, go from the desk to the battle-field, and at once become a great general; or that so young a man as Wolfe can take a Quebec. In guerilla or partisan warfare, unprepared but enthusiastic men sometimes make successful leaders; but to handle great masses of troops, or to besiege strongly-fortified cities, whatever a general’s genius may be, he must have a training in the active practice of his profession.

It is not my place to write a dissertation upon the military art; I have only to draw attention to the knowledge of sieges, which form so prominent a part of it. Neither does it come within my plan, or the limits allowed me, to treat of the science of fortification; mine is but to employ “the philosophy which teaches by example,” and exhibit the “Great Sieges of History.” And valuable is the lesson to all,--to the student of the art of war, to the soldier at the cannon’s mouth, to the minister who plans expeditions, and to the people who furnish the means for them. There is scarcely a siege in this volume barren of instruction; the principal of all being, that little can be achieved in these mortal conflicts by either besieged or besiegers, without energy constantly strained to the highest pitch, sleepless watchfulness, keen and anxious observation, consummate prudence, undaunted courage, firmness that is proof against attack or accident, great physical powers of endurance, and MILITARY GENIUS. When armies are opposed upon the wide field of a country, the game of chess may be played out by tacticians, or by great chance, success may be obtained by a dashing coup de main; but in important sieges, man is like the stag brought to bay, every faculty is forced into intense action, and the slightest error, the faintest relaxation, may produce irretrievable ruin, with such consequences as no other event presents. In great battles, armies may be annihilated; but in captured cities peoples are immolated and humanity is degraded by the wild indulgence of its most brutal passions.

It is more than curious, it is wonderful, to observe how many sieges will be found in this volume, whose fate has been decided by means with which the art of war, as taught in the schools, had nothing to do; and it is always the captain of the greatest genius who seizes upon every unforeseen discovery, any extraordinary accident, any suddenly-perceived natural advantage, to defeat the best-concerted and most scientific plans of his adversary: in one instance the fortune of an assault is changed by suspending a pig over the walls by a string fastened to his leg.

To induce students of the military art to read this work, I shall satisfy myself with relating one fact. When Prince Eugene was before Belgrade, he was surprised by the appearance of an immense Turkish host in his rear, which commenced their intrenchments, and prepared to sit down comfortably to watch, annoy, and, with good opportunity, to attack him. But Eugene had been an abbé before he was a soldier, and had read “Cæsar’s Commentaries.” He recollected that Cæsar had once been circumstanced exactly as he then was, and he determined to act as Cæsar had done. He allowed his enemies all to come up, but before they had quite established themselves in their new abode, he led his whole force to a night assault, and though superior numbers and unforeseen accidents increased the difficulties, he defeated and dispersed the Turkish army, and the city in consequence surrendered. Had Prince Eugene not read Cæsar, it is more than probable he would never have taken Belgrade.

For my humble part in this eventful story, I have much indulgence to request. To give such an account of the Great Sieges of History as the subject deserved, in one volume, was a thing impossible; and yet that was my task. The details of most of the sieges I have been obliged to curtail, and to entirely omit some which, I fear, may be looked for by those who are locally interested in them. Nevertheless, I have spared neither labour nor research; and if earnestness of purpose and honesty of intention merit approbation, I may, I trust, hope for as much as such a work deserves.

In the arrangement of the sieges, after taking the first one to which each place had been subjected in chronological order, I judged it best to carry on the account so as to give a continuous sketch of the sieges, or, in other words, of the history of the country or city in question. After the first perusal, such a book as this will be considered a work of reference, and, in that view, this plan must be the best. For the same reason I have admitted many sieges that cannot be classed as “great,” because they formed connecting links between the large ones. Without them, the unlearned reader would be surprised, when next his attention was drawn to a city which had cost one power immense sacrifices to obtain, to find it in the possession of another.

As no two historians or chronologers agree about ancient dates, I have had much trouble in settling the periods at which sieges out of the regular pale of history took place. In such cases my best plan was to adopt the opinion of the highest authority, and, wherever there was a doubt, and his name was available, I have followed Archbishop Ussher.

In accordance with my plan, I have in no instance considered myself a scientific instructor. I have said that the perusal of this book might be beneficial to military students, but I have not contemplated that all young men of that class were to become only engineers. It is the part of the engineer to carry on his operations in accordance with the rules he has been taught; but it is the higher duty of the CAPTAIN to be alive to the CHANCES of the siege, as well as observant of its scientific progress. It has been my business to relate the events, and, to a commander of genius, these are as rich in instruction as the mere school-rules of his awful art.

W. R.

LIST OF SIEGES.

Page Abydos 215 Acre, St. Jean de 399 Agrigentum 157 Aï 5 Alexandria 262 Algiers 463 Antioch 317 Antwerp 490, 595 Argos 188 Arras 511 Athens 131 Azoth 87

Babylon 116 Bactra 4 Badajos 569 Bagdad 422 Barcelona 534 Beauvais 447 Belgrade 434 Bergen-op-Zoom 502 Bommel 532 Burgos, Castle of 578 Byblos 130 Byzantium 159

Cahors 479 Carthagena 208 Carthage 223 Cassel 423 Cassovia 432 Castillon 444 Ciudad Rodrigo 575 Constantinople 572 Corinth 192 Corioli 123 Cremona 218

Damascus 397 Dover 421

Edessa 365

Falerii 126 Frederikshall 521

Gaza 184 Gibraltar 536 Grenada 449

Ismaïl 525

Jerusalem 12

Kaibar 371

Lacedæmon 187 Leyden 475 Liége 445 Lisbon 397 Livron 478 Lyons 169

Mæestricht 482 Magdeburg 505 Malta 498 Marseilles 259 Messina 189 Milan 287

Naples 357 Nineveh 85

Orleans 297 Ostend 501

Palmyra 278 Paris 237 Pavia 309 Persepolis 185 Platææ 127

Ravenna 315 Rhodes 162 Rimini 258 Rochelle, La 426 Rome 58 Romorantin 425

Samaria 55 Saragossa 561 Sardis 111 Schweidnitz 522 Sebastopol 600 Sebastian, St. 585 Seringapatam 559 Sinope 236 Stralsund 517 Syracuse 138

Tarentum 196 Thebes, Bœotia 6 Thebes, Palestine 9 Toulouse 233 Tournai 289 Troy 10 Troyes 433 Tunis 197 Turin 507 Tyre 90

Utica 210

Vachtendonck 500 Valenciennes 469 Veii 124 Vienna 451 Verchères 516

Weinsberg 395

THE

GREAT SIEGES OF HISTORY.

Of all the collisions between the members of the human race for the furtherance of ambition, the maintenance of liberty, or the assertion of disputed rights, we consider the prominent sieges of history to be the most interesting and instructive. We know of no situation in which the higher virtues have been put to a severer test; in which courage, firmness, endurance, patriotism, fidelity, humanity, have shone with purer and more unmitigated lustre. In the pages we are about to lay before our readers will be found accounts of actions and sufferings of which the uninitiated in history can scarcely suppose their fellow-men to be capable: not brilliant actions of short-lived devotion performed before applauding multitudes, not torments endured with hopes of celestial recompense, but protracted, continuous exertions, amidst privations, disease, famine, and death in every hideous shape, prompted by love of country, or fidelity to a cause honestly embraced.

As throughout nature Providence has pleased to establish an antagonism which carries on the great scheme in harmony, by setting creature against creature, in no instance does man show his vast superiority more strongly over the lower animals than in the defence or attack of his great gregarious abodes. There are numerous animals who, like man, draw up in battle array and dew fields with blood, but none that can bring into play such high qualities as are exhibited in our sieges, from one of a Scotch border tower to Sebastopol. In no case is the difference between reason and instinct more evident. The beaver of to-day constructs and fortifies his dwelling exactly upon the same plan as the first beaver after creation, whereas the science of fortification and siege has kept equal pace with man’s enlightenment. There is no doubt this portion of the art of war attained perfection in the seventeenth century: circumstances of time and place may modify it, but the great principles were then established; the accessories since obtained by scientific discoveries have only added power to the means of destruction, they have not advanced the art itself. We do not hesitate for a moment to say that a Turenne, Condé, Vauban, Marlborough, or Eugene, would vindicate their genius for the great art of war as proudly and successfully at the present time as they did in their own glorious day: when knowledge of any kind has reached a certain point, all the difference is in the men who employ it. The fate of nations at that period depended upon sieges; soldiers of fortune of highly cultivated intellect were engaged in the study and practice of them; and though our readers will find many of these awful contests much more set off with striking incidents and more replete with horrors, they will meet with none so scientifically carried on, both as to defence and attack, as those of the latter part of the seventeenth century.

The historian of sieges has an immense advantage over the chronicler of battles. The commander in a great battle can, after the contest is over, give his own account of his views, manœuvres, expedients, and impulsive perceptions, but no other person engaged can possibly describe anything beyond what occurred at the point to which his own individual exertions were confined. The brave soldier, with his blood warmed by energetic action, his mind excited by a love of honour and fame, and his heart, though true as his sword, throbbing with a natural love of life, through the dun smoke sees nothing but the enemy before him, and thinks of nothing but the means of destroying him. It is his duty to execute, and not to contemplate; and the careful reader of a Gazette can generally give a better description of the battle it announces than any soldier engaged in it. Physical and material causes out of number combine to produce this fact.

But the history of a siege is a very different affair. A place is attacked scientifically and cautiously, to prevent discomfiture; it is defended with watchful precaution, to avoid surprises, and loss of husbanded means. Chess is not played with the rash spirit of a Christmas round game. Both parties have leisure to note every event that advances or retards their great object; and if the contest be a protracted one, such calamitous circumstances are sure to arise as will give to it the deepest feeling of human interest. As, in the history of the world, the accounts of its periods of trouble occupy a thousand times more space than its records of peace and prosperity, so sieges, having given birth to more suffering than perhaps any other cause attributable to man alone, we have, in greatest abundance, most appalling descriptions of these frightful struggles, in which human beings seem to have been gathered together into corners to prove all they were capable of performing or enduring. That a great siege is the sublime view of men acting in masses, is proved by two of the most exalted poets of the world having each chosen one as the subject most worthy of his genius. To us humble narrators, Homer’s “Siege of Troy” and Tasso’s “Siege of Jerusalem” are of inestimable value, as, independently of their poetic beauties, pointing out clearly the different modes of carrying on a siege at periods so remote from each other. Notwithstanding all the splendour bestowed by the presence of gods, demigods, and heroes, Homer’s siege is of the most primitive kind. Abortive attacks upon the walls, unsupported by machinery or any attempt at art, not even the palpable one of escalade, together with vain efforts to get into the city, and continual skirmishes and duels with the besieged in their sorties, seem to have comprised all the art of war exercised by the cunning Greeks in this their great early invasion of a foreign territory, or rather of a city, as the expedition to Colchis preceded it by a generation: the sires of Homer’s heroes manned the Argo. All the strength of the defenders consisted of the watchful and constant use of spear and shield in repulsing the attacks of the enemy; and their courage was displayed in daily excursions, in war-chariots and on foot, upon the plains surrounding the beleaguered city. In Tasso we see the art of war as it was practised in his time in Europe, and as it has been practised in Asia for several centuries. To avoid an anachronism, there is no gunpowder; but he employs every other accessory of machinery, towers, and the Greek fire, with missiles of various kinds, unknown to the Homeric age. But we must not allow general remarks to anticipate narration.

To attempt to give even a sketch of all the sieges of history, in addition to involving a great chance of sameness, would require many volumes; we shall therefore confine ourselves to accounts, as intelligible and graphic as we can make them, of such of these great human conflicts as have changed the fate of empires, forwarded or impeded the progress of peoples, or have been illustrated by the actions of men of world-spread celebrity. But, whilst only giving the details of important sieges, we shall not pass by the innumerable interesting incidents with which the accounts of minor sieges abound: it is, indeed, not uncommon to meet, in contests unimportant to the world, with the noblest and most extraordinary acts of devotedness or courage of which individual man is capable.

BACTRA.

A.C. 2134.

In all arts the East has led the van, and has evidently been as far advanced before the Western nations in the great one of fortifying its cities as in most others. The first siege we can obtain any account of is that of Bactra, and we are told it was so fortified by nature and art, that Ninus, at the head of four hundred thousand men, would never have been able to take it, if a stratagem had not been suggested to him by Semiramis, the wife of one of his officers. This account proves that fortifying cities was not then a new invention, for it is not likely that such a degree of perfection could have been attained by a first attempt. Everything in the East seems to have been upon a gigantic scale: the cities were immense in extent, the height of the walls and towers, and the depth and width of the surrounding moats or ditches, almost incredible. And yet, modern research is stamping the astounding accounts of historians and topographers with the broad seal of truth--everything in the East was on a gigantic scale: where human life and human labour, in densely-populated countries, were without restriction at the command of vain and ambitious despots, the Pyramids, the walls of Babylon, and the palaces of Baalbec cease to be miracles.

Ninus, king of Assyria, one of the most ancient of the great disturbers of the peace of mankind called conquerors, was desirous of putting the crown to his glory by the conquest of Bactriana, now Corassan. Nothing in the open country could resist an army of four hundred thousand men; but Bactra, the capital, for a length of time withstood all his endeavours. As the defence of a city consisted in its walls, ditch, and advantages of position only, so the means of attack were correspondingly simple; and we are not surprised at the inhabitants holding out for a time which in modern warfare would be impossible. We are told that the genius of Semiramis conceived a stratagem--what we do not learn--by which the city was at length taken, and her master, in a truly eastern manner, showed his gratitude by seeking a cause for putting her husband to death, and making her his wife. Some accounts do not hesitate to say that the lady, at least as ambitious as Ninus, repaid him by removing him as he had removed her first husband, in order to reign alone.

AÏ.

A.C. 1451.

As an account falling in most with the spirit of uninspired history, we select a short description of the taking of Aï by the Israelites, under Joshua.

Whilst night concealed from the inhabitants of Aï all that was passing beneath their walls, Joshua placed a body of troops behind the city, with orders to set fire to it when he should give the signal. At daybreak, Joshua presented himself before Aï, and feigned to attempt an escalade. The inhabitants appeared upon their walls, and the Israelites, dissembling fear, withdrew from the attack. The inhabitants issued immediately from the city to pursue them, incautiously leaving their gates open. At the given signal the troops in ambush advanced, marched in at the unguarded gates, and set fire to the place. The Canaanites, on perceiving the flames, gave up all as lost, and flying away, were nearly exterminated by their conquerors.

THEBES, IN BŒOTIA.

A.C. 1252.

The history of this famous siege has been rendered immortal by the tragic muse; few of our readers can require to have its details repeated to them. The unfortunate Œdipus, on quitting his kingdom, left it to the government of his two sons, Eteocles and Polynices, who agreed to mount the throne alternately. Eteocles, as the elder, reigned first; but, at the termination of his year, he was so enamoured of the power he had tasted, that he violated his oath, and endeavoured to exclude his brother from the throne. Polynices took up arms, and sought on all sides for partisans to assist him against the usurper; Adrastus, king of the Argives, roused all Greece in his favour. The contest was long and sanguinary, and the chief loss fell upon the adherents of Polynices. After many fruitless battles beneath the walls of Thebes, the brothers resolved to terminate their quarrel by a single combat. The two armies were drawn up as witnesses of the fight, and as securities for its fairness. The unnatural enemies entered the prescribed lists, and attacked each other with such deadly animosity, that both fell dead upon the spot. It is feigned that, when their bodies were burnt, the spirit of hatred remained unextinct even in their remains, and that the flames separated as they arose. Their antipathy was preserved in their posterity, breaking out into needless but bloody wars. In such a work as this, principally intended for the young, it was impossible to pass by so memorable a siege; otherwise, we conceive the whole history of Œdipus and his race to be one of the most unpleasing handed down to us by the Greeks.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 518.

The second siege of this celebrated city is much more satisfactory.

The Lacedæmonians, upon becoming masters of Thebes, made the inhabitants but too sensible of the weight of their yoke. Pelopidas, too noble to submit quietly to slavery, conceived the design of delivering his country; he addressed himself to the banished citizens, and he found them enter freely into his views. Many of his friends in the city were eager to share his enterprise; and one of them, named Charon, offered his house as a retreat for the conspirators. When they had secretly taken the most prudent precautions to insure success, Pelopidas drew near to the city. Before entering it, he held a council, in which it was agreed that all should not depend upon one cast of the dice, but that a small number should try their fortune first. Pelopidas and eleven of his brave companions accepted this perilous commission; they warned Charon of their approach, and proceeded towards Thebes, dressed as sportsmen, followed by hunting-dogs, and carrying in their hands nets and weapons of the chase. Before entering the city, they discarded their hunting appointments, assumed the guise of simple countrymen, and slipped in at various gates, all directing their course to the house of Charon. Philidas, one of the conspirators, that same evening gave a grand entertainment, at which Philip and Archias, the Lacedæmonian governors, were the most honoured guests. When these two were sufficiently warmed with wine to be insensible to anything but their pleasures, the conspirators proceeded to action, and, dividing themselves into two bodies, commenced by the easy immolation of Philip and Archias. Pelopidas and his party went straight to the house inhabited by Leontidas, one of the tyrants, who, on being roused from his sleep, seized his sword and struck the first conspirator that approached him dead at his feet; but he found a more successful opponent in Pelopidas: the brave Theban quickly laid the tyrant by the side of his unfortunate compatriot. After this bold attempt, the banished Thebans speedily joined the patriotic little band, and laid siege to the citadel. The Lacedæmonians were soon forced to capitulate; and this memorable enterprise, conceived by the genius of Pelopidas, and executed almost entirely by his own hand, procured the liberty of Thebes. We are sorry we cannot add, that that liberty was secured: the glory or prosperity of Thebes is an anomaly in history, it belongs principally to one generation. Pelopidas was the friend and companion of Epaminondas, with which great man--one of the greatest of all antiquity--the sun of Thebes arose and set.

THIRD SIEGE, A.C. 334.

After the celebrated battle of Chæronea, which laid the liberties of Greece at the feet of the ambitious Philip of Macedon, that king placed a garrison in Thebes; but scarcely had the inhabitants learnt the death of Philip, when they arose in mass, and slaughtered the Macedonians. Alexander, the son of Philip, afterwards styled the Great, passed through the Straits of Thermopylæ, rendered immortal by Leonidas and his Spartans, entered Greece, and marched directly towards the revolted city. On the way, he said to those who accompanied him, “Demosthenes in his harangues called me a child when I subdued Illyria; he styled me a giddy youth when I punished the Thessalians: we will now show him, under the walls of Athens, that I am a man grown.” His appearance in Bœotia, like the rest of the actions of his life, was carried into effect as soon as decided upon. When he reached the walls of Thebes, he was satisfied with requiring that Phœnix and Prothulus, the principal promoters of the insurrection, should be given up to him. The Thebans, however, insultingly replied by demanding Philotas and Antipater, Alexander’s generals and friends; and the young monarch found himself under the painful necessity of proceeding to extremities. Thebes had rendered such services to his father, that he proceeded to the infliction of punishment with great reluctance. A memorable battle ensued, in which the Thebans fought with ardour and courage; but, after a protracted struggle, the Macedonians who were left in the citadel, taking the Thebans in the rear, whilst the troops of Alexander charged them in front, they were almost all cut to pieces. Thebes was taken and pillaged. In the sack of this city, a lady of high quality exhibited an instance of courage and virtue too extraordinary to be passed by in silence. A Thracian officer, struck by her beauty, employed violence to satisfy his passion; and then characteristically proceeded to the indulgence of his avarice, by demanding of her where she had concealed her treasures. The lady, whose name was Timoclea, told him that she had cast them all into a well, which she pointed out to him. Whilst he was leaning over the brink, looking with greedy avidity for the treasure, she suddenly exerted all her strength, pushed him in, and beat him to death with stones. Timoclea was arrested, and led before Alexander; but, with all his errors, the young Macedonian had too much generosity of character not to be struck by such an action, and he pardoned her. We wish we could say he was equally lenient towards the Thebans; but the unfortunate city was razed to the ground, and thirty thousand of its inhabitants were sold into slavery.

He here, however, first displayed that love of letters, and veneration for men distinguished in them, which characterized him during his short but brilliant career; for, amidst the general destruction, he ordered the house in which the lyric poet Pindar was born to be held as sacred as a temple, and, at the same time, sought out and provided for all the descendants of the family of the bard of Thebes.

The history of this city is a remarkable one. Although not ranking so high as Sparta or Athens, it was raised to an equal importance by the courage, talents, and high moral character of one man. Epaminondas is, perhaps, the noblest specimen Greece has handed down to us of the hero, in all senses: and to his career was bounded the glory of his native city; it rose with him, and with him expired.

TROY.

A.C. 1184.

The next siege we meet with is the most celebrated in history or fiction, not so much on its own account, as from its good fortune in having the greatest poet the world has produced as its chronicler. If Homer had not placed this great siege in the regions of fable by his introduction of immortals into the action, it would still be a myth, as is all we know of Greece at the period at which it took place. Hypercritics have, indeed, endeavoured to make over the whole of it to the muses who preside over fiction; but we cannot accede to their decision. There is a vital reality in the characters of Homer, which proves that they did exist and act; a blind old bard might sing the deeds of heroes, and perhaps clothe those deeds with some of the splendour of his genius; but we have no faith in his having created the men, any more than he did the immortals, who belonged to the mythology of his country long before he was born. There is nothing in the “song of Troy divine” that is dissonant with the character of the age; so far to the contrary, we believe the poet has given a more faithful picture of the heroes, and the events connected with them, than any historian has done. Achilles is as perfect from the hands of Homer, as Alexander from the pen of Quintus Curtius or Arian. If we disperse the mist of diablerie which surrounds Macbeth, we shall find him a human character, acted upon by human passions, independently of the witches; and so with Homer’s heroes: they are all most essentially real men, notwithstanding the gorgeous mythology that attends them, and act as they would have done without immortal intervention. We have as perfect faith in the history of the siege of Troy, as in most of the pages of what has been termed the “great lie.” Independently of the work of genius for ever associated with it, the siege of Troy is a memorable epoch in human annals.

Tyndarus, the ninth king of Lacedæmon, had, by Leda, Castor and Pollux, who were twins, besides Helena, and Clytemnestra the wife of Agamemnon, king of Mycenæ. Having survived his two sons, the twins, he became anxious for a successor, and sought for a suitable husband for his daughter Helena. All the suitors bound themselves by oath to abide by the decision of the lady, who chose Menelaus, king of Sparta. She had not, however, lived above three years with her husband before she was carried off by Alexander or Paris, son of Priam, king of the Trojans. In consequence of this elopement, Menelaus called upon the rulers of the European states of Greece, and more particularly upon those who had been candidates for her hand, to avenge this Asiatic outrage. All answered to the summons, though some, like Ulysses, unwillingly. As every one knows, the siege lasted ten years; which only goes to prove the discordant parts of which the besieging army was composed: had there been union beneath a completely acknowledged head, the city could not have held out so long by many years. But Agamemnon was like Godfrey of Bouillon in the Crusades--he was only a nominal chief, without a particle of real power over the fiery and rude leaders of the troops of adventurers composing the army. This necessity for union is the principal lesson derived by posterity from the siege of Troy; but to the Asiatics of the period it must have been a premonitory warning of what they had to dread from the growing power of the Greeks. Divested of fable, and as many of the contradictions removed as possible, we believe the above to be the most trustworthy account of this celebrated affair--no one would think of going into the details after Homer. According to Bishop Ussher, the most safe chronological guide, the siege of Troy took place 1184 years before the birth of Christ, about the time that Jephtha ruled over the Jews. This last circumstance cannot fail to bring to the minds of our readers the extraordinary fact that the involuntary parental sacrifices of Iphigenia and the “daughter of Jephtha, Judge of Israel,” were contemporary. The period of the war of Troy, standing on the verge between fable and history, is a very useful one to be retained in the memory.

JERUSALEM.

No city in the world has enjoyed so much veneration as well as attention as Jerusalem, and yet no city has been subjected to more violence. Almost held in as much reverence by the Mahometans as the Christians, the possession of the Holy City was equally a devotional object as a territorial one, with the followers of both creeds. Jerusalem has been besieged more than twelve times, and, as in such contests, religion only seems to embitter enmities and enhance cruelties, the state of this otherwise favoured city can have been no object of envy.

FIRST SIEGE, A.C. 1051.

After the death of Joshua, the tribes of Juda and Simeon, having united their forces, marched upon this already important place with a formidable army. They took the lower city, and, faithful to the orders of Moses, slaughtered all who presented themselves to their fury. The upper city, called Sion, checked their victorious progress. The efforts of the Hebrews, during nearly four centuries, failed whilst directed against this citadel. The glory of carrying it was reserved for David. This hero, proclaimed king by all the tribes, wished to signalize his accession to the throne by the capture of Jerusalem; but the Jebusites, who inhabited it, feeling convinced that their city was impregnable, only opposed his army with the blind, the lame, and the crippled. Enraged by this insult, David made them pay dearly for their rude pride. He ordered a general assault; and Joab, mounting the breach at the head of a chosen troop, overthrew the infidels, pursued them to the fortress, entered with them, and opened the gates to the king. David drove out the inhabitants, repaired the walls, strengthened the fortifications, and established his abode in the city, which, from that time, became the capital of the kingdom of the Jews.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 976.

In the reign of Rehoboam, the grandson of David, Shishak, king of Egypt, laid siege to Jerusalem, threatening to raze it with the ground if any opposition were offered to his arms. The indignant people were eager to attack the enemy of their religion and their country, but Rehoboam, as cowardly as a warrior as he was imperious as a monarch, opened the gates of his capital to the haughty Egyptian, and quietly witnessed the pillage of it.

THIRD SIEGE, A.C. 715.

In the first year of the reign of Ahaz, king of Juda, Rezin, king of Syria, and Pekah, king of Israel, presented themselves in warlike array before Jerusalem. Their design was to dethrone Ahaz and put an end to the dynasty of David. But their ambitious project was checked by the sight of the fortifications, and, after a few vain attempts, they retreated with disgrace.

Some time after, the Holy City was attacked by a much more redoubtable enemy. Sennacherib, king of Assyria, claimed of Hezekiah the tribute which his weak father, Ahaz, had consented to pay; and after having overrun Ethiopia, besieged him in his capital. The fate of Jerusalem seemed pronounced, and the kingdom was about to fall into the power of a haughty and irritated conqueror; but the hand of Providence intervened; a miraculous slaughter of the Assyrians took place in one night, and the army of Sennacherib retreated precipitately.

FOURTH SIEGE, A.C. 603.

Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon, took Jerusalem by force, and gave it up to pillage. He placed King Joachim in chains, and afterwards released him upon his promising to pay tribute; but that prince soon violated his engagement. Nebuchadnezzar reappeared, Jerusalem was again taken, and Joachim expiated his perfidy and revolt by his death.

The impious Zedekiah, one of his successors, proud of an alliance contracted with the Egyptians, against the opinion of the prophet Jeremiah, ventured, as Joachim had done, to endeavour to evade the yoke of the Chaldeans. Nebuchadnezzar, upon learning this, marched against him, ravaged Judea, made himself master of the strongest places, and besieged Jerusalem for the third time. The king of Egypt flew to the assistance of his ally; but Nebuchadnezzar met him in open fight, defeated him, and compelled him to seek shelter in the centre of his states. Jerusalem, which had given itself up to a violent, transitory joy, became a prey to new terrors. The king of Babylon renewed the siege, and Zedekiah determined to behave like a man who has everything to gain and nothing to lose. The city was blockaded, the enemy stopped all supplies, and laid waste the country round. An immense population was shut up in the capital, which the circumvallation soon reduced to a frightful state of famine. A single grain of wheat became of incredible value, and water, which an extraordinary drought had rendered scarce, was sold for its weight in gold. A pestilence likewise, no less formidable than the famine, made terrible ravages. The streets were blocked up with dead bodies left without sepulture, whose fetid odour became fatal to the living. Desolation and despair stifled all the feelings of nature; mothers were seen slaughtering their infants, to release them from such calamities, and afterwards expiring upon their bleeding bodies.

The enemy in the mean time pushed on the siege most warmly: the rams never ceased to batter the walls; and vast wooden towers were erected, from the summits of which enormous stones were launched upon the heads of those whom famine and pestilence had spared. But even in this extremity the Jews persisted in their defence; Zedekiah concealing his alarm under a firm countenance, reassuring them by his words, and animating them by his example. The more impetuous the enemy, the more furious became the citizens. They opposed force by force, and art quickly destroyed whatever art devised. Eighteen months passed in this way, without any attention being paid to the voice of Jeremiah, who continued to press the inhabitants to throw open their gates, and by concession disarm the wrath of a power that must in the end overcome them. At length the enemy effected a great breach, and it became necessary to yield. Zedekiah marched out at a secret gate at the head of the soldiery, but he was overtaken, loaded with chains, and led away into captivity, after witnessing the massacre of his children, and after being deprived of the light of day, which had too long shone upon his sacrileges. The conqueror made his triumphal entrance into Jerusalem; he bore away all the riches of the temple, immolated the greater part of the inhabitants, and led the rest into slavery, after reducing the temple and the principal quarters of the city to ashes. Such was the first destruction of Jerusalem, richly merited by the impiety and vices of its inhabitants, 1,468 years after its foundation by Melchisedech, and nearly five hundred years after David wrested it from the power of the Jebusites.

Many years after, Zerubbabel rebuilt it by permission of Cyrus, king of Persia; Nehemiah reinstated the fortifications. It submitted to Alexander the Great; and after death had carried off that conqueror, withstood several sieges for a time; but these were of trifling importance, though they generally terminated in the plunder of the Temple. This was the state of the Holy City up to the time of the great Pompey.

FIFTH SIEGE, A.C. 63.

The Jews having refused a passage to the Roman army which was marching against Aristobulus, Pompey, highly irritated, set himself down before their capital. The sight of this place, which nature and art appeared to have rendered impregnable, made him, for the first time, doubtful of the good fortune which had so often crowned his exploits. He was in this state of incertitude when the Jews of the city, with that want of true policy which distinguished them in all ages, divided themselves into two factions. The one favourable to the Romans proving to be the stronger, opened the gates to Pompey, whilst the other, consisting of the partisans of Aristobulus, retired to the Temple, to which the Roman general quickly laid siege. He raised vast terraces, upon which he placed balistæ and other machines of war, the continual play of which drove away the defenders of the walls. But the Jews, whom nothing seemed to astonish, rendered the efforts of the Romans useless by their valour and perseverance. They defended themselves with so much art and intrepidity, that in the course of three months the Romans were only able to take one tower. But at length the vigorous obstinacy of the legions was crowned with its usual success; the Temple was taken by assault, Cornelius Faustus, son of the dictator Sylla, at the head of a brave troop, being the first to enter the breach. All who ventured to show themselves were massacred. Several sacrificers were immolated in the performance of their ministry. All who could escape the fury of the enemy either precipitated themselves from the nearest rocks, or, gathering together their wealth, after setting fire to it, cast themselves into the flames. Twelve thousand Jews perished in this unfortunate instance. Pompey respected the treasures of the Temple, and crowned his victory by forbearance and generosity.

SIXTH SIEGE, A.C. 37.

Herod the Great had been declared king of the Jews by the Romans; but Jerusalem refused to acknowledge him. This prince, aided by Sosius, whom Antony had sent to him with several legions, marched against that city, at the head of a numerous army. He laid siege to it, raised three platforms, which dominated over the towers, poured from their summits a continuous shower of darts, arrows, and stones upon the besieged, and unceasingly battered the ramparts with rams and other machines he had brought with him from Tyre. But the Jews, still intrepid, despised death, and only sought to inflict it upon their assailants. If a wall was destroyed, another arose as if by magic. If a ditch was dug, it was rendered useless by a countermine, and they constantly appeared in the midst of the besiegers when least expected. Thus, without being depressed, either by frequent assaults or by the famine which now made itself cruelly felt, they resisted during five months the united efforts of the Romans and the Jewish partisans of Aristobulus. At length, both the city and the Temple were carried by assault. Then death assumed one of his most awful characters. The Romans bathed themselves in the blood of an obstinate enemy; and the Jews of the king’s party, rejecting every feeling of humanity, immolated to their fury every one of their own nation whom they met in the streets and houses, or even found in the temple. Herod, however, by means of prayers, promises, and menaces, at length obtained a cessation of this horrible butchery, and to prevent the pillaging of the city and the Temple, he generously offered to purchase them of the Romans with his own wealth. This capture of Jerusalem occurred thirty-seven years before Christ, on the very day on which Pompey had carried it by assault twenty-seven years before.

SEVENTH SIEGE, A.D. 66.

Towards the end of the reign of Nero, in the sixty-sixth year of the Christian era, under the pontificate of Mathias, the son of Theophilus, began the famous war of the Jews against the Romans. The tyranny, the vexations, the sacrileges of the governors were the causes of it. Tired of groaning so long under a foreign yoke, the Jewish nation believed they had no resource left but in despair. Fortune at first appeared favourable to them; the Romans were beaten several times: but Vespasian, whom the Roman emperor had charged with this war, was soon able, by the exercise of skill, prudence, and valour, to attract fortune to his standards, and to keep her there. After having subdued the whole of Palestine, he was preparing to commence the blockade of Jerusalem, when his army recompensed his virtues with the empire. The new emperor assigned to his son Titus the commission of subduing the rebels and laying siege to the capital.

Jerusalem, built upon two very steep mountains, was divided into three parts,--the Upper City, the Lower City, and the Temple, each having its separate fortifications. The Temple was, so to say, the citadel of the two cities. Several thick and very lofty walls rendered access to it impracticable; by the side of it stood a fortress which defended it, called Antonia. A triple wall, which occupied the space of three hundred stadia, surrounded the entire city: the first of these walls was flanked by ninety very lofty and strong towers; that of the middle had only fourteen, and the ancient one sixty. The noblest of these towers were called Hippicos, Phazael, and Mariamne, and could only possibly be taken by famine. At the northern extremity was, still further, the palace of Herod, which might pass for a strong citadel. It thus became necessary for Titus, to make himself master of Jerusalem, to form several successive sieges; and whatever part the assailants carried, they seemed to leave the strongest untouched. Such was the place which Titus came to attack with soldiers accustomed to war and victory; and, in spite of their valour, it is more than probable he would have failed, if cruel intestine divisions had not marred all the noble efforts of the unfortunate city.

A troop of brigands, headed by Eleazar, of the sacerdotal tribe, whom impunity had allowed to gather together, threw themselves into Jerusalem. These lawless men, who assumed the well-sounding name of the Zealots, profaned the Temple with the greatest crimes, and subjected the citizens to most of the misfortunes of a city taken by assault by a cruel enemy. This faction, as might be expected, however, soon became divided, and turned its arms against itself. A wretch named John of Giscala supplanted Eleazar, and made himself sole chief of the Zealots. The latter, jealous of the authority of his rival, separated himself from him, and, having recovered an interest with a considerable number of partisans, took possession of the interior of the Temple, and thence made attacks upon the troops of John. On another side, Simon, the son of Gioras, whom the people in their despair had called in to their succour, seized upon the supreme authority, and held almost the whole city under his power. These three factions carried on a continual strife with each other, of which the people were always the victims: there was no security in their dwellings, and it was impossible to leave the city, of which the factions held all the means of egress. All who dared to complain or to speak of surrendering to the Romans, were immediately killed; fear stifled speech, and constraint kept even their groans within their own hearts. When Titus had reconnoitred the place, brought up his army, and commenced operations, these tyrants, seeing the danger which threatened them equally, suspended their divisions and united their forces, with the hope of averting the storm. They made, in rapid succession, several furious sorties, which broke through the ranks of the Romans, and astonished those warlike veterans; but such trifling advantages were not likely to affect such a man as Titus: he made another tour of the city to ascertain upon what point it could be best assailed, and, after his foresight had taken all necessary precautions to insure success, he set his machines to work, ordered the rams to maintain an incessant battery, and commanded a simultaneous attack upon three different sides. With great exertions, and after a contest of fifteen days, he carried the first wall, in spite of the spirited resistance of the besieged. Animated by this success, he ordered the second to be attacked; he directed his rams against a tower which supported it, obliged those who defended it to abandon it, and brought it down in ruins. This fall made him master of the second rampart five days after he had taken the first; but scarcely had he time to congratulate himself upon this advantage, when the besieged fell upon him, penetrated his ranks, caused the veterans to waver, and retook the wall. It became necessary to recommence the attack upon it: it was contested during four days upon many points at once, and the Jews were at length compelled to yield. Titus by no means wished for the destruction of Jerusalem, and with a view of leading the inhabitants back to their duty by intimidation, he made a review of his troops. There has seldom been a spectacle more capable of inspiring terror--the mind cannot contemplate these conquerors of the world passing in review before such a man as Titus, without something like awe. But the seditious Jews, for they seldom deserve a better name, would not listen to any proposals for peace. Being convinced of this, the Roman general divided his army, for the purpose of making two assaults upon the fortress Antonia; he nevertheless, before proceeding to this extremity, made one more effort to bring the rebels to reason. He sent to them the historian Josephus, as more likely than any other person to persuade them, he being a Jew, and having held a considerable rank in his nation. This worthy envoy made them a long and pathetic discourse to induce them to have pity on themselves, the sacred temple, the people, and their country; he pointed out to them all the evils that would fall upon them if they did not listen to his prudent advice; he recalled to their minds the misfortunes which had overwhelmed their fathers when they had ceased to be faithful to their God, and the miracles which had been worked in their favour when they had observed his commands: he bore witness to the truthfulness of his own feeling by ending his harangue with a flood of tears. The factions, however, only laughed at him and his eloquence; and yet many of his hearers were convinced, and, endeavouring to save themselves, sold all they had for small pieces of gold, which they swallowed for fear the tyrants should rob them of them, and made their way to the Roman ranks. Titus received them with kindness, and permitted them to go whither they wished. As these continued to escape daily, some of the Roman soldiers learned the secret of the concealed gold, and a report prevailed in the camp that the bodies of these fugitives were filled with treasures. They seized some of them, ripped them open, and searched among their entrails for the means of satisfying their abominable cupidity. Two thousand of these miserable wretches perished in this manner. Titus conceived such a horror at this, that he would have punished the perpetrators with death, if their numbers had not exceeded those of their victims. He continued to press the siege closely: after having caused fresh terraces to be erected, to replace those the enemy had destroyed, he held a council with his principal officers: most of them proposed to give a general assault; but Titus, who was not less sparing of the blood of his soldiers than he was prodigal of his own, was of a contrary opinion. The besieged, he said, were destroying one another; what occasion could there be to expose so many brave warriors to the fury of these desperate ruffians? He formed the project of surrounding the place with a wall, which would not allow the Jews to make any more sorties. The work was distributed among all the legions, and was completed in three days. It was then that the miserable factions began for the first time to despair of their safety.

If the troubles without the walls were great, those which consumed the unhappy city were still more terrible. Who can paint, exclaims Josephus, the fearful effects of the famine which devoured these unfortunates? It increased every day; and the fury of the seditious, more redoubtable than this scourge itself, increased with it. They held no property sacred; everything was torn from the unhappy citizens. A closed door denoted provisions within: they forced it open, and snatched the morsels from the mouths about to swallow them, with brutal violence. They struck down old men; they dragged women by the hair, without regard to either age, sex, or beauty; they spared not lisping innocence. Such as still had any portion of food, shut themselves up in the most secret places of their dwellings, swallowed the grain without crushing it, or glutted themselves with raw flesh, for fear the odour of cooking it should attract the inhuman inquisitors. Fleshless men, or rather phantoms, with dried-up visages and hollow eyes, dragged themselves along to corners, where famine speedily relieved them by death. So great was the number of the dead, that the living had neither strength nor courage to bury them! There were no more tears--the general calamities had dried up the source of them! No more sighs were heard; hunger had stifled all the feelings of the soul! A famished multitude ran hither and thither, and seized eagerly upon that which would have been rejected by the most unclean animals. At length, a woman, noble and rich, after being despoiled of everything by her own want and the greedy fury of the mob, weary of preparing food for these insatiable brigands, and left herself without a morsel of nourishment, consumed by a devouring hunger, proceeded, in her fury, to the most unheard-of crimes. Stifling in her heart the cry of nature, she tore from her bosom the infant she was supporting with her milk, and, casting upon the innocent babe fierce and terrible glances, “Unhappy little wretch!” exclaimed she, “why wast thou born amidst war, famine, and seditious tumult? Why dost thou still live? What fate awaits thee--servitude? No; famine prevents it; and the implacable tyrants who oppress us are still more to be dreaded than either the one or the other. Die, then! and be food for thy famished mother!” At these words, the maddened parent slaughtered her child, cooked it, ate part of it, and carefully concealed the rest. The mob, attracted by the odour of this abhorrent feast, rushed in from all parts, and threatened to kill the woman if she did not instantly show them the food she had prepared. “I have saved you a good portion of it,” said she, pointing to the mangled remains of her child. At this spectacle, even they recoiled; human for the first time, they remained silent and motionless; they could not believe their eyes. “It is my boy!” cried she; “I killed him: surely you can eat after me. Are you more delicate than a woman, or more tender than a mother? If ferocity has not stifled every scruple within you--if you do hold such food in horror, I will devour the rest myself.” Base and degraded as they were, terrified at such a crime, they slunk away from the house, cursing so detestable an action. The report soon spread throughout the city; and every one was as horror-struck as if he himself had perpetrated the frightful deed. All wished for death, and envied those whom famine had carried off without witnessing such a catastrophe. The news reached the Roman camp; and Titus determined to put an end to such crimes by a general assault.

An escalade of the Temple was undertaken, but the besieged repulsed the Romans. The latter set fire to the porticos, and the flames gained the galleries without the Jews making the least attempt to extinguish them. At length the besieged determined to make one last effort, and deliver themselves, if possible, from an enemy who pressed them so closely, or perish with swords in their hand, selling the little life they had left dearly. They made an impetuous sortie from a gate of the Temple, fell upon the Romans, broke through their ranks, and would have driven them to their camp, if Titus, who beheld the combat from the summit of the fortress Antonia, had not flown promptly to the succour of the vanquished. Fresh troops changed the fortune of the day; the Jews were overwhelmed by numbers, and constrained to shut themselves up in the Temple: the prince commanded an assault for the next day. But, at that moment, a soldier, without having received orders for the attempt, and as if moved by a supernatural impulse, prevailed upon a companion in arms to lift him up, and threw a blazing brand into one of the windows of that vast and superb edifice. The fire immediately caught some combustible matter; the Jews perceived it, and uttering loud cries, made strong but useless efforts to stop the conflagration. Titus himself, with his army, hastened to assist in extinguishing it. The excited soldier only thought of completing his work, and, with another brand, defeated the wishes and endeavours of his general: the flames consumed everything, and this famous temple was reduced to ashes in the second year of the reign of Vespasian. The Romans made a great carnage; but the revolters, by a fresh attack, retarded their destruction for a short time, and took up cantonments in the city, and in the three towers, Hippicos, Phazael, and Mariamne. The conquerors prepared to besiege them, but, at the sight of the machines, the revolters became intimidated, and sought for safety in precipitate flight, leaving the Romans masters of everything: they plundered the city, killed tens of thousands of the inhabitants, and spread flame and destruction in all quarters. Titus was declared imperator, an august title, which he richly merited by his valour and generalship: he entered Jerusalem in triumph, and admired the beauty and solidity of the fortifications, but, with the exception of the three towers, he caused them all to be destroyed. The accounts given by some historians of the numbers of the slain and the prisoners appear to us incredible; one statement avers that there were eleven hundred thousand of the former, and ninety-seven thousand of the latter. John was found concealed in one of the city sewers, and was condemned to perpetual imprisonment by the Romans. Simon was forced to surrender, after a valiant defence; he formed part of the triumph of the victor, and was afterwards publicly executed at Rome. Eleazar, who retired to an untenable fortress, destroyed himself. Jerusalem, which yielded in magnificence to no city of Asia--which Jeremiah styles the admirable city, and David esteems the most glorious and most illustrious city of the East, was thus, in the seventieth year of the Christian era, razed to the ground, and presented nothing but a heap of stones. The emperor Adrian afterwards destroyed even its ruins, and caused another city to be built, with the name of Ælia, from his own, so that there should be nothing left of the ancient Jerusalem. Christians and Jews were equally banished from it; paganism exalted its idols, and Jupiter and Venus had altars upon the tomb of Christ. Amidst such reverses, the city of David was nearly forgotten, when Constantine restored its name, recalled the faithful, and made it a Christian colony. The length and importance of this siege may be accounted for by the strength of the fortifications. Its founders, says Tacitus, having foreseen that the opposition of their manners to those of other nations would be a source of war, had given great attention to its defences, and, in the early days of the Roman empire, it was one of the strongest places in Asia.

The admirable account given by Josephus of the Roman armies may serve as a lesson to all peoples until the arrival of that happy millennium, when the lion shall lie down with the lamb, and war shall be no more; that is, when man has completely changed his nature, and has ceased to be governed by his passions.

He says: “Now here we cannot but admire the precaution of the Romans, in providing themselves with such household servants as might not only serve at other times for the common offices of life, but might also be of advantage to them in their wars. And, indeed, if any one does but attend to their military discipline, he will be forced to confess, that their obtaining so large a dominion hath been the acquisition of their valour, and not the bare gift of fortune; for they do not begin to use their weapons first in time of war, nor do they then put their hands first into motion, while they avoided so to do in time of peace; but, as if their weapons did always cling to them, they have never any truce from warlike exercises; nor do they stay till times of war admonish them to use them; for their military exercises differ not at all from the real use of their arms, but every soldier is every day exercised, and that with great diligence, as if it were in time of war, which is the reason why they bear the fatigue of battles so easily; for neither can any disorder remove them from their usual regularity, nor can fear affright them out of it, nor can labour tire them: which firmness of conduct makes them always to overcome those that have not the same firmness; nor would he be mistaken that should call those their exercises unbloody battles, and their battles bloody exercises. Nor can their enemies easily surprise them with the suddenness of their incursions; for, as soon as they have marched into an enemy’s land, they do not begin to fight till they have walled their camp about; nor is the defence they can raise rashly made, or uneven; nor do they all abide in it, nor do those that are in it take their places at random; but if it happens that the ground is uneven, it is first levelled: their camp is four-square by measure, and carpenters are ready in great numbers with their tools, to erect their buildings for them.”

Such was the system of the great “nation of the sword,” differing, perhaps, but little, except in the scale upon which it operated, from that of Sparta. The machines employed by the Romans were the artificial tower, with its drawbridges, catapultæ, balistæ, and rams; the weapons--javelins, darts, arrows, pikes, stones, swords, and daggers, with the shield or buckler.

EIGHTH SIEGE, A.D. 613.

In the reign of Heraclius, a countless host of Persians--fire-worshippers--under the leadership of Sarbar, poured like a torrent upon Palestine, and carried their ravages to the gates of Jerusalem, of which they took possession. Nearly a hundred thousand Christians perished on this occasion: the great eastern inundations of hordes of barbarous conquerors, being always effected by numbers, necessarily produce an amount of carnage in the vanquished which is sometimes staggering to our belief. But the loss most felt by the Christians, was that of the holy cross, which the conqueror carried away with him, in a case sealed with the seal of Zacchariah, then Patriarch of Jerusalem. The Holy Sepulchre and the churches were given up to the flames.

NINTH SIEGE, A.D. 635.

The Roman emperor soon regained possession of the city; but scarcely was it beginning to recover the shock sustained from the fire-worshippers, when it became the prey of a much more powerful race of fanatics. In 635, the Saracens, under the command of Khaled, the most redoubtable general of Arabia, laid siege to it. The first attack lasted ten days, and the Christians defended themselves with heroic courage. During four months, every day brought its sanguinary conflict; but at length, the unfortunate citizens, being without hope of succour, yielded to the perseverance of the Mussulmans, and by the means of the Patriarch Sophronius, capitulated with the Caliph Omar in person. The following are the conditions of this treaty, which afterwards served as a model to the Mahometans: “In the name of the All-Merciful God, Omar Ebn-Alkhetlab, to the inhabitants of Ælia (the name given to it by its restorer, Ælius Adrianus). They shall be protected; they shall preserve their lives and their property. Their churches shall not be destroyed, but they shall erect no new ones, either in the city or its territories: they alone shall enjoy the use of them. They shall not prevent Mussulmans from entering them, by day or night; the doors of them shall be open to passers-by and to travellers. If any Mussulman, who may be travelling, should pass through their city, he shall be entertained gratis during three days. They shall not teach the Koran to their children, they shall not speak publicly of their own religion, and shall make no efforts to induce others to embrace it. They shall not prevent their kindred from becoming Mussulmans, if they should be so disposed; they shall show respect to Mussulmans, and shall rise up when they wish to be seated. They shall not be clothed like Mussulmans; they shall not wear the same caps, shoes, or turbans. They shall not part their hair as the Mussulmans do; they shall not speak the same language, or be called by the same names. On horseback, they shall use no saddles; they shall carry no sort of arms, and shall not employ the Arabian language in the inscriptions upon their seals. They shall not sell wine; they shall be distinguished by the same description of clothes, wherever they go, and shall always wear girdles. They shall erect no crosses upon their churches, and they shall not exhibit their crosses or their books publicly in the streets of the Mussulmans. They shall not ring their bells, but shall content themselves with tolling them. They shall never take a domestic who has served a Mussulman.” They were obliged to ratify this act of servitude, and to open the gates to the Saracens, who took possession of their conquest.

TENTH SIEGE, A.D. 1099.

We now come to one of the most remarkable sieges of this extraordinary city. In the eleventh century, after a lapse of four hundred years, during which it had passed from the hands of the Saracens to those of the Seldjouc Turks, Jerusalem, a Mahometan city, was beleaguered by the great band of Christian adventurers who had left Europe for the express purpose of delivering it. This is not the place to dilate upon the subject of the Crusades; it is our business to describe some of the sieges to which they gave rise.

Most readers are acquainted with the calamities of various kinds which the Christians had to endure before they could set an army down beneath the walls of this great object of their enterprise. We shall take our account of this awful struggle from the pages of a highly-accredited historian, satisfied that no effort of our own could make it more interesting or instructive.

With the earliest dawn, on the 10th of June, 1099, the Crusaders ascended the heights of Emmaus. All at once the Holy City lay before them. We can compare the cry of the Crusaders, at this sight, to nothing but that of “Land! land!” uttered by the companions of Columbus when they completed their great discovery. “Jerusalem! Jerusalem!” was shouted from every lip, but was soon repeated with bated breath and bended knee, when all that belonged to that city recurred to the minds of the brave adventurers. The rear ranks rushed through those that preceded them, to behold the long-desired object, and their war-cry, “God wills it! God wills it!” re-echoed from the Hill of Sion to the Mount of Olives. The horsemen alighted humbly from their steeds, and walked barefoot. Some cast themselves upon their knees, whilst others kissed the earth rendered sacred by the presence of the Saviour. In their transports they passed from joy to sorrow, from sorrow to joy. At one moment they congratulated each other at approaching the great end of their labours; in the next they wept over their sins, over the death of Christ, and over his profaned tomb; but all united in repeating the oath they had so many times made, of delivering the city from the sacrilegious yoke of the Mussulmans.

At the time of the Crusades, Jerusalem formed, as it does now, a square, rather longer than broad, of a league in circumference. It extended over four hills: on the east the Moriah, upon which the mosque of Omar had been built, in the place of the Temple of Solomon; on the south and west, the Acra, which occupied the whole width of the city; on the north, the Bezetha, or the new city; and on the north-west, the Golgotha, or Calvary, which the Greeks considered the centre of the world, and upon which the Church of the Resurrection was built. In the state in which Jerusalem then was, it had lost much of its strength and extent. Mount Sion no longer rose within its precincts, and dominated over the walls between the south and the west. The three valleys which surrounded its ramparts had been in many places filled up by Adrian, and access to the place was much more difficult, particularly from the north. Jerusalem, however, had had to sustain several sieges whilst under the domination of the Saracens, and its fortifications had not been neglected.

Whilst the Crusaders had been so slowly advancing towards the city, the caliph’s lieutenant, Istekhar-Eddaulah, ravaged the neighbouring plains, burnt the villages, filled up or poisoned the cisterns, and made a desert of the spot upon which the Christians were doomed to be given up to all sorts of miseries. He brought in provisions for a long siege, and called upon all Mussulmans to repair to the defence of Jerusalem. Numberless workmen were employed, day and night, in constructing machines of war, raising the fallen walls, and repairing the towers. The garrison of the city amounted to forty thousand men, and twenty thousand inhabitants took up arms.

On the approach of the Christians, some detachments left the city, to observe the march and plans of the enemy. They were repulsed by Baldwin du Bourg and Tancred, the latter hastening from Bethlehem, of which he had just taken possession. After pursuing the fugitives to the gates of the Holy City, he left his companions, and strayed alone to the Mount of Olives, whence he contemplated at leisure the city promised to the arms and devotion of the pilgrims. He was disturbed in his pious contemplations by five Mussulmans, who left the city for the purpose of attacking him. Tancred did not seek to avoid the combat; three Saracens fell beneath his powerful arm, and the other two fled back to Jerusalem. Without hastening or retarding his steps, Tancred rejoined the army, which, in its enthusiasm, was advancing without order, and descended the heights of Emmaus, singing the words of Isaiah--“Jerusalem, lift up thine eyes, and behold the liberator who cometh to break thy chains!”

On the day after their arrival, the Crusaders formed the siege of the place. The Duke of Normandy, the Count of Flanders, and Tancred, encamped upon the north, from the gate of Herod to the gate of Sedar, or St. Stephen. Next to these Flemings, Normans, and Italians, were placed the English, commanded by Edgar Atheling; and the Bretons, led by their duke, Alain Fergent, the Sire de Château Giron, and the Viscount de Dinan. Godfrey, Eustache, and Baldwin du Bourg, established their quarters between the west and the north, around the extent of Calvary, from the gate of Damascus to the gate of Jaffa. The Count of Toulouse planted his camp to the right of Godfrey, between the south and the west; he had next him Raimbard of Orange, William de Montpellier, and Gaston de Béaru: his troops extended at first along the declivity of Sion, but a few days after he erected his tents upon the top of the mountain, at the very spot where Christ celebrated the Passover with his disciples. By these dispositions the Crusaders left free the sides of the city which were defended, on the south by the valley of Gihon, or Siloë, and towards the east by the valley of Josaphat.

Every step around Jerusalem recalled to the pilgrims some remembrance dear to their religion. This territory, so revered by the Christians, had neither valley nor rock which had not a name in sacred history. Everything they saw awakened or warmed their imagination. But that which most inflamed the zeal of the Crusaders for the deliverance of the city, was the arrival among them of a great number of Christians, who, deprived of their property and driven from their houses, came to seek succour and an asylum amidst their brethren of the West. These Christians described the persecutions which the worshippers of Christ had undergone at the hands of the Mussulmans. The women, children, and old men were detained as hostages; all who were able to bear arms were condemned to labour exceeding their strength. The head of the principal hospital for pilgrims, together with a great number of Christians, had been thrown into prison. The treasures of the churches had been plundered to support the Mussulman soldiery. The patriarch Simeon was gone to Cyprus, to implore the charity of the faithful to save his flock from threatened destruction, if he did not pay the enormous tribute imposed by the oppressors of the Holy City. Every day the Christians of Jerusalem were loaded with fresh outrages; and several times the infidels had formed the project of giving them up to the flames, and completely destroying the Holy Sepulchre, with the Church of the Resurrection. The Christian fugitives, whilst making these doleful recitals to the warlike pilgrims, earnestly exhorted them to attack Jerusalem. In the early days of the siege, an anchorite, who had fixed his retreat upon the Mount of Olives, came to join his entreaties to those of the banished Christians, to persuade the Crusaders to proceed to an immediate assault; he urged his suit in the name of Christ, of whom he declared himself the interpreter. The Crusaders, who had neither ladders nor machines of war, gave themselves up to the counsels of the pious hermit, and believed that their courage and their good swords would suffice to overthrow the ramparts of the Saracens. The leaders, who had seen such prodigies enacted by the valour and enthusiasm of the Christian soldiers, and who had not forgotten the prolonged miseries of the siege of Antioch, yielded without difficulty to the impatience of the army; in addition to which, the sight of Jerusalem had exalted the spirits of the Crusaders, and rendered the least credulous hopeful that God would second their bravery by miracles.

At the first signal, the Christian army advanced in good order towards the ramparts. Never, say historians, was so much ardour witnessed in the soldiers of the Cross; some, serried in close battalions, covered themselves with their bucklers, which formed an impenetrable vault over their heads, and gave their utmost efforts to shake the walls with pikes and hammers; whilst others, ranged in long files, remained at some distance, employing slings and cross-bows to drive away the enemies from the ramparts. Boiling oil and pitch, immense stones and enormous timbers, fell upon the first ranks of the Christians, without stopping their labours. The outward wall had already crumbled beneath their blows, but the interior wall presented an invincible object. Escalade was the only means left. This bold method was attempted, although they could only find one ladder long enough to reach the top of the walls. The bravest mounted it, and fought hand to hand with the Saracens, who were astonished at such audacity. The Crusaders would most probably have entered Jerusalem that very day, if they had had the necessary war instruments and machines; but the small number who were able to attain the top of the walls could not maintain themselves there. Bravery was useless; Heaven did not accord the miracles promised by the hermit, and the Saracens at length forced the assailants to retreat.

The Christians returned to their camp, deploring their imprudence and their credulity. This first reverse taught them that they could not reckon upon prodigies, and that they must, before they could expect to succeed, construct some machines of war. But it was difficult to procure the necessary wood in a country which presented nothing but barren sand and arid rocks. Several detachments were sent to search for wood in the neighbouring plains. Chance led them to the discovery of some immense beams in the depths of a cavern, and Tancred had them transported to the camp. They demolished all the houses and churches that had escaped the flames; and every stick of wood that the Saracens had not destroyed, was employed in the construction of the machines. Notwithstanding the discoveries, the work did not keep pace with the impatience of the Crusaders, or prevent the evils which threatened the Christian army. The great summer heats commenced at the very time the pilgrims arrived before Jerusalem. A blazing sun, and southern winds laden with the sands of the desert, heated the atmosphere to an intolerable degree. Plants and animals perished; the torrent of Cedron was dried up; all the cisterns around were either choked or poisoned. Beneath a sky of fire, in a burning and arid country, the Christian army soon found itself a prey to all the horrors of thirst.

The fountain of Siloë, which only flowed at intervals, could not suffice for the multitude of pilgrims. A skin of fetid water, fetched three leagues, was worth two silver deniers. Overcome by thirst and heat, the soldiers were seen digging the soil with their swords, thrusting their hands into the freshly-turned earth, and eagerly carrying the humid particles to their parched lips. During the day, they anxiously looked for night; and during the night, panted for dawn, in the ever-disappointed hope that the return of the one or the other would bring some degree of freshness or some drops of rain. Every morning they were to be seen gluing their burning lips to the marbles which were covered with dew. During the heat of the day the most robust languished under their tents, without having even strength to implore Heaven for relief.

The knights and barons were in no respect exempt from the scourge under which the army suffered; and many of them daily exchanged for water the treasures obtained from the infidels. “The grief of this extreme thirst,” says the old translator of William of Tyre, “was not so great for the foot soldiers as for the horsemen; the foot soldier could content himself with a little, but the horsemen could only satisfy their horses with copious draughts. As to the beasts of burden, there was no more account taken of them than of so many dead creatures; they were allowed to wander away at will, and died of thirst.”

In this state of general misery, the women and children dragged themselves about the country in search of a spring or cooling shades which had no existence. Many of these, wandering too far from the army, fell into the ambuscades of the Saracens, and lost either their lives or their liberty. When a pilgrim discovered a spring or a cistern in a secluded spot, he concealed it from his companions, or forbade their approaching it. Violent quarrels arose in consequence, and it was not uncommon to see the soldiers of the Cross contending, sword in hand, for a little muddy water. The want of water was so insupportable, that famine was scarcely perceived or thought of: the heats of thirst and of the climate made them careless of food.

If the besieged had then made a spirited sortie, they would have easily triumphed over the Crusaders; but the latter were defended by the remembrance of their exploits, and, however great their distress, their name alone still inspired terror among the Saracens. The Mussulmans might, likewise, well believe that their enemies could not long resist the double scourge of hunger and thirst. In fact, their situation became so dreadful, that the object of their enterprise was lost to their minds; they not only forgot the Holy City, but their God. And then came thoughts of the homes they had left; and many, deserting the colours they had fought so bravely under, fled away to the ports of Palestine and Syria, to watch for an opportunity of returning to Europe.

The leaders were fully aware there was no other remedy for the ills they laboured under but the capture of Jerusalem; but the labours of the siege went on slowly; they had not yet enough wood for the construction of machines; they wanted labourers and the necessary implements. We cannot help being here struck with the difference between an army governed by one strong mind and will, and one under fifty commanders, as this of the Crusaders was. When Titus wanted a wall built round the city, his legions did it in three days; the Crusaders complained of scarcity of labourers for the erection of a few machines. From the first Crusade to the last, this was the cause of failure; every captain was a private adventurer; he acknowledged no sovereign commander, and was at all times governed by what he thought to be his own private interests: there was scarcely ever any unity of view or action.

The wisest and the bravest, in such a critical situation, were beginning to despair of the success of the holy enterprise, when they were cheered by a succour as welcome as it was unexpected. They learned that a Genoese fleet had entered the port of Joppa, laden with provisions and munitions of all kinds. This news spread joy throughout the Christian army; a body of three hundred men left the camp to go and meet the convoy, which Heaven appeared to have sent to the Crusaders in their misery. The detachment, after having beaten the Saracens they met with on their passage, entered the city of Joppa, which had been abandoned by its inhabitants, and was occupied by the Genoese. The Crusaders learnt that the Genoese fleet had been surprised and burnt by that of the Saracens, but that they had had time to secure the provisions, and a great number of implements and tools. All that was saved was safely conveyed to the camp; and it afforded the Crusaders additional joy to find that the welcome supply was attended by a great number of Genoese engineers and carpenters.

As wood was still short for the construction of the machines, a Syrian conducted the Duke of Normandy and the Count of Flanders to a mountain situated thirty miles from Jerusalem. It was here the Christians found the forest of which Tasso speaks in the “Jerusalem Delivered.” The trees of this forest were not forbidden to the axe of the Crusaders, either by the enchantment of Ismen, or the arms of the Saracens: cars drawn by oxen transported it in triumph to the walls of Jerusalem.

All the leaders except Raymond of Toulouse were in want of money to pay for the labours they had commanded. The zeal and charity of the pilgrims came to their relief; many offered all they had left of the booty conquered from the enemy; knights and barons themselves became laborious workmen; all at length were employed--everything in the army was in movement: women, children, and even the sick, shared the labours of the soldiers. Whilst the most robust were occupied in the construction of rams, catapultas, and covered galleries, others fetched in skins the water they drew from the fountain of Elperus, on the road to Damascus, or from the rivulet which flowed on the other side of Bethlehem, towards the desert of St. John; some prepared the skins which were to be stretched over the machines to make them proof against fire; whilst others traversed the neighbouring plains and mountains, to collect branches of the olive and fig trees to make hurdles and fascines.

Although the Christians had still much to suffer from thirst and the heat of the climate, the hope of soon seeing an end to their labours gave them strength to support them. The preparations for the assault were pressed on with incredible activity; every day some new formidable machine threatened the ramparts of the Saracens. Their construction was directed by Gaston of Béarn, of whose bravery and skill historians speak loudly. Among these machines were three enormous towers of a new form, each having three stages: the first destined for the workmen who directed the movements of it, and the second and third for the warriors who were to make the assault. These rolling fortresses rose to a greater height than the walls of the besieged city; on the top was a species of drawbridge, which could be lowered on to the ramparts and form a road into the place.

But these powerful means of attack were not the only ones which were to second the efforts of the Crusaders. The religious enthusiasm which had already performed such prodigies, again lent its influence to augment their ardour and confidence in victory. The clergy, spreading themselves through the quarters, exhorted the pilgrims to penitence and concord. Misery, which always gives birth to complaints and murmurs, had soured their hearts; it had sown divisions between the leaders and the soldiers, who at other times had quarrelled for cities and treasures, but for whom now things the most common had become objects of jealousy and strife. The solitary from the Mount of Olives added his exhortations to those of the clergy; and, addressing the princes and people,--“You who are come,” said he, “from the far regions of the West to worship the God of armies, love each other like brethren, and sanctify yourselves by repentance and good works. If you obey the laws of God, He will render you masters of the holy city; if you resist Him, all His anger will fall upon you.” The solitary advised the Crusaders to make the tour of Jerusalem, invoking the mercy and protection of Heaven.

The pilgrims, persuaded that the gates of the city were not less likely to open to devotion than bravery, listened with docility to the exhortations of the hermit, whose counsel they conceived to be the language of God himself. After a rigorous fast of three days, they left their quarters, in arms, and marched barefooted, with heads uncovered, around the walls of the holy city. They were preceded by their priests clothed in white, bearing the images of saints, and singing psalms and spiritual songs; the ensigns were unfurled, and the drums and trumpets called the echoes from the hills and valleys. It was thus the Hebrews had formerly made the tour of Jericho, whose walls crumbled away at the sound of their instruments.

The Crusaders set out from the valley of Rephraim, which is opposite Calvary; they advanced towards the north, and, on entering the valley of Josophat, saluted the tombs of Mary, St. Stephen, and the first elect of God. Whilst continuing their march towards the Mount of Olives, they contemplated with respect the grotto in which Christ shed the sweat of blood, and the spot where the Saviour of the world wept over Jerusalem. When they arrived at the summit of the mountain, the most imposing spectacle presented itself to their eyes: on the east they beheld the plains of Jericho, the shores of the Dead Sea, and the banks of the Jordan; on the west, the holy city lay at their feet, with its territory strewn with sacred ruins: assembled on the very spot whence Christ ascended into Heaven, and where they anxiously looked for the vestiges of his steps, they listened to the exhortations of their priests and bishops. Arnoul de Rohés, chaplain to the Duke of Normandy, addressed them in a pathetic discourse, conjuring them to redouble their zeal and perseverance. In terminating his address, he turned towards Jerusalem: “You behold,” said he, “the heritage of Christ defiled by the impious: here is at length the worthy reward of all your labours: these are the places in which God will pardon you all your sins and bless your victories.” At the voice of the orator, who pointed to the Church of the Resurrection and the rocks of Calvary ready to receive them, the defenders of the Cross humbled themselves before God, and fixed their looks intensely upon Jerusalem.

As Arnoul pressed them in the name of Christ to pardon injuries and to love one another, Tancred and Raymond, who had long had differences, embraced in the presence of the whole army; the soldiers and other leaders followed their example. The rich promised to assist with their alms the poor and the orphans who bore the cross. All forgot their fatal discords, and swore to remain faithful to the precepts of evangelic charity.

Whilst the Crusaders were thus giving themselves up to transports of devotion and piety, the Saracens assembled upon the ramparts raised high in the air crosses, which they loaded with outrages; they insulted the ceremonies of the Christians by their gestures and clamours. “You hear,” exclaimed Peter the hermit, “you hear the menaces and blasphemies of the enemies of the true God; swear to defend Christ, a prisoner and crucified a second time by the infidels. You behold him expiring a second time on Calvary for the redemption of your sins.” At these words, the cenobite was interrupted by the cries and groans of indignation which arose on all parts around him. “Yes, I swear by your piety,” continued the orator, “I swear by your arms, the reign of the impious draws near to its end. The army of the Lord has only to appear, and all that vain mass of Mussulmans will fade away like a shadow. To-day full of pride and insolence, to-morrow they will be frozen with terror, and will fall motionless before you, as did the guardians of the sepulchre, who felt their weapons escape from their hands, and sunk dead with fear when an earthquake announced the presence of a God upon Calvary, where you are about to mount to the breach. Yet a few moments, and those towers--the last bulwarks of the infidels--will be the asylum of Christians; those mosques, which rise upon Christian ruins, will serve as temples to the true God, and Jerusalem will once again listen to nothing but the praises of the Lord.”

At these last words of Peter, the most lively transports burst from the Crusaders; they embraced again and again, with tears pouring down their embrowned cheeks, exhorting each other to support the evils and fatigues of which they were about to receive the glorious reward. The Christians then came down from the Mount of Olives to return to their camp, and, taking their route towards the south, saluted on their right the tomb of David, and passed close to the Pool of Siloë, where Christ restored sight to the blind; they perceived at a distance the ruins of the palace of Juda, and marched along the declivity of Mount Sion, where other remembrances added to their enthusiasm. Towards evening, the Christian army regained their quarters, repeating the words of the prophet,--“They of the West shall fear the Lord, and they of the East shall behold His glory.” When they had re-entered the camp, most of the pilgrims passed the night in prayer; the leaders and the soldiers confessed their sins at the feet of their priests, and received their God, whose promises filled them with confidence and hope.

Whilst matters were going on thus in the camp, the most profound silence reigned around the walls of Jerusalem, only broken by the voices issuing from hour to hour from the minarets of the mosques, to call the faithful to prayer. The infidels flocked in crowds to their temples to implore the protection of their prophet, and swore by the mysterious stone of Jacob to defend a city, which they called the house of God. The besieged and the besiegers were stimulated by the same ardour to fight and shed their blood: the former to preserve Jerusalem, the latter to make the conquest of it. The hatred which animated them was so violent, that, during the whole of the siege, no deputed Mussulman came to the camp of the Christians, and the Christians never once deigned to summon the garrison to surrender. Between such enemies, the shock must be terrible and the victory implacable.

It was resolved, in a council of the leaders, to take advantage of the enthusiasm whilst it was at its height, and execute the assault. As the Saracens displayed a great number of machines on the sides of the city which appeared to be most threatened by the Christians, it was determined to change the dispositions of the siege, and that the principal attack should be directed towards the points where the enemy had made no preparations for defence.

During the night Godfrey removed his quarters to the eastward, towards the gate of Cedar, not far from the valley in which Titus encamped when his soldiers penetrated into the galleries of the temple. The rolling tower, and the other machines of war which the Duke of Lorraine had caused to be built, were transported, with incredible efforts, in front of the walls he wished to attack. Tancred and the two Roberts drew up their machines between the gate of Damascus and the angular tower, which was afterwards called Tancred’s Tower.

At break of day the Saracens, on beholding these new dispositions, were seized with astonishment and terror. The Crusaders might have taken advantage of the confusion inspired in this change; but upon a steep ground it was difficult to bring their machines close to the walls. Raymond, in particular, who was charged with the attack on the south, found himself separated from the ramparts by a ravine, which it was necessary for him to fill up. He caused it to be proclaimed by a herald that he would pay a denier to every person who would cast three stones into it. A crowd of people instantly flocked to the aid of the soldiers,--a shower of darts and arrows from the ramparts producing no effect upon the ardour and zeal of the labourers. At length, by the end of the third day, all was completed, and the leaders gave the signal for a general assault.

On Thursday, the 14th of July, 1099, as soon as day appeared, the clarions resounded in the camp of the Christians; all the Crusaders flew to arms; all the machines were put in motion at once; pedereros and mangonnels vomited a shower of stones against the enemy; whilst, protected by the tortoises and covered galleries, the rams were brought up close to the walls. The archers and cross-bowmen kept up a continuous discharge at the ramparts, whilst the bravest, covered with their bucklers, planted ladders in places where the walls appeared most assailable. On the south, the east, and the north of the city, the three rolling towers advanced towards the ramparts, amidst tumultuous noise, and the shouts of the workmen and soldiers. Godfrey appeared upon the highest platform of his wooden fortress, accompanied by his brother Eustache, and Baldwin du Bourg. He animated his men by his example; every javelin he hurled, say the historians of the times, carried death to a Saracen. Raymond, Tancred, the Duke of Normandy, and the Count of Flanders fought amongst their soldiers; the knights and men-at-arms were animated by the same ardour as the principal leaders, and eagerly sought every point where danger threatened most.

Nothing could equal the fury of the first charge of the Christians, but it everywhere met with an obstinate resistance. Arrows, javelins, boiling oil, the Greek fire, and fourteen machines, which the besieged had had time to oppose to those of their enemies, repelled on all sides the attack and the efforts of the assailants. The infidels, issuing by a breach made in their rampart, attempted to burn the machines of the besiegers, and spread disorder throughout the Christian army. Towards the end of the day the towers of Godfrey and Tancred could not be made to move; Raymond’s had sunk into ruins. The combat had lasted twelve hours without victory appearing to be at all inclined to favour the Crusaders;--night separated the combatants. The Christians returned to their camp, trembling with rage and grief; the leaders, particularly the two Roberts, could not console themselves, from the idea that God had not yet thought them worthy to enter the Holy City, and worship the tomb of his Son.

The night was passed on both sides in a state of anxious inquietude, each deploring their losses, and trembling at the prospect of fresh ones. The Saracens expected a surprise; the Christians feared that the Saracens would burn the machines they had left at the foot of the ramparts. The besieged were employed in repairing the breaches made in their walls; the besiegers in attempting to put their machines in a state for another attack. The following day brought the same combats and the same dangers as the preceding one. The leaders endeavoured to revive the courage of the Crusaders by their speeches. The priests and bishops went among the tents of the soldiers, announcing the certain succour of Heaven. The Christian army, filled with new confidence in victory, appeared under arms, and advanced in silence towards the points of attack, whilst the clergy walked in procession round the city.

The first shock was impetuous and terrible. The Christians, indignant at the resistance they had met with the day before, fought with fury. The besieged, who had learnt the arrival of an Egyptian army, were animated by the hopes of victory; formidable machines covered their ramparts. Javelins were heard hissing on all sides; stones and large timbers, launched by the Christians and the infidels, met in the air with a fearful crash, and fell upon the assailants. From the height of their towers the Mussulmans incessantly hurled blazing torches and fire-pots. The wooden fortresses of the Christians approached the walls amidst a conflagration which seemed spreading in all directions. The infidels directed most of their efforts against the tower of Godfrey, upon which glittered a cross of gold, the sight of which provoked their fury and their insults. The Duke of Lorraine had seen one of his esquires and several of his soldiers fall by his side; himself a mark for all the arrows and darts of the enemy, he fought on amidst the dead and the wounded, never ceasing to shout encouragement to his companions in arms. The Count of Toulouse, who attacked the city on the south side, opposed all his machines to those of the Mussulmans; he had to contend with the Emir of Jerusalem, who animated his troops by his words, and showed himself upon the walls, surrounded by the élite of the Egyptian soldiery. Towards the north, Tancred and the two Roberts appeared at the head of their battalions. Motionless upon their rolling fortress, they looked impatient to be wielding lance and sword. Already their rams had, upon several points, shaken the wall, behind which the Saracens closed their ranks, and presented themselves as a last rampart to the attack of the Crusaders.

In the midst of the combat, say the historians, two female magicians appeared upon the ramparts of the city, appealing to the elements and the powers of hell. They were not able to avoid the death they invoked upon the Christians, and fell beneath a shower of arrows and stones. Two Egyptian emissaries, who had come from Ascalon to exhort the besieged to defend themselves, were surprised by the Crusaders as they were seeking to obtain entrance into the city. One of them fell, covered with wounds; the other, after having revealed the secret of his mission, was launched, by means of a machine, on to the ramparts where the Saracens were fighting.

The combat had lasted half the day, without the Crusaders being able to entertain any hope of penetrating into the place. All their machines were on fire; they wanted water, but more particularly vinegar, which alone had the power to extinguish the kind of fire launched at them by the besieged. In vain the bravest exposed themselves to the greatest dangers, to prevent the destruction of all the wooden machines and the rams; they fell, buried under the ruins, and the raging flames devoured even their bucklers and their vestments. Many of the most intrepid warriors had found death at the foot of the ramparts; a great number of those mounted on the towers had been placed hors de combat; others, covered with sweat and dust, smothered with heat, and staggering under the weight of their armour, began to lose courage. The Saracens, who perceived this, uttered loud cries of joy. In their blasphemies, they reproaching the Christians with adoring a God who was not able to help them. The assailants deplored their lot, and, believing themselves abandoned by Christ, remained motionless on the field of battle.

But the combat was about to change its character. All at once the Crusaders beheld, on the Mount of Olives, a horseman, waving his buckler, and giving the Christian army the signal to enter the city. Godfrey and Raymond, who perceived him first, and at the same moment, cried out that St. George was come to the succour of the Christians. The tumult of the fight allowed of neither reflection nor examination, and the sight of the celestial horseman fired the besiegers with fresh ardour. They returned to the charge; even the women, the children, and the sick crowded into the mêlée, bringing water, food, and arms, and uniting their efforts with those of the soldiers to get the rolling towers, the dread of the enemy, nearer to the walls. That of Godfrey advanced, amidst a terrible discharge of stones, arrows, and Greek fire, and let fall its drawbridge upon the wall. Fiery darts flew at one and the same time against the machines of the besiegers, and against the sacks of straw and hay, and the bales of wool which covered the inner walls of the city. The wind kindled the fires, and drove the flames full upon the Saracens, who, enveloped in fire and smoke, recoiled at the aspect of the lances and swords of the Christians. Godfrey, preceded by the two brothers Lethalde and Engelbert of Tournay, and followed by Baldwin du Bourg, Eustache, Raimbaud, Créton, Guicher, Bernard de St. Vallier, and Amenjeu d’Albret, broke through the enemy, pursued them, and rushed with them into Jerusalem. The brave men who had fought upon the platform of the tower with their intrepid leader, followed them into the streets, and massacred all they met with on their passage.

At the same time a report was spread in the Christian army, that the holy pontiff Adhemar, and several Crusaders who had died during the siege, had appeared at the head of the assailants, and unfurled the banners of the Cross upon the towers of Jerusalem. Tancred and the two Roberts, animated by this account, made fresh efforts, and threw themselves into the place, accompanied by Hugh de St. Paul, Gerard de Roussillon, Louis de Mousson, Conon and Lambert de Montargis, and Gaston de Béarn. A crowd of heroes follow them closely; some enter by a half-open breach, others scale the walls with ladders, many spring from the wooden towers. The Mussulmans fly on all sides, and Jerusalem resounds with the victory-cry of the Crusaders, God wills it! God wills it! The companions of Godfrey and Tancred hew down the gate of St. Stephen with axes, and the city lies open to the crowd of Crusaders, who press upon each other, and dispute the honour of inflicting the last blow upon the infidels.

Raymond alone met with some resistance. Made aware of the victory of the Christians by the cries of the Mussulmans, the clash of arms, and the tumult from the interior of the city, he roused the courage of his soldiers. These brave men, impatient to join their companions, abandoned their tower and their machines, which they could no longer move. They planted their ladders, and sticking their swords into the walls as steps, they mounted to the ramparts; they were preceded by the Count de Toulouse, Raymond Pelet, the Bishop of Bira, the Count de Die, and William de Sabran. Nothing could now stop them; they dispersed the Saracens, who, with their Emir, flew for refuge to the fortress of David; and soon all the Crusaders in Jerusalem met together, embraced, wept with joy, and gave all their attention to securing their victory.

In the mean time despair had for a moment rallied the bravest of the Saracens; they fell with impetuosity upon the Christians, who were advancing in disorder, bent upon pillage. The latter were beginning to give way before the enemy they had conquered, when Evrard de Preysaie, whose bravery Ralph of Caën has celebrated, revived the courage of his companions, placed himself at their head, and once more carried terror among the infidels. From that moment the Crusaders had no longer an enemy to contend with.

History has remarked that the Christians entered Jerusalem on a Friday, at three o’clock in the afternoon, which was the day and the hour at which Christ expired for the salvation of mankind. This memorable epoch ought to have recalled to their hearts a feeling of mercy; but, irritated by the menaces and long insults of the Saracens, exasperated by the various ills they had undergone during the siege, and the resistance they had met with, even in the city, they filled the Jerusalem they came to deliver, and which they considered as their future country, with blood and mourning. The carnage was soon general, such as escaped the swords of the soldiers of Godfrey and Tancred, becoming the victims of the Provençals, equally thirsty for blood. The Saracens were indiscriminately massacred in the streets and in their houses; Jerusalem had no asylum for the vanquished; some tried to escape death by precipitating themselves from the ramparts, whilst others ran in crowds to seek refuge in the palaces, the towers, and particularly in the mosques, but nowhere could they escape the murderous pursuit of the Christians.

The Crusaders, masters of the Mosque of Omar, in which the Saracens had defended themselves for a short time, repeated the scenes of carnage which had followed and sullied the conquest of Titus. Foot and horse entered the sacred structure pêle-mêle with the vanquished. Amidst the most horrible tumult the place re-echoes with cries and groans of death; the conquerors trampled upon heaps of slain in pursuit of such as endeavoured to escape. Raymond d’Agiles, an eye-witness, says that beneath the portico and in the front court of the Temple the blood ascended to the knees and the bridles of the horses. To paint this terrible spectacle, which war presented twice in the same place, it will suffice to say, in the words of Josephus, that the number of the slain exceeded by far that of the soldiers who immolated them to their vengeance, and that the echoes of the mountains neighbouring the Jordan repeated the groans and cries that issued from the Temple.

The imagination turns with disgust from these horrible pictures, and can scarcely, amid the carnage, contemplate the Christians of Jerusalem whose chains the Crusaders had broken. They crowded from all parts to meet the conquerors; they shared with them the provisions they had been able to keep from the Saracens; and all together were thankful to the God who had crowned the arms of the Christians with such a triumph. The hermit Peter, who, five years before, had promised to arm the West for the deliverance of the Christians of Jerusalem, must have experienced inexpressible delight in witnessing their gratitude and joy. They appeared to consider no one among the Crusaders but him; they recalled his words and his promises; it was to him they addressed their songs of praise; it was him they proclaimed their liberator; they related to him all they had suffered during his absence; they could scarcely believe that he stood before them; and, in their enthusiasm, they expressed astonishment that God should have employed one man alone to rouse so many nations and effect such prodigies.

The sight of the brethren they had delivered, no doubt, reminded the pilgrims that they had come for the purpose of worshipping the tomb of Jesus Christ. The pious Godfrey, who had abstained from slaughter as soon as the victory was certain, quitted his companions, and, followed by two attendants, repaired, without arms and barefoot, to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. The news of this purpose of devotion soon spread through the Christian army, and immediately all fury, all vengeance, were appeased; the Crusaders, stripping off their blood-stained vestments, made Jerusalem resound with their sobs and groans, and, led by the clergy, they marched in a body, barefoot and with uncovered heads, towards the Church of the Resurrection.

When the Christian army was thus assembled upon Calvary, night began to fall; silence reigned in the public places and upon the ramparts; nothing was to be heard in the Holy City but canticles of penitence, and the words of Isaiah, “You who love Jerusalem, rejoice you with her!” The Crusaders evinced so much devotion that, according to the remark of a modern historian, it might be thought that these men who had just taken a city by assault, and committed a horrible carnage, really came from a long retreat and a profound meditation upon religious mysteries. These inexplicable contrasts are often remarked in the history of the Crusades. Some writers have fancied they found in them a pretext for an accusation against the Christian religion; others, not less blind or less prejudiced, attempt to excuse the deplorable excesses of fanaticism: the impartial historian is satisfied with relating them, and sighs in silence over the weaknesses of human nature.

Besides, this pious fervour was soon burnt out, and only suspended the scenes of carnage for awhile; policy and cupidity soon led to fresh horrors, and fanaticism most ably seconded them. All whom humanity or lassitude of carnage had spared, or even some who had been saved in the hopes of a rich ransom, were slaughtered. The Saracens were forced to precipitate themselves from the tops of their houses; they perished by thousands in the flames; they were dragged into the public places, and immolated upon the heaps of slain which already encumbered them. Neither the tears of women, the cries of infants, nor the aspect of the Holy Places, where Christ had pardoned his executioners, had power to soften the irritated conquerors. The carnage was so great, that heaps of bodies were not only seen in the palaces, the temples, and the streets, but were found in the most secluded and solitary places. Such was the delirium of vengeance, cupidity, and fanaticism, that the scenes did not disgust beholders who might be supposed to be impartial: contemporary historians describe them without offering a word of excuse, and throughout their recitals of revolting events, a single expression of horror or pity does not escape them. We, however, cannot pursue the frightful details further. The carnage lasted for a full week, and the Oriental and Latin historians agree in stating that the numbers of Mussulmans slain in Jerusalem amounted to more than seventy thousand! The Jews experienced no more mercy than the Saracens: they took refuge in their synagogue; the Crusaders set fire to the building, and all perished in the flames.

Such was the ever-memorable capture of Jerusalem by the Crusaders. The reflections it gives rise to are too numerous, too complicated, and too interesting to be ventured upon in such a work as this; we must be satisfied with having given principally, in the words of an elegant historian, an account of the siege. We perceive the same weapons, the same machines, the same natural objects of offence and defence, that are to be found in other sieges. The terraces of Titus became the rolling towers of the Middle Ages; but the ancient instruments, the ram, catapultæ, and the cross-bow, were still in full force. Although there was a body of English in the army, we hear nothing of their national weapon, the long-bow. Jerusalem, from its situation, was wanting in a moat or ditch; if it had had a broad one, it would have very much increased the difficulties of the besiegers. Objects in themselves apparently unconnected with the art of war, seem to have been freely made use of; boiling oil, melted pitch, and huge beams were had recourse to by the besieged. We likewise hear of the Greek fire, but there are not so many miracles attached to its effects as in some sieges. The Asiatics despised no natural means of defence that offered themselves; in one of the minor sieges of the Crusades, they adopted a very ingenious and effective mode of annoyance. The country round was famous for the production of honey, and the citizens had vast apiaries. When the ladders were planted, and the Crusaders commenced the assault, the inhabitants brought all the bee-hives they could collect, and precipitated them and their swarms of little armed warriors amidst the assailing host. The effect may be more easily imagined than described.

ELEVENTH SIEGE, A.D. 1187.

The siege we have last described gave birth to one of the shortest-lived and most troublous monarchies that is to be found in the pages of history. One or two good monarchs are met with in its short annals of eighty-eight years, the rest were either wicked or imbecile, and only hastened the fall which naturally attended its peculiar construction and existence. The state of Jerusalem when the errors of its rulers brought upon it the vengeance of Saladin--perhaps the greatest man that ever figured in the East,--was disgraceful beyond description; the two great principles which really drew the Crusaders from their homes,--military glory and cupidity, during the few years of this kingdom upon which all the world was supposed to have its attention fixed,--were in constant operation to precipitate its downfall. The stormy passions, inseparable from a feudal government, had weakened all the resources of the nominal government. The king was a shadow, totally without power: he could neither avenge his own injuries, nor those of either the state or religion. Want of bravery was the only crime he could punish: because cowards found no patrons amongst the barons: they were useless to them, and they were heedless of their fate. The king was totally without the first prerogatives of royalty; he had not the power to support justice or make the laws of nations respected: the kingdom was covered with strong castles, whose commanders scarcely acknowledged any fealty to the king; the summits of the mountains were crowned with threatening towers, and the caverns at their feet even were converted into fortresses, in which the barons commanded as masters, and made peace or war at their will. The military orders, given up to profligacy, luxury, and thirst of wealth, were divided among themselves, and frequently shed blood in quarrels that were most fatal to the Christians. Discord prevailed between the clergy of Jerusalem and the knights of the Temple and of St. John; the military orders were not subject to ecclesiastical jurisdiction, and the clergy, accustomed to give laws to princes, could not endure the haughty independence of these warriors. The Hospitallers built houses in front of the Church of the Resurrection, for the purpose of annoying the clergy, and even went so far as to amuse themselves with shooting arrows at the holy fathers as they entered the church.

The inhabitants and the Crusaders seldom agreed long together; booty being the object of every new-comer, the people were his readiest victims, under the pretence of defending them against the infidels. The maritime cities were divided into ruinous national parties; the barons and knights were weakened by idleness and debauchery, and could only be roused to exertion by the hopes of plunder and booty: the love of glory and the cause of Christ were forgotten. They no longer asked what enemy they were to attack, what ally they were to defend, but what province was to be given up to pillage. Some of the leaders, even in the most perilous circumstances of the state, abandoned their standards, and sold their inaction or their neutrality. Others went so far as even to plunder the Christian provinces, or sell their active services to the Saracens.

Religion had lost all hold upon men’s minds, and principally by the immorality of the churchmen. It was said by a respectable historian, that there was scarcely one chaste woman in Jerusalem. The leaders of the Christian colonies and the heads of the church set the example of licentiousness; from the throne to the lowest grade of society, all were vitiated, but particularly those who, from their rank or their holy functions, ought to have set an example. A people so degenerated could not be expected to save the kingdom, when attacked by such a man as Saladin.

To repeat the causes which had exasperated this powerful prince would trench too much upon the province of general history; suffice it to say, that the conduct of the Christians was a tissue of weakness, perfidy, and occasional insane rashness; they were under no strong-handed or prudent government, they showed themselves subject to no moral restraints.

Politic, brave, cool, but severe when provoked, Saladin was the last man the Christians should have made an enemy of. Irritated by their total want of good faith, and their perpetual invasions of his territory when they thought he was distant or engaged with other objects, he at length determined to subdue them, and that effectually, by taking their capital city.

After gaining the sanguinary battle of Tiberias, and taking every city in Palestine before which he thought it worth his while to sit down, the victorious Sultan advanced towards Jerusalem. The moment appeared to be come at which this religiously important city must fall again into the power of the Mussulmans, and they implored Mahomet to grant this crowning triumph to the arms of Saladin. After having taken Gaza, and several fortresses in the neigbourhood, the Sultan collected his whole army and surrounded the holy city. A queen in tears, the children of the warriors killed at the battle of Tiberias, a few fugitive soldiers, and some pilgrims recently arrived from the West, were the only guardians of the Holy Sepulchre. A great number of Christian families who had left the devastated provinces of Palestine filled the city; but, far from bringing it any assistance, they only served to augment the trouble and consternation.

When close to the walls, Saladin summoned before him the principal inhabitants, and said to them: “I know, as well as you do, that Jerusalem is the house of God, and I do not wish to profane its sanctity by the effusion of blood: abandon its walls, and I will give up to you a part of my treasures; I will give you as much land as you can cultivate.” “We cannot,” they replied, “cede willingly a city in which our God died; still less can we yield it to you.” Saladin, irritated by their refusal, swore upon the Koran to level the towers and ramparts of Jerusalem, and to avenge the death of the Mussulmans slaughtered by the companions and the soldiers of Godfrey de Bouillon.

At the moment Saladin was speaking to the deputies, an eclipse of the sun all at once left the heavens in darkness, and appeared to be a sinister presage for the Christians. Nevertheless, the inhabitants, encouraged by the clergy, prepared to defend the city. They had chosen as leader Baleau d’Ibelin, who had been present at the battle of Tiberias. This old warrior, whose experience and virtue inspired confidence and respect, immediately set about repairing the fortifications and disciplining the new defenders of Jerusalem. As he wanted officers, he created fifty knights from among the citizens; all the Christians in a condition to fight took up arms, and swore to shed their blood in the cause of Christ. There was no money to defray the expenses of the war, but all means of obtaining it appeared legitimate amidst the danger which threatened the city of God. The churches were spoiled, and the people, terrified at the approach of Saladin, beheld without scandal the precious metal which covered the chapel of the Holy Sepulchre converted into coin.

The standards of Saladin were speedily seen floating over the heights of Emäus; the Mussulman army pitched its camp on the same places as were occupied by the tents of Godfrey, Tancred, and the two Roberts, when they besieged the Holy City. The Christians at first opposed a warm resistance, and made frequent sorties, in which they held in one hand the lance or the sword, and in the other a shovel, with which they threw dust in the eyes of the Saracens. A great number of citizens received the palm of martyrdom, and ascended, say the historians, into the celestial Jerusalem. Many Mussulmans fell under the swords of their adversaries, and went to inhabit the banks of the river which waters Paradise.

Saladin, after being encamped some days on the west of the city, directed his attacks on the north, and mined the ramparts which extend from the gate of Josophat to that of St. Stephen. The bravest of the citizens made a sortie, and endeavoured to destroy the machines and works of the besiegers, encouraging each other by repeating the words of Scripture,--“A single one of us will put ten infidels to flight; and ten will scatter ten thousand.” They performed prodigies of valour, but they could not retard the progress of the siege; repulsed by the Saracens, they slowly retired to the city, whither their return brought discouragement and terror. The towers and ramparts seemed ready to fall at the first assault. Despair then seized upon the inhabitants, who saw before them no defence but tears and prayers. Instead of flying to arms, the soldiers ran to the churches; the promise of a hundred pieces of gold could not detain them one night on the threatened ramparts. The clergy made processions through the streets, to invoke the assistance of Heaven; some beat their breasts with stones, others lacerated their bodies with scourges, crying Mercy! mercy! Nothing was heard in Jerusalem but groans; “but our Sir Jesus Christ,” says an old chronicle, “would not listen to them; for the luxury and impurity which were in the city did not allow orisons or prayers to mount up before God.” The despair of the inhabitants inspired them with a thousand contrary projects at once: sometimes they formed the resolution of leaving the city, and seeking a glorious death in the ranks of the infidels: at others, they placed all their hopes in the clemency of Saladin.

Amongst the general trouble and agitation, the Greek and Syrian Christians, and the Melchite Christians, endured with much pain the authority of the Latins, and laid to their charge all the misfortunes of the war. A plot was discovered, in which they had resolved to deliver Jerusalem to the Mussulmans: this discovery increased the general alarm, and determined the principal men of the city to ask a capitulation of Saladin. Accompanied by Baleau d’Ibelin, they went to propose to the Sultan to give up the place upon the conditions he had offered before the siege. But Saladin remembered that he had sworn to take the city by assault, and to put all the inhabitants to the sword. He sent back the deputies without giving them any hope; Baleau d’Ibelin returned to him several times, renewed his supplications and prayers, but found Saladin still inflexible. One day, when the Christian deputies were conjuring him warmly to accept their capitulation, he turned towards the place, and, pointing to the standards which floated over the walls,--“How can you ask me,” said he, “to grant conditions to a captured city?” Notwithstanding this, the Saracens were repulsed; and Baleau, animated by the advantage obtained by the Christians, replied to the Sultan,--“You see, Jerusalem does not want for defences; if we cannot obtain any mercy from you, we will adopt a terrible resolution, and the excess of our despair shall fill you with fright. Those temples and palaces you are so anxious to conquer shall be destroyed, and all our wealth, which excites the ambition and cupidity of the Saracens, shall be given up to the flames. We will lay level the mosque of Omar, and the mysterious stone of Jacob, the object of your worship, shall be broken and ground into dust. Jerusalem contains five thousand Mussulman prisoners: they shall perish by the sword. We will, with our own hands, slaughter our women and our children, and thus spare them the disgrace of becoming your slaves. When the Holy City shall be nothing but a mass of ruins--one vast tomb, we will leave it, followed by the angry manes of our friends and neighbours; we will leave it, fire and sword in hand; not one of us will gain Paradise, without having sent to Hell ten Mussulmans. We shall thus obtain a glorious death, and shall yield our last breath in calling down upon you the maledictions of the God of Jerusalem.”

This speech produced a great effect upon Saladin, and he invited the deputies to return next day. He consulted the doctors of the law, and they decided that he might accept the proposed capitulation without violating his oath. The conditions were signed on the morrow, in the tent of the Sultan; thus Jerusalem again fell under the domination of the Infidels, after having been eighty-four years in the hands of the Christians. The Latin historians had remarked that the Crusaders had entered Jerusalem on a Friday, at the same hour that Christ had suffered death to expiate the crimes of the human race. The Saracens retook the city on a Friday, the anniversary of the day on which, according to their belief, Mahomet ascended from Jerusalem to Heaven. This circumstance, which might have induced Saladin to sign the capitulation proposed to him, did not fail to add new splendour to his triumph with the Mussulmans, and caused him to be looked upon as the favourite of the prophet.

All the warriors in Jerusalem obtained permission to retire to Tyre or to Tripoli. The conqueror granted their lives to the inhabitants, and permitted them to purchase their liberty. All Christians, with the exception of Greeks and Syrians, received an order to quit Jerusalem within four days. The ransom was fixed at ten pieces of gold for men, five for women, and two for children. Those who had not the means to purchase their freedom remained slaves.

These conditions had at first been received with joy by the Christians; but when the time arrived for their leaving Jerusalem, their grief at quitting the Holy Places became intense; they watered the tomb of Christ with their tears, and reproached themselves with not having died to defend it; they ran, unconsciously, from Calvary to the various churches they were never to see again, shedding torrents of tears; they embraced each other, weeping, in the streets, and deploring their fatal divisions. Such as could not pay their ransom, and could only leave Jerusalem as the slaves of the Saracens, gave themselves up to the wildest despair. But so great, in these deplorable moments, appeared their attachment to a religion whose precepts in happier times they had completely neglected, that the outrages offered to their worship afflicted them more than their own proper misery. A cross of gold having been torn from the dome of the church of the Templars, and dragged through the streets by the Saracens, all the Christians burst into cries of grief and indignation, and, although disarmed, Jerusalem was on the point of rising against its conquerors.

At last the fatal day arrived on which the Christians were to leave Jerusalem. All the gates of the city were closed, except that of David, through which the Christians were to go out. Saladin, seated upon a lofty throne, saw all the people pass before him. The patriarch, followed by the clergy, appeared the first, bearing the sacred vases, the ornaments of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, and treasures of which, says an Arabian author, God alone knows the value. The Queen of Jerusalem, accompanied by the barons and knights, came next. Saladin respected her grief, and addressed some kind words to her. The Queen was followed by a great number of women, bearing their children in their arms, and uttering the most pitiable cries. Several of them drew near to the throne of Saladin: “You see at your feet,” said they, “the wives, the mothers, and the daughters of the warriors you detain prisoners; we are leaving for ever our country, which they have defended with glory; they assisted us in supporting life; losing them we have lost our last hope; if you would deign to restore them to us, they would soften the miseries of our exile, and we should be no longer without a support upon earth.” Saladin was touched by their prayers, and promised to mitigate the misfortunes of so many unhappy families. He restored the sons to mothers, and the husbands to wives, who were found among the captives. Many Christians had abandoned their valuable goods and property, in order to bear away upon their shoulders some of their parents weakened by age, and others their friends, the infirm, and the sick. Saladin was affected by this spectacle, and rewarded the virtue and piety of his enemies with gifts and alms; he took pity upon all these unfortunates, and permitted the Hospitallers to remain in the city to tend to the sick, as well as such as serious maladies prevented from moving.

When the Saracens commenced the siege, the Holy City contained more than a hundred thousand Christians. The greater part of them purchased their freedom: Baleau d’Ibelin, the depositary of the treasures destined to defray the expenses of the siege, employed all that was left in the liberation of the citizens. Malec-Adel, the brother of the Sultan, paid the ransom of two thousand captives. Saladin followed his example by setting free great numbers of poor and orphans. There only remained in slavery about fourteen thousand Christians, among whom were four or five thousand children, too young to be aware of the extent of their misfortune, but whose fate the faithful deplored the more, from the probability that these innocent victims of war would be brought up in the idolatry of Mahomet. From this period Jerusalem has remained in the hands of the Mahometans.

We have given these interesting sieges in greater detail than we shall be able to afford to most others; but we feel satisfied our readers will be pleased at being made acquainted with as many particulars as possible regarding a city which occupies so prominent a place in the religious and civil history of the world. We were fortunate, likewise, in having an historian[2] to refer to who had devoted great part of his life and his superior talents to the history of the wars of which the two latter sieges form a part. We have adopted, in the sieges of Jerusalem, the plan we shall follow in other cases; we have given the sieges in one series, thinking that the best way to impress the general history of the places in young minds, as likewise of showing, by something like a consecutive account, the causes of wars, defeats, and successes.

SAMARIA.

Samaria, the capital of the kingdom of Israel, and the rival of Jerusalem, sustained several memorable sieges. Adad, King of Syria, entered into Palestine in the reign of Achab, and encamped before the walls of Samaria. He soon reduced the city to the last extremity. Adad, reckoning upon the certainty of conquering the states of Achab, offered that king peace upon the conditions of his giving up his treasures, his wives, and his children. Achab, being without resource, consented to his demands; but on the morrow, Adad having added propositions still more hard, the king resolved to defend himself to the last. At the moment Adad thought victory within his grasp, the footmen of the Prince of Israel advanced, attacked his vanguard, killed many of them, and pursued the rest to the camp. Achab with his troops fell upon the infidels, put them to flight, and enriched himself with their spoils.--A.C. 907.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 906.

The following year Adad returned into Palestine with a more formidable army. Achab marched to meet him, and gave him battle. The Syrians were routed, and lost, it is said, a hundred thousand men. Adad was made prisoner.

THIRD SIEGE, A.C. 891.

In the reign of Joram, the son of Achab, the capital of Israel once more beheld a formidable Syrian army at its gates. This siege was long and celebrated. Adad surrounded the city on all sides; no supplies could be brought in; the public magazines were exhausted, and the famine became so excessive that an ass’s head was sold for ninety pieces of silver; and twelve bushels of pigeons’ dung, which was used instead of salt, was worth five. Such distress made Joram fear that in their despair the people would open the gates to the enemy. To encourage the soldiers and watch the people, he every day visited the walls and the fortifications. Whilst thus employed, a woman cast herself at his feet. “My lord and my king,” said she, uttering fearful cries, “in the name of God, save an unfortunate!” “What would you with me?” replied the monarch; “if the Lord does not save you, think you that I, who am but a simple mortal, can? What have you to say to me?” “Lord, the woman you see with me said: ‘Give me your son, and let us eat him to-day; to-morrow we will eat mine.’ I killed my son, and we ate him, but this wicked woman, notwithstanding her promise, has concealed her child, and robbed me of the food that is my due.” On hearing this horrid recital, the King of Israel tore his vestments, and exposed to the eyes of everybody the hair shirt he wore next his skin. This prince, reduced to despair, threw the cause of so many evils upon Elijah, and wished to put him to death. But the man of God promised him that the next day the abundance should be so great that a measure of pure meal should be sold for less than one sicle, or thirty sols; but the prophet gained no believers. An officer upon whose arm the king was leaning, turned him into ridicule: “If the All-powerful,” said he, “were to open the heavens, and shower down provisions, this would not be possible.” “You will see,” replied Elijah, “but you will enjoy no part of it.” Four lepers, who dwelt near the gates of the city, urged on by despair, went to the camp of the Syrians in hopes of meeting with death, but what was their astonishment to find no one there? The enemy, struck by a sudden panic, and thinking they heard the noise of a great army advancing, had taken to flight, and left everything behind them. The lepers, after having satisfied their hunger, and put aside a great quantity of gold and silver, hastened to announce this happy news to the king. Joram feared it was a trick. At length, after being assured of the flight of the infidels, the people rushed in crowds to the camp, and the word of the prophet was fulfilled in all its circumstances. The king set the officer who had mocked the prophet, at the gate of the city, and the unfortunate man was smothered by the crowd of people, without being able to take a part in the unlooked-for abundance.

FOURTH SIEGE, A.C. 721.

Salmanazar, King of Assyria, learning that Hosea had made himself king of Israel, which country he considered tributary to his power, and wished to shake off the yoke, besieged Samaria, and carried it by assault after a blockade of three years. Hosea was made prisoner, and carried away, with the greater part of his subjects, into Assyria. Thus ended the kingdom of Israel, or of the ten tribes.

FIFTH SIEGE, A.C. 120.

Samaria, however, became again peopled, and continued to dispute precedency with Jerusalem till the government of Hyrcanus, son of Simon Maccabeus. This great sacrificator took it by escalade, after a siege of a year, and completely destroyed the city and fortifications. But Herod the Great rebuilt it, increased its extent considerably, and named it Sebasta, out of compliment to Augustus.

ROME.

In our account of the early sieges of Rome, notwithstanding our conviction that many of the events related of them are apochryphal, we shall adhere to the version which was the delight of our boyhood. We do not believe the ancient history of Rome to be more fabulous than that of other countries. One of the great objects of history is to form character by placing acts of patriotic devotion or private virtue in the most attractive light; and we believe that the firmness of a Mutius Scævola, the devotedness of a Curtius, or even the apologue of Menenius Agrippa, will be more beneficial to the young mind than the bare skeletons left by the scepticism of German historians. We venerate truth, but we have seen and read nothing to convince us that the fine old tales of Livy were not founded upon something; and if in their passage to us a colouring has been added to make virtue more attractive and vice more repulsive, let us not reject them because they are too pleasing; the hard world youth have before them will prove quite chilling enough to their better sympathies: let them be allowed to enter it with hearts alive to the good, the great, and the elevating.

FIRST SIEGE, A.C. 747.

From the way in which what is called Rome, as a nation, was got together, it was naturally in a constant state of warfare. The spirit in which it was founded pervaded and ruled over it to its fall: it was at all times a nation of the sword; and when that sword was blunted by having conquered the known world, its conquests all crumbled away: when Rome ceased to be an aggressor, she instantly ceased to be great. Rome, of course, commenced this aggressive career with wars upon her neighbours, a cause for quarrel being quickly and easily found where everything was to be gained and little to be lost. Thus, the rape of the Sabine women produced the first siege of the nascent city,--a violation not only of the laws of nations, but of the laws of even the rudest state of nature, created its first enemies. The Sabines of Cures, animated by a warm desire for vengeance, presented themselves before Rome; their design was to blockade it, when chance rendered them masters of the citadel by the treachery of Tarpeia. She covenanted, as her reward for betraying the capital, for what they wore on their arms, meaning their ornamental bracelets; but they, disgusted with her action, threw their bucklers upon her and smothered her. After her, the rock from which criminals were precipitated was called the Tarpeian,--a proof that there was at least some foundation for that now disputed legend. The two peoples then came to close action, and victory remained long undecided: the Romans gave way at the first charge, but were rallied by the voice of Romulus, and recommenced the fight with obstinacy and success. The carnage was about to become horrible, when the Sabine women, for whose honour so much blood was being spilt, threw themselves between the combatants, with dishevelled hair, holding in their arms the fruits of their forced marriages, and uttering piercing cries. Their voices, their tears, their supplicating posture, relaxed the fury of the fight, and calmed the animosity of the combatants; the Sabine women became mediators between their relations and their husbands. Peace was made on the condition that the two people should from that time be one, and that the two kings should reign together.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 507.

Tarquin the Superb, not being able to recover by artifice the throne from which he had been expelled, sought to employ force. He had the address to interest several neighbouring nations in his cause;--when they had a chance of success, Rome had always plenty of enemies around her. Porsenna, King of Clusium, then the most powerful monarch of Italy, raised a numerous army in his defence, and laid siege to Rome. In an assault, the two consuls were wounded, and the consequently disordered Romans could not withstand their opponents. The Etruscans attacked a bridge, the capture of which must lead to that of the city; but Horatius, surnamed Cocles from having lost an eye, alone opposed himself to the troops of Porsenna, whilst his companions broke down the bridge behind him. When they had completed the work, he threw himself into the Tiber and swam ashore.

The King of Clusium, having failed in his attempt, undertook to reduce the place by famine; but the bold action of a young Roman soon made him change his design. Mutius Scævola, animated by the same spirit that had governed Cocles, was determined to relieve his country from this dreaded enemy. He went to the Clusian camp, disguised as an Etruscan, entered the king’s tent, and meeting with that prince’s secretary superbly dressed, poniarded him instead of Porsenna. He was arrested, led before the king, and strictly interrogated, whilst the instruments of torture were ostentatiously displayed in his sight. Mutius, with a haughty air, and without being the least intimidated by their menaces, exclaimed, “I am a Roman; I know how to suffer, I know how to die!” At the same time, as if he wished to punish the hand which had so ill served him, he held it in the flame of a brazier till it was consumed, looking all the while at Porsenna with a firm and stern glance. “There are thirty of us,” said he, “all sworn to rid Rome of her implacable enemy; and all will not make such a mistake as I have.” The king, astonished at the intrepid coolness of the young Roman, concluded a treaty of peace, which delivered Rome from the most formidable enemy she had had to encounter. Among the hostages given by the Romans, was Clœlia, a Roman maiden, possessed of courage beyond her sex or age. She persuaded her companions to escape by swimming across the Tiber. They succeeded, in spite of the numerous arrows discharged upon them on their passage. The boldness of the action met with high praise in Rome; but they were sent back to Porsenna, that public faith might not be violated. That prince, however, was so much pleased with such virtuous spirit, that he restored the generous maidens to freedom, and made his alliance still more close with a city that could produce heroines as well as heroes. Now all the best incidents of this siege are deemed apochryphal; and yet, who will dare to tell us that the well-authenticated accounts of the vices of the declining empire are equally instructive and ameliorating? We cannot render minds we are forming too familiar with pictures of the noble and the good, nor keep from them too carefully representations of the wicked and debasing.

THIRD SIEGE, A.C. 488.

Caius Marcius Coriolanus, exiled from Rome by the seditious Tribunes and by his own indomitable pride, so far forgot all patriotic feelings as to engage the Volscians to make war against his country. Here we beg to draw the attention of our young readers to the very different conduct of Themistocles, his contemporary, under similar circumstances. The Volscians, proud of the assistance of such a distinguished hero, made him their general: he took the field with vengeance in his heart. After a great number of victories, he marched straight to Rome, for the purpose of laying siege to it. So bold a design threw the patricians and the people equally into a state of the greatest alarm. Hatred gave way to fear: deputies were sent to Coriolanus, who received them with all the haughtiness of an enemy determined upon making his will the law. The Roman generals, instead of boldly meeting him in the field, exhorted him to grant them peace; they conjured him to have pity on his country, and forget the injuries offered to him by the populace, who were already sufficiently punished by the evils he had inflicted upon them. But they brought back nothing but the stern reply, “that they must restore to the Volscians all they had taken from them, and grant them the right of citizenship.” Other deputies were dismissed in the same manner. The courage of these Romans, so proud and so intrepid, appeared to have passed with Coriolanus over to the side of the Volscians. Obedience to the laws was at an end; military discipline was neglected: they took counsel of nothing but their fear. At length, after many tumultuous deliberations, the ministers of religion were sent to endeavour to bend the will of the angry compatriot. Priests, clothed in their sacred habiliments advanced with mournful steps to the camp of the Volscians, and the most venerable amongst them implored Coriolanus to give peace to his country, and, in the name of the gods, to have compassion on the Romans, his fellow-citizens and brothers: but they found him equally stern and inflexible. When the people saw the holy priests return without success, they indeed supposed the republic lost. They filled the temples, they embraced the altars of the gods, and gathered in clusters about the city, uttering cries and lamentations: Rome presented a picture of profound grief and debasement. Veturia, the mother of Coriolanus, and Volumnia, his wife, saved their unhappy country. They presented themselves before him, and conjured him by all that he held most sacred, to spare a city which had given him birth, and which still contained his mother, his wife, and his children. His mother was a woman of great spirit,--a Roman, almost a Spartan mother: she had, from his boyhood, stimulated him to the performance of noble and heroic deeds: she might be called the parent of his glory, as well as of his vigorous person. Coriolanus loved his mother tenderly, almost idolized her, and could not resist her tears. He raised the siege, and delivered Rome from the greatest alarm it had ever experienced.

FOURTH SIEGE, A.C. 387.

A colony of Gauls, confined for room in their own country, entered upper Italy, under the command of Brennus, three hundred and eighty-seven years before Christ, and laid siege to Clusium, in Tuscany. Accustomed already to command as a master in Italy, Rome sent three ambassadors to Brennus, to inform him that that city was under the protection of the Roman republic. Offended by the rude reply of the Gauls, the ambassadors retired indignantly, but violated the rights of nations by entering Clusium, and assisting in the defence of it. Brennus, highly irritated, demanded satisfaction, and Rome refused to give it. He marched directly against that already superb city. The two armies met on the banks of the river Allia, within half a league of Rome. The Romans, being the less in numbers, extended their ranks, in order not to be surrounded, and by that means weakened their centre. The Gauls, perceiving this, fell with fury on the cohorts of the centre, broke through them, and attacked the wings, whose flanks this opening left exposed. Already conquered by the terror inspired by this bold manœuvre, which bespoke a people accustomed to military tactics, the wings of the Roman army took to flight without drawing sword, and the main body, bewildered by the general rout which ensued, took refuge in Veii, instead of regaining Rome, which offered them the nearest asylum. Thousands of Romans fell under the sword of the Gauls; and if these people had marched straight to the city, instead of lingering to share the spoil, the Roman name would have been at an end. They remained three days engaged in distributing the spoil, and these three days saved Rome, whither the fugitives bore the news of the disaster the army and the consuls had sustained. They rendered the republic aware of what it had to expect from the victorious Gauls. The Senate, in the general alarm, took advantage of the time the barbarians employed in rejoicings for their victory. Not finding a sufficient force to defend the city, they threw all the men capable of bearing arms into the Capitol, and sent away all useless mouths; the old men, women, and children took refuge in the nearest cities. There only remained in Rome a few pontiffs and ancient senators, who, not being willing to survive either their country or its glory, generously devoted themselves to death, to appease, according to their belief, the anger of the infernal gods. These venerable men, in order to preserve to the last sigh the marks of a dignity which they believed would expire with them, put on their sacred vestments or their consular robes, placed themselves at the doors of their houses, in their ivory chairs, and awaited with firmness the decree which Destiny was about to pronounce on Rome. Brennus arrived three days after his victory. Surprised at finding the gates open, the walls without defence, and the houses without inhabitants, he suspected some ambush or stratagem. The continued silence and calm at length reassured him. He placed his points of guard; then, whilst spreading his troops through the quarters of the city, the first objects that met his eyes were the venerable old men who had devoted themselves to death. Their splendid habits, their white beards, their air of grandeur and firmness, their silence even, astonished Brennus, and inspired a religious fear in his army. A Gaul, less touched with this august spectacle and more daring than the rest, ventured to pluck insolently the beard of an ancient senator. The spirited old man dealt him a heavy blow with his ivory staff on the head. The irritated soldier killed the senator, and this became the signal for slaughter; all were massacred in their chairs, and the inhabitants who had not escaped were put to the sword. Brennus attacked the Capitol, but he was repulsed with loss. Despairing of taking it by force, he had recourse to blockade, to reduce it by famine. In order to avenge himself for the resistance offered by the Romans, he set fire to the city; and soon Rome presented nothing but its hills surrounded with smoking ruins.

The Gauls, inflated with their success, believed the whole country to be in a state of terror, and they preserved neither order nor discipline; some wandered about the neighbourhood for the purpose of plunder, whilst others spent both days and nights in drinking. They thought the whole people shut up in the Capitol, but Rome found an avenger in Camillus. This great man, exiled by his ungrateful fellow-citizens, had retired to Ardea. He prevailed upon the young men of that city to follow him. In concert with the magistrates, he marched out on a dark night, fell upon the Gauls stupified with wine, made a horrible slaughter, and thus raised the depressed courage of his fellow-citizens. They flocked in crowds to his standard, and, looking upon Camillus as their only resource, they chose him as their leader. But he refused to do anything without the order of the Senate and the people shut up in the Capitol. It was almost impossible to gain access to them. A young Roman, however, had the hardihood to undertake this perilous enterprise, and succeeded. Camillus, declared dictator, collected an army of more than forty thousand men, who believed themselves invincible under so able a general.

The Gauls, meanwhile, perceived the traces left by the young man, and Brennus endeavoured, during the night, to surprise the Capitol by the same path. After many efforts, a few succeeded in gaining the summit of the rock, and were already on the point of scaling the walls; the sentinel was asleep, and nothing seemed to oppose them. Some geese, consecrated to Juno, were awakened by the noise made by the enemy, and began to cry as they do when disturbed. Manlius, a person of consular rank, flew to the spot, encountered the Gauls, and hurled two of them from the rock. The Romans were roused, and the enemy were driven back; most of them either fell or were thrown from the precipice, and very few of the party engaged regained their camp. The sleepy sentinel was precipitated from the Capitol, and Manlius was highly rewarded. Much irritated at his defeat, Brennus pressed the place still more closely, to augment the famine, which had begun to be felt even in his camp, since Camillus had made himself master of the open country. An accommodation was soon proposed; it was agreed that Brennus should receive a thousand pounds weight of gold, on condition of his raising the siege and leaving the lands of the republic. The gold was brought, but when it was to be weighed, the Gauls made use of false weights. The Romans complained of this; but Brennus, laughing at their remonstrances, threw his sword and baldric into the scale, which counterpoised the gold, adding raillery to injustice. “Woe be to the conquered!” said he, in a barbarous tone. At that very moment Camillus reached the capital, and advanced with a strong escort towards the place of conference. Upon learning what had passed, “Take back this gold to the Capitol,” said he to the Roman deputies; “and you, Gauls,” added he, “retire with your weights and scales; it is with steel only that Romans should redeem their country.” The parties soon proceeded to blows; Camillus brought up his troops, and a furious charge ensued. The Romans, maddened by the sight of their ruined country, made incredible efforts. The Gauls could not withstand them; they were broken, and fled on all sides. Brennus rallied them, raised the siege, and encamped a few miles from Rome. Camillus followed him with characteristic ardour, attacked him afresh, and defeated him. Most of the Gauls were either killed on the field of battle, or massacred in detail by the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages; so that, it is said, a single one did not remain to carry back to his country the news of their defeat. Thus Rome was saved by the valour and ability of an illustrious exile, who, forgetting the injustice and ingratitude of his country, richly merited the title of its second founder.

FIFTH SIEGE, A.C. 211.

This siege, although so short a one as to occupy but little space in our narration, belongs to a very interesting period in the Roman history: it occurred in the course of what are called the Punic wars, which were the contests of two of the most powerful states then in existence, for supremacy. Rome and Carthage were like two suns; they had become too powerful for both to retain their splendour in one hemisphere. They were really the noblest conflicts in which Rome was engaged; there was a rivalry in generals and soldiers worthy of being sustained by the great republic; and though Rome was in the end the conqueror, and her generals were great, it is doubtful whether she can exhibit in her annals so perfect a captain as Hannibal. The Carthaginians suffer, in the opinion of posterity, in another way; the Romans were not only the victors, but the historians; Punic bad faith is proverbial in the Roman language, but we strongly suspect that a Carthaginian Polybius or Livy would have found as many sins against the laws of nations committed by the one party as the other. The man was the painter, and not the lion. Whether it is from want of sympathy with a mere nation of the sword, we know not; but, notwithstanding the great men who illustrated Rome’s armies and senate, we cannot help taking part with Hannibal and his countrymen throughout these wars. Much as we like Cato the Censor in other respects, we cannot but view him, with his figs and his “delenda est Carthago,” as a spiteful old fellow, whom we should very much have liked to see disappointed.

After various and great successes, of which it is not our business to speak, Hannibal, to terrify the Romans, presented himself before their city. The consuls, who had received orders to watch that the republic should receive no injury, felt it their duty to encounter him. When they were on the point of engaging, a violent storm compelled both parties to retire; and the same thing occurred several times; so that Hannibal, believing that he saw in this event something supernatural, said, according to Livy, that sometimes fortune and sometimes his will was always wanting to make him master of Rome. That which still more surprised him was, that whilst he was encamped at one of the gates of the city, the Romans sent an army out of one of the other gates into Spain; and that the very field in which he was encamped was sold at the same time, without that circumstance having diminished the value of it. In order to avenge himself, he put up to auction the goldsmiths’ shops which were around the most public place in Rome, and then retired.

SIXTH SIEGE, A.C. 87.

War being declared against Mithridates, king of Pontus, was the signal of discord between Marius and Sylla. These two rivals, whose animosity knew no bounds, demanded at the same time the command of the army. Sylla obtained it from the Senate, and immediately went to place himself at the head of his troops. Marius took advantage of his absence, and, with the assistance of the tribune Sulpicius, he so excited the people against the nobles, that Sylla was deprived of his command which was conferred upon him. Sylla, far from obeying the sentence of the people, marched straight to Rome with his army, consisting of forty thousand men. This was the first time, since Coriolanus, that this great city had been besieged by one of its own citizens. Destitute of everything, its only defence being a few soldiers got together in haste by Marius, it did not make a long resistance. Sylla entered as an enemy; the multitude mounted upon the roofs of the houses, armed with anything they could lay hold of, and poured such a shower of stones and tiles upon the heads of his soldiers, that they could not advance. Sylla, forgetful of what he owed to his country and to himself, cried out to his men to set fire to the houses; and, arming himself with a blazing brand, gave them the example. Marius, too weak to contend with his rival, abandoned to him the centre of the empire. The conqueror affected great moderation, prevented the pillage of his country, reformed the government, raised the authority of the Senate upon the ruins of that of the people, put to death Sulpicius, with ten other senators, partisans of his rival, and embarked for Asia.

This second absence replunged Rome into fresh misfortunes; the faction of the people, of which Marius was the soul, excited by Cinna, took courage again. This consul, having won over some tribunes, caused so much trouble, that he was driven from the city and deprived of the consulate; but he succeeded in gaining to his quarrel a large army encamped in the Campania, and almost all the peoples of Italy. Marius, who had taken refuge in Africa, recrossed the sea, and came to join Cinna; he was immediately declared pro-consul. It was proposed to give him fasces and lictors, but he rejected them: “Such honours,” said he, “would not become a banished man.” His party held a council, and it was determined to go and attack Rome: Sylla had set them the example.

Rome, always victorious against external enemies, but always weak against domestic attacks, saw herself besieged by four armies, commanded by Marius, Cinna, Sertorius, and Carbo. Masters of all the passages, they subjected the city to famine, and reduced its inhabitants to extremity. Pompeius Strabo came at last, but too late, to the succour of his country with an army. Rome, in a state of consternation, and seeing herself on the verge of ruin, sent deputies to the enemies to invite them to enter the city. A council was held. Marius and Cinna, after having marked out their victims, gave the city up to all the horrors of war. A multitude of virtuous Romans were immolated to the vengeance of the two leaders; Marius inundated his country with the purest blood of the republic. Birth and riches were unpardonable crimes; a nod of this tyrant’s head was an order for death. This ferocious and barbarous man, after having exercised the most horrible cruelties, died a short time after this victory, in the middle of Rome itself, of which he had been the preserver and the executioner.

SEVENTH SIEGE, A.D. 408.

When we compare the date of the last siege with that of this, and glance over the events which had taken place between them, we feel great surprise that no siege of Rome should have intervened. It would appear that the Eternal City was guarded by some supernatural power, through shocks and changes of empires, from feeling convulsions, of which it really was the centre. Through the period of the empire, Rome may be said never to have been invaded by a foreign enemy, or by its own children in revolt. The empire changed masters, at times, as a conjurer shifts his balls, and men of all countries occupied its throne; but, in all these revolutions, Rome itself was held sacred.

Alaric, king of the Goths, entered Italy, and advanced towards Rome to lay siege to it. On his route, a pious solitary came to throw himself at his feet, imploring him with tears to spare that city, which had become the centre of the Christian world. “Rather,” replied the prince, “it is not my will that leads me on; I incessantly hear a voice in my ears, which cries--‘On, Alaric, on! and sack Rome!’” He reduced it to the most frightful extremity, by closing every passage for provisions, and by making himself master of the navigation of the Tiber. Pestilence was soon added to famine. Rome was nothing but one vast cemetery: it became necessary to treat with the king of the Goths.

The deputies of Rome declared that the Roman people were willing to accept peace upon reasonable conditions; but rather than its glory should be stained, they would give battle. “Very good!” replied Alaric, with a loud laugh; “it is never so easy to cut the hay as when the grass is thickest!” They were forced to lay aside their ancient pride, and submit to circumstances. The conqueror ordered them to bring to him all the gold, silver, valuable furniture, and foreign slaves that were in the city. “And what will you leave, then, to the inhabitants?” asked the deputies. “Life!” replied Alaric. After long contestations, it was agreed that Rome should pay five thousand pounds weight of gold, thirty thousand pounds weight of silver, four thousand silken tunics, three thousand skins coloured scarlet, three thousand pounds weight of spices, and, as hostages, give up the children of the most noble citizens. When these conditions were complied with, the king of the Goths raised the siege.

EIGHTH SIEGE, A.D. 410.

Two years after, Alaric, constantly provoked to vengeance by the perfidies of the Romans, presented himself again before the Capitol, and besieged Rome very closely. The siege was long, but very few circumstances relating to it have been preserved. On the 24th of August, the Gothic prince entered the city, of which some traitors had opened the gates to him during the night. Rome was sacked by the furious soldiery; its wealth, its valuable furniture, its public edifices, its temples, its private houses, became the prey of the flames. The blood of the citizens inundated the streets and public places; the women were dishonoured, and then immolated upon the bodies of their slaughtered husbands and fathers; children were destroyed upon the bosoms of their mothers. Heaven seemed to arm itself in concert with the Goths to punish Rome: lightning reduced to dust what the flames had spared.

The Goths, however, respected the churches; these holy places were an inviolable asylum for all who sought refuge in them. An officer having entered a house which served as a depôt for the church of St. Peter, and finding nobody in it but a woman advanced in age, asked her if she had any gold or silver. “I have a great deal,” she replied; “I will place it before your eyes.” At the same time, she displayed a great number of precious vases. “They belong to St. Peter,” said she; “carry away, if you dare, these sacred riches; I cannot prevent you. I abandon them to you; but you must render an account of them to him who is the master of them.” The barbarian did not dare to lay an impious hand upon this deposit, and sent to ask the king’s orders relative to them. Alaric commanded all the vases to be taken to the basilica of the church of St. Peter; and that that woman, with all the Christians who would join her, should be conducted thither likewise. It was a spectacle as surprising as it was magnificent, to see a long train of soldiers, who, holding in one hand their naked swords, and supporting with the other the precious vases they bore on their heads, marched with a respectful countenance, and as if in triumph, amidst the greatest riot and disorder.

The Christian women signalized their courage in a most striking manner on this melancholy day. A widow, respectable from her age and birth, and who had lived in retirement with an only daughter, whom she brought up in a life of piety, was assailed by a troop of soldiers, who, in a threatening manner, demanded her gold. “I have given it to the poor,” replied she. The angry barbarians rewarded her answer with blows. Insensible to pain, she only implored them not to separate her from her companion, whose beauty she feared might expose her to insults more cruel than death itself. Her appeal was so touching, that the Gothic soldiers conducted them both safely to the basilica of St. Paul.

A young officer, struck with the beauty of a Roman lady, after having made every effort in vain to induce her to comply with his wishes, drew his sword, and pretending that he would cut off her head, inflicted a slight wound, in the hope that she would be overcome by the fear of death; but this noble woman, so far from being terrified at the sight of her own blood, presenting her neck to her enemy, exclaimed,--“Strike again, and strike better!” The sword fell from the hand of the barbarian; he conducted his captive to the church of St. Peter, and commanded the guards to give her up to nobody but her husband. Thus Rome, 1,163 years after its foundation, lost in a single day that splendour which had dazzled the world. It was not, however, destroyed, and was soon repeopled again; but from that period of humiliation, this queen of cities and of the world became the sport and the prey of the barbarians who sacked it in turn.

After the taking of Naples in 538, Belisarius shut himself up in Rome, and prepared to sustain a siege, if Vitiges would undertake to attack him. The new monarch, at the head of a hundred and fifty thousand men, marched towards the capital of Italy, asking of every one he fell in with on his route, whether Belisarius were still in Rome. “Prince, be satisfied on that point,” replied a priest; “the only part of the military art Belisarius is ignorant of, is flight.” This general had constructed a fort upon a bridge, at a mile from Rome, and had provided it with a sufficient garrison; but these base cowards, seized with fear at the approach of the Goths, took to flight, and dispersed themselves over the Campania. The next day, at dawn, Vitiges crossed the bridge with a great part of his army. As he advanced, he met Belisarius, who, at the head of a thousand horse, had come to reconnoitre; his surprise was excessive at seeing the enemy; but without being daunted by their numbers, he halted, and received them at the head of his little troop. Here the valour and exploits of Belisarius approach the marvellous: in the hottest of the mêlée, the brave leader of the Romans was recognised by some deserters, who cried out from several quarters at once: “At the bay horse, comrades!--aim at the bay horse!” Assailed on all sides, he became a mark for every arrow. Inflamed with a generous courage, he drove off some, overthrew others, and cut down all that impeded his passage. The Romans, seeing the danger of their general, flew to his aid, surrounded him, warded off every blow directed against him, and made him a rampart of their bucklers and their bodies. The terrified Goths turned bridle, and were pursued to their camp; the rest of the army, however, stopped the career of the conquerors, and forced them to fly in their turn to a neighbouring height, where they rallied. The combat was then renewed; and the Romans, too inferior in numbers, would scarcely have effected a retreat, but for the heroic valour of an officer named Valentinus. This new Cocles alone withstood the Gothic cavalry, and gave time to his comrades to regain the city; but the inhabitants shut the gates against them. In vain Belisarius shouted his name, and pressed to be admitted; the inhabitants were persuaded that he had perished in the fight, and could not otherwise recognise his countenance, from the blood and dust which disfigured it; they therefore paid no regard to his orders. In this extremity, Belisarius re-animated his little band, and turned with fury upon the enemy, who were close at his heels. The Goths, imagining that he was at the head of fresh troops from the city, stopped their pursuit, turned their horses’ heads, and regained their camp. Belisarius re-entered the city in triumph, where he was received with transports of the most lively joy. Rome believed itself from that time safe from all reverses, beneath the ægis of this intrepid general. In this combat the Goths lost the élite of their cavalry.

On the eighteenth day of the siege, at sunrise, the Goths, led on by Vitiges, marched towards the gate Salaria. At the sight of their machines, Belisarius broke into a loud laugh, whilst the inhabitants were frozen with fear. The Goths had reached the bank of the ditch, when the Roman general, seizing a bow, took aim at a Gothic commander covered with a cuirass, and pierced him quite through the neck. This act was highly applauded by his troops, whose triumph was doubled by a second aim as fortunate as the first. Belisarius then commanded his soldiers to make a general discharge at the oxen which drew the machines. In an instant they were covered and transpierced with an iron shower. The astonished and discomfited Goths were forced to terminate their attack.

Although the attempts of Vitiges seemed generally to fail, he was on the point of taking Rome, to the north of the mole or tomb of Adrian, since called the castle of St. Angelo. It was necessary for the Goths to possess themselves of this place, to cross the Tiber. In spite of the arrows of the Romans, they had applied their ladders and begun to ascend, when the defenders of the mole bethought themselves of breaking off the numerous marble statues with which this monument was ornamented, and rolled the fragments upon the heads of the besiegers, who, beaten from their ladders by these enormous masses, were constrained to abandon their enterprise.

The next day, Belisarius dismissed all useless mouths from the city; he enrolled a great number of artisans; he changed the locks and bolts of the city gates twice a month; and caused instruments to be played upon the walls during the night. A Goth, remarkable for his height and famous for his exploits, covered with his cuirass, and with his helmet on his head, advanced from the ranks opposite the gate Salaria, and setting his back against a tree, kept up a continuous discharge of arrows at the battlements. An immense javelin, launched from a ballist, pierced him through cuirass, body and all, and penetrating half its length into the tree, nailed this redoubtable warrior to it. Although we are arrived at a well-authenticated period of history, we must confess the following account trenches upon the marvellous: but, as we know truth is sometimes more wonderful than fiction, we do not hesitate to repeat it. A Massagete horseman named Chorsamantes, one of Belisarius’s guards, accompanied by a few Romans, was pursuing a body of sixty horse on the plains of Nero. His companions having turned rein, in order not to approach too near to the enemy’s camp, he continued the pursuit alone. The Goths, seeing him thus deserted, turned round upon him: he killed the boldest of them, charged the others, and put them to flight. Chorsamantes pursued them to their intrenchments, and, more fortunate than prudent, he regained Rome in safety, and was received with loud acclamations. Some time after, having been wounded in a rencontre, he swore to avenge himself, and kept his word. He went out alone, and made his way to the camp of the Goths. They took him for a deserter; but when they saw him shooting at them, twenty horsemen came out for the purpose of cutting him in pieces. He at first met them with the greatest audacity, and even checked them; but soon, environed on all parts, furious at the aspect of peril, and always the more redoubtable from the numbers of his enemies, he fell, covered with wounds, upon a heap of men and horses he had slain.

In a severe combat which was afterwards fought, the Goths were repulsed with loss. Rutilus, a Roman officer, pierced by a dart, which was half-buried in his head, as if insensible to the pain, continued the pursuit of the enemy. He died the moment the dart was extracted. Another officer, named Azzes, returned from a charge with an arrow sticking close to his right eye. A skilful leech, named Theoclistes, cured him. Tragàn, the commander of a body of troops, whilst endeavouring to break through a battalion of Goths, received an arrow in his eye; the wood broke off at the moment of striking, and fell, but the steel, being quite buried, remained in the wound, without giving Tragàn much pain. Five days afterwards, the steel began to reappear, pierced through the cicatrice, and fell out apparently of itself. Tarmut, a barbarian captain, an ally of the Romans, being left almost alone on the field of battle, was assailed by a crowd of enemies; but, armed with two javelins, he laid at his feet all who ventured to approach him. At length, covered with wounds, he was near sinking from weakness, when he saw his brother Ennes, chief of the Isaurians, approach with a troop of horse, and throw himself between him and his assailants. Reanimated by this unhoped-for succour, he recovered sufficient strength to gain the city, still armed with his two javelins. He only survived this astonishing effort of courage two days. Such were the principal exploits during the siege of Rome by Vitiges, who was obliged to raise it, after a year and nine days of useless attempts. Sixty-nine battles were fought, all very bloody, and almost all to the advantage of the Romans: they cost the king of the Goths more than the half of his numerous army. Belisarius had but a small force; Rome might have been taken easily: it had yielded to much weaker armies, but Belisarius was in Rome, and that great general, fertile in resources, was alone worth whole legions.

NINTH SIEGE, A.D. 544.

In the year 544, Totila, king of the Goths, and master of part of Italy, formed the blockade of Rome, and kept the passages so well, that no provisions could be got in, either by land or sea. He stopped the entrance by the Tiber at a place where its bed was narrowest, by means of extraordinarily long beams of timber, laid from one bank to the other, upon which he raised, at the two extremities, towers of wood, which were filled with soldiers. The famine soon became so horrible, that wheat was sold at seven pieces of gold per bushel, which is nearly ninety shillings of our money, and bran at about a quarter of the sum; an ox, taken in a sortie, was sold at an unheard-of price. Fortunate was the man who could fall in with a dead horse, and take undisputed possession of it! Dogs, rats, and the most impure animals, soon became exquisite and eagerly-purchased dainties. Most of the citizens supported themselves upon nettles and wild herbs, which they tore from the foot of the walls and ruined buildings. Rome seemed to be only inhabited by pale, fleshless, livid phantoms, who either fell dead in the streets or killed themselves.

A father of five children, who demanded bread of him with piercing cries, told them to follow him, and for a moment concealing his grief in the depths of his heart, without shedding a tear, without breathing a sigh, he led them on to one of the bridges of the city; there, after enveloping his head in his cloak, he precipitated himself into the Tiber in their presence.

That which was most frightful in this extremity of misery, was the fact that the leaders themselves were the cause of the public want: they devoured the citizens by their sordid avarice. The immense masses of wheat, which they had been a long time collecting, were only distributed at their weight in gold; and very shortly most of the wealth of Rome was concentrated amongst monsters, worthy of the severest punishment.

Belisarius, whose generous spirit mourned over the misfortunes of Rome, attempted all sorts of means to succour the unfortunate capital. He caused a large number of barks to be constructed, furnished with boarding all round, to protect the soldiers from the arrows of the enemy. These boards were pierced at certain distances, to afford facility for launching their own bolts and arrows. He caused these barks to be laden with great quantities of provisions, placed himself at the head of them, and, leading with some fire-boats, he ascended the Tiber, and set fire to one of the enemy’s towers. But his enterprise not being seconded, he could not succeed in throwing provisions into the city; grief at his failure produced a sickness which brought him to the brink of the grave. Some Isaurian soldiers, who guarded the gate Asinaria, having slipped along the ramparts in the night by means of a cord, came and offered Totila to give up the city to him. The king having assured himself of their fidelity, and of the possibility of the enterprise, sent with them four of the bravest and strongest Goths, who, having got into the city, opened a gate and admitted the besiegers. Bessus, who commanded in the place, fled away with his troops at the first alarm. In the house of this governor were found heaps of gold and silver, the fruits of his cruel monopolies.

At daybreak the king of the Goths repaired to the church of St. Peter, to return thanks to God for his success. The deacon Pelagius, who awaited him at the entrance of the holy temple, prostrated himself humbly before him, and implored him to save the lives of the inhabitants. Totila, who knew how to pardon as well as to conquer, granted the sacred minister what he asked, and forbade his soldiers, under the strongest penalties, to shed the blood of any one. When this order was given, the Goths had already slain twenty soldiers and sixty citizens. These were the only victims of the brutality of the victors; but if he spared the lives of the inhabitants, he deprived them of all means to support them. Rome was abandoned to pillage for several days, and nothing was left to the citizens but the bare walls of their houses. Senators, formerly opulent and proud, were seen covered with miserable rags, reduced to beg their bread from door to door, and live upon the alms they received from the barbarians.

Totila was preparing to demolish Rome; he had already levelled a third of the walls, and was about to set fire to the most superb edifices of the city, when he received a letter from Belisarius, which diverted him from his design. “To found cities,” said this great man, “to maintain flourishing cities, is to serve society and immortalize ourselves; to overthrow and destroy them, is to declare ourselves the enemies of mankind, and dishonour ourselves for ever. By the agreement of all peoples, the city into which you have entered, in consequence of your victory, is the greatest and most magnificent under heaven. It is not the work of a single man, or a single army. During more than thirteen centuries, a long line of kings, consuls, and emperors have disputed the glory of embellishing it, and the superb edifices it presents to your eyes are so many monuments which consecrate their memories; to destroy them is to outrage the past centuries, of which they eternize the remembrance, and to deprive future ages of a magnificent spectacle. My lord, reflect that fortune must declare itself in favour of you or my master. If you remain the conqueror, how you will regret having destroyed your most splendid conquest! If you should succumb, the treatment you have inflicted upon Rome will serve as a rule by which Justinian will treat you. The eyes of the universe are upon you; it awaits the part you are about to take, to accord you the title which will be for ever attached to the name of Totila.” Persuaded by this eloquent appeal, the king of the Goths contented himself with depopulating the city of Rome, in which he did not leave a single inhabitant.

Forty days after the retreat of Totila, Belisarius transported himself to Rome, with the design of repeopling that famous city, and repairing its ruins. He soon put it in a state to sustain a new siege. Upon learning this, the king of the Goths quickly returned, and during three days made several attacks upon the city; but Belisarius repulsed them all, and forced him to retire with great loss.

TENTH SIEGE, A.D. 549.

In 549, Totila, without being discouraged by his defeat, once more laid siege to the capital of Italy. Diogenes, who commanded there, had had wheat sown within the inclosure of the walls, which might have supported the garrison some time. But the city was again betrayed by the Isaurians. The soldiers of that nation, dissatisfied with not having received their pay for some years, and having learnt that their companions had been magnificently rewarded by Totila, resolved to follow their example. They agreed with the king of the Goths to open the gate confided to their guard, which perfidy they executed at the time appointed. Totila caused his trumpets to be sounded at the side opposite to that by which he entered the city. The garrison immediately hastened where the danger seemed most pressing, and by this artifice the Goths met with no resistance. The commander of the Roman cavalry, named Paul of Cilicia, seeing that the city was taken, shut himself up, with four hundred horse, in the mausoleum of Adrian, and took possession of the bridge which leads to the church of St. Peter. He was attacked by the Goths, whose efforts he so warmly repulsed, that Totila determined to reduce his party by famine. This intrepid little band remained a day and a night without taking food, and then determined to die with honour. After taking a last farewell, and embracing each other, they opened the gates with a determination to fall upon the enemy like desperate men, when Totila proposed moderate and honourable conditions to them. They accepted them, and all took arms under his banner. Totila, become master of Rome a second time, restored it to its pristine splendour, and re-established as many of the citizens as could be found.--Narses, the general of the empire, having conquered and killed Totila, retook Rome, which opposed but a feeble resistance.

ELEVENTH SIEGE, A.D. 1084.

We have seen Rome besieged in its early days, when its walls were of mud; we have seen it besieged by its own sons, by the Gauls, by the barbarians; but it was still, as a warlike city, the head of a kingdom, a republic, an empire. We have now to see it besieged in a new character,--as the seat of the head of the Christian world. As if Rome was destined always to be royal, she took the same place with regard to the Church she had occupied as a temporal power; and every reader of history will allow that there has not been much less ambition, strife, and political chicanery in the latter state than in any of the former. From its foundation, Rome has always been Rome, seldom or never at rest, either within itself or with its neighbours.

“The long quarrel of the throne and mitre had been recently kindled by the zeal and ambition of the haughty Gregory VII. Henry III., king of Germany and Italy, and afterwards emperor of the West, and the pope had degraded each other; and each had seated a rival on the temporal or spiritual throne of his antagonist. After the defeat and death of his Swabian rebel, Henry descended into Italy to assume the imperial crown, and to drive from the Vatican the tyrant of the Church. But the Roman people adhered to the cause of Gregory: their resolution was fortified by supplies of men and money from Apulia; and the city was thrice ineffectually besieged by the king of Germany. In the fourth year he corrupted, it is said, with Byzantine gold, the nobles of Rome. The gates, the bridges, and fifty hostages were delivered into his hands; the anti-pope, Clement III., was consecrated in the Lateran; the grateful pontiff crowned his protector in the Vatican, and the emperor fixed his residence in the Capitol, as the successor of Augustus and Charlemagne. The ruins of the Septigonium were still defended by the nephew of Gregory; the pope himself was invested in the castle of St. Angelo, and his last hope was in the courage and fidelity of his Norman vassal. Their friendship had been interrupted by some reciprocal injuries and complaints; but on this pressing occasion, Guiscard was urged by the obligation of his oath, by his interest,--more potent than oaths,--by the love of fame, and his enmity to the two emperors. Unfurling the holy banner, he resolved to fly to the relief of the prince of the apostles; the most numerous of his armies, thirty thousand foot and six thousand horse, was instantly assembled, and his march from Salerno to Rome was animated by the public applause and the promise of the divine favour. Henry, invincible in sixty-six battles, trembled at his approach; recollecting some indispensable affairs that required his presence in Lombardy, he exhorted the Romans to persevere in their allegiance, and hastily retired, three days before the entrance of the Normans. In less than three years, the son of Tancred of Hauteville enjoyed the glory of delivering the pope, and of compelling the two emperors of the East and West to fly before his victorious arms. But the triumph of Robert was clouded by the calamities of Rome. By the aid of the friends of Gregory, the walls had been perforated or scaled, but the imperial faction was still powerful and active; on the third day the people rose in a furious tumult, and a hasty word of the conqueror, in his defence or revenge, was the signal of fire and pillage. The Saracens of Sicily, the subjects of Roger, and the auxiliaries of his brother, embraced this fair occasion of rifling and profaning the holy city of the Christians; and many thousands of the citizens, in the sight and by the allies of their spiritual father, were exposed to violation, captivity, or death; and a spacious quarter of the city, from the Lateran to the Colosseum, was consumed by the flames, and devoted to perpetual solitude.”[3]

TWELFTH SIEGE, A.D. 1527.

The emperor Charles V., irritated against the pope, Clement VII., his mortal enemy, charged the duke of Bourbon, in 1527, to seek every means in his power to avenge him upon the pontiff. The duke was a renegade Frenchman, of considerable military skill, and a restless disposition. He had quarrelled with his master, Francis I., and was deemed of so much consequence as to be countenanced by Francis’s rival, Charles V., and to be intrusted with the highest military command he could confer. The duke was at the head of fourteen thousand men, who loved and adored him, and who swore, Brantôme says, “to follow him wherever he went, were it to the devil.” Followed by these troops, he marched towards Rome, and immediately laid siege to it. The soldiers, animated by the desire of pillage, mounted to the assault with incredible energy, Bourbon encouraging them by his example. But as this prince, with characteristic ambition, was endeavouring to be the first upon the ramparts, he was killed by a musket-shot. The fall of the general, so far from relaxing the valour of his soldiers, excited their vengeance; they rushed more fiercely to the assault of the walls, they mowed down their defenders like grass, quickly made themselves masters of Rome, and committed the most frightful ravages.

This superb city, taken so many times by the barbarians, was never pillaged with more fury than it was by the hands of Christians. The Pope took refuge in the castle of St. Angelo, and was besieged with such rancour, that a woman was hung for passing up to him a basket of lettuce by a cord suspended from the castle. Cardinal Pulci, who was shut up with the Pope, made an attempt to escape, which cost him his life. He had scarcely left the castle when he fell from his horse; his foot hung in the stirrup, and the animal dragged him at speed over the bridge of the castle. After being blockaded for a month, and reduced to great want of provisions, the Pope was forced to capitulate with the prince of Orange, who had succeeded the duke of Bourbon in the command of the imperial troops. He agreed to pay four hundred thousand ducats, and to place himself at the disposal of the Emperor. Charles V. affected regret at the detention of the Pontiff.

Eight days before this event, a man dressed as a hermit, of about sixty years of age, went through the streets of Rome, about midnight, sounding a handbell, and pronouncing with a loud voice the following words: “The anger of God will soon fall upon this city!” The Pope obtained nothing from the examination he made of this man; the severest tortures could draw no more from him than this terrifying oracle: “The anger of God will soon fall upon this city!” When the prince of Orange became master of the city, he liberated him from prison, and offered him a considerable sum of money. He, however, refused reward, three days after disappeared, and was never again heard of.

The imperial army left Rome, loaded with a booty of more than eighteen millions of crowns, every private soldier having an immense sum. The obsequies of the duke of Bourbon were celebrated with great pomp, and his body was conveyed to Gaeta.

THIRTEENTH SIEGE, A.D. 1796–1799.

The temporal power of the popes had long ceased to be an object of jealousy for Christian princes: the small extent of their states, the respect which was entertained for their ministry, and their abstinence from military enterprises, preserved peace in a city which had formerly, and for many centuries, made the world tremble with the terror of its arms. Louis XIV. and Louis XV. had satisfied themselves with seizing the Venaissian county, to punish the popes for some affronts offered to their crowns; and the pontiffs, conscious of their weakness, had acknowledged their errors and disavowed the acts of their ministers. But it was not thus when the French revolution broke out. Pius VI., irritated at seeing at once both his annates and the Venaissian county wrested from his hands, entered into the league of the kings against France. In no city were the French more hated than in Rome. Basseville, the French envoy, was massacred in a riot, which the government of the Pope had allowed to be got up with more than suspected negligence. The troops of the Pope were preparing to unite themselves with those of the other powers of Italy, when Buonaparte was seen to enter that country, in 1796, as a conqueror. His victories seemed to foretell the destruction of the Holy See. Republican enthusiasm was awakened on the banks of the Tiber; nothing was talked of but rebuilding the Capitol and founding a new Roman republic.

The French general had conquered the duchy of Urbino, Romagna, and the march of Ancona. The terrified Pope sued for peace: Buonaparte granted him at first a truce, and then a peace. The Pope yielded to the republic the legations of Bologna and Ferrara, which the French had already conquered, and all the shores of the Adriatic Gulf, from the mouths of the Po to Ancona. A month after, the Pope weakly allowed some of his subjects to take up arms, in consequence of a supposed reverse suffered by Buonaparte. The latter contented himself with chastising some villages of Ferrara, which had excited the revolt. A third time Buonaparte pardoned him, and his pardon was ratified by the French Directory: Joseph Buonaparte was appointed ambassador to Rome. Party spirit was, however, too strong; the apparent moderation of the French could not bring the court of Rome to pacific sentiments. Its hatred against France was kept alive by the queen of Naples, who threw open the ports of the Mediterranean to the English. In addition to this, a long hesitation to acknowledge the Cisalpine republic; then the nomination of General Provera to command the army of the Pope, and a course of proceedings which announced the intention, but which did not give the means, of entering into a fresh war: the French ambassador forced the Pope to declare himself in a positive manner. Everything seemed appeased; there was a calm, but it was such a one as precedes the eruption of a volcano. On the 28th of December, 1797, a fresh seditious movement broke out in Rome; some men assembled round the house of the ambassador, uttering revolutionary cries. Scarcely had they preluded by a few acts of apparent insurrection, when the troops of the Pope came up, dispersed the rioters, and pursued them into the palace of the ambassador, whither their fear had driven them. Joseph Buonaparte insisted upon his residence being respected, and promised to give up the guilty; but he was answered by a shower of balls, by which his windows were broken to pieces. He interposed everywhere between those who struck and those who were stricken. One of his friends, the Adjutant-General Duphot, who was to have married his sister-in-law the next day, was an object of his greatest care; but he was assassinated close to his side: his inanimate body was stabbed by the ruffians in a hundred places: the French had great difficulty in rescuing it from the hands of these furious men. The court of Rome offered the French ambassador all kinds of reparation; but the latter thought it not prudent or dignified to remain longer in a palace which had been so shamefully violated, where he and his whole family had been insulted, and whose floors were still stained with the blood of his friend. Cardinal Doria in vain had recourse to the Spanish ambassador to pacify him: the whole French legation quitted Rome. The Consistory believed, in this peril, that the court of Naples would keep its word, and would hasten to send its promised succours; but it received nothing but an excuse, to amuse or appease the French government, till the Neapolitan army was on its march. The Directory, however, was inflexible: a month had scarcely passed away when a French army, led by General Alexander Berthier, was at the gates of Rome, and had taken possession of the castle of St. Angelo. On the 17th of February, 1798, the anniversary of the Pope’s election, an insurrection broke out in the capital. His palace was invested, but respect checked the insurgents at the entrance. They met with resistance nowhere; they abstained from violence or insult towards the Pope, but they declared Rome free; they claimed for themselves the honour of being of the blood of the Catos and Scipios; and the boasted descendants of Camillus threw open the gates to the Gauls. A deputation arrived at the French camp; General Berthier mounted the steps of the Capitol, and saluted a new Roman republic; but the Romans had no longer the virtues of their fathers: no thing can bear less resemblance to another, than modern Romans do to ancient Romans. Consuls, tribunes, and popular laws, were once more to be seen in Rome; and these decrees wanted nothing but to be applied to a people who entertained a love of the republic. Its reign was short and tempestuous; and the French Directory took no measures calculated to gain the affection of the Romans. The aged Pope was sent to France, but died on the road; the wealth and the master-pieces of art were carried off, the people became dissatisfied, and a fresh insurrection quickly broke out against the men they had so recently hailed as their liberators: they were obliged to be suppressed with the strong hand. Whilst Buonaparte was in Egypt, the king of Naples supposed the time most fit for an outbreak of the Italian states, to liberate themselves from the domination of the French. He marched at the head of seventy thousand Neapolitans, the real command of whom was intrusted to the Austrian general Mack, and entered the Roman territory. The French army which occupied it only consisted of sixteen thousand men, disseminated over all the points. Championnet, who commanded them, thought it best to retire to Upper Italy. The king of Sicily and General Mack entered Rome on the 25th of November, 1798; Championnet gathered together his army and stood his ground. Mack, after several days of hesitation, ventured to attack him on the other side of the Tiber. The French, though vastly inferior in numbers, repulsed the Neapolitans; in three days, they made eleven thousand prisoners. Mack beheld his columns flying in the greatest disorder; and, being unable to rally them, abandoned the capital of the Christian world, covered himself with the Teverone, and was pursued by the French, who possessed themselves successively of Capua and Naples. This occupation lasted but a short time; the French under Schérer being beaten in Upper Italy, abandoned Naples and Rome, to defend themselves against the Austrians and the Russians. Ferdinand went back to Naples, and occupied Rome till it returned to its obedience to Pius VII.

Rome has since that time been more than once humbled by the French; but as nothing like a siege has taken place, the events of its further history do not fall within our plan.

NINEVEH.

A.C. 747.

We must now take a retrograde step, and turn our eyes upon a city, the name of which will ever be famous on its own account, and from its connection with the Scriptures. And yet the siege of Nineveh furnishes but few particulars for narration: it is, however, a remarkable circumstance, that, according to the best chronologers, Rome was founded the very year that Nineveh was destroyed.

Sardanapalus, king of Assyria, surpassed all his predecessors in effeminacy, luxury, and cowardice. He never went out of his palace, but spent all his time among his women, dressed and painted in the same manner as they were, and employed, in imitation of them, in the labours of the distaff. His whole glory consisted in his treasures, and all his time was devoted to the indulgence of infamous and criminal pleasures.

Arbaces, governor of Media, having found means to get into his palace and behold Sardanapalus in the midst of his infamous seraglio, was so disgusted with the idea that so many brave men should be subject to such an effeminate being, that he immediately formed a conspiracy against him. Belesis, governor of Babylon, and several others entered into it. On the rumour of this revolt, the king hid himself in the innermost recesses of his palace. Being afterwards obliged to take the field with some forces his captains had got together, he at first gained three successive victories over the enemy, but was in the end overcome and pursued to the gates of Nineveh. He here shut himself up, convinced that the rebels would never be able to take a city so wonderfully fortified by nature and art, and so abundantly stored with provisions. The siege proved of very great length. It had been declared by an ancient oracle, that Nineveh could never be taken unless the river became an enemy to the city. This buoyed up Sardanapalus, because he looked upon the thing as impossible. But when he saw that the Tigris by a violent inundation had thrown down twenty stadia of the city wall, and by that means opened a passage to the enemy, he understood the meaning of the oracle, and looked upon himself as lost. He resolved, however, to die in such a manner as, in his opinion, would cover the infamy of his scandalous life. He ordered a vast pile of wood to be collected in his palace, and setting fire to it, burnt himself, his women, his eunuchs, and his treasures. Athenæus makes these treasures amount to a thousand myriads of talents of gold, and ten times as many talents of silver (about fourteen hundred millions sterling), which, without reckoning anything else, appears to exceed credibility.

We cannot wonder that the Assyrian empire should fall under such a man; but it was not till after it had passed through various augmentations, diminutions, and revolutions, common to most great states during a course of ages. This empire had subsisted above 1,450 years. Of the ruins of this vast empire were formed three considerable kingdoms: that of the Medes, which Arbaces, the head of the conspiracy, restored to its liberty; that of the Assyrians of Babylon, which was given to Belesis, governor of that city; and that of the Assyrians of Nineveh, whose first king took the name of Ninus the Second.

A hundred years after the death of Sardanapalus, under the reign of Saracus, named Cyndauladanus, Nebopalassar, general of his armies, revolted against him, for the purpose of obtaining his throne. He allied himself with Cyaxares, king of the Medes. Their united forces besieged Saracus in Nineveh; they took the city, killed the monarch, and entirely destroyed that celebrated place, A.C. 648.

AZOTH, or AZOTUS.

A.C. 670.

As the siege of Azoth, although the longest recorded in history, affords but little matter for relation, we will indulge our young readers with a few of the circumstances which preceded it.

After the death of Tharaca, the last Ethiopian king who reigned in Egypt, the Egyptians, not being able to agree about the succession, were two years in a state of anarchy, during which there were great disorders among them. At last, twelve of the principal noblemen, conspiring together, seized upon the kingdom, and divided it among themselves into as many parts. It was agreed by them that each should govern his own district with equal power and authority, and that no one should attempt to invade or seize the dominions of another. They thought it necessary to make this agreement, and to bind it with the most solemn oaths, to elude the prediction of an oracle, which had foretold that he among them who should offer his libation to Vulcan out of a brazen bowl, should gain the sovereignty of Egypt. They reigned together fifteen years in the utmost harmony: and, to leave a lasting monument of their concord to posterity, they jointly, and at a common expense, built the famous labyrinth, which was a pile of building consisting of twelve large palaces, with as many edifices underground as appeared above it.

One day, as the twelve kings were assisting at a solemn and periodical sacrifice offered in the temple of Vulcan, the priest having to present each of them a golden bowl for the libation, one was wanting. Upon this Psammetichus, without any design, supplied the place of this bowl with his brazen helmet, of which each wore one, and with it performed the ceremony of the libation. This accident struck the rest of the kings, and recalled to their memory the prediction of the oracle above-mentioned. They thought it therefore necessary to secure themselves against his attempts, and, with one consent, banished him into the fenny parts of Egypt.

After Psammetichus had passed several years there, awaiting a favourable opportunity to revenge himself for this affront, a messenger brought him advice that brazen men were landed in Egypt. These were Grecian soldiers, Carians and Ionians, who had been cast upon the coast of Egypt by a storm, and were completely covered with helmets, cuirasses, and other arms of brass. Psammetichus immediately called to mind an oracle which had answered him, that he should be succoured by brazen men from the sea-coast. He did not doubt that the prediction was now fulfilled. He made a league with these strangers; engaged them by great promises to stay with him; privately levied other forces, and put these Greeks at their head. Giving battle to the eleven kings, he defeated them, and remained sole possessor of Egypt.

As this prince owed his success to the Ionians and Carians, he settled them in Egypt, from which all foreigners had been excluded; and by assigning them sufficient lands and fixed revenues, he made them forget their native country. By his order Egyptian children were put under their care, to learn the Greek tongue; and on this occasion, and by this means, the Egyptians began to have a correspondence with the Greeks; and from that era the Egyptian history, which till then had been intermixed with pompous fables, by the artifices of the priests, begins, according to Herodotus, to speak with greater truth and certainty.

As soon as Psammetichus was settled on the throne, he engaged in war against the king of Assyria, on the subject of the boundaries of the two empires. This war was of long continuance. Ever since Syria had been conquered by the Assyrians, Palestine, being the only country that separated the two kingdoms, was the subject of continual discord, as afterwards it was between the Ptolemies and Seleucidæ. They were eternally contending for it, and it was alternately won by the stronger. Psammetichus, seeing himself the peaceable possessor of all Egypt, and having restored the ancient form of government, thought it high time for him to look to his frontiers, and to secure them against the Assyrians, his neighbours, whose power increased daily. For this purpose he entered Palestine at the head of an army.

Perhaps we are to refer to the beginning of this war an incident related by Diodorus, that the Egyptians, provoked to see the Greeks posted on the right wing by the king himself, in preference to them, quitted his service to the number of upwards of two hundred thousand men, and retired into Ethiopia, where they met with a good settlement.

Be this as it may, Psammetichus entered Palestine, where his career was stopped by Azotus, one of the principal cities of the country, which gave him so much trouble, that he was forced to besiege it twenty-nine years before he could take it. This is the longest siege mentioned in history. This was anciently one of the five capital cities of the Philistines. The Egyptians having seized it some time before, had fortified it with such care that it was their strongest bulwark on that side. Nor could Sennacherib enter Egypt till he had made himself master of this city, which was taken by Tartan, one of his generals. The Assyrians had possessed it hitherto, and it was not till after the long siege just now mentioned that the Egyptians recovered it.

The extraordinary length of this siege ceases to surprise us, when we consider that a siege was nothing but a badly-guarded blockade, where that was expected from lassitude and famine which could not be obtained by either bodily strength, which necessarily failed against stone walls, or by military art, which had not yet learnt how to overthrow them, or even to scale them.

TYRE.

We now come to the sieges undergone by one of the most interesting cities of antiquity. How many of our youthful associations are connected with this great commercial city--the birthplace of Dido, the city in the labours of whose siege we have accompanied Alexander! And yet it appears to us that there is one reflection belonging to Tyre which should strike an Englishman more forcibly than even his schoolday remembrances of it. Tyre was the greatest commercial city of antiquity, as England is the greatest commercial nation of modern times. It was, as England is, a great entrepôt between two divisions of the world, a situation, whether of Tyre, Thebes, Palmyra, Alexandria, Venice, or England, which more than compensates for barrenness of soil, inconveniences of climate, or many of the evils from which other fortunate countries are exempt. If wealth be man’s principal object, a great “carrying” country is the place where industry and enterprise are most likely to meet with a reward. But in the extract we are about to make, our readers will see, what all history tells, that no countries are so likely to become luxurious, sensual, and corrupt, as those states which commerce has gorged with wealth. The fate of Tyre is an eloquent lesson to England.

Tyre was built by the Sidonians, two hundred and forty years before the temple of Jerusalem; for this reason it is called by Isaiah “the daughter of Sidon.” It soon surpassed its mother city in extent, power, and riches. It was besieged by Shalmaneser, and alone resisted the united fleets of the Assyrians and the Phœnicians, which greatly heightened its pride. Nebuchadnezzar laid siege to Tyre, at the time that Ithobalous was king of that city, but did not take it till thirteen years after. But before it was conquered the inhabitants had retired, with most of their effects, into a neighbouring island, where they built a new city. The old one was razed to the very foundation, and has since been no more than a village, known by the name of “Palæ Tyrus,” or ancient Tyre; but the new city rose to greater power than the former.

Tyre was in the most flourishing condition at the time of Alexander the Great. That city boasted of being the inventor of navigation. The inhabitants, by their skill and industry, made their port the great mart of commerce, and by their courtesy conciliated all who came to it: it was deemed the common city of all nations, and the centre of commerce.

With the exception of Tyre, Syria and Palestine were already subdued by the Macedonians. Upon Alexander’s advancing towards it, the Tyrians sent him an embassy, with presents for himself and refreshments for his army. They were willing to have him for their friend, but not for their master; so that when he expressed a wish to enter the city, in order to offer a sacrifice to Hercules, its tutelar god, they refused him admission. This ill suited the haughty spirit of the young conqueror, and he resolved to obtain by force what was refused as a courtesy. The Tyrians, on their side, confident in their wealth and strength, resolved to maintain the position they had assumed. Tyre was at that time situated on an island, about a quarter of a league from the continent; it was surrounded by a strong wall a hundred and fifty feet high, which was washed by the sea. The Carthaginians, who were a colony from Tyre, promised to assist in the contest, which greatly increased the confidence of the Tyrians. The island resounded with warlike preparations; machines were fixed on the ramparts and towers, the young men were armed, and workshops were built for the artificers, of whom there were great numbers in the city. They likewise made great store of iron grapples, to throw on the enemy’s works and tear them away; as also cramp-irons, and other instruments invented for the defence of cities.

Alexander had strong reasons for wishing to subdue Tyre. He could not invade Egypt with safety whilst the Persians were masters of the sea; and he could not think of leaving behind a large extent of country, whose inhabitants were but doubtful friends. He likewise was apprehensive of commotions and intrigues at home whilst he was pursuing Darius. The conquest of Tyre would make the whole of Phœnicia safe, would dispossess Persia of half its navy, and would lay open to him the isle of Cyprus and all Egypt.

It was impossible to approach the city near enough to storm it, without making a causeway from the mainland to the island, and this seemed to be attended with insurmountable difficulties. The little arm of the sea was exposed to the west winds, which sometimes raised such storms as must sweep away any works of art. Besides, the city being surrounded by the waves, and the wall projecting into the sea at the lower part, scaling-ladders or batteries could only be fixed in the ships; and the machines could not be expected to do much execution from unsteady galleys upon tumultuous waves.

Obstacles, however, only increased the determination of Alexander. But as his ships were few and at a distance, he at first attempted to come to an accommodation. He sent heralds to propose a peace; but these the Tyrians killed, contrary to the laws of nations, and threw them from the top of the walls into the sea. Alexander, highly exasperated, immediately set about making a dyke. He found materials in the stones and rubbish of old Tyre; and Mount Libanus, so famous for its cedars, furnished him with piles and other timbers.

No general excelled Alexander in the art of urging his soldiers to any undertaking he wished to be executed, and, under his own personal supervision, the dyke advanced rapidly; the piles were driven with ease into the slime, which served as mortar to the stones, and they were too far from the city to meet with interruption. But as they advanced into deep water, the difficulties of operation became greater, and the workmen were constantly annoyed by the darts and arrows from the walls. Being masters of the sea, the Tyrians attacked the people and injured the works in boats, jeering them with crying, “See what capital beasts of burden these conquering heroes make!” and then asking “whether their master thought himself greater than Neptune; and whether he thought he could prevail over that god?”

But these taunts only inflamed the soldiers; the work went on without delay, and the Tyrians were at length alarmed at discovering what a vast undertaking the sea had concealed from them: the bold and level surface appeared above the waves, and approached the city. The inhabitants then came in shoals of barks, to annoy the workmen with darts, javelins, and even fire; and the Greeks were forced to stay their labour to defend themselves from the missiles cast from the swiftly-moving boats. Skins and sails were then had recourse to screen them, and two wooden towers were raised at the head of the bank, to prevent the approach of the enemy.

On the other side the Tyrians made a descent upon the shore, out of view of the camp, landed some soldiers, and cut to pieces the men engaged in carrying the stones; some Arabian peasants likewise killed about thirty Macedonians on Mount Libanus, and took several prisoners. These small losses induced Alexander to divide his troops into separate bodies.

The besieged were not backward in either exertions, inventions, or stratagems. They took a transport vessel, and filling it with vine-branches and other dry materials, they made a large inclosure near the prow, which they filled with sulphur, pitch, and other combustible matters. In the middle of this inclosure they set up two masts, to each of which they fixed two sailyards, whence hung kettles full of oil and other unctuous substances. To raise the prow, they loaded the latter part of the vessel with stones and sand, and putting it out to sea, by means of their galleys towed it towards the towers. They then ignited this ancient fire-ship, the sailors who were in it leaping into the sea and swimming away. The fire quickly caught the towers and the works at the head of the causeway, and the sails, flapping about, threw oil upon the fire, and increased its violence. To prevent the Macedonians from extinguishing the flames, the Tyrians, from their galleys and boats, kept up a continual discharge of darts and burning torches. Several Macedonians were either shot or burnt to death on the causeway, whilst others, throwing down their arms or tools, leaped into the sea. But as they swam, the Tyrians, preferring to have them as prisoners, maimed their hands with clubs and stones, and, after disabling them, carried them off. At the same time the besieged, in their small boats, beat down the edges of the causeway, tore up the stakes, and burnt the rest of the engines.

But Alexander, unlike Buonaparte, was never discouraged by apparent failures. His exertions to repair the causeway and construct fresh machines quite astonished the enemy. As every general should be during great operations, Alexander was present and superintended every part of the works. The dyke was nearly completed, when an impetuous wind drove the waves with such fury against it, that the cement and all gave way, and the water, rushing between the stones, broke it in the middle. As soon as the great heap of stones which supported the earth was thrown down, the whole sunk at once as into an abyss.

Even Alexander for a moment debated whether he should abandon his enterprise or not; but his indomitable genius prevailed, and the soldiers began a new mole with as much alacrity as if they had but that moment arrived before the city.

Alexander became aware that he could neither complete the causeway nor take the city whilst the Tyrians were masters at sea. He therefore assembled all his galleys before Sidon. The fame of his victory at Issus brought him a considerable accession of naval force; several Asiatic monarchs hastening to pay their court to the conqueror, by supplying him with that of which he stood most in need.

The king, whilst his soldiers were preparing the ships and engines, took some troops of horse and his own regiment of guards, and marched towards a mountain of Arabia, called Antilibanus. His affection for his old tutor Lysimachus, who followed him in this expedition, exposed him to one of those dangers which we often find great men, as well as heroes of romance, running into. Lysimachus was evidently a courtier as well as an able tutor, for he knew his pupil’s weak point, and called him Achilles and himself Phœnix. When the king arrived at the foot of the mountain, he leaped from his horse and began to walk. His troops got a considerable distance in advance of him. It became late, but Alexander would not leave his tutor, who was corpulent and short of breath, and was soon, with the exception of a few soldiers, separated from his little army. He was compelled to spend the whole night in this unguarded state very near to a numerous body of the enemy. His good fortune, however, prevailed,--he passed the night in safety, and coming up with his troops in the morning, he advanced into the country, took all the strong places, either by force or capitulation, and, on the eleventh day returned to Sidon, where he found a welcome reinforcement of four thousand Greeks from Peloponnesus.

The fleet being ready, Alexander, with some chosen soldiers of his guard, embarked and sailed towards Tyre, in order of battle. He himself was on the extremity of the right wing, which extended towards the main ocean, accompanied by the kings of Cyprus and Phœnicia; the left was commanded by Craterus. The Tyrians were at first inclined to give battle, but on beholding the strength of the Grecian line, they thought it best to keep their fleet in port and endeavour to prevent the enemy from entering. When Alexander saw this, he advanced nearer the city, and, finding it impossible to force the port towards Sidon, on account of the narrowness of the entrance and the number of galleys there posted with their prows turned towards the main ocean, he only sunk three of them which lay without, and afterwards came to an anchor with his whole fleet pretty near the mole, where his ships rode in safety.

While all these things were going on, the construction of the mole was prosecuted with great vigour. The workmen threw in whole trees, with all their branches on them, and laid great stones over them; upon these they placed other trees, covering the latter with a kind of unctuous earth, which served instead of mortar. Heaping more trees and stones upon these in the same manner, the whole formed one entire body. This causeway was made wider than the former, so that the towers which were built in the middle would be out of the reach of the darts and arrows discharged by the boats from the sides. The besieged, on the other hand, did all in their power to stop the progress of the work. But nothing was more useful to them than the operations of their divers, who, swimming under water, came unperceived quite up to the bank, and with hooks, drew such branches to them as projected beyond the work, and pulling forward with great strength, forced away everything that was over them. But, notwithstanding all obstacles, the Macedonian perseverance prevailed, and the dyke was brought to perfection. Military engines of all kinds were placed upon the causeway, in order to shake the walls; and showers of darts, arrows, stones, and burning torches were poured upon the besieged.

Alexander ordered the Cyprian fleet to take its station before the harbour which lay towards Sidon, and that of Phœnicia before the harbour on the side of the causeway facing Egypt, towards the part where his own tent was pitched, and then made preparations for attacking the city on every side. The Tyrians on their part prepared for a vigorous defence. They had erected towers on the parts of the walls next the causeway, of prodigious height and proportionate width, composed of large stones cemented with mortar. The access to any other part was almost as difficult, immense stones being placed along the foot of the wall, to keep the enemy from approaching it. These must be removed; and the Macedonians found the task the more difficult from being unable to stand firmly upon their legs on board the ships. Besides, the Tyrians advanced with covered galleys, and cut the ropes which held the Grecian ships at anchor; so that Alexander was obliged to cover in like manner several vessels of thirty rowers each, and to station these across, to secure the anchors from the attacks of the Tyrian galleys; but the divers cutting the cables of these, the king ordered the anchors to be secured by iron chains. After this, the large stones were drawn away into deep water by cable ropes, where they could do no harm. The foot of the wall being thus cleared, the vessels had very easy access to it, so that the Tyrians were invested on all sides, and attacked by sea and land.

The Macedonians had joined (two-and-two) galleys of four banks of oars, in such a manner that the prows were fastened, and the sterns so far distant from one another as was necessary for the pieces of timber between them to be of proper length. After this, they threw from one stern to the other sailyards, which were fastened together by planks laid across, that the soldiers might stand firmly on that space. The galleys being thus equipped, they rowed towards the city, and shot, under cover, against those who defended the walls, the prows serving them as so many battlements. The king ordered them to advance about midnight, in order to surround the walls and make a general assault. The Tyrians now gave themselves up for lost, when on a sudden the sky was overspread with such thick clouds as quite took away the faint glimmerings of light which before darted through the gloom. The sea rose by insensible degrees, and the billows, being swelled by the fury of the winds, raised a dreadful storm. The vessels dashed against each other with so much violence, that the cables which fastened them together were either loosened or broken to pieces; the planks, splitting with a horrible crash, carried off the soldiers with them; the tempest was so furious, that it became impossible to steer or manage galleys thus fastened together. The soldier was a hinderance to the sailor, and the sailor to the soldier; and, as frequently happens on such occasions, those took the command whose business it was to obey; fear and anxiety throwing all things into confusion. But the rowers exerted themselves with such vigour, that they succeeded in getting the ships ashore, although in a shattered condition.

At this critical minute, thirty ambassadors arrived from Carthage without bringing any of the succour that had been so boastingly promised by that state. There was, however, some validity in their excuse: they had war at home; the Syracusans were laying waste all Africa, and had pitched their camp not far from the walls of Carthage. The Tyrians, though their hopes were thus frustrated, were not dejected; they only took the wise precaution to send their women and children to Carthage, that they might be in a condition to defend themselves to the last extremity, and bear courageously the worst calamities that could befall them, when they had placed in security that which they held dearest in the world.

There was in the city a brazen statue of Apollo, of enormous size: this colossus had formerly stood in the city of Gela, in Sicily. The Carthaginians having taken it about the year 412 before Christ, had given it by way of present to the city of Tyre, which they always considered as the mother of Carthage. The Tyrians had set it up in their city, and worship was paid to it. During the siege, in consequence of a dream which one of the citizens had, the Tyrians imagined that Apollo was determined to leave them, and go over to Alexander. Immediately they fastened with a gold chain his statue to the altar of Hercules, to prevent the deity from leaving them.

Some of the Tyrians proposed the restoring of an old sacrifice which had been discontinued many years; this was, that of a child of free-born parents to Saturn. The Carthaginians, who had borrowed their superstitions from the Tyrians, preserved it till the destruction of their city; and had not the old men, who were invested with much authority in Tyre, opposed the design, this cruel custom would have prevailed over every sentiment of humanity.

The Tyrians, finding their city every moment exposed to be taken by storm, resolved to fall upon the Cyprian fleet, which lay at anchor on the side towards Sidon. They took the opportunity to do this when the seamen of Alexander’s fleet were dispersed in various directions, and when he himself was withdrawn to his tent pitched on the sea-shore. Accordingly, they came out about noon, with thirteen galleys, all manned with choice soldiers accustomed to sea-fights, and, rowing with all their might, came thundering on the enemy’s vessels. Part of them they found empty, and the rest had been manned in great haste. Some of these they sunk, and drove several against the shore, where they were dashed to pieces. The loss would have been still greater, had not Alexander, the instant he heard of the sally, advanced at the head of the whole fleet, with all imaginable despatch, against the Tyrians. They did not, however, await his coming, but withdrew into the harbour, after having lost some of their ships.

And now, the engines being in full play, the city was warmly attacked, and as vigorously defended. The besieged, taught and animated by the imminent danger and the extreme necessity to which they were reduced, invented daily new arts to defend themselves and repulse the enemy. They warded off all the darts discharged from the balistas, by the assistance of turning-wheels, which either broke them to pieces or carried them another away. They deadened the violence of the stones that were hurled at them, by setting up sails and curtains made of soft substances, which easily gave way. To annoy the ships which advanced against the walls, they fixed cranes, grappling-irons, and scythes to joists or beams; then, straining their catapultas (enormous cross-bows), they laid these great pieces of timber upon them instead of arrows, and shot them off on a sudden at the enemy. These crushed some by their great weight, and the hooks, or pensile scythes, with which they were armed, tore others to pieces, and did considerable damage to the ships. They also had brazen shields, which they drew red-hot out of the fire, and filling them with burning sand, hurled them from the top of the wall upon the enemy. There was nothing the Macedonians so much dreaded as this last invention; for the moment the burning sand got to the flesh through the crevices in the armour, it pierced to the very bone, and stuck so close that there was no pulling it off; so that the soldiers, throwing down their arms, and tearing their clothes to pieces, were exposed naked and defenceless to the shot of the enemy.

Discouraged by this vigorous defence, Alexander debated whether he had not better raise the siege and go into Egypt. His conquests had been obtained quickly, and we can suppose nothing more annoying to a man like “Macedonia’s madman” than a protracted siege. We cannot even fancy Buonaparte a good captain at a siege; ambitious men, with views always in advance of their present position, must think every moment lost that detains them before the walls of a fortification. On the other side, Alexander considered it would be a blemish to his reputation, which had done him greater service than his arms, should he leave Tyre behind him as a proof that he was not invincible. He therefore resolved to make a last effort, with a greater number of ships, which he manned with the flower of his army. Accordingly, a second naval engagement was fought, in which the Tyrians, after a contest of great spirit, were obliged to draw off their whole fleet towards the city. The king pursued their rear very closely, but was not able to enter the harbour, being repulsed by arrows shot from the walls: however, he either took or sunk a great number of their ships.

Alexander, after giving both army and fleet two days’ rest, made another assault. Both attack and defence were now more vigorous than ever. The courage of the combatants increased with the danger; and each side, animated by the most powerful motives, fought like lions. Wherever the battering-rams had beaten down any part of the wall, and the bridges were thrown out, instantly the Argyraspides mounted the breach with the utmost valour, being headed by Admetus, one of the bravest officers in the army, who was killed by the thrust of a partisan, as he was encouraging his soldiers. The presence of the king, and especially the example he set, fired his troops with more even than their usual bravery. He himself ascended one of the towers, which was of a prodigious height, and there was exposed to the greatest danger his courage had ever made him hazard: for, being immediately known by his insignia and the richness of his armour, he served as a mark for all the arrows of the enemy. On this occasion he performed wonders; killing with javelins several of those who defended the wall; then advancing nearer to them, he forced some with his sword, and others with his shield, either into the city or the sea; the tower where he fought almost touching the wall. He soon passed on to it, by the assistance of floating bridges; and, followed by his principal officers, possessed himself of two towers, and the space between them. The battering-rams had already made several breaches; the fleet had forced the harbour, and some of the Macedonians had seized the towers that were abandoned. The Tyrians, seeing the enemy masters of their rampart, retired towards an open place called the Square of Agenor, and there stood their ground; but Alexander, marching up with his regiment of body-guards, killed part of them, and obliged the rest to fly. At the same time, the city being taken on the side which lay towards the harbour, the Macedonians made great slaughter, being highly exasperated at the long resistance of the besieged, and the barbarities that had been exercised upon some of their comrades.

The Tyrians, finding themselves overpowered in all quarters, acted as men generally do on such occasions: some ran to the temples, to implore the assistance of their gods; others, shutting themselves up in their houses, escaped the sword of the victor by a voluntary death; whilst the brave remainder rushed upon the enemy, resolved to sell their lives at the dearest rate. At first, the citizens resorted to the customary defence of assaulted cities, and threw stones, bricks, tiles, and everything that came to hand upon the advancing Greeks. The king gave orders to kill all the inhabitants except such as had taken refuge in the temples, and to set fire to every part of Tyre. Although this order was published by sound of trumpet, scarcely a person bearing arms availed himself of the asylum pointed out. The temples were principally filled by the young women and children who had not gone to Carthage: the old men calmly awaited at the doors of their houses the swords of the exasperated soldiery. The Sidonians in Alexander’s army, or rather fleet, saved great numbers; for, remembering their common origin, Agenor having founded both Tyre and Sidon, they had been accustomed to consider the Tyrians as compatriots, and did not desert them in their hour of need, though policy had compelled them to assist in bringing it on. They conveyed them privately on board their ships, and gave them a home in Sidon. The extent of the slaughter may be imagined, when we learn that six thousand soldiers were cut to pieces on the ramparts. Of all great conquerors, we are disposed to like Alexander the best; he had so many fine redeeming qualities, and was such a rare combination of the high gifts of valour and wisdom; therefore we write with regret, that on this occasion the savage warrior prevailed over the civilized Greek, and he immolated, by having them nailed to crosses, two thousand men who were left after the soldiers had glutted their revenge. He pardoned the Carthaginian ambassadors, who had come to their ancient metropolis to offer up their annual sacrifice to Hercules. The number of prisoners, who were all sold into slavery, amounted to thirty thousand. Notwithstanding the length and obstinacy of the siege, the loss of the Macedonians was trifling.

Alexander offered a sacrifice to Hercules, and celebrated gymnastic games in honour of the great demigod. He had the golden chains removed from the statue of Apollo, and ordered that worship should thenceforward be offered to him under the name of Philoalexander. The city of Tyre was taken about the end of September, after a seven months’ siege.

The fate of Tyre is said to be intimately associated with the prophecies of Isaiah, and a great historian makes the following remarks, which we are much afraid find illustration in the histories of most great commercial states:--

“One of God’s designs, in the prophecies just now cited, is to give us a just idea of a traffic whose only motive is avarice, and whose fruits are pleasures, vanity, and the corruption of morals. Mankind look upon cities enriched by commerce like that of Tyre (and it is the same by private persons) as happier than any other; as worthy of envy, and as fit, from their liberty, labour, and the success of their application and conduct, as to be proposed as models for the rest to copy after; but God, on the other hand, exhibits them to us under the shameful image of a woman lost to all sense of virtue, whose only view is to seduce and corrupt youth; who only soothes the passions and flatters the senses; who abhors modesty and every sentiment of honour; and who, banishing from her countenance every indication of shame, glories in her ignominy. We are not to infer from this that traffic is sinful in itself; but we should separate from the essential foundation of trade, which is just and lawful, when rightly used, the passions and extravagantly ambitious and selfish views of men, which intermix with it, and pervert the order and the end of it.”

THIRD SIEGE, A.C. 313.

It would be imagined that a city so laid waste as Tyre was by Alexander, could not easily or shortly recover strength to contend against any enemy, and yet we find Tyre, only nineteen years after, maintaining itself for fifteen months against Antigonus, one of Alexander’s captains, who had been present at its great siege. But the fugitives from Sidon and other parts, the women and children from Carthage, with, most likely, many enterprising strangers, thought the traditions of Tyre too great and tempting to allow it to be long abandoned; and if not so glorious as it had been, this queen of commercial cities soon became a highly respectable mart, though its trade was reduced within much narrower limits: it had embraced the world; it was now confined to the neighbouring countries, and it had lost the empire of the sea. Seconded by the famous Demetrius Poliorcetes, his son, Antigonus presented himself before the place with a numerous fleet, which made him master of the sea, and cut the besieged off from supplies of provisions. As the siege was too protracted to accord with the other views of Antigonus, he left the operations under the command of Andronicus, one of his generals, who, by pressing the Tyrians very closely, and by making frequent assaults, obliged them at length to capitulate. This important conquest was made A.C. 313.

FOURTH SIEGE, A.D. 638.

The curse that was said to be upon Tyre was removed after a considerable time: it received the gospel at an early period, and was for ages a flourishing city. Before the discovery of the passage round the Cape of Good Hope, a place so situated as Tyre was could not fail of being a mart of trade; and as soon as the back of a conqueror, attracted by its wealth, was turned, it was quickly partially re-peopled and its industry revived.

But at length came the great Mussulman eruption; Mahomet and his generals led their triumphant armies through Asia with that astonishing rapidity and success which have ever attended eastern conquests. In the West, a conquest may be compared to a shower, which, insidiously and with time, permeates the soil; in the East, it is a flood or an avalanche, which overwhelms, devastates, and changes everything in a moment.

Whilst the intrepid Amrou was making Syria tremble with the fame of his victories, the perfidious Ioukinna accelerated the triumphs of Mohammedanism by his stratagems. The master of a fleet which had come to the succour of Tripoli, he hoisted the Roman standard, and presented himself before Tyre. His arrival caused much joy, for he was supposed to bring ammunition and troops to put the place in a state of defence. He landed with nine hundred men, and was admitted into the city, but being betrayed by one of his own people, the little band were surrounded and taken prisoners. Their lives were only saved by a new subject of alarm. Jëzid, a Saracen captain, appeared off Tyre with a force of two thousand men. The governor, with his garrison, went out to meet him, and, whilst the two parties were on the walls, Ioukinna and his soldiers were set at liberty by a Roman, who was looking for an opportunity to win the favour of the Saracens. Ioukinna conveyed the intelligence of his freedom to the soldiers he had left on board the fleet; they joined him, and he informed Jëzid of what was going on in Tyre. Jëzid not only defeated the governor and his party, but cut off his retreat. The gates were thrown open, and the Saracens, within and without, made a frightful slaughter of the inhabitants. Most of those who escaped embraced Islamism, to avoid death or slavery.

FIFTH SIEGE, A.D. 1123.

The Venetians, who for several ages had enjoyed the commerce of the East, and dreaded breaking useful relations with the Mussulmans of Asia, had taken but very little part in the first crusade, or the events which followed it. They awaited the issue of this great enterprise, to associate themselves without peril with the victories of the Christians; but at length, jealous of the advantages which the Genoese and Pisans had obtained in Syria, they became desirous of likewise sharing the spoils of the Mussulmans, and equipped a formidable expedition against the infidels. Their fleet, whilst crossing the Mediterranean, fell in with that of the Genoese returning from the East, attacked it with fury, and put it to flight in great disorder. After having stained the sea with the blood of Christians, the Venetians pursued their route towards the coasts of Palestine, where they met the fleet of the Saracens, which had come out from the ports of Egypt. A furious engagement ensued, in which the Egyptian vessels were dispersed, and covered the waves with their wrecks.

Whilst the Venetians were thus destroying the Mussulman fleet, an army, sent by the caliph from Cairo, was beaten by the Christians under the walls of Jaffa. The doge of Venice, who commanded the fleet, entered the port of Ptolemaïs (Acre), and was conducted in triumph to Jerusalem. Whilst celebrating the double victory gained over the infidels, it was determined to turn this important expedition to advantage. In a council held in presence of the regent of Jerusalem and the doge of Venice, it was proposed to besiege the city of Tyre, or that of Ascalon. As opinions were divided, it was determined to consult God, according to the superstitions of the time, and be guided by the expression of his will. Two strips of parchment, upon which were written the names of Tyre and Ascalon, were deposited upon the altar of the Holy Sepulchre. Amidst an immense crowd of spectators, a young orphan advanced towards the altar, took one of the two strips, and it proved to be that of the city of Tyre.

The Venetians, more devoted to the interests of their commerce and their nation than to those of the Christian kingdom, demanded, before they laid siege to Tyre, that they should have a church, a street, a free oven, and a national tribunal in all the cities of Palestine. They demanded still further advantages; among which was one-third of the conquered city. The conquest of Tyre seemed so important, that the regent, the chancellor of the kingdom, and the great vassals of the crown, accepted without hesitation the conditions of the Venetians; in an act, which history has preserved, they engaged not to acknowledge as king of Jerusalem either Baldwin du Bourg, or any other prince who should refuse to subscribe to it.

When they had thus shared by treaty a city they had not yet conquered, they commenced their operations for the siege. The Christian army left Jerusalem, and the Venetian fleet the port of Ptolemaïs, towards the beginning of spring. The historian of the kingdom of Jerusalem, William of Tyre, was for a long time archbishop of this celebrated commercial city, and he pauses here to describe the ancient wonders of his metropolis. In his recital, at once religious and profane, he invokes by turns the evidence of Isaiah and Virgil; after speaking of King Hyram and the tomb of Origen, he does nor disdain to celebrate the memory of Cadmus and the country of Dido. The good archbishop particularly vaunts the industry and the commerce of Tyre, the fertility of its territory, its dyes, so celebrated in all antiquity; its sand, which changed itself into transparent vases, and its sugar-canes, which began to be sought for by all regions of the universe. The city of Tyre, in the time of Baldwin, was no longer that sumptuous city, whose rich merchants, according to Isaiah, were princes; but it was still considered as the best-peopled and most commercial of the cities of Syria. It stood upon a delightful shore, screened by mountains from the blasts of the north; it had two large moles, which, like long arms, advanced into the sea, to inclose a port to which storm or tempest could find no access. The city of Tyre, which had stood out during more than seven months against the victorious Alexander, was defended on one side by a stormy sea and steep rocks, and on the other by a triple wall, surmounted by high towers.

The doge of Venice at once penetrated into the port, and closed up all issue or access on the side of the sea. The patriarch of Jerusalem, and Pontius, count of Tripoli, regent of the kingdom, commanded the land army; the king, Baldwin du Bourg, being at that time a captive to the Saracens. In the early days of the siege, the Christians and the Mussulmans fought with obstinate ardour, but with equal success; the disunion of the infidels, however, soon powerfully assisted the efforts of the Franks. The caliph of Egypt had yielded half of the place to the sultan of Damascus, in order to engage him to defend it against the Christians. The Turks and the Egyptians were divided amongst themselves, and refused to fight together; the Pranks took advantage of these divisions, and daily gained a superiority. After a siege of a few months, the walls crumbled away before the machines of the Christians; provisions began to be short in the place; the Mussulmans were about to capitulate, when discord in turn disunited the Christians, and was on the point of rendering useless the prodigies of valour and all the labours of a long siege.

The land army loudly complained that it had to support alone both battles and fatigues; the horse and foot threatened to remain as motionless under their tents as the Venetians in their ships. To remove the cause of their complaints, the doge of Venice came into the Christian camp with his sailors, armed with their oars, and declared himself ready to mount to the breach. From that time a generous emulation inflamed the zeal and the courage of both soldiers and seamen; and the Mussulmans, being without hope of succour, were obliged to succumb, after a siege of five months and a half. The standards of the king of Jerusalem and the doge of Venice floated together over the walls of Tyre; the Christians made their triumphal entrance into the city; whilst the inhabitants, according to the terms of the capitulation, with their wives and children, departed from it. On whichever side our sympathies may be, the end of a great siege is a melancholy object of contemplation; nothing can convey a sadder idea to the mind than this compulsory exodus of a people.

The day on which the news of the conquest of Tyre was received at Jerusalem, was a festival for the inhabitants of the Holy City. Te Deum and hymns of thanks were chanted, amidst the ringing of bells and the shouts of the people; flags were flying over the towers and ramparts of the city; branches of the olive and wreaths of flowers were hung about the streets and public places; rich stuffs ornamented the outsides of houses and the doors of churches. The old talked about the former splendour of the kingdom of Judah, and the young virgins repeated in chorus the psalms in which the prophets had celebrated the city of Tyre.

The doge of Venice, on returning to the Holy City, was saluted by the acclamations of the people and the clergy. The barons and magnates did all in their power to detain him in Palestine; they even went so far as to offer him Baldwin’s crown, some believing that that prince was dead, and others acknowledging no king but at the head of an army and on the field of battle. The doge declined the crown, and, satisfied with the title of prince of Jerusalem, led back his victorious fleet to Italy.

SIXTH SIEGE, A.D. 1188.

Tyre is most conspicuously associated with great names; next to having had the glory of checking the career of Alexander for seven months, it may reckon that of having successfully resisted the greatest Saracen general that, perhaps, ever lived.

Whilst a new crusade was being earnestly preached in Europe, Saladin was following up the course of his victories in Palestine. The battle of Tiberias and the capture of Jerusalem had spread so great a terror, that the inhabitants of the Holy Land were persuaded the army of the Saracens could not be resisted. Amidst general consternation, a single city, that of Tyre, defied all the united forces of the East. Saladin had twice gathered together his fleets and his armies to attack a place of which he so ardently desired the conquest. But all the inhabitants had sworn rather to die than surrender to the Mussulmans; which generous determination was the work of Conrad, who had just arrived in that place, and whom Heaven seemed to have sent to save it.

Conrad, son of the marquis of Montferrat, bore a name celebrated in the West, and the fame of his exploits had preceded him into Asia. In his early youth he had distinguished himself in the war of the Holy See against the emperor of Germany. A passion for glory and a thirst for adventures afterwards led him to Constantinople, where he quelled a sedition which threatened the imperial throne, and, with his own hand, killed the leader of the rebels on the field of battle. The sister of Izaac Angelus and the title of Cæsar were the rewards of his courage and his services; but his restless character would not allow him to enjoy his good fortune in quiet. Amidst peaceful grandeur, roused all at once by the fame of the holy war, he stole away from the tenderness of a bride and the gratitude of an emperor, to fly into Palestine. Conrad landed on the shores of Phœnicia a few days after the battle of Tiberias. Before his arrival, the city of Tyre had named deputies to demand a capitulation of Saladin; his presence revived the general courage, and changed the aspect of affairs. He caused himself to be appointed commander of the city, he widened the ditches, repaired the fortifications; and the inhabitants of Tyre, attacked by sea and land, become all at once invincible warriors, learnt, under his orders, how to repel the fleets and armies of the Saracens.

The old marquis of Montferrat, the father of Conrad, who, for the sake of visiting the Holy Land, had left his peaceful states, was at the battle of Tiberias. Made prisoner by the Mussulmans, he awaited, in the prisons of Damascus, the time when his children would deliver him or purchase his liberty.

Saladin sent for him to his army, and promised the brave Conrad to restore his father to him, and give him rich possessions in Syria, if he would open the gates of Tyre. He at the same time threatened to place the old marquis de Montferrat in the front of the ranks of the Saracens, and expose him to the arrows of the besieged. Conrad replied with haughtiness, that he despised the presents of infidels, and that the life of his father was less dear to him than the cause of the Christians. He added that nothing should impede his endeavours, and that if the Saracens were barbarous enough to put to death an old man who had surrendered on his parole of honour, he should think it a glory to be descended from a martyr. After this reply the Saracens recommenced their assaults, and the Tyrians defended themselves with firmness and courage. The Hospitallers, the Templars, and most of the bravest warriors left in Palestine, hastened within the walls of Tyre, to share in the honour of so great a defence. Among the Franks who distinguished themselves by their valour, was a Spanish gentleman, known in history by the name of “The Green Knight,” from the colour of his armour. He alone, say the old chroniclers, repulsed and dispersed whole battalions; he fought several single combats, overthrowing the most intrepid of the Mussulmans, and made the Saracens wonder at and admire his bravery and skill in arms.

There was not a citizen in the place who would not fight; the children, even, were so many soldiers; the women animated the men by their presence and by their words. Upon the waters, at the foot of the ramparts, fresh combats were continually taking place. In all parts the Saracens met with the same Christian heroes who had so often made them tremble.

Despairing of taking the city of Tyre, Saladin resolved to raise the siege, in order to attack Tripoli, and was not more fortunate in that expedition. William, king of Sicily, being informed of the misfortunes of Palestine, had sent succours to the Christians. The great Admiral Margarit, whose talents and victories had obtained for him the name of the King of the Sea and the New Neptune, arrived on the coast of Syria with sixty galleys, three hundred horse and five hundred foot-soldiers. The Sicilian warriors flew to the defence of Tripoli, and, led on by the Green Knight, who had so distinguished himself at Tyre, forced Saladin to abandon his enterprise.

Thus was Saladin foiled; but the fate of Tyre was only deferred: towards the end of the Crusades, which European passions and interests had made abortive, the Sultan Chalil, after taking and destroying Ptolemaïs, sent one of his emirs with a body of troops to take possession of Tyre; and that city, seized with terror, opened its gates without resistance. The conquerors likewise possessed themselves of Berytus, Sidon, and all the other Christian cities along the coast. These cities, which had not afforded the least succour to Ptolemaïs in the last great struggle, and which believed themselves protected by a truce, beheld their population massacred, dispersed, or led into slavery; the fury of the Mussulmans extended even to the stones; they seemed to wish to destroy the very earth which the Christians had trod upon; their houses, their temples, the monuments of their piety, their valour, their industry,--everything was condemned to perish with them by the sword or by fire.

Such was the character of the wars miscalled Holy; and the impartial student of history is forced to confess, that in all that degrades humanity, such as cruelty, cupidity, ambition, and false glory, the Crusaders at least kept pace with the Mahometans; in bad faith, with regard to treaties, truces, and pledged honour, the Christians by far exceeded the Mussulmans.

SARDIS.

A.C. 502.

After the battle of Thymbra between Cyrus and Crœsus, which was one of the most considerable events in antiquity, as it passed the empire of Asia from the Assyrians of Babylon to the Persians, Cyrus, the conqueror, marched directly upon Sardis, the capital of Lydia. According to Herodotus, Crœsus did not believe that Cyrus meant to shut him up in the city, and therefore marched out to give him battle. He says the Lydians were the bravest people in Asia. Their principal strength consisted in their cavalry; and Cyrus, in order to render this force ineffective, caused his camels to advance against the horse; and the latter animals, having an instinctive dread or dislike for the former, would not face them. The horsemen dismounted and fought on foot; after an obstinate contest, the Lydians were forced to retreat into their capital city, Sardis, which Cyrus immediately besieged, causing his engines to be brought up and his scaling-ladders to be prepared, as if he meant to take it by assault. But this was a feint; he had been made acquainted with a private way into the city by a Persian slave, who had formerly been in the service of the governor, and at night he quietly made himself master of the citadel. At break of day, he entered the city without resistance. Perceiving that the Chaldeans quitted their ranks and began to disperse themselves, his first care was to prevent the city from being plundered. To effect this required nothing less than the perfect ascendancy which Cyrus had obtained over his troops. He informed the citizens that the lives of themselves and their children, with the honour of their women, were perfectly safe, provided they brought him all their gold and silver. This condition they readily complied with, and Crœsus, the proverbially richest man in the world, was one of the first to lay his wealth at the foot of the conqueror.

The siege of Sardis has nothing remarkable in it, except the change of empires which followed it; but there are several anecdotes connected with it, which our young readers would not forgive us for omitting.

When Cyrus had given all proper directions concerning the city, he had a private conversation with the king, of whom he asked what he now thought of the oracle of Delphi, and of the god who presided over it, whom Crœsus held in great veneration. Crœsus acknowledged that he had justly incurred the indignation of that god, by having shown a distrust of the truth of his answers, and by having put him to the trial by an absurd and ridiculous question; and he then added, that he had still no reason to complain of him, for that, having consulted him that he might know what to do in order to lead a happy life, the oracle had given him as answer, that he should enjoy a perfect and lasting happiness when he had come to the knowledge of himself. “For want of this knowledge,” said he, “and believing myself, through the excessive praises bestowed upon me, to be something very different from what I am, I accepted the title of generalissimo of the whole army, and unadvisedly engaged in war against a prince infinitely my superior in all respects. But now that I am instructed by my defeat, and begin to know myself, I believe that I am going to be happy; and if you prove favourable to me,--and my fate is in your hands,--I shall certainly be so.” Cyrus, touched with compassion at the misfortunes of the king, who was fallen in a moment from so great an elevation, and admiring his equanimity under such a reverse of fortune, treated him with a great deal of clemency and kindness, suffering him to enjoy both the title and authority of king, under the restriction of not having the power to make war; which was, as Crœsus said, relieving him of the great burden of royalty, and leaving him the power of leading a happy life. Thenceforward Cyrus took him with him upon all his expeditions, either out of esteem for him, and to have the benefit of his counsels, or out of policy, and to be more secure of his person. We consider this to have been a sad realization of poor Crœsus’s dream of happiness.

There are other wonders connected with this event, about which we can only say that great historians have related them. For our own parts, we are not so sceptical regarding the remote events of history as some readers and authors are. We see, constantly, matters that must some day belong to history, put in as false a light by the passions and interests of contemporaries, as if they were viewed through the mist of past ages. Again, that which is wonderful is not necessarily untrue. When Marco Paolo returned from his long pilgrimage, his accounts were all received as fables; now, almost all of them prove to be bare truth. We shall never reject a story told by a respectable historian, on account of its being a little miraculous, provided it be amusing, instructive, and elevating, and at the same time a thing with which well-educated youth ought to be acquainted.

The only son Crœsus had living was dumb. This young prince, seeing a soldier about to cut down the king, whom he did not know, with his scimitar, made such a violent effort to save his father’s life, that he broke the string which had confined his tongue, and cried out,--“Soldier! spare the life of Crœsus!”

The account of Cyrus’s conversation, given above, is from Xenophon’s Cyropædia; the following, which greatly differs from the circumstances attending it, is from Herodotus.--How are we to choose? The Cyropædia is by some writers looked upon as little more than a romance; and Herodotus abounds in apocryphal stories.

Crœsus being a prisoner, was condemned by the conqueror to be burnt alive. Accordingly, the funeral pile was prepared, and the unhappy prince, having been laid thereon, and on the point of execution, recollecting the conversation he had formerly had with Solon, was wofully convinced of the truth of that philosopher’s admonition, and in remembrance thereof, cried out three times,--“Solon! Solon! Solon!” Cyrus, who with his court was present, was curious to know why Crœsus pronounced the name of that philosopher with so much vehemence in his extremity. “Mighty king,” replied Crœsus, “when Solon in search of wisdom visited my court, I tried every means to dazzle him, and impress upon him the immense extent of my wealth. When I had displayed it all before him, I asked which man in all his travels he had found the most truly happy, expecting, after what he had seen, he would name me. But he replied, ‘One Tellus, a citizen of Athens, a very honest and good man, who, after having lived all his days without indigence, having always seen his country in a flourishing condition, has left children who are universally esteemed, has had the satisfaction of seeing those children’s children, and at last died gloriously in fighting for his country.’ I was surprised to find that my gold and silver had so little weight; but, supposing I at least might claim the next rank, I asked him, ‘Who of all he had seen was most happy after Tellus?’ Solon replied,--‘Cleobis and Biton, two brothers, of Argos, who had left behind them a perfect pattern of fraternal affection, and of the respect due from children to parents. Upon a solemn festival, when their mother, a priestess of Juno, was to go to the temple, the oxen that were to have drawn her not being ready, the two sons put themselves into the yoke and drew their mother’s chariot thither, a distance of five miles. The mothers of the place, ravished with admiration, congratulated the priestess upon having such sons. She, in the transports of her joy and thankfulness, earnestly entreated the goddess to reward her children with the best thing Heaven can bestow. Her prayers were heard. When the sacrifice was over, her two sons fell asleep in the temple, and there died in a soft and sweet slumber. In honour of their piety, the people of Argos consecrated statues to them in the temple of Delphi.’ ‘What then,’ said I, in a tone of discontent, ‘you do not reckon me amongst the happy at all?’ Solon replied, calmly: ‘King of Lydia, the gods have given us Grecians a spirit of moderation and reserve, which has produced amongst us a plain, popular kind of philosophy, accompanied with a certain generous freedom, void of pride or ostentation, and therefore not well suited to the courts of kings. This philosophy, considering what an infinite number of vicissitudes and accidents the life of man is liable to, does not allow us to glory either in any prosperity we enjoy ourselves, or to admire happiness in others, which perhaps may prove only transient or superficial. The life of man seldom exceeds seventy years, which make up in all six thousand two hundred and fifty days, of which no two are exactly alike; so that the time to come is nothing but a series of various accidents which cannot be foreseen. Therefore, in our opinion, no man can be esteemed happy but he whose happiness the gods continue to the end of his life; as for others, who are perpetually exposed to a thousand dangers, we account their happiness as uncertain as the crown is to a person engaged in battle who has not yet won the victory.’”

Upon hearing this, Cyrus reflected upon the uncertainty of sublunary things, and was touched with compassion for the prince’s misfortunes. He caused him to be taken from the pile, and treated him as long as he lived with kindness and respect. Thus had Solon the honour of saving the life of one king, and of giving a wholesome lesson of instruction to another.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 502.

Under the reign of Darius Ochus, the Athenians, seduced by the persuasions of Aristagoras, embarked in an ill-fated expedition against the city of Sardis. We say ill-fated, although they burnt the city, with the exception of the citadel, because this unprovoked attack was the source of all the subsequent wars between Greece and Persia, which produced so many calamities to both countries. The city being principally built of reeds, was soon fired, and as quickly destroyed; but the citadel proved impregnable. The Lydians and Persians, highly exasperated, drove the Athenians and Ionians back to Ephesus, and destroyed many of their ships. Darius being informed of the burning of Sardis, and of the part the Athenians had taken in the affair, resolved from that time to make war upon Greece; and, that he might never forget this resolution, he commanded one of his officers to cry out to him with a loud voice, every night, when he was at supper: “Sire, remember the Athenians!” In the burning of Sardis, a temple of Cybele, the peculiar goddess of that country, was consumed, which was the reason the Persians, in their invasions of Greece, destroyed every sacred edifice that fell in their power.

BABYLON.

A.C. 538.

Cyrus stayed in Asia Minor till he had entirely subdued all the nations that inhabited it, from the Ægean sea to the river Euphrates. Thence he proceeded to Syria and Arabia, which he also subjected. After which he entered Assyria, and advanced towards Babylon, the only city of the East that stood out against him.

The siege of this important place was no easy enterprise. The walls of it were of a prodigious height, and appeared to be inaccessible, without mentioning the immense number of people within them for its defence. The city was said to be stored with sufficient provisions for twenty years. But Cyrus was not a leader to be discouraged by difficulties. Despairing of taking the city by assault, he made the Babylonians believe that he meant to reduce it by famine. To this end, he caused a line of circumvallation to be drawn quite round the city, with a wide and deep ditch, and, that his troops might not be over-fatigued, he divided his army into twelve bodies, and assigned each of them its month for guarding the trenches. The besieged, thinking themselves free from all danger on account of their fortifications and magazines, insulted Cyrus from the top of their walls, and laughed at all his attempts, and all the trouble he gave himself, as so much unprofitable labour.

As soon as the ditch was completed, he began to think seriously of his vast design, which he had communicated to nobody. Providence soon furnished him with as fit an opportunity for this purpose as he could desire. He was informed that a great festival was to be celebrated in the city, and that the Babylonians, on account of that solemnity, would pass the whole night in drinking and debauchery.

Belshazzar, the king, took more interest in this public rejoicing than any other person, and gave a magnificent entertainment to the chief officers of the kingdom and the ladies of the court. When flushed with wine, he ordered the gold and silver vessels which had been taken from the temple of Jerusalem to be brought out; and as an insult to the God of Israel, he, his whole court, and all his concubines, drank out of these sacred vessels. God, who was displeased at such insolence and impiety, at the instant made him sensible whom it was he offended, by a sudden apparition of a hand, writing certain characters upon the wall. The king, terribly surprised and frightened at this vision, immediately sent for all the wise men, diviners and astrologers, that they might read the writing to him, and explain the meaning of it. But they all came in vain, not one of them being able to expound the characters. The obvious reason of this was that the characters were in the Hebrew or Samaritan language, which the Babylonians did not understand. The queen-mother Nitocris, a princess of great merit, coming, upon hearing of this prodigy, into the banqueting-room, endeavoured to compose the mind of the king her son, advising him to send for Daniel, with whose abilities in such matters she was well acquainted, and whom she had employed in the government of the state.

Daniel was therefore immediately sent for, and spoke to the king with the freedom and liberty becoming a prophet. He put him in mind of the dreadful manner in which God had punished the pride of his grandfather Nebuchadnezzar, and the flagrant abuse he made of his power, when he acknowledged no law but his own will, and thought himself empowered to exalt and to abase, to inflict destruction and death, wheresoever he would, only because such was his will and pleasure. “And thou his son,” said he to the king, “hast not humbled thine heart, though thou knewest all this, but hast lifted up thyself against the Lord of heaven; and they have brought the vessels of his house before thee, and thou and thy lords, thy wives and thy concubines, have drunk wine in them; and thou hast praised the gods of silver and of gold, of brass, iron, wood, and stone, which see not, nor hear, nor know; and the God in whose hand thy breath is, and whose are all thy ways, hast thou not glorified. Then was the part of the hand sent from him, and this writing was written. And this is the writing that was written: MENE, TEKEL, UPHARSIN. This is the interpretation of the thing: MENE, God hath numbered thy kingdom, and finished it; TEKEL, thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting; PERES, thy kingdom is divided, and given to the Medes and Persians.” This interpretation might be expected to increase the consternation of the company; but they found means to dispel their fears, probably from a persuasion that the calamity was not denounced as present or immediate, and that time might furnish them with expedients to avert it. This, however, is certain, that for fear of disturbing the general joy of the present festival, they put off the discussion of serious matters to another time, and sat down again to their banquet, and continued their revellings to a very late hour.

Cyrus, however, well informed of the confusion that was generally occasioned by this festival, both in the palace and the city, had posted a part of his troops on that side where the river entered into the city, and another part on that side where it went out; and had commanded them to enter the city that very night, by marching along the channel of the river as soon as ever they found it fordable. Having given all necessary orders, and exhorted his officers to follow him, by representing to them that he marched under the guidance of the gods, in the evening he made them open the great receptacles or ditches, on both sides of the city, above and below, that the water of the river might run into them. By this means, that part of the Euphrates was, for a time, emptied; and its channel became nearly dry. Then the two bodies of troops, according to their orders, went into the channel, the one commanded by Gobryas, and the other by Gudatas, and advanced without meeting any obstacle. The invisible guide, who had promised to open all the gates to Cyrus, made the general negligence and disorder of that riotous night subservient to his design, by leaving open the gates of brass which were made to shut up the descents from the quays to the river, and which alone, if they had not been left open, were sufficient to defeat the whole enterprise. Thus did these two bodies of troops penetrate into the very heart of the city without any opposition, and meeting together at the royal palace, according to their agreement, surprised the guards, and cut them to pieces. Some of the company that were within the palace opening the doors to ascertain the cause of the noise they heard without, the soldiers rushed in, and quickly made themselves masters of it. Meeting the king, who came towards them sword in hand, at the head of those that were in the way to succour him, they killed him, and put all that attended him to death. The first thing the conqueror did was to thank the gods for having at last punished that impious king. These words are Xenophon’s, and are very worthy of attention, as they so perfectly agree with what the Scriptures have recorded of the impious Belshazzar.

The taking of Babylon put an end to the Babylonian empire, after a duration of two hundred and ten years, from the beginning of the reign of Nabonassur. Thus was the power of that proud city brought low just fifty years after she had destroyed the city of Jerusalem and her temple. And herein were accomplished those predictions which the prophets Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Daniel had denounced against her. There is still one more, the most important and the most incredible of them all, and yet the Scripture has set it down in the strongest terms, and marked it out with the greatest exactness; a prediction literally fulfilled in all its points: the proof still actually subsists, is the most easy to be verified, and indeed of a nature not to be contested. What[4] I mean is the prediction of so total and absolute a ruin of Babylon, that not the least remains or traces should be left of it.

In the first place, Babylon ceased to be a royal city, the kings of Persia choosing to reside elsewhere. They delighted more in Susa, Ecbatana, Persepolis, or any other place, and did themselves destroy a great part of Babylon. We are informed by Strabo and Pliny, that the Macedonians, who succeeded the Persians, did not only neglect it, and forbear to embellish it, or even repair it, but that, moreover, they built Seleucia in the neighbourhood, on purpose to draw away its inhabitants, and cause it to be deserted. Nothing can better explain what the prophet had foretold: “It shall not be inhabited.” Its own masters endeavour to make it desolate. The new kings of Persia, who afterwards became masters of Babylon, completed the ruin of it by building Ctesiphon, which carried away all the remainder of the inhabitants; so that from the time the curse was pronounced against that city, it seems as if those very persons who ought to have protected it had become its enemies.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 510.

So much connection is generally placed between some of the prophetic writings of the Bible and the destruction of the city of Babylon, that we have deemed it necessary to quote in the preceding siege considerably from an established historian on that point. But we must remember that the Scriptures, though intended for the blessing of mankind, are Hebrew books, and that the Jews of the time of the Prophets principally adduced, could not be expected to speak otherwise than they have done against their masters the Babylonians. That the ruin of this great city was not so sudden or so complete is proved by its being able to sustain the siege of which we are about to speak.

Babylon endured with great impatience the yoke of the Persians, and made a strong effort to break its chains, in the reign of Darius, son of Hystaspes. After four years of secret necessary preparation, the Babylonians raised the standard of revolt and provisioned their city. In order to economize their food, they adopted the barbarous precaution of exterminating all useless mouths; they strangled both the women and the children, only permitting the citizens to preserve such of their wives as they were most attached to, and a single maid-servant. From the height of their walls, the besieged, proud of the strength of their ramparts and their murderous magazines, insulted the Persians in the most opprobrious manner. During eighteen months, every art of war, with the valour of a warlike nation, were vainly employed against the revolted city. Darius was beginning to despair of success, when Zopyrus, one of the greatest nobles of Persia, presented himself before him, covered with blood, and with his nose and ears cut off. “Who has treated you thus?” exclaimed the king. “Yourself, my lord,” replied Zopyrus, “and my desire to serve you.” He then explained his design to him, and the plan he had formed to deliver up Babylon to him. Filled with surprise and admiration, Darius gave him liberty to pursue his own course, with a promise to second him. Zopyrus proceeded towards the city, and, on gaining the walls, entreated refuge for one of the victims of the cruelty of Darius, exhibited his wounds, and solicited permission to avenge himself upon an enemy with whose designs he was fully acquainted. His blood and his wounds removed all suspicion; the citizens confided in his word, his courage, and what he termed his misfortunes, and they put him in command of as many troops as he demanded. In the first sortie, he and his band killed a thousand Persians; some days after, two thousand; a third, four thousand strewed the field of battle. Babylon resounded with the praises of Zopyrus; he was termed the preserver of the city. He was made generalissimo of the troops, and the guarding of the walls was intrusted to him. At the time agreed upon, Darius drew close to Babylon; the faithful Zopyrus opened its gates to his master, and placed in his hands a city which he might never have obtained by famine or force. The king loaded Zopyrus with honours, and gave him, for life, the revenue of the city his stratagem had been the means of subduing. When contemplating the physical deficiencies his devotion had created, the grateful monarch was accustomed to say he would rather miss the taking of ten Babylons than permit so faithful a servant to mutilate himself in that manner. In order to prevent similar revolts, great part of the walls were destroyed, and the hundred gates were removed.

Of the importance Babylon retained nearly two hundred years after the above event, we may judge by the splendour of Alexander’s triumphal entrance into that city. Babylon was given up to the Macedonian conqueror immediately after the battle of Arbela, without the trouble of drawing a sword. The reputation of his victories gained him many such bloodless conquests. As it is not a siege, it does not come within our plan to relate more concerning the surrender of this city; but we are sure our younger readers will excuse our departure from our course, to describe the above-named triumph.

Alexander entered the city at the head of his whole army, as if he had been marching to a battle. The walls of Babylon were lined with people, notwithstanding the greatest part of the citizens were gone out to meet him, from the impatience they had to see their new sovereign, whose renown had outstripped his march. Bazophanes, governor of the fortress and guardian of the treasures, strewed the streets with flowers, and raised on both sides of the way silver altars, which smoked not only with frankincense, but the most fragrant perfumes of every kind. Last of all came the presents which were to be made to the king; consisting of herds of cattle, a great many horses, with lions and panthers in iron cages. After these the Magi walked, singing hymns in the manner of their country; then the Chaldeans, accompanied by Babylonian soothsayers and musicians; the latter being accustomed to sing the praises of their kings to their instruments, and the Chaldeans to observe the motions of the planets and the vicissitudes of the seasons. The rear was brought up by the Babylonish cavalry, of which both men and horses were so sumptuous that imagination can scarcely conceive their magnificence. The king commanded the people to walk after his infantry, whilst he, surrounded by his guards, and seated on a chariot, entered the city, and rode to the palace in a kind of triumph. The next day he took a view of all Darius’s money and moveables, and divided the immense wealth he found, with a liberal hand, amongst his army; both leaders and the meanest foot-soldiers shared in the rich prize, which only made them the more anxious to follow their great captain to new conquests.

Of the nearly fatal effects of the luxury of Babylon upon Alexander and his army it is not our province to speak.

CORIOLI.

A.C. 493.

Although we cannot undertake to notice every siege of the cities of Italy which assisted the regular but rapid rise of the Roman power, we shall make it a point not to pass by such as have any interesting association attached to them; and what English youth, with a Shakespeare in his father’s library, is not familiar with Coriolanus in Corioli?

The Volscians tormented the Romans by continual attacks. In order to punish them, the siege of Corioli was resolved upon. It was one of their strongest places. In a sortie, the besiegers repulsed the Romans, and drove them back to their own camp. Furious at such a defeat, Marcius, a young patrician, with a handful of brave companions, returned to the charge, made the Volscians give way in their turn, penetrated with them into the city, and gave it up to pillage. That was the age when military talents were sure of their reward. After the taking of the city, the consul Cominius, before the whole army, ordered Caius Marcius to take a tenth of the booty, before any division was made of the rest, besides presenting him with a fine horse and noble trappings as a reward for his valour. The army expressed their approval of this by their acclamations; but Marcius, stepping forward, said, “That he accepted of the horse, and was happy in the consul’s approbation; but as for the rest, he considered it rather as a pecuniary reward than as a mark of honour, and therefore desired to be excused receiving it, as he was quite satisfied with his proper share of the booty. One favour only in particular I desire,” continued he, “and I beg I may be indulged in it. I have a friend among the Volscians, bound with me in the sacred rites of hospitality, who is a man of virtue and honour. He is now among the prisoners, and from easy and opulent circumstances is reduced to servitude. Of the many misfortunes under which he labours, I should be glad to rescue him from one, which is that of being sold for a slave.” His request, of course, was granted, and his friend was liberated. Here we cannot refrain from noting an error in one whom it is our pride to think almost faultless. Whilst giving one of the most faithful delineations of an historical character in Coriolanus that ever was exhibited on a stage, Shakespeare makes him say, when asked for the name of the friend he wished to serve,--

“By Jupiter, forgot.-- I am weary; yea, my memory is tired.-- Have we no wine here?”

Now, this is not Coriolanus, nor consistent with the hero, who did not forget gratitude in the hour of triumph: he who remembered the friend would not have forgotten his name so lightly. We have seen John Kemble, as he pitched his shield to his armourer, produce great effect by this little speech; but stage effect is a poor compensation for the violation of truth of character.

VEII.

A.C. 371.

The Veientes were the most powerful of the twelve peoples who inhabited Etruria. Their capital, Veii, situated on a steep rock, was only twelve miles from Rome; and the inhabitants were, for more than three hundred and fifty years, the most persevering enemies of the growing republic.

The Romans, tired of seeing their projects constantly thwarted by the Veientes, declared war against them, after a truce of twenty years; and in order the better to carry out that great design, resolved to lay siege to their capital. Situated upon a steep rock, abundantly provided with everything, famine alone could reduce it. The task was a long one, but it did not terrify the Romans. It became necessary to defend the soldier from the rigours of winter, and tents made of skins were erected, which proved as good as houses to them. This being an innovation, the tribunes of the people opposed it strongly, but a check soon silenced their vain clamours. The Veientes, in a sortie, took the besiegers by surprise, burnt their machines, and destroyed most of their works. All orders of the Romans swore not to leave the camp till the city was taken. The horsemen, whom the republic was bound to supply with horses, offered to find them at their own expense. The senate, only anxious for the glory and interest of the state, charmed with this unanimous zeal, assigned for the first time a pay to the horsemen, and to all the volunteers who would repair to the siege. The works were quickly re-established, with the addition of much more considerable new ones. Rome was beginning to look for the most favourable results, when the hatred of the military tribunes, L. Virginius and M. Sergius, who commanded the army, almost annihilated their hopes. The Capenates and the Falerii, neighbours of the Veientes, armed secretly, and surprised and attacked the camp of the Romans. The two tribunes carried their quarrel so far as to separate and divide the army into two parts. Whilst in this state, the enemy fell upon Sergius. The besieged, in concert with them, made a sortie and attacked him on their side. The astonished Romans fought feebly, and soon sought safety in flight. All were in disorder, and the rout became general. Virginius might have saved his colleague, but he preferred enjoying the spectacle of his defeat. The exasperated senate obliged them both to abdicate their commands; they were brought to trial, and very heavily fined for so great a crime. The Falerii returned to the charge, but they were repulsed with great loss. In the mean time, the siege did not advance, and the efforts of the Roman armies terminated in ravaging the lands of their enemies. The following year, the war was still more unsuccessful. Under vain pretences of religion, the military tribunes, with whom the Romans were dissatisfied, were deposed, and a dictator was chosen, as was the custom on all the pressing emergencies of the republic. M. Furius Camillus, whose rare valour and high capacity had been displayed more than once in command, was raised to this supreme dignity. The presence of this great man soon restored the military discipline, which had been weakened by the disunion of the leaders, and brought good fortune back to the standards of Rome. The city was pressed more closely, and the forts which the besieged had destroyed were reconstructed. Camillus defeated the Falerii and the Capenates, and after that victory, he pushed on the attack with additional ardour. At length, despairing of succeeding by force, he had recourse to sapping and mining. His soldiers, by dint of hard labour, opened for themselves a subterraneous passage into the castle; thence, dispersing themselves about the city, whilst the general amused the besieged by an assault, some charged those who defended the walls, whilst others broke down the gates, and let the army into the place in crowds. The terrified citizens knew not which way to fly; all issues were occupied by their enemies. Some were crushed beneath the ruins of the houses, others were consumed by the flames; the image of death was everywhere. The furious soldiery immolated all that came in their way; nothing was heard but cries and lamentations. The dictator put an end to the carnage, and disarmed the prisoners, but in accordance with his promise, gave the city up to the pillage of his victorious troops. The republic received the news of this victory with transports of the liveliest joy, and all orders of the state vied with each other in doing honour to the triumph of Camillus.--And yet they afterwards banished him.

FALERII.

A.C. 394.

The Romans and the Falerii were at war. Camillus being named dictator, attacked these people and besieged their capital. Before the circumvallation of the place was completed, a schoolmaster came out of the city and placed all his pupils in the hands of the Romans, as the readiest means of inducing the inhabitants to surrender. The indignant dictator ordered the perfidious master to be stripped, had his hands tied behind him, and, arming the boys with rods, commanded them to flog the treacherous pedagogue back to the city. Plutarch says that Camillus was much shocked at this action of the schoolmaster, and said to those around them,--“War at best is a savage thing, and wades through a sea of violence and injustice; yet even war itself has its laws, which men of honour will not depart from; nor do they pursue victory so as to avail themselves of acts of villany and baseness. A great general should rely upon his own virtue, and not upon the treachery of others.”

It is said that the magistrates of the place were so affected by the magnanimity of the dictator, that they brought him the keys of the city.

PLATÆÆ.

A.C. 431.

When we compare the intestine wars of the Greeks with the sweeping conquests of the East, we are struck with the vast disproportion in the numbers of combatants engaged, and we are brought to the conviction that acts of heroism, devotedness, and patriotism seem more common and more brilliant where men are but few, than when they are in great masses. The siege of Platææ was carried on on both sides by such a small number of combatants, that the issue might be supposed to have but very little interest; and yet, what a charm there is about everything that relates to Greece! Its feuds are the most important wars in history; its warriors and statesmen the most renowned in the universe, although the territories in question would not equal in revenue those of great English nobles or millionnaires, and the men in fact were not above influential burgesses.

The Peloponnesian war began by the Thebans attacking Platææ, a city of Bœotia, in alliance with the Athenians. Some traitors opened the gates to them. The citizens of Platææ, attacking them in the night, killed them all, with the exception of two hundred whom they made prisoners. The Athenians being informed of what had taken place at Platææ, immediately sent thither both men and provisions. Two or three years after, the Lacedæmonians laid siege to Platææ, under the command of Archidamus, their king. He began by inclosing the city within a circumvallation formed of great trees, the branches of which were intertwined; then he erected a platform or cavalier to arrange his batteries on, in the hope of soon carrying the place, on account of the small number of the besieged. They were but four hundred, but all determined to die rather than submit to the law of a conqueror. When the Platæans saw the enormous lines begin to rise, they built up a wall of wood upon the top of the walls of the city opposite the platform, in order to maintain a superiority over the besiegers. The crevices in this wall were filled up with wood and bricks taken from the demolition of the neighbouring houses; then they mined the platform. The Lacedæmonians, perceiving this, abandoned that project, and contented themselves with constructing another rampart in the form of a crescent, to serve as a retreat when the first wall should be forced, and to oblige the enemy to undertake a second labour. The besiegers having set up their machines, gave a violent shock to the fortifications. The Platæans used every exertion to weaken the effect of these batteries: they broke the stroke of the ram with cords, which turned aside the blow by seizing the ram by the head and throwing it up by main strength. They made use, likewise, of another artifice,--fastening by the two ends a huge beam with long iron chains which were fixed to two large pieces of wood, which extended on one side and were supported upon the wall; when the machine began to play, they raised this beam, and letting it fall crosswise upon the point of the ram, it broke its force and rendered it harmless. At length the Lacedæmonians, astonished at such a resistance, despaired of forcing the place, and, after having vainly attempted to set fire to it, they converted the siege into a blockade, and surrounded the city with a wall of brick, covered both within and without by a deep ditch, and strengthened at regular distances with high and well-defended towers. During the winter, the besieged, seeing no hopes of succour and being short of provisions, formed the resolution of cutting their way through the enemy’s troops; but half of them, confounded at the extent of the peril, lost courage at the moment of undertaking it. The rest, amounting to two hundred and eighty soldiers, persisted in their design, and had the good fortune to succeed. These intrepid warriors commenced by ascertaining the height of the walls by counting the rows of bricks, which was done at several times and by various persons, to avoid mistake; they then made their ladders in proportion. All precautionary measures being taken, the besieged chose a dark, stormy, and rainy night for their attempt. After having passed the first ditch, they drew near the walls without being discovered. They marched at a short distance from each other, to avoid the clashing of their arms, which were very light, in order to allow them to be more active; and they only wore one shoe, to prevent their slipping in the mud. A great number of them succeeded in mounting the wall, armed only with a cuirass and dagger, but as they were advancing toward the towers, a tile which one of them accidentally threw down, betrayed them. A loud cry was immediately given from the tops of the towers, and the whole camp rushed towards the walls, ignorant, from the darkness of the night, of what could be the matter. Those who remained in the city gave an alarm in another direction, to create a diversion; so that the enemy, in doubt, knew not which way to take. They, however, lighted torches on the side towards Thebes, to show that the danger was in that direction. The inhabitants, to render this signal useless, lighted others at the same time in various places. The Platæans who were upon the walls got possession of the two towers, defended the approach to them with arrows and darts, and thus favoured the passage of their companions. They descended the last, and hastened to the ditch, to pass as the others had done. At this moment, a body of three hundred men came out to meet them. The bold fugitives contrived to elude them, and even killed several: they all reached Athens in safety, with the exception of one archer, who was taken at the side of the ditch. Those who were left in the city defended themselves for a considerable time with courage; but at length, after having endured all the evils of a long siege, exhausted rather than vanquished, they surrendered at discretion. They were slaughtered without pity, and their wives were reduced to slavery. The following year, the city was completely razed to the ground.

BYBLOS.

A.C. 454.

We should have passed by this siege as unimportant, had we not been struck by the great disproportion of the parties engaged, and consequently, by the fact of the superiority of a few brave well-disciplined troops over an unmanageable multitude.

Inarus, a prince of Libya, favoured by the Athenians, proclaimed himself king of Egypt, at the time that country was under the subjection of Artaxerxes Longimanus, king of Persia. Irritated at the revolt, Artaxerxes sent three hundred thousand men to quell it. He gave the command of this army to Megabyzus. Inarus could not resist such an inundation, and he at once abandoned Egypt and shut himself up, with a few of his countrymen and six thousand Athenians, in Byblos, a city of the isle of Prosopitis. This city, surrounded by the waters of the Nile, was constantly revictualled by the Athenians, and for a year and a half the Persians made useless efforts to gain possession of it. Tired of such protracted labours, the Persians formed the plan of turning, by numerous cuttings, the arm of the Nile in which the Athenian fleet lay. They succeeded; and Inarus, terrified at the probable consequences, surrendered upon composition; but the bold bearing of the Athenians, their admirable discipline, and the order of their battalions, made the host of Persians afraid to attack them. They were offered an honourable capitulation; they accepted it, gave up Byblos, and returned to Greece, proud of having been thought invincible by a multitude of barbarians.

ATHENS.

A.C. 480.

During the invasion of Xerxes, all the Grecian cities in his passage were subdued or felt the disastrous effects of his vengeance. The Athenians, too proud to submit, and too weak to defend themselves alone by land, sent to consult the oracle at Delphi. The god replied: “It is only within walls of wood the city will find safety.” Themistocles persuaded the people that Apollo ordered them to instantly quit their city, and embark on board a good fleet, after having provided places of security for their wives and children. In consequence of this advice, they embarked, after having sent their aged, their women, and their children, to Trozene, in the Peloponnesus. We cannot imagine a more affecting spectacle than the departure of this fleet; the unfortunate inhabitants kept their eyes, bathed in tears, fixed upon their abandoned homes till distance or darkness rendered them invisible. The very animals shared the common grief, running along the shore, and seeming to call back their masters by their cries. It is said that a dog belonging to Xantippus, the father of Pericles, threw himself into the sea, and swam by the side of his vessel till it reached Salamis, where it sunk exhausted upon the beach and died. This imaginative people erected a monument to this faithful dog, called “The Grave of the Dog.” In the mean time, the Persian army entered Athens, forced the citadel, defended to the last by a small number of self-devoted men, and reduced the superb city to ashes.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 404.

After the battle of Platææ, the citizens of Athens returned to their country, and built a superb city upon the ruins of the ancient one. By recovering its splendour, it attracted the jealousy of its rival Sparta, the capital of Lacedæmonia. This was the commencement of the famous Peloponnesian war. In the twenty-ninth year of this war, Lysander, having conquered the Athenians at Ægospotamos, marched directly against Athens. Though without vessels, without provisions, without hope, the Athenians defended themselves for eight months, and then surrendered, conquered alone by famine. The Spartans disgraced themselves by destroying the walls of the first city of Greece to the sound of musical instruments; and they established a government of thirty tyrants, in order to subdue the spirit of the unfortunate inhabitants.

This servitude did not last long; Athens was delivered from the yoke of the Thirty, by means of five hundred soldiers, raised by a simple Syracusan orator, named Lysias, out of veneration for the common country of eloquence. The expulsion of the thirty tyrants took place the same year that the kings were expelled from Rome.

After being opposed strongly to Philip, and submissive to Alexander, Athens was taken successively by his successors, Antipater, Demetrius, and Antigonus; its wealth being a rich bait for these captains, whose vanity was continually wounded by the haughtiness of the city, which gave rise to aggressions often but little merited.

THIRD SIEGE, A.C. 87.

Archelaus, a general of Mithridates, king of Pontus, entered Athens by means of a sophist named Aristion, to whom he gave the principal authority of the place. The Athenians claimed the assistance of the Romans, and Sylla took the matter upon his own hands.

Upon Sylla’s arrival in Greece, all the cities opened their gates to him, with the exception of Athens, which, subject to Aristion, was obliged unwillingly to oppose him. When the Roman general entered Attica, he divided his forces into two bodies, the one of which he sent to besiege Aristion, in the city of Athens, and with the other he marched in person to the port Piræus, which was a kind of second city, where Archelaus had shut himself up, relying upon the strength of the place, the walls being sixty feet high, and all of hewn stone. This had been the work of Pericles, during the Peloponnesian war.

The height of the walls did not amaze Sylla. He employed all kinds of engines in battering them, and made continual assaults. If he would have waited a little, he might have taken the higher city without striking a blow, for it was reduced to the last extremity by famine; but being in haste to return to Rome, where he apprehended changes might happen in his absence, he spared neither danger, attacks, nor expense, to hasten the conclusion of this war. Without enumerating the rest of the warlike stores and equipage, twenty thousand mules were perpetually employed in working the machines alone. Wood falling short, from the great consumption of it in the machines, which were constantly being broken, in consequence of the vast weight they carried, or burnt by the enemy, he did not spare the sacred groves. He cut down the beautiful avenues of the Academy and the Lycæum, and caused the high walls which joined the port to the city to be demolished, for the sake of the ruins, which were useful to him in the works he was carrying on. Having occasion for a great deal of money, both for the expenses of the war, and as a stimulus to the soldiers, he had recourse to the hitherto inviolable treasures of the temples, and caused the finest and most precious gifts, consecrated at Epidamus and Olympia, to be brought thence. He wrote to the Amphyctions, assembled at Delphi, “That they would act wisely in sending him the treasures of the god, because they would be more secure in his hands; and that if he should be obliged to make use of them, he would return the value after the war.” At the same time he sent one of his friends, named Caphis, a native of Phocis, to Delphi, to receive all those treasures by weight. When Caphis arrived at Delphi, he was afraid, through reverence for the god, to meddle with the consecrated gifts, and bewailed with tears, in the presence of the Amphyctions, the necessity imposed upon him. Upon which some person there having said that he heard the sound of Apollo’s lyre from the interior of the sanctuary, Caphis, whether he really believed it or not, was willing to take advantage of the circumstance to impress Sylla with a religious awe, and wrote him an account of it. Sylla, deriding his simplicity, replied, “That he was surprised he should not comprehend that singing was a sign of joy, and by no means of anger and resentment; and, therefore, he had nothing to do but to take the treasures boldly, and be assured that the god saw him do so with pleasure, and gave them to him himself.” Plutarch, on this occasion, notices the difference between the ancient Roman generals and those of the times we now speak of. The former, whom merit alone had raised to office, and who had no other views from their employments but the public good, knew how to make the soldiers respect and obey them, without descending to use low and unworthy methods for that purpose. They commanded troops that were steady, disciplined, and well enured to execute the orders of their generals, without reply or delay. Truly kings, says Plutarch, in the grandeur and nobility of their sentiments, but simple and modest private persons in their train and equipage, they put the state to no other expense, in the discharge of their offices, than was reasonable and necessary, conceiving it more shameful in a captain to flatter his soldiers than to fear his enemies. Things were much changed in the time we now speak of. The Roman generals, abandoned to insatiable ambition and luxury, were obliged to make themselves slaves to their soldiers, and to buy their services by gifts proportioned to their avidity, and often by the toleration and impunity of the greatest crimes.

Sylla was exceedingly anxious about this siege, and was, as we have said, in great want of money. He was desirous of depriving Mithridates of the only city he held in Greece, which might almost be considered as a key to Asia, whither the Romans were eager to follow the king of Pontus. If he returned to Rome without achieving this conquest, he would find Marius and his faction more formidable than ever. He was besides sensibly galled by the keen raillery which Aristion vented every day against him and his wife Metella.

It is difficult to say whether the attack or defence was conducted with the most vigour; for both sides behaved with incredible courage and firmness. The sallies were frequent, and were, in character, almost battles, in which the slaughter was great, and the loss generally not unequal. The besieged were supported by several seasonable reinforcements by sea.

What did them most damage was the secret treachery of two Athenian slaves, who were in the Piræus. These slaves, whether out of affection for the Roman interest, or desirous of providing for their own safety in case the place were taken, wrote upon leaden balls all that was going forward within, and threw them from slings to the Romans; so that, how prudent soever were the measures adopted by Archelaus, none of them succeeded. He resolved to make a general sally; the traitor slung a leaden ball, inscribed, “To-morrow, at such an hour, the fort will attack your works, and the horse your camp.” Sylla laid ambushes, and repulsed the besieged with loss. A convoy of provisions, sadly wanted, was to be thrown into the city by night; upon advice, conveyed in the same way, the provisions were intercepted.

Notwithstanding all these disappointments, the Athenians defended themselves bravely. They found means either to burn most of the machines erected against their walls, or, by undermining them, to throw them down, and break them to pieces. The Romans, on their side, behaved with no less vigour. By means of mines, they made a way to the bottom of the walls, under which they hollowed the ground; and having propped the foundation with beams of wood, they afterwards set fire to the props, with a great quantity of pitch, sulphur, and tar. When these beams were burnt, part of the wall fell down with a horrible noise, and a large breach was opened, through which the Romans advanced to the assault. This battle was contested with great obstinacy, but at length the Romans were obliged to retire.

The next day they renewed the attack. The besieged had built a fresh wall during the night, in the form of a crescent, in the place of that which had been destroyed, and the Romans found it impossible to force it.

Sylla, discouraged by so obstinate a defence, resolved to make no more assaults, but to take the place by famine. The city, on the other hand, was at the last extremity. A bushel of barley had been sold for a thousand drachmas (about £25 sterling). The inhabitants did not only eat the grass and roots which they found about the citadel, but the flesh of horses, and the leather of their shoes, which they boiled soft. In the midst of the public misery, the tyrant passed his days and nights in revelling. The senators and priests went to throw themselves at his feet, imploring him to have pity on the city, and to obtain a capitulation from Sylla; he had them dispersed with a shower of arrows, and in that brutal manner drove them from his presence.

He did not demand a cessation of arms, or send a deputation to Sylla, till reduced to the last extremity. As those deputies made no proposals, and asked nothing of him to the purpose, but ran on in praise of Theseus, Eumelpus, and the exploits of the Athenians against the Medes, Sylla was annoyed by their discourse, and interrupted them by saying:--“Gentlemen orators, you may go back, and keep your rhetorical flourishes for yourselves; for my part, I was not sent to Athens to be made acquainted with your ancient prowess, but to chastise your modern revolt.”

During this audience, some spies having entered the city by chance, overheard some old men talking in the Ceramicus, and blaming the tyrant exceedingly for not guarding a part of the wall, which was the only place where the enemy might easily take the city by escalade. At their return to the camp, they related what they had heard to Sylla. The parley had been to no purpose. Sylla did not neglect the intelligence given him. The next night he went in person to take a view of the place, and finding the wall actually accessible, he ordered ladders to be raised against it, began the attack there, and having made himself master of the walls, after a weak resistance, he entered the city. He would not suffer it to be set on fire, but abandoned it to be plundered by the soldiers, who in several houses found human flesh, which had been dressed to be eaten. A dreadful slaughter ensued. The following day all the slaves were sold by auction, and liberty was granted to the citizens who had escaped the swords of the soldiers, but their numbers were but few. Sylla at once besieged the citadel, where Aristion, and those who had taken refuge there, were soon so much reduced by famine that they were forced to surrender. The tyrant, his guards, and all who had been in any office under him, were put to death. Some few days after, Sylla made himself master of the Piræus, and burnt all its fortifications, especially the arsenal, which had been built by Philo, the celebrated architect, and was a wonderful fabric. Archelaus, by means of his fleet, had retired to Munichia, another port of Attica. To do this commander justice, he deserved to have conquered, for he had failed in neither courage nor skilful exertions during the siege. With his own hand he set fire to one of the Roman galleries, and destroyed all the machines upon it. On another occasion, his soldiers being repulsed, took to flight, and he in vain endeavoured to rally them. He was soon left so completely alone, that he had to be drawn up the wall by ropes. His bravery formed a strong contrast with the cowardice and infamous debaucheries of Aristion.

Sylla restored the Athenians their liberty, but not that consideration generally the companion of power. During several ages Athens was still considered the common country of tasteful knowledge; people went thither for the purpose of instructing themselves in the arts of thinking and speaking correctly. By degrees her talents were extinguished, and her renown was eclipsed. Succumbing by turn to all the barbarians who invaded the Roman empire, she changed masters as often as she saw enemies at her gates. The Turks destroyed what were left of her splendid edifices. Twice the Venetians paid the honours of a siege to Setine, built upon its ruins. After so much destruction and so many sieges, the traveller can scarcely discover the ruins of Athens upon the soil where formerly stood that celebrated city.

SYRACUSE.

A.C. 414.

Syracuse was the most flourishing republic of Sicily. That powerful, rich, and populous city, situated on the eastern coast of the island, consisted of five quarters, inclosed within strong walls, and fortified with towers; they formed so many places, and presented nearly the figure of a triangle. Towards the sea, the island of Ortygia contained the citadel, and commanded the two ports: it communicated by a bridge with Achradina, the handsomest and the best fortified of all the quarters. Above Achradina was the quarter of Tyche, and that of Neapolis, separated one from the other by a wall, which, advancing in a point towards the west, terminated at a height named Epipolæ. A vast belt of walls inclosed all these quarters: this wall was defended by two forts,--Euryalus and Labdalon.

In the sixteenth year of the Peloponnesian war, the Segestians, oppressed by the Selenartians, came to implore the assistance of Athens. Never had that republic been so powerful. In accordance with the advice of Alcibiades, the people lent a favourable ear to the prayers of the deputies. They equipped a fleet of a hundred and fifty ships, and gave the command of it to Alcibiades, Nicias, and Lamachus. They set sail for Syracuse, entered the principal port during the night, and landed near Olympia without being perceived. The Syracusans, full of confidence and courage, had resolved to defend themselves to the last. The unexpected appearance of the enemy disconcerted them a little, but they soon threw off this first terror, and drew up in battle array beneath their walls. The signal being given, and each party equally in earnest, the conflict was long and obstinate. A storm intimidated the Syracusans; they gave way, and retired into the city, after a spirited resistance. This check seemed only to reanimate their ardour. They repaired and augmented the fortifications, and confided the whole military authority to Hermocrates, a man equally illustrious by his valour and his experience.

The Athenians obtained possession of Epipolæ, in spite of the frequent sorties of the besieged, and surrounded the city with a wall of circumvallation. Nicias, by the recall of Alcibiades and the death of Lamachus, who was killed in an action, found himself without colleagues, and sole master of all the operations. Casting aside his habitual tardiness, he brought his fleet into both the ports, and pressed the siege on with energy by sea and land. Syracuse, thus blockaded, was reduced to the last extremity. The despairing citizens were already thinking of surrendering, when Gylippus, a Lacedæmonian captain, sent to their relief with a good body of troops, made his appearance. Hope was again revived, and, in anticipation, they proclaimed the Spartan the father and liberator of Syracuse. This general did not disappoint the expectations of his allies. He sent word to the Athenians that he allowed them five days to evacuate Sicily. Nicias did not condescend to make any reply to such a message, but some of his soldiers asked the herald whether the appearance of a Lacedæmonian cloak and a miserable stick could change the fortunes of armies. Preparations for battle were made on both sides. Port Labdalon was carried by assault, and all the Athenians who defended it were put to the sword. Every day some skirmish or more serious action occurred, in which Gylippus had always the advantage. Nicias was forced to go into cantonments towards Plemmyrium, in order to protect his baggage and to support his fleet. The Lacedæmonians attacked and carried his forts, and took possession of his baggage, at the same time that the Syracusans obtained a serious advantage over his fleet. Nicias was in a state of perfect consternation; he had informed the Athenians of the miserable state of his army since the landing of the Spartans, and they had promised him succours, but they did not arrive, and his situation became alarming. He was on the point of succumbing to his fate, when an Athenian fleet of seventy-three galleys, commanded by Demosthenes, sailed proudly into port. This general immediately planned and attempted some attacks, but his temerity cost him dear. He lost a great number of soldiers, and quickly destroyed all the hopes his arrival had created; the Athenians were reduced to greater extremities than ever, and they resolved to raise the siege after risking another naval engagement. Victory still was favourable to the besieged, who deprived their enemies of the means of flight even, by blockading their ships in the greater port. They then turned their thoughts to escape by land; but Hermocrates, being informed of their intention, barred every passage: the unfortunate fugitives, having set out on their march in the night-time, fell into ambuscades laid for them in all directions. They defended themselves in a manner worthy of their name, but, overpowered by numbers, fatigue, and hunger, they were forced to surrender at discretion. They were thrown into the public prisons.

The Syracusan people were brutally elated with victory, and sullied their triumph by the cruelty exercised upon the two Athenian leaders, Nicias and Demosthenes. They were sentenced to be flogged with rods, and then to be executed. The wiser and more prudent Syracusans exceedingly disapproved of this severity, and Hermocrates, the general whose prudence, skill, and valour had brought about the happy issue of the contest, remonstrated strongly with the people; but they were too much excited to listen to him, and would not allow him even to finish his speech. And here we meet with one of those incidents which, removed from common occurrence, render the histories of the two great nations of antiquity so delightful. Just as the noisy crowd silenced their victorious general, an ancient Syracusan, venerable for his great age and his respected character, who in the siege had lost two sons, the only heirs of his name and estate, was borne by his servants to the tribunal, and by his appearance at once procured a profound silence. “You here behold,” said he, “an unfortunate father, who has felt, more than any other Syracusan, the fatal effects of this war by the death of two sons, who formed all the consolation and were the only support of my old age. I cannot, indeed, forbear admiring their courage, and rejoicing at their felicity, in sacrificing to their country’s welfare a life of which they would one day have been deprived by the common course of nature; but then I cannot but be strongly affected by the wound which their death has made in my heart, nor forbear hating and detesting the Athenians, the authors of this unhappy war, as the murderers of my children. But, however, I cannot conceal one circumstance, which is, that I am less sensible to my private affliction than to the honour of my country; and I see it ready to expose itself to eternal infamy by the barbarous advice which is now given you. The Athenians, indeed, merit the worst treatment, and every kind of punishment that can be inflicted on them, for so unjustly declaring war against us; but have not the gods, the just avengers of crimes, punished them and avenged us sufficiently? When their generals laid down their arms and surrendered, did they not do this in the confidence of having their lives spared? And if we put them to death, will it be possible for us to avoid the just reproach of having violated the laws of nations, and dishonoured our triumph by the most barbarous cruelty? What! will you suffer your glory to be thus sullied in the face of the whole world, and have it said that a nation who first dedicated a temple in their city to Clemency, found not any in yours? Surely victories and triumphs do not give immortal glory to a city; but the exercising of mercy towards a vanquished enemy, the using of moderation in the greatest prosperity, and, fearing to offend the gods by a haughty and insolent pride. You, doubtless, have not forgotten that this Nicias, whose fate you are going to pronounce, was the very man who pleaded your cause in the assembly of the Athenians, and employed all his credit and the whole power of his eloquence to dissuade his country from embarking in this war. Should you, therefore, pronounce sentence of death upon this worthy general, would it be a just reward for the zeal he showed for your interest? With regard to myself, death would be less grievous to me than the sight of so horrid an injustice committed by my countrymen and fellow-citizens.”

The people seemed moved to compassion by this speech, especially as when the venerable old man first ascended the tribunal, they expected to hear him cry aloud for vengeance on those who had brought his calamities upon him, instead of suing for their pardon. But the enemies of the Athenians having expatiated with vehemence upon the unheard-of cruelties which their republic had exercised upon several cities belonging to their enemies, and even to their ancient allies; the inveteracy which their commanders had shown against Syracuse, and the evils they would have subjected it to had they been victorious; the afflictions and groans of numberless Syracusans who bewailed the death of their children and near relations, whose names could be appeased no other way than by the blood of their murderers: on these representations, the people returned to their sanguinary resolution. Gylippus used his utmost endeavours, but in vain, to have Nicias and Demosthenes delivered up to him, especially as he had taken them, in order to carry them to Lacedæmon. But his demand was rejected with haughty scorn, and the two generals were put to death. Shameful cruelties were likewise inflicted upon the meaner prisoners.

Such was the issue of this improvident war, set on foot by the influence of the restless ambitious Alcibiades. It lasted two years; and Athens had been led to form great hopes from the result of it. There are few characters young readers are more likely to be led astray in than that of Alcibiades. The instances of his spirit, generosity, personal beauty, and above all, his love for his master Socrates, make more impression upon plastic minds, than what is told of almost any other person in history. But, if he had shining qualities, he was deficient in all that were solid, virtuous, and serviceable to the state. He availed himself of his popularity to carry out his ambition; his apparent generosity was selfishness disguised; his courage was always ill-directed; and, whether we consider such a man as a public character or a private citizen, our young readers may depend upon it, it is one of the most dangerous.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 400.

Dionysius, the tyrant of Syracuse, having declared war against the Carthaginians, obtained several victories over them. But this tyrant was soon punished by the siege which Himilco, the Carthaginian general, laid to Syracuse, with a fleet of two hundred vessels, and an army of a hundred thousand foot and three thousand horse. Dionysius was not in a condition to stop the torrent which threatened him with destruction; but pestilence served him more effectually than any number of troops could have done: this army and its generals faded away beneath the awful scourge, as it were instantaneously. The tyrant, taking advantage of the miserable state to which disease had reduced the Carthaginians, attacked them with spirit, defeated them without trouble, took or burnt most of their vessels, and made a vast booty.

THIRD SIEGE, A.C. 212.

In the year 212 before Christ, the Syracusans, excited by seditious magistrates, declared war against Rome, breaking the treaties entered into by Hiero II. and the great republic. The consul Marcellus, being in Sicily, advanced towards Syracuse. When near the city, he sent deputies to inform the inhabitants that he came to restore liberty to Syracuse, and not to make war upon it; but he was refused admission to the city. Hippocrates and Epicydes went out to meet him, and having heard his proposals, replied haughtily, that if the Romans intended to besiege their city, they should soon learn the difference between Syracuse and Leontium. Marcellus then determined to besiege the place,--by land on the side of Hexapylum, and by sea on that of the Achradinæ, the walls of which were washed by the waves. He gave Appius the command of the land forces, and reserved that of the fleet for himself. The fleet consisted of sixty galleys of five benches of oars, filled with soldiers, armed with bows, slings, and darts, to scour the walls. There were a great number of other vessels, laden with all sorts of machines usually employed in the sieges of fortified places. The Romans, carrying on their attacks at two different places, the Syracusans were at first in great consternation, apprehensive that nothing could oppose so terrible a power and such mighty efforts. And it had, indeed, been impossible to resist them, but for the assistance of one single man, whose wonderful genius was everything to the Syracusans: this was Archimedes. He had taken care to supply the walls with all things necessary for a good defence. As soon as his machines began to play on the land side, they discharged upon the infantry all sorts of darts, with stones of enormous weight, which flew with so much noise, force, and rapidity, that nothing could withstand their shock. They beat down and dashed to pieces all before them, and occasioned terrible disorder in the ranks of the besiegers. Marcellus succeeded no better on the side of the sea: Archimedes had disposed his machines in such a manner as to throw darts to any distance. Though the enemy lay far from the city, he reached them by means of his larger and more formidable balistæ and catapultæ. When these overshot their mark, he had smaller, proportioned to the distance, which put the Romans into such confusion as almost paralyzed their efforts. This was not the greatest danger. Archimedes had placed lofty and strong machines behind the walls, which suddenly letting fall vast beams with an immense weight at the end of them upon a ship, sunk it to the bottom. Besides this, he caused an iron grapple to be let out by a chain, and having caught hold of the head of a ship with this hook, by means of a weight let down within the walls, it was lifted up, set upon the stern, and held so for some time; then, by letting go the chain, either by a wheel or a pulley, it was let fall again with its whole weight either on its head or its side, and thus sunk. At other times, the machines, dragging the ship towards the shore, by cordage and hooks, after having made it whirl about a great while, dashed it to pieces against the points of the rocks which projected under the walls. Galleys, frequently seized and suspended in the air, were whirled about with rapidity, exhibiting a dreadful sight to the spectators, after which, they were let fall into the sea, and sunk to the bottom with their crews.

Marcellus had prepared, at great expense, machines called sambucæ, from their resemblance to a musical instrument of that name. He appointed eight galleys of five benches for that purpose, from which the oars were removed, half on the right side and half on the left; these were joined together two-and-two on the sides without oars. This machine consisted of a ladder of the breadth of four feet, which, when erect, was of equal height with the walls. It was laid at length upon the sides of the two galleys joined together, and extended considerably beyond their beaks: upon the masts of these vessels were affixed pulleys and cords. When set to work, the cords were made fast to the extremity of the machine, and men upon the stern drew it up by pulleys; others at the head assisting in raising it with levers. The galleys afterwards being brought forward to the foot of the walls, the machines were applied to them. The bridge of the sambuca was then let down, no doubt after the manner of a drawbridge, upon which the besiegers passed to the walls of the place besieged. This machine had not the expected effect. Whilst it was at a considerable distance from the walls, Archimedes discharged a vast stone upon it, weighing ten quintals,[5] then a second, and immediately after a third, all of which, striking against it with dreadful force and noise, beat down and broke its supports, and gave the galleys upon which it stood such a shock, that they parted from each other. Marcellus, almost discouraged and at a loss what to do, retired as fast as possible with his galleys, and sent orders to the land forces to do the same. He called also a council of war, in which it was resolved, the next day before dawn, to endeavour to approach close to the walls. They were in hopes, by this means, to shelter themselves from the machines, which, for want of a distance proportioned to their force, would be rendered ineffectual. But Archimedes had provided against all contingencies. He had prepared machines long before, that carried to all distances a proportionate number of darts and ends of beams, which being very short, required less time for preparing them, and in consequence, were more frequently discharged. He had besides made small chasms or loopholes in the walls, at little distances, where he had placed scorpions,[6] which, not carrying far, wounded those who approached, without being perceived but by their effect. When the Romans had gained the foot of the walls, and thought themselves very well covered, they found they were exposed to an infinite number of darts, or overwhelmed with stones, which fell directly upon their heads, there being no part of the wall which did not continually pour that mortal hail upon them. This obliged them to retire. But they were no sooner removed to some distance, than a new discharge of darts overtook them in their retreat, so that they lost great numbers of men, and almost all their galleys were disabled or beaten to pieces, without being able to revenge their loss upon their enemies, for Archimedes had placed most of his machines in security behind the walls; so that the Romans, says Plutarch, repulsed by an infinity of wounds, without seeing the place or hand from which they came, seemed to fight in reality against the gods.

Marcellus, though at a loss what to do, and not knowing how to oppose the machines of Archimedes, could not forbear, however, jesting upon them. “Shall we persist,” said he, to his workmen and engineers, “in making war with this Briareus of a geometrician, who treats my galleys and sambucæ so rudely? He infinitely exceeds the fabled giants with their hundred hands, in his perpetual and surprising discharge upon us.” Marcellus had reason for complaining of Archimedes alone; for the Syracusans were really no more than members of the engines and machines of that great geometrician, who was himself the soul of all their powers and operations. All other arms were unemployed; for the city at that time made use of none, either offensive or defensive, but those of Archimedes. Marcellus, at length observing the Romans to be so much intimidated, that if they saw upon the walls a small cord only or the least piece of wood, they would immediately fly, crying out that Archimedes was going to discharge some dreadful machine upon them, renounced his hopes of being able to make a breach in the walls, gave over his attacks, and turned the siege into a blockade. The Romans perceived that they had no other resource but to reduce the great number of people in the city by famine, and that they must stop every supply, both by sea and land. During the eight months in which they besieged the city, there was no kind of stratagem they did not invent, nor any act of valour they left untried, except, indeed, the assault, which they never ventured to attempt again. So much power has sometimes a single man, or a single science, when rightly applied. Deprive Syracuse of only one old man,--the great strength of the Roman arms must inevitably take the city: his sole presence checks and disconcerts all their designs. We here see what cannot be repeated too often,--how much interest princes have in protecting arts, favouring the learned, or encouraging science by honourable distinctions and actual rewards, which never ruin or impoverish a state. We say nothing in this place of the birth or nobility of Archimedes; he was not indebted to them for the happiness of his genius and profound knowledge; we consider him only as a learned man, and an excellent geometrician. What a loss would Syracuse have sustained, if, to have saved a small expense and pension, such a man had been abandoned to inaction and obscurity! Hiero was careful not to act in this manner. He knew all the value of our geometrician; and it is no vulgar merit in a prince to understand that of other men. He paid it due honour; he made it useful, and did not stay till occasion or necessity obliged him to do so: it would then have been too late. By a wise foresight, the true character of a great prince and a great minister, in the very arms of peace he provided all that was necessary for supporting a siege, and making war with success, though at that time there was no appearance of anything to be apprehended from the Romans, with whom Syracuse was allied in the strictest friendship. Hence were seen to arise in an instant, as out of the earth, an incredible number of machines of every kind and size, the very sight of which was sufficient to strike armies with terror and confusion. There are amongst those machines some of which we can scarcely conceive the effects, and the reality of which we might be tempted to call in question, if it were allowable to doubt the evidence of writers, such, for instance, as Polybius, an almost contemporary author, who treated of facts entirely recent, and such as were well known to all the world. But how can we refuse to give credit to the uniform consent of Greek and Roman historians, whether friends or enemies, with regard to circumstances of which whole armies were witnesses and experienced the effects, and which had so great an influence on the events of the war? What passed in this siege of Syracuse shows how far the ancients had carried their genius and art in besieging and in supporting sieges. Our artillery, which so perfectly imitates thunder, has not more effect than the machines of Archimedes had, if indeed it has so much. A burning glass is spoken of, by the means of which Archimedes is said to have burnt part of the Roman fleet. That must have been an extraordinary invention; but, as no ancient author mentions it, it is no doubt a modern tradition without foundation. Burning-glasses were known to antiquity, but not of that kind.[7]

After Marcellus had resolved to confine himself to the blockade of Syracuse, he left Appius before the place with two-thirds of his army, advanced with the other into the island, and brought over some cities to the Roman interest. At the same time, Himilco, general of the Carthaginians, arrived in Sicily with a great army, in hopes of reconquering it, and expelling the Romans. Hippocrates left Syracuse with ten thousand foot and five hundred horse to join him, and carry on the war in concert against Marcellus; Epicydes remained in the city, to command there during the blockade. The fleets of the two states appeared at the same time on the coasts of Sicily; but that of the Carthaginians, seeing: itself weaker than the other, was afraid to venture a battle, and soon sailed back to Carthage. Marcellus had continued eight months before Syracuse with Appius, according to Polybius, when the year of his consulship expired.

Marcellus employed a part of the second year of the siege in several expeditions in Sicily. On his return from Agrigentum, upon which he had made an ineffectual attempt, he came up with the army of Hippocrates, which he defeated, killing above eight thousand men. This advantage kept those on their duty who had entertained thoughts of going over to the Carthaginians. After this victory, he turned his attention again towards Syracuse; and having sent off Appius to Rome, who went thither to demand the consulship, he put Q. Crispinus in his place.

In the beginning of the third campaign, Marcellus, almost absolutely despairing of being able to take Syracuse by force, because Archimedes continually opposed him with invincible obstacles, or by famine, because the Carthaginian fleet, which was returned more numerous than before, easily threw in convoys, deliberated whether he should remain before Syracuse, or direct his endeavours against Agrigentum. But before he came to a final determination, he thought it proper to try whether he could not make himself master of Syracuse by some secret intelligence. There were many Syracusans in his camp, who had taken refuge there in the beginning of the troubles. A slave of one of these secretly carried on an intrigue in which four score of the principal persons were concerned, who came in companies to consult with him in the camp, concealed in barks, under the nets of fishermen. The conspiracy was on the point of taking effect, when a person named Attalus, through resentment for not having been admitted into it, discovered the whole to Epicydes, who put all the conspirators to death.

This enterprise having thus miscarried, Marcellus found himself in new difficulties. He was filled with grief and shame at the idea of raising a siege which had consumed so much time, and cost the republic so many men and ships. An accident, however, supplied him with a resource, and gave a new life to his hopes. Some Roman vessels had taken one Dæmippus, whom Epicydes had sent to negotiate with Philip, king of Macedon. The Syracusans expressed a great desire to ransom this man, and Marcellus was not averse to it. A place near the port of Trozilus was fixed upon for the conference regarding the amount. As the deputies went thither several times, it came into the mind of a Roman soldier who accompanied them to consider the wall with great attention. After having counted the stones, and examined the measure of each of them, upon a calculation of the height of the wall, he found it to be much lower than it was accounted, and concluded that with ladders of a moderate length it might be easily scaled. Without loss of time, he communicated this to Marcellus, who knew that the general is not always the only shrewd man in an army, and, taking his advice, assured himself, with his own eyes, of the fact. Having caused ladders to be prepared, he took the opportunity of a festival that the Syracusans celebrated for three days in honour of Diana, during which the inhabitants gave themselves up entirely to rejoicings and banquets. At the time of night when he conceived they would be heavy and sleepy after their debauch, he ordered a thousand chosen troops to advance with their ladders towards the wall. When the first had got to the top without disturbing the watch, others followed, encouraged by the boldness and success of their leaders. The Syracusans proved to be either drunk or asleep, and the thousand soldiers soon scaled the wall. Having thrown down the gate of the Hexapylum, they took possession of the quarter of the city called Epipolæ. It then became no longer time to deceive but to terrify the people. The Syracusans, awakened by the noise, began to rouse themselves and prepare for action. Marcellus ordered all his trumpets to be sounded at once, which so alarmed them that the inhabitants took to flight, believing every quarter of the city to be in the hands of the enemy. The strongest and the best part, however, called Achradina, was not yet taken, being separated by its walls from the rest of the city. Marcellus, at daybreak, entered the new city by the quarter called Tyche. Epicydes, having hastily drawn up some troops, which he had in the isle adjoining Achradina, marched against Marcellus; but finding him stronger than he expected, after a slight skirmish, he fell back, and shut himself up in Achradina. All the Roman captains and officers crowded around Marcellus, to congratulate him upon his success. As to himself, when he had, from an eminence, considered the loftiness, beauty, and extent of the city, he is said to have shed tears, and to have deplored the unhappy condition it was about to experience. He called to mind the two powerful Athenian fleets which had formerly been sunk before this city, and the two numerous armies cut to pieces with the illustrious generals who commanded them: the many wars sustained with so much valour against the Carthaginians; the many tyrants and potent kings, Hiero particularly, whose memory was still recent, who had signalized himself by so many royal virtues, and, still more, by the important services he had rendered the Roman people, whose interests had always been as dear to him as his own. Moved by that reflection, he deemed it incumbent upon him, before he attacked Achradina, to send to the besieged to exhort them to surrender voluntarily, and prevent the ruin of their city. His remonstrances and exhortations had no effect.

To prevent being harassed in his rear, he first attacked a fort called Euryclus, which lay at the bottom of the new town, and commanded the whole country on the land side. After having carried it, and placed therein a strong garrison, he gave all his attention to Achradina. During these proceedings, Hippocrates and Himilco arrived. The first, with the Sicilians, having placed and fortified his camp near the great harbour, and given the signal to those who were in Achradina, attacked the old Roman camp, in which Crispinus commanded; Epicydes at the same time made a sally upon the posts of Marcellus. Neither of these enterprises was successful. Hippocrates was vigorously repulsed by Crispinus, who pursued him to his intrenchments, and Marcellus obliged Epicydes to shut himself up in Achradina. Being autumn, a plague incidental to the season killed a great many of the inhabitants of the city, and was even more destructive in the Roman and Carthaginian camps. The distemper was not severe at first, but the communication with the infected, and even the care taken of them, served to spread the contagion. Death, and the spectacle of interment, continually presented mournful objects to the eyes of the living: nothing was heard, night or day, but groans and lamentations. At length, the being accustomed to the evil had hardened their hearts to such a degree, that they not only ceased to grieve for the dead, but even neglected to bury them. Nothing was to be seen but dead bodies, by the eyes of those who hourly expected to be the same. The Carthaginians suffered more than either the Romans or Syracusans. Having no place to retire to, their generals, Hippocrates and Himilco, both perished, with almost all their troops. Marcellus, from the first breaking out of the disease, brought his troops into the city, where the roofs and shade were of great service to them; but, notwithstanding, he lost no inconsiderable number of his men.

In the mean time, Bomilcar, who commanded the Carthaginian fleet, and had made a second voyage to Carthage, to bring a new supply, returned with a hundred and thirty ships and seven hundred transports. He was prevented by contrary winds from doubling the Cape of Pachynus. Epicydes, who was afraid that if these winds continued, this fleet might be discouraged, and return to Africa, left Achradina to the care of the generals of the mercenary troops, and went to Bomilcar, whom he persuaded to try the event of a naval battle, as soon as the weather would permit. Marcellus, seeing that the troops of the Sicilians increased every day, and that if he stayed and suffered himself to be shut up in Syracuse, he should be pressed by sea and land, resolved, though not so strong in ships, to oppose the passage of the Carthaginian fleet. As soon as the high winds abated, Bomilcar stood out to sea, in order to double the cape; but when he saw the Roman ships advancing in good order, on a sudden, on what account is not known, he took to flight, sent orders to the transports to return to Africa, and sought refuge himself in Tarentum. Epicydes, completely disappointed in his great hopes, and apprehensive of returning into a city already half-taken, made all sail for Agrigentum, rather with the design of awaiting the event of the siege than of making any new attempt from that point. When it became known in the camp of the Sicilians that Epicydes had quitted Syracuse, and the Carthaginians Sicily, they sent deputies to Marcellus, after having sounded the disposition of the besieged, to treat upon the conditions on which Syracuse should surrender. It was agreed with unanimity enough on both sides, that what had appertained to the kings should belong to the Romans, and that the Sicilians should retain all the rest, with their laws and liberty. After these preliminaries, they demanded a conference with those to whom Epicydes had intrusted the government in his absence. They told them they had been sent by the army to Marcellus and the inhabitants of Syracuse, in order that all the Sicilians, as well within as without the city, might have the same fate, and that no separate convention might be made. Having been permitted to enter the city and confer with their friends and relations, after having informed them of what they had already agreed with Marcellus, and giving them assurances that their lives would be safe, they persuaded them to begin by removing the three governors Epicydes had left in his place, which was immediately put in execution. After this, having assembled the people, they represented that if the Romans had undertaken the siege of Syracuse, it was out of affection, not enmity, to the Syracusans; that it was not till after they had been apprised of the oppression they suffered from Hippocrates and Epicydes, those ambitious agents of Hannibal, and afterwards of Hieronymus, that they had taken arms, and begun the siege of the city, not to ruin it, but to destroy its tyrants; that, as Hippocrates was dead, Epicydes no longer in Syracuse, his lieutenants were slain, and the Carthaginians dispossessed of Sicily, both by sea and land, what reason could the Romans now have for not inclining as much to preserve Syracuse, as if Hiero, the sole example of fidelity towards them, were still alive? That neither the city nor the inhabitants had anything to fear but from themselves, if they let slip the occasion for renewing their amity with the Romans; that they never had so favourable an opportunity as the present, when they were just delivered from the violent government of their tyrants; and that the first use they ought to make of their liberty was to return to their duty.

This discourse was perfectly well received by everybody. It was, however, judged proper to create new magistrates before the nomination of deputies; the latter of whom were chosen from the former. The deputy who spoke in their name, and was instructed solely to use the utmost endeavours that Syracuse might not be destroyed, addressed himself to Marcellus, in a long but sensible speech, laying the whole blame of the war upon Hippocrates and Epicydes. “For the rest,” said he, still continuing to address Marcellus, “your interest is as much concerned as ours. The gods have granted you the glory of having taken the finest and most illustrious city possessed by the Greeks. All we have ever achieved worthy of being recorded, either by sea or land, augments and adorns your triumph. Fame is not a sufficiently faithful chronicler to make known the greatness and strength of the city you have taken; posterity can only judge of these by its own eyes. It is necessary that we should be able to show to all travellers, from whatever part of the universe they come, sometimes the trophies we have obtained from the Athenians and Carthaginians, and sometimes those you have acquired from us; and that Syracuse, thus placed for ever under the protection of Marcellus, may be a lasting and an eternal monument of the valour and clemency of him who took and preserved it. It is unjust that the remembrance of Hieronymus should have more weight with you than that of Hiero. The latter was much longer your friend than the former your enemy. Permit me to say, you have experienced the good effects of the amity of Hiero, but the senseless enterprises of Hieronymus have fallen solely upon his own head.” The difficulty was not to obtain what they demanded from Marcellus, but to preserve tranquillity and union amongst those in the city. The deserters, convinced that they should be delivered up to the Romans, inspired the foreign soldiers with the same fear. Both the one and the other having, therefore, taken arms whilst the deputies were still in the camp of Marcellus, they began by cutting the throats of the newly-elected magistrates, and, dispersing themselves on all sides, they put to the sword all they met, and plundered whatever fell in their way. That they might not be without leaders, they appointed six officers; three to command in Achradina and three in the Isle. The tumult being at length appeased, the foreign troops were informed, from all hands, that it was concluded with the Romans that their cause should be entirely distinct from that of the deserters. At the same instant, the deputies who had been sent to Marcellus arrived, and fully undeceived them. Amongst those who commanded in the Isle, there was a Spaniard, named Mericus. Means were found to corrupt him: he gave up the gate near the fountain Arethusa, to soldiers sent by Marcellus in the night to take possession of it. At daybreak the next morning, Marcellus made a false attack on the Achradina, to draw all the forces of the citadel, and the Isle adjoining to it, to that side, and to enable some vessels he had prepared to throw troops into the Isle, which would be unguarded. Everything succeeded according to his plan. The soldiers whom those vessels had landed in the Isle, finding almost all the posts abandoned, and the gates by which the garrison of the citadel had marched out against Marcellus still open, they took possession of them after a slight encounter. Marcellus having received advice that he was master of the Isle, and of part of Achradina, and that Mericus, with the body under his command, had joined his troops, ordered a retreat to be sounded, that the treasures of the kings might not be plundered. These did not prove so valuable as was expected.

The deserters having escaped,--a passage being purposely left free for them,--the Syracusans opened all the gates of Achradina to Marcellus, and sent deputies to him with instructions to demand nothing further from him than the preservation of the lives of themselves and their children. Marcellus having assembled his council and some Syracusans who were in his camp, gave his answer to the deputies in their presence: “That Hiero, for fifty years, had not done the Roman people more good than those who had been masters of Syracuse some years past had intended to do them harm; but that their ill-will had fallen upon their own heads, and they had punished themselves for their violation of treaties in a more severe manner than the Romans could have desired; that he had besieged Syracuse during three years, not that the Roman people might reduce it into slavery, but to prevent the chiefs of the revolters from continuing to hold it under oppression; that he had undergone many fatigues and dangers in so long a siege, but that he thought he had made himself ample amends by the glory of having taken that city, and the satisfaction of having saved it from the entire ruin it seemed to deserve.” After having placed a body of troops to secure the treasury, and safeguards in the houses of the Syracusans who had withdrawn to the camp, he abandoned the city to be plundered. It is reported that the riches that were pillaged in Syracuse at this time exceeded all that could have been expected at the taking of Carthage itself. An unhappy accident interrupted the joy of Marcellus, and gave him a very sensible affliction. Archimedes, at a time when all things were in this confusion in Syracuse, shut up in his closet like a man of another world, who has no interest in what is passing in this, was intent upon the study of some geometrical figure, and not only his eyes, but the whole faculties of his soul, were so engaged in this contemplation, that he had neither heard the tumult of the Romans, universally busy in plundering, nor the report of the city’s being taken. A soldier suddenly came in upon him, and bade him follow him to Marcellus. Archimedes desired him to stay a minute till he had solved his problem, and finished the demonstration of it. The soldier, who cared for neither the problem nor the demonstration, and was vexed at the delay, which, perhaps, kept him from plunder, drew his sword and killed him. Marcellus was exceedingly afflicted when he heard the news of his death. Not being able to restore him to life, he paid all the honours in his power to his memory. He made a diligent research after all his relations, treated them with great distinction, and granted them peculiar privileges. He caused the funeral of Archimedes to be performed in the most solemn manner, and ordered a monument to be erected to him among those of the great persons who had most distinguished themselves in Syracuse. There are other accounts of the manner of his death, but all agree that it was accidental, contrary to the wish of Marcellus, and took place immediately after the capture of the city.

Archimedes by his will had desired his relations and friends to put no other epitaph on his tomb, after his death, than a cylinder circumscribed by a sphere; that is to say, a globe, or spherical figure, and to set down at the bottom the proportions which these two solids, the containing and the contained, have to each other. He might have filled up the bases of the columns of his tomb with relievos, whereon the whole history of the siege of Syracuse might have been carved, and himself appeared like another Jupiter, thundering upon the Romans. But he set an infinitely higher value upon the discovery of a geometrical demonstration, than upon all the so much celebrated machines he had invented. Hence he chose rather to do himself honour in the eyes of posterity, by the discovery he had made of the relation of a sphere to a cylinder of the same base and height; which is as two to three.

The Syracusans, who had been in former times so fond of the sciences, did not long retain the esteem and gratitude they owed a man who had done so much honour to their city. Less than a hundred and forty years after, Archimedes was so perfectly forgotten by the citizens, notwithstanding the great services he had done them, that they denied his having been buried at Syracuse. It is Cicero who informs us of this circumstance. At the time he was quæstor in Sicily, his curiosity induced him to make a search after the tomb of Archimedes, a curiosity worthy of a man of Cicero’s genius. The Syracusans assured him that his search would be to no purpose, and that there was no such monument amongst them. Cicero pitied their ignorance, which only served to increase his desire of making the discovery. At length, after several fruitless attempts, he perceived, without the gate of the city, facing Agrigentum, amongst a great number of tombs, a pillar, almost entirety concealed by thorns and brambles, through which he could discern the figure of a sphere and a cylinder. Those who have any taste for antiquities may easily imagine the joy of Cicero upon this occasion. Adopting the words of Archimedes, he exclaimed--“I have found what I looked for.” The place was immediately ordered to be cleared, and a passage opened to the column, on which was found the inscription, still legible, though some of the lines were obliterated by time. So that, says Cicero, on finishing this account, the greatest city of Greece, and the most flourishing of old in the study of the sciences, would not have known the treasure it possessed, if a man, born in a country which it considered almost as barbarous, a man of Aspinum, had not discovered for it the tomb of its citizen, so highly distinguished by the force and penetration of his mind. We trust our readers will excuse our having gone into more details in our account of this siege than of most others, but we consider it one of the most interesting of antiquity. We do not often meet with the genius of an Archimedes, or the virtues of a Marcellus, to mitigate the horrors of a siege.

AGRIGENTUM.

A.C. 409.

Ambition and thirst of plunder having led the Carthaginians into Sicily, their general opened the campaign by laying siege to Agrigentum, an opulent and well-fortified city. In order to construct terraces and causeways, the besiegers destroyed the tombs which environed the city, which sacrilege cost both parties very dear, for the effluvia which escaped the violated graves bred a most destructive pestilence. Thousands of soldiers were carried off daily, and among them Hannibal, the general of the Carthaginians, fell an early victim to the disease. We think we scarcely need remind our young readers that this was not the great Hannibal: they all know how he died. The multitude beheld, in this affliction, a punishment from the gods for the profanation of the ashes of the dead. To render them again propitious, prayers and offerings were made, and even a young child was sacrificed to Saturn. Notwithstanding these pious vows, famine, a no less redoubtable scourge, was added to the calamities of the besieged, who, without hope and without resources, began to speak of surrendering. The Carthaginians refused to make any terms with them. Only one resource was left to the unfortunate Agrigentines; that of abandoning their city and taking refuge in the neighbouring states. They must either leave their aged and sick to the mercy of a barbarous enemy, or remain and perish all together. Necessity prevailed over humanity; never was exhibited a stronger scene of desolation than of the Agrigentines, so recently happy and wealthy, departing for ever from their homes, abandoning their sick or aged relations, their property, and all they held dear. In their misfortunes they received a friendly welcome from their neighbours, the inhabitants of Gela, whilst the cruel Carthaginians pillaged the city, and massacred every inhabitant who had been left behind.

Agrigentum was one of those cities from which enormous wealth and the easy indulgence in every luxury had banished temperance and morality. The inhabitants were more addicted to drunkenness than any people of Greece. There is a story told of a company of young men who were intoxicated to such a degree as to be convinced by one of their party they were in a ship in distress, and, in compliance with his advice, threw all the splendid furniture of the room out of the windows, to save the vessel from sinking. Almost the only virtue this people had was hospitality.

We cannot dismiss the subject of Agrigentum without reverting to the tyrant Phalaris and his brazen bull. Perillo, a goldsmith, by way of paying his court to Phalaris, a tyrant of Agrigentum, made him a present of a brazen bull of excellent workmanship, hollow within, and so constructed, that the voice of a person shut up in it, sounded exactly like the bellowing of a bull. The artist pointed out to the tyrant what an admirable effect this must produce, were he to shut up a few criminals in it, and make a fire underneath. Phalaris, struck with the horror of this idea, and perhaps curious to try the experiment, told the goldsmith that he himself was the only person worthy of animating his bull, as he must have studied the notes that made it roar to the greatest advantage, and that it would be unjust to deprive him of any part of the honour of the invention. Upon which, he ordered the goldsmith to be shut up, and a great fire to be kindled round the bull, which immediately began to roar, to the admiration and delight of all Agrigentum. Cicero says this bull was carried to Carthage, at the above taking of Agrigentum, and was restored again by Scipio, after the destruction of the former city. Empedocles, the philosopher, born in Agrigentum, has a memorable saying concerning his fellow-citizens: “That the Agrigentines squandered their money as excessively every day, as if they expected not to live till the morrow; and that they built edifices to live in, as if they fancied they should never die.”

In the first Punic war, Agrigentum, of which the Carthaginians had made a place of arms, was taken by the Romans, after a siege of seven months,--A.C. 262.

Some years after, the Carthaginians retook Agrigentum in a few days, and completely razed it to the ground. It was, however, afterwards rebuilt, and is now called Gergenti.

BYZANTIUM.

A.C. 408.

Byzantium is one of those cities of the world that are so admirably placed with regard to natural advantages, that posterity can never too much admire the policy and discernment of their founders. When we say that the Constantinople with which science and late events have made Englishmen so familiar, is the offspring of Byzantium, if not the city itself, we have no cause to dilate further on that head.

The first memorable siege of Byzantium was undertaken by Alcibiades, when the fickle and ungrateful Athenians had recalled him to the head of their armies. His triumphs were as rapid as his wishes: he prevailed in the Peloponnesus, subdued the revolting cities, and laid siege to Byzantium. Alcibiades is another of the commanders we can scarcely fancy at a siege: an eager, sanguine, impetuous man, with ambitious views boiling in his brain, is not at home in such enterprises, whatever may be his talents. Tired of the length of the siege, and despairing of taking Byzantium by force, he had recourse to stratagem. He gave it out that the Athenians recalled him, embarked his army, and set sail. During the night he returned, landed a great part of his soldiers at a distance from the city, and himself appeared, in a menacing position, with his fleet, before the port of Byzantium. The Byzantines rushed to the shore to drive off the fleet, which Alcibiades, by his manœuvres, made them believe was their most imminent danger. In the mean time, the troops landed during the night drew near the walls on the other side, and took possession of the city before the inhabitants were aware even of their approach.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 341.

The Byzantines were in great peril when Philip, the father of Alexander the Great, besieged Perinthus. Byzantium having granted some succours to that city, Philip divided his army, and laid siege to it likewise. The Byzantines were reduced to the last extremity when Phocion came to their assistance. The grateful Perinthians and Byzantines decreed a crown of gold to the people of Athens.

THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 196.

The emperor Severus, enraged with the Byzantines, laid siege to their city. They defended themselves with great resolution and firmness, and employed all kinds of stratagems to drive off their enemy, but they could not prevent the attacks of famine. Decimated by this horrible calamity, they were constrained to open the gates to the Romans. The conquerors exercised the rights of war in all their rigour; the city was plundered, and most of the citizens were slaughtered.

RHODES.

A.C. 352.

The beautiful island of Rhodes, with all its delightful mythological associations, its roses and its splendid scenery, has not escaped the horrors of war; it has been besieged several times, and in all instances in connection with great names and great events.

Mausolus, king of Caria, subdued Rhodes. After his death, the Rhodians revolted, and besieged Artemisia, his widow, in Halicarnassus. This king and queen are rendered immortal in the European word mausoleum, derived from the splendid monument so called, one of the seven wonders of the world, which she built to his memory. She gave prizes to poets for panegyrics written to commemorate his virtues; but still further did her grief carry her,--she resolved to give him a yet more extraordinary tomb. Having collected his ashes left by the burning of his body, and caused the bones to be beaten in a mortar, she mingled some of the powder every day in her drink, till she had consumed it all, meaning by this to make her own body the sepulchre of her husband. Notwithstanding her active, energetic spirit, her grief proved too strong for her, and she died lamenting him, two years after his decease.

This princess ordered the inhabitants of Halicarnassus to meet the Rhodians with open arms, as if they meant to deliver up their city to them. The deceived Rhodians landed their men, and left their ships empty, for the purpose of entering the place. In the mean time, Artemisia ordered out her own galleys, which seized the fleet of the enemy, and, having thus deprived them of the means of retreat, she surrounded the Rhodians and made a general slaughter of them. This intrepid queen then sailed towards Rhodes. The citizens, perceiving their vessels coming home crowned with flowers, admitted the Carian fleet into their port, amidst cries and exclamations of joy. Their surprise may be supposed when they recognised their unwelcome visitors. Artemisia insisted upon having the authors of the revolt put to death, and returned home in triumph. We cannot leave this remarkable princess without mentioning the extraordinary part she played in the immortal battle of Salamis. She, from her country, was of course against the Greeks, and, with her vessels, formed part of the fleet of Xerxes. She strongly advised Xerxes to avoid a naval engagement; the Greeks, she said, were more accustomed to the sea than the Persians were, and would have a great advantage upon that element. Although her advice was not listened to, she did her duty so nobly in the fight, that Xerxes exclaimed,--“That if the men appeared like women before the Greeks, the women fought like heroes.” In order to escape the Greeks, who pursued her warmly, she hoisted a Greek flag, and to complete the deception, attacked a Persian vessel commanded by Clamasithymus, king of Calydna, her personal enemy, and sunk it. After this, the Greeks, believing her to be of their party, offered her no more molestation.

SECOND SIEGE.

Demetrius Poliorcetes was commanded by his father, Antigonus, to punish Rhodes, which held the first rank among the Sporades isles. Demetrius presented himself before Rhodes with a numerous fleet; he knew that he was about to contend with skilful warriors, experienced in sea-fights, and possessing more than eight hundred machines of war as redoubtable as his own helepolis. Demetrius was an extraordinary character: equally addicted to pleasure and business, he never let the one interfere with the other; if embarked in indulgence, he prided himself upon carrying it further than any other man; but if thoroughly engaged in an affair of state, or prosecution of a war, none of the blandishments of pleasure could turn him aside from the great business in hand.

The Rhodians, who had foreseen the tempest, had applied to all the princes their allies, particularly to Ptolemy, king of Egypt, whom they informed that it was for having favoured his pretensions they were subjected to this invasion. Our young readers will not fail to observe that Antigonus, the father of Demetrius, and Ptolemy, king of Egypt, were two of Alexander’s generals, and were now endeavouring to carry out their master’s will, and proving themselves “most deserving of his empire,” by tearing it to pieces.

The preparations on each side were immense. Demetrius had a fleet of two hundred ships of war, and more than a hundred and seventy transports, bearing forty thousand men, without including the cavalry and the assistance he received from pirates. He had, likewise, a thousand small vessels, laden with provisions and other accommodations for an army. Rhodes was extremely rich; and the expectation of booty lured vast numbers to the ranks of Demetrius. This prince was celebrated for his skill in attacking fortified places, and for his ingenuity in constructing machines. He brought a great number of the latter with him.

Upon landing, Demetrius took a survey, in order to ascertain the most favourable point for an assault; he likewise ordered the country round to be laid waste on all sides; he cut down the trees and demolished the houses, in the parts adjacent to Rhodes, and employed them as materials to fortify his camp with a triple palisade.

The Rhodians, on their part, prepared for a vigorous defence. All persons in alliance with them, possessed of military merit, threw themselves into the city, for the purpose of gaining honour as well as of serving them; the besieged being as celebrated for their valour and constancy, as the besieger was for his consummate art in attacking fortified places.

After they had dismissed all useless mouths from the city, they found their force to consist of six thousand citizens and a thousand strangers. All slaves who should distinguish themselves were promised the rights of denizens, the public paying their masters the full value for them. It was likewise publicly declared that all who lost their lives in action should be honourably interred; that their parents, wives, and children should be provided for, and their daughters portioned in marriage; and that when their sons should be of an age capable of bearing arms, they should be presented with a complete suit of armour, on the public theatre, at the great solemnity of the Bacchanalia. This decree inspired all ranks, particularly the wealthy and the makers of war-machines, with incredible zeal.

The besieged sent out three good sailers against a small fleet of sutlers and merchants, laden with provisions for the enemy; they sunk some vessels, burnt others, and carried all prisoners likely to pay a ransom into the city. The Rhodians gained a great deal of money by this, the stipulated prices of prisoners being high.

This siege is said to be the masterpiece of Demetrius, both as to the use of acquired skill and invention. To make himself master of the port and of the towers which defended its entrance, he began his operations by sea. To facilitate his approach to the place he meant to batter, he caused two tortoises to be erected on two flat-bottomed vessels joined together. One of these was more solid and strong than the other, in order to cover the men from the enormous masses which the enemy discharged from their catapultas on the walls: the other was of a lighter structure, and intended to shield the soldiers from the flights of arrows and darts. Two towers of four stories each were erected at the same time, which exceeded in height the towers which defended the entrance to the port, and which were intended to be used in battering the latter with volleys of stones and darts. Each of these towers was placed upon ships strongly bound together.

Demetrius likewise caused a kind of floating barricado to be erected in front of these tortoises and towers, on a long beam of timber, four feet thick, through which stakes, armed at the end with large spikes of iron, were driven. These stakes were disposed horizontally, with their spikes projecting forward, in order to prevent the vessels of the port from shattering the work with their beaks.

He likewise selected some of his largest vessels, on the sides of which he erected a rampart of planks, with little windows easy to be opened. He there placed the best Cretan archers and slingers in his army, and furnished them with an infinite number of bows, small balistas or cross-bows, slings and catapultas, with other engines for shooting, in order to gall the workmen of the city employed in raising and repairing the walls of the port.

The Rhodians, seeing the besiegers turn all their efforts towards that quarter, were not less industrious to defend it; in order to accomplish which design, they raised two machines upon an adjoining eminence, and formed three others, which they placed in large ships of burden at the mouth of the little haven. A body of archers and slingers was likewise posted on each side of these situations, with a prodigious quantity of stones, darts, and arrows of all kinds. The same orders were also given with respect to the ships of burden in the great port.

When Demetrius was advancing with his ships and all his armament to begin the attack on the ports, such a violent tempest arose as rendered it impossible for him to accomplish any of his designs that day; but the sea growing calm about night, he took advantage of the darkness, and advanced without being perceived by the enemy to the great harbour: he made himself master of a neighbouring eminence, about five hundred paces from the wall, and posted thereon four hundred soldiers, who fortified themselves immediately with strong palisades.

The next morning Demetrius caused his batteries to advance with sound of trumpets and the shouts of his whole army, and they at first produced all the effect he proposed from them. A great number of the besieged were slain in this attack, and several breaches were opened in the mole which covered the port: but they were of little advantage to the besiegers, who were always repulsed by the Rhodians; and after a loss nearly equal on both sides, Demetrius was obliged to retire from the port, with his ships and machines, to be out of the reach of the enemy’s arrows.

The besieged, who had learned to their cost what advantage might be taken of the night, caused several fire-ships to sail out of the port during the darkness, in order to burn the tortoises and wooden towers which the enemy had erected: but as, unfortunately, they were not able to force the floating barricado which sheltered them, they were obliged to return into port. The Rhodians lost some of their fire-ships in this expedition, but the mariners saved themselves by swimming.

The next day, the prince ordered a general attack to be made upon the port and the walls of the place, with the sound of trumpets and the shouts of the whole army, thinking by those means to spread terror among the besieged; but they were so far from being intimidated, that they sustained the attack with incredible vigour, and displayed the same intrepidity for the eight days that it continued: actions of astonishing bravery were performed on both sides during that interval.

Demetrius, taking advantage of the eminence which his troops had seized, gave orders for erecting upon it a battery of several engines, which discharged great stones of a hundred and fifty pounds in weight against the walls and towers, the latter of which tottered with the repeated shocks, and several breaches were soon made in the walls. The troops of Demetrius advanced with spirit to seize the mole which defended the entrance into the port; but as this post was of the utmost importance, the Rhodians spared no pains to repulse the besiegers, who had already made a considerable progress. This they at last effected by a shower of stones and arrows, which they discharged upon their enemies with so much rapidity, and for such a length of time, that the latter were obliged to retire in confusion, after losing a great number of their men.

The ardour of the besiegers was not at all diminished by this repulse, indeed, they appeared more animated than ever against the Rhodians. They began the scalade by the land and sea at the same time, and employed the besieged so effectually, that they scarcely knew to what quarter to run for the defence of the place. The attack was carried on with the utmost fury on all sides, and the besieged defended themselves with the greatest intrepidity. Numbers were thrown from the ladders to the earth, and miserably bruised; several even of the principal officers got to the top of the wall, where they were covered with wounds and taken prisoners; so that Demetrius, notwithstanding all his valour, thought it necessary to retreat, in order to repair his engines, which, with the vessels that bore them, were almost entirely destroyed.

After the prince’s retreat, immediate care was taken to bury the dead; the beaks of the ships, with the other spoils that had been taken from the enemy, were carried to the temples, and the workmen were indefatigable in repairing the breaches of the walls.

Demetrius having employed seven days in refitting his ships and repairing his engines, set sail again with a fleet as formidable as the first, and steered with a fair wind directly for the port, which he was most anxious to gain, as he conceived it impracticable to reduce the place till he had made himself master of that. Upon his arrival, he caused a vast quantity of lighted torches, flaming straw, and arrows to be discharged, in order to set fire to the vessels that were riding there, while his engines battered the mole without intermission. The besieged, who expected attacks of this nature, exerted themselves with so much vigour and activity, that they soon extinguished the flames which had seized the vessels.

At the same time they caused three of their largest ships to sail out of the port, under the command of Exacestes, one of their bravest officers, with orders to attack the enemy, employ the utmost efforts to reach the vessels that carried the tortoises and wooden towers, and to charge them in such a manner with the beaks of their own, as might either sink them or disable them. These orders were executed with surprising expedition and address; and the three galleys, after they had broken through the floating barricado, drove their beaks with so much violence into the sides of the enemy’s barks, on which the machines were erected, that the water was immediately seen to enter through several openings. Two of them were already sunk, but the third was towed along by the galleys, and joined the main fleet; and, dangerous as it was to attack them in that situation, the Rhodians, through a blind and precipitate ardour, ventured to attempt it. But the inequality was too great to allow them to come off with success; Exacestes, with the officer who commanded under him, and some others, after having fought with all the bravery imaginable, were taken with the galley in which they were; the other two regained the port, after sustaining many dangers, and most of the men also arrived there by swimming.

Unfortunate as the last attack had proved to Demetrius, he was determined to undertake another; and in order to succeed in that design, he commanded a machine of a new invention to be built, of thrice the height and breadth of those he had lately lost. When this was completed, he caused it to be placed near the port, which he was resolved to force; but at the instant they were preparing to work it, a dreadful tempest arose at sea, and sunk it to the bottom, together with the vessels on which it had been raised.

The besieged, who were careful to improve all opportunities, employed the time afforded them by the tempest in regaining the eminence near the port, which the enemy had carried in the first assault, and where they afterwards fortified themselves. The Rhodians attacked it, and were repulsed several times; but the forces of Demetrius, who defended it, perceiving fresh troops continually pouring upon them, and that it was in vain for them to expect any relief, were obliged at last to surrender themselves prisoners, to the number of four hundred men.

This series of fortunate events was succeeded by the arrival of five hundred men from Cnessus, a city of Crete, to the assistance of the Rhodians, and also of five hundred more, whom Ptolemy sent from Egypt, most of them being Rhodians, who had enlisted themselves amongst the troops of that prince.

Demetrius being extremely mortified to see all his batteries on the side of the harbour rendered ineffectual, resolved to employ them by land, in order to carry the place by assault, or reduce it to the necessity of capitulating. He therefore prepared materials of every kind, and formed a machine called helepolis, which was larger than any that had ever been invented before. The basis on which it stood was square, and each of its sides was seventy-five feet wide. The machine itself was an assemblage of large square beams, riveted together with iron; and the whole mass rested upon eight wheels, that were made proportionable with the superstructure. The felloes of the wheels were three feet thick, and were strengthened with large iron plates. In order to facilitate and vary the movements of the helepolis, castors were placed under it, so that it could be moved in any direction. From each of the four angles a large column of wood was carried up to the height of about one hundred and fifty feet, inclining towards each other. The machine was composed of nine stories, whose dimensions gradually lessened in the ascent. The first story was supported by forty-three beams, and the last by no more than nine. Three sides of the machine were plated over with iron, to prevent its being damaged by the fires launched against it from the city. In the front of each story were little windows, whose form and dimensions corresponded with the nature of the arrows that were to be shot from the machine. Over each window was a kind of curtain made of leather, stuffed with wool: this was let down by a machine; and the intention of it was to break the violence of whatever might be discharged against it. Each story had two large staircases, one for the ascent of the men, and the other for their descent.

This machine was moved forward by three thousand four hundred of the most powerful men in the army; but the art with which it was built greatly facilitated the motion.

Demetrius likewise gave directions for the building of a great number of other machines, of different magnitudes and for various purposes; he also employed his seamen in levelling the ground over which his machines had to move, which was a hundred fathoms in length. The number of artisans and labourers employed on these works amounted to nearly thirty thousand men, which enabled them to be completed with astonishing rapidity.

The Rhodians were not indolent during these formidable preparations, but employed their time in raising a counter wall on the tract of ground where Demetrius intended to batter the walls of the city with the helepolis; and for this purpose they demolished the wall which surrounded the theatre, as also several neighbouring houses, and even some temples, having solemnly promised the gods to build magnificent structures for the celebration of their worship after the siege should be raised.

When they learnt that the enemy had quitted the sea, they sent out nine of their best ships of war, divided into three squadrons, commanded by three of their best officers. These returned with a rich prize of some galleys and several smaller vessels, with a great number of prisoners. They had likewise seized a galley richly laden, in which were large quantities of tapestry and other furniture, with a variety of rich robes, sent by Phila as a present to her husband Demetrius, accompanied with letters from her own hand. The Rhodians sent the whole, even the letters, to Ptolemy, which exceedingly exasperated Demetrius. In this proceeding, says Plutarch, they did not imitate the polite conduct of the Athenians, who, having once seized some of the couriers of Philip, with whom they were at war, opened all the packets but those of Olympias, which they sent to Philip with the seals unbroken. There are some rules of decency and honour which ought to be inviolably observed, even with enemies.

While the ships of the republic were employed in taking the above-named prizes, a great commotion arose in Rhodes respecting the statues of Antigonus and Demetrius, which had been erected to their honour in the city, and till the present war had been held in much respect. Some of the citizens, in a public meeting, expressed a wish to have the statues of princes who had brought so much trouble upon them destroyed; but the people, who were, for a wonder, more moderate on this occasion than their chiefs, would not allow that purpose to be executed. This was prudent and judicious in the Rhodians; much importance was attached to statues in ancient times, and in case the city should be taken, Demetrius would be better pleased to find his and his father’s statues still respected.

Demetrius, having tried several mines without effect, from their being all discovered by the watchful activity of the besieged, gave orders and made preparation for a general assault, and the helepolis was moved to a situation whence the city might be battered with most effect. Each story of this formidable building was furnished with catapultas and balistas proportioned in their size to the dimensions of the place. It was likewise supported and fortified, on two of its sides, by four small machines called tortoises, each of which had a covered gallery, to secure those who should either enter the helepolis, or issue out of it to execute orders. On the two other sides was a battering-ram of a prodigious size, consisting of a piece of timber thirty fathoms in length, armed with iron terminating in a point, and as strong as the beak of a galley. These engines were mounted on wheels, and were driven forward to batter the walls during the attack, with incredible force, by nearly a thousand men.

When everything was ready, Demetrius ordered the trumpets to sound and the general assault to be given on all sides, both by sea and land. In the heat of the attack, and when the walls were already shaken by the battering-rams, ambassadors arrived from the Cnidians, earnestly soliciting Demetrius to suspend the assault, and giving him hopes that they should prevail upon the Rhodians to consent to an honourable capitulation. A suspension of arms was accordingly granted, but the Rhodians refusing to capitulate on the conditions proposed to them, the attack was renewed with so much fury, and all the machines co-operated so effectually, that a large tower, built with square stones, and the wall that flanked it, were battered down. The besieged fought with the utmost bravery in the breach, and repulsed their enemies.

In this conjuncture the vessels which Ptolemy had freighted with three hundred thousand measures of corn and different kinds of pulse, for the Rhodians, arrived very seasonably in the port, notwithstanding all the efforts of the enemy’s ships which cruised in the neighbourhood to intercept them. A few days after this relief, two other small fleets sailed into the port, one of which was sent by Cassander, with one hundred thousand bushels of barley; the other came from Lysimachus, with four hundred thousand bushels of wheat, and as much barley. This seasonable and abundant supply, which was received when the city began to feel the want of provisions, inspired the besieged with new courage, and they resolved not to surrender till the last extremity.

Whilst in this state of renewed spirits, they attempted to fire the enemy’s machines, and with this view, a numerous body of soldiers marched out of the city towards midnight, with torches and flaming brands. These troops advanced to the batteries, and set them on fire, whilst clouds of arrows were poured from the walls to annoy those who endeavoured to extinguish the flames. The besiegers lost great numbers of men on this occasion, from being incapable in the night to see or avoid the volleys of arrows discharged upon them. Several plates of iron happening to fall from the helepolis during the action, the Rhodians advanced with the hopes of setting it on fire; but, as the troops within quenched it with water as fast as the flames were kindled, they could not effect their design. Demetrius, however, alarmed for his machines, caused them to be removed to a distance.

Being curious to know what number of machines the besieged had employed in casting arrows, Demetrius caused all that had been shot from the place in the course of that night to be collected; and when they were counted and a proper computation made, he found that the inhabitants must have more than eight hundred engines of different dimensions, for discharging fires, and about fifteen hundred for arrows. He was struck with consternation at the number, as he had never thought the city could have made such formidable preparations. He buried his dead, gave strict charge with respect to the care of the wounded, and promptly repaired his injured machines.

The besieged took advantage of the temporary absence of the machines to fortify themselves against a fresh attack. To this purpose, they opened a wide and deep ditch behind the breach, to obstruct the passage of the enemy into the city; after which, they raised a substantial wall, in the form of a crescent, along the ditch, which would create still more trouble.

Alive to every expedient, they at the same time detached a squadron of their best sailing ships, which captured a great number of vessels laden with provisions for Demetrius’s army. This supply was soon followed by a numerous fleet of small vessels, freighted with corn and other necessaries, sent them by Ptolemy, with fifteen hundred men commanded by Antigonus of Macedonia.

Demetrius, having repaired his machines, caused them all to advance towards the city, when a second embassy arrived from the Athenians, and some other states of Greece, on the same subject as the former, but with as little success. The king, whose imagination was fruitful in expedients, ordered fifteen hundred of his best troops, under the command of Alcimus and Mancius, to enter the breach at midnight, and force the intrenchments behind it. They were then to possess themselves of the parts near the theatre, where, if they could but once make themselves masters, they could maintain their ground. In order to facilitate the execution of so important and dangerous an expedition, and amuse the enemy with false attacks, he at the same time caused all the trumpets to sound a charge, and the city to be attacked on all sides, both by sea and land, that the besieged, finding employment in all parts, the fifteen hundred men might have an opportunity of forcing the intrenchments which covered the breach, and afterwards of seizing all the advantageous posts about the theatre. This feint had all the success the prince expected from it. The troops having shouted from all quarters, as if they were advancing to a general assault, the detachment commanded by Alcimus entered the breach, and made such a vigorous attack upon those who defended the ditch and the crescent which covered it, that, after they had killed a great number of their enemies and thrown the rest into confusion, they seized the posts adjacent to the theatre, where they maintained themselves.

The alarm was very great in the city, and all the chiefs who commanded there despatched orders to their officers and soldiers, forbidding them to quit their posts or make the least movement whatever. After which, they placed themselves at the head of a chosen body of their own troops, and of those newly arrived from Egypt, and with them poured upon the detachment which had advanced as far as the theatre; but the obscurity of the night rendered it impracticable to dislodge them from the posts they had seized; and the day no sooner appeared, than a universal cry of the besiegers was heard from all quarters, by which they endeavoured to animate those who had entered the place, and inspire them with a resolution to maintain their ground, where they might soon expect succours. This dreadful cry drew floods of tears and dismal groans from the populace, women and children, who concluded all to be inevitably lost. The battle, however, was contested with great vigour near the theatre; and the Macedonians defended their posts with an intrepidity that astonished their enemies, till at last, the Rhodians prevailing by their numbers and perpetual supplies of fresh troops, the detachment, after having seen Alcimus and Mancius slain on the spot, were obliged to submit to superior force, and abandon an advantage it was no longer possible to maintain. Great numbers of them fell on the spot, and the rest were taken prisoners.

The ardour of Demetrius was rather augmented than abated by this check, and he was making the necessary dispositions for a new assault, when he received letters from his father, Antigonus, by which he was directed to take all possible measures for the conclusion of a peace with the Rhodians. He then wanted some plausible pretext for suspending the siege, and chance furnished him with it. At that very instant, deputies from Ætolia arrived in the camp, to solicit him anew to grant a peace to the Rhodians, to which they found him not so averse as before.

If what Vegetius relates of the helepolis be true,--and, indeed, with a small variation, Vitruvius seems to confirm it,--it might possibly be another motive that contributed not a little to dispose Demetrius to a peace. He was preparing to advance his helepolis against the city, when a Rhodian engineer contrived an expedient to render it utterly useless: he opened a mine under the walls of the city, and continued it to the way over which the tower was to pass toward the walls the next day. The besiegers, not expecting a stratagem of that nature, moved the tower on to the place undermined, which being incapable of supporting so enormous a load, sunk in under the machine, which buried itself so deep in the earth, that it was impossible to draw it out again. This was one inconvenience to which all these formidable machines were obnoxious; and the two authors cited declare that the accident determined Demetrius to raise the siege; and it is at least very probable that it contributed not a little to his taking that resolution.

The Rhodians, on their part, were as desirous of an accommodation as himself, provided it could be effected on reasonable terms. Ptolemy, in promising them fresh succours much more considerable than the former, had earnestly exhorted them not to lose a favourable opportunity, if it should offer itself. Besides which, they were sensible of the extreme necessity of putting an end to a siege which must prove fatal at last. This consideration induced them to listen with pleasure to the proposals made them, and the treaty was concluded soon after, upon the following terms: That the republic of Rhodes and all its citizens should retain the enjoyment of their rights, privileges, and liberty, without being subjected to any power whatever. The alliance they had had with Antigonus was to be confirmed and renewed, with an obligation to take up arms for him in any war in which he should be engaged, provided it was not against Ptolemy. The city was also to deliver a hundred hostages, to be chosen by Demetrius, for the effectual performance of the stipulated articles. When these hostages were given, the army decamped from before Rhodes, after having besieged it a year.

Demetrius, upon being reconciled with the Rhodians, was desirous, before his departure, to give them a proof of his good feeling, and accordingly made them a present of all the machines of war he had employed in that siege. Considering that Rhodes was an island, and that these cumbersome, unwieldy engines could not have been taken away without great difficulty, we moderns are inclined to think there was not much generosity in the gift; but the result proves we are wrong. The machines were sold for three hundred talents (about three hundred thousand crowns), which the Rhodians employed, with an additional sum of their own, in constructing the famous Colossus, which was reputed one of the seven wonders of the world. It was a statue of the sun, of so stupendous a size, that ships in full sail passed between its legs; the height of it was seventy cubits, or one hundred and five feet, and few men could clasp its thumb within their arms. It was the work of Chares of Lindus, and employed him for the space of twelve years. Sixty-six years after its erection, it was thrown down by an earthquake.

The Rhodians expressed their gratitude to Ptolemy in a most extravagant manner: they planted a grove, built a temple in it to his glory, and paid him divine honours under the title of Sotor, the Saviour, by which he is distinguished in history from the other Ptolemies, kings of Egypt.

We cannot leave Rhodes, without a remark or two upon the love Demetrius bore to the arts, and the height to which they appear to have been cultivated in that island.

Rhodes, at the time of the siege, was the residence of a celebrated painter named Protogenes, a native of Caunus, a city of Caria, which was then subject to the Rhodians. The apartment in which he painted was in the suburbs when Demetrius first besieged the city; but neither the presence of the enemy, nor the noise of arms, which perpetually rung in his ears, could induce him to quit his habitation or discontinue his work. Demetrius was surprised at his firmness and persistency, and asked him the cause of it. “It is,” replied the painter, “because I am sensible you have declared war against the Rhodians, and not against the arts.” Nor was he deceived in this opinion; for Demetrius actually showed himself their protector. He planted a guard round his house, that the artist might enjoy tranquillity, or, at least, be secure from danger; he frequently went to see him work, and was boundless in his admiration of his application and skill.

The masterpiece of this painter was Jalysus, an historical piece of a fabulous hero of that name, whom the Rhodians acknowledged as their founder. Protogenes devoted seven years to this picture. When Apelles first saw it, he was so astonished and delighted that he seemed struck dumb: he at length, however, broke out into the warmest commendation: “Prodigious work, indeed! admirable performance! It has not, however, the graces I give my works, and which have raised their reputation to the skies.” Pliny says that whilst Protogenes was working at this picture, he practised the most rigid abstinence, in order that the delicacy of his taste and imagination might not be affected by his diet. This picture was carried to Rome, and consecrated in the Temple of Peace, where it remained in the time of Pliny; but it was destroyed at last by fire. Pliny, indeed, pretends that Rhodes was saved by this picture, because, as it hung in the only quarter by which it was possible for Demetrius to take the city, he rather chose to abandon his conquest than expose so precious a monument of art to the danger of being consumed by the flames. This would appear to be carrying his love of painting to a surprising length; but the incidents we are told of the enthusiastic worship of the Greeks for refinement and taste, if they do not convince us of their own identical truth, at least prove to us the extent to which that love must have been felt by a people who could even invent such.

One of the figures of the picture was a dog, much admired by good judges, and which had cost the painter great pains, without his being able to express his idea to his own satisfaction, though pleased with the rest of the work. His wish was to represent the dog panting, and with his mouth foaming, as after a long chase; and yet, with all his skill, he could not content himself: art was more visible than it ought to be. He was desirous that the foam should not appear to be painted, but actually flowing from the mouth of the dog. He frequently retouched it, and suffered a degree of torture from his anxiety to express the simple effects of nature which he had in his mind. All his attempts were in vain, till, in a fit of rage, and with an imprecation, he threw the sponge he was accustomed to wipe his palette with at the picture--and chance accomplished what art had not been able to execute.

This painter is censured for being too difficult to be pleased, and for retouching his pictures too frequently. It is certain, that although Apelles almost considered him as his master, and allowed him a number of excellent qualities, yet he condemned in him the defect of not being able to lay down the pencil and consider his work finished. “We ought,” says Cicero, “to know how far we should go: and Apelles justly censured some painters for not knowing when to have done.”

THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 1521.

Rhodes, like the rest of Greece, submitted to the empire of the Romans, and, when that had been annihilated by the barbarians, it passed under the yoke of the all-conquering Mahometans. In 1308, Foulques de Villard, grand master of the Knights of St. John of Jerusalem, formed the project of conquering this island, in order to make it the head-quarters of his order. Seconded by several of the sovereigns of Europe, he landed on the isle, beat the Saracens and the Greeks in several encounters, and, after four years of fatigue and danger, made himself master of Rhodes. The knights placed the isle in a formidable state of defence, and, under their auspices, it became happy and flourishing. These precautions were quite necessary, for Greeks, Saracens, and Turks were continually attempting to gain footing in this beautiful place. Mahomet the Second, the great conqueror of Constantinople, wished to besiege it; but his generals were beaten, and he himself died, while proceeding on this expedition. The glory of taking Rhodes was reserved for Soliman the Second, whose troops approached the isle in 1521. Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, grand master of the Knights of St. John, reigned there at that time: he was an intrepid, courageous, skilful captain, of great experience, and fertile in resources. He had, at most, six thousand warriors to oppose to two hundred thousand men. But, like their leader, these warriors were filled with the most heroic valour, and preferred death to slavery. Rhodes was invested, and the trenches were opened out of the reach of the cannon. When the Turks ventured nearer, and erected a battery, their works were speedily destroyed by the artillery of the place. The frequent sorties of the knights filled up their works. The discouragement became so general among the Turks, that Soliman was obliged to show himself to his troops, and animate their operations by his presence.

What had been written to him of the ill-behaviour of his soldiers, and what he learnt of their cowardice on his arrival, determined him to make them appear before him disarmed, and to surround them by the troops he had brought with him. “If I had,” said he, in a haughty, contemptuous tone, and casting terrible glances on all around him, “if I had to address soldiers, I would have permitted you to appear before me with your arms; but as I am reduced to the necessity of speaking to wretched slaves, more weak and more timid than women, it is not just that men so base should dishonour the marks of valour. I should like to know if, when you landed in the isle, you flattered yourselves that these crusaders would be still more cowardly than yourselves, and that they would servilely hold out their hands for the irons with which it would please you to load them? To undeceive you, please to learn that in the persons of these knights, we have to fight with the most intrepid among the Christians, and most thirsting for Mussulman blood. It is their courage which has excited ours; in attacking them, I have thought I had met with an enterprise and perils worthy of my valour. Is it to you, then, base and effeminate troops, that I am to look for a conquest; you who fly from an enemy before you have seen him, and who would already have deserted, if the sea which surrounds you had not presented an insurmountable obstacle? Before experiencing such a disgrace, I will inflict such severe justice upon all cowards, that their punishment shall restrain within their duty such as might be tempted to imitate them.” Scarcely had Soliman ceased to speak, than the soldiers drew their swords, as if to massacre those of their comrades who had excited the indignation of the Sultan. These unfortunate wretches, who saw death suspended over their heads, implored with loud cries the mercy of their sultan. Their commander, as agreed upon with him, supported their prayers. “Well,” said Soliman to Peri, the general, “I suspend, to your prayers, the punishment of the guilty; it remains for them to find pardon on the bastions and bulwarks of the enemy.” This mixture of severity and clemency affected all hearts; the greatest perils appeared to be beneath the valour of the soldiers who had been the most discouraged. Officers and soldiers, to efface the least traces of their murmurs, hastened to signalize themselves under the eye of their master; and that armed multitude, till that time to be little dreaded, became at length most formidable. The soldiers and pioneers pushed on the trenches without relaxation; they worked day and night; the grand master, finding them supported by large detachments, did not think it prudent to continue the sorties, in which he lost more by the death of one knight, than Soliman did by that of fifty janissaries. Thus the infidels, having nothing to fear but from the fire of the place, behaved with so much spirit that they carried their works up to the counterscarp; and, to render their lines more solid, they covered them without with posts and planks, bound well together. The batteries were then increased, and continued incessantly playing against the city, but without success, for their balls scarcely grazed the parapets of the walls. They were warned of this by a Jew, who served them as a spy in Rhodes. They immediately changed their batteries, which from that time fired more effectively. Seeing that the place might be said to be covered and buried under its fortifications, the Turks resolved to build two cavaliers of a greater height than its works, which should command the city and its boulevards. Soldiers and pioneers, by order of the general, brought, during several days, earth and stones, which they placed between the gates of Spain and Auvergne, opposite to the bastion of Italy. These two points lay open to the cannon of the place: thousands of men perished here; but such losses were deemed nothing. At length two seeming hills appeared to rise up, higher by twelve feet than the walls, and which completely commanded them. The German post was the first attacked. The Turks pointed their cannon towards the walls, and it was thought impossible they could stand against these destructive machines. The grand master went to the spot, and ordered the wall to be supported within by earth, beams, posts, and fascines; and, as the artillery placed over the gate of his palace, on an elevated spot, bore directly upon the infidels, the Christian cannoniers poured their shot upon them, and knocked to pieces their bastions and their parapets. New ones were obliged to be constructed; the cannon of the city battered them down immediately, whilst the Turkish artillery, on the contrary, badly served and pointed, fired over the walls, without doing any injury. Disheartened by the little effect produced by their batteries, the Sultan’s officers transported them against the tower of St. Nicholas. They played upon it with twelve guns; but they had the mortification to see their cannon dismounted and their batteries ruined by those of the tower. To guard against this effect of the skill of the Christian cannoniers, they resolved to fire only by night, and during the day they buried their cannon under the gabions in the sand: on the approach of darkness, they were placed upon the platform. More than five hundred balls were fired against the point of the wall looking towards the west, and brought it down into the ditch. The Turks congratulated themselves upon the success of this nocturnal battery, and felt certain of carrying the fort at the first assault; they were astonished, however, to see behind the ruins a new wall, terraced with its parapets, and bristling with artillery which prevented all approach to it. Soliman caused all the principal bastions of the place to be attacked, and the Ottoman cannon, which battered them day and night during a whole month, did them considerable damage. The numbers of knights and citizens in Rhodes began to diminish fast. They were in want of powder; the grand master caused some to be made, and hopes were entertained that this feeble succour would enable them to hold out for a long time against the Mahometan emperor. Up to this time, the war had only been carried on by artillery; and although that of the Turks, in the multitude of fiery mouths and abundance of powder, was very superior, they were not yet masters of an inch of ground in the bastions or advanced works of the place. The retirades and intrenchments dug by the knights, supplied the places of the battered-down walls. These new works could only be taken by assault; and to mount to it, it was necessary to attempt the descent of the ditch, or to fill it up. Soliman having an immense number of pioneers in his army, formed several detachments of them, with orders to throw earth and stones into the ditch. But the knights, by means of casemates, removed, by night, all the rubbish the Turks had brought during the day. Other Turkish pioneers were employed in digging mines in five different places, each one of which led to the bastion opposite to it. Some of these were detected by the vigilance of the famous De Martinengere, to whom is due the invaluable invention of discovering, by means of stretched skins, where mining is being carried on. The Turks had worked with so much address, that the different branches of these mines went from one to another, and all, to produce the greater effect, ended at the same place. Two of these mines sprang, one after the other, under the English bastion. Their explosion was so violent, that they threw down more than six toises of the wall, the ruins of which filled up the ditch. The breach was so large and so easy, that several battalions flew to the assault, with loud cries, sabre in hand. They at once gained the top of the bastion, and planted seven flags, and would have rendered themselves masters of it, if they had not met with a traverse behind it, which stopped them. The knights, recovered from the astonishment caused by the fearful noise of the exploded mine, rushed to the bastion, and charged the Turks with muskets, grenades, and stones.

The grand master, at the moment of the explosion of this volcano, was in a neighbouring church, imploring, at the foot of the altar, the aid of God. He judged, by the horrible noise he heard, that the explosion of the mine would be followed by an assault. He arose at the very moment the priests, to commence the office, were chanting this preliminary prayer--Deus, in adjutorium meum intende! (Lord, come to my help!) “I accept the augury,” cried the pious general; and turning towards some knights who accompanied him, “Come, my brothers,” said he, “let us change the sacrifice of our praises into that of our lives, and let us die, if it be necessary, in defence of our holy faith.” As he spoke, pike in hand, he advanced with a menacing air. He mounted the bastion, met the Turks, and struck down and killed all who came in his way or resisted him. He tore down the enemy’s ensigns, and regained the bastion in a moment. Mustapha, Soliman’s general, rallied the fugitives and led them back towards the enemy, by dint of blows as well as menaces. He marched forward himself with the greatest audacity. The combat was renewed, and the mêlée became bloody. Steel and fire were equally employed on both parts; they slaughtered each other hand to hand, or at a distance, by musket-shots or sword-cuts. They even proceeded to struggle body to body, and the stronger or more adroit killed his enemy with dagger-thrusts. The Turks, at once exposed to arquebusses, stones, grenades, and fire-pots, at length abandoned the breach and turned their backs. In vain their chiefs, by menaces and promises, endeavour to reanimate their valour. They do not listen to him. All fly, all disperse, and Mustapha himself turns unwillingly from the foe, after having lost more than three thousand men. It was with such inveteracy that the superiority was contested up to the 24th of September, when Soliman issued the order for a general assault. At daybreak the Mahometans, divided into four bodies, or rather four armies, advanced on four sides boldly towards the breach, in spite of the thunders which poured from the place, in spite of a deluge of balls, arrows, darts, and stones. Nothing could stop them. The knights crowded to the point of conflict; they repulsed the assailants; they precipitated them from the walls; they overthrew the ladders. The infidels returned to the charge with more impetuosity than ever, but all their efforts were useless: the knights were invincible. The priests, monks, old men, and even the children, all insist upon taking their share of the peril, and at length repulse the enemy. The women do not yield in exertions to the pioneers, or in courage to the soldiers. Many lost their lives in defending their husbands. A Greek woman, exceedingly handsome, the mistress of an officer who commanded in a bastion, and who was just killed, frantic at the death of her lover, and resolved not to outlive him, after having tenderly embraced two young children she had had by him, and imprinted the sign of the cross upon their brow--“It is better, my children,” said she, with the tears streaming from her eyes, “it is better for you to die by my hands than by those of our pitiless enemies, or that you should be reserved for infamous pleasures, more cruel than death.” Frantic with grief and rage, she seized a knife, slaughtered them, and threw their bodies into the fire; then clothing herself in the garments of her lover, stained with his blood, with his sabre in her hand, she rushed to the breach, killed the first Turk who opposed her, wounded several others, and died fighting with the bravery of a hero. The ill success of so many assaults rendered Soliman furious. He ordered Mustapha to be shot with arrows, and several other captains would have undergone the same fate if they had not persuaded him that he might still succeed in his undertaking. Incessant combats and attacks were carried on up to the middle of winter. At length the Ottomans triumphed; Rhodes, almost entirely destroyed, had no means of resistance left. Most of the knights had been killed defending the fortifications. The grand master, Villiers de l’Isle-Adam, seeing with the deepest grief that all his resources were exhausted, felt that it would be madness to resist longer. He resolved to surrender; but his persuasion that he who makes the first proposals loses an advantage, made him positively determine to wait till the Turks should propose capitulation. His project succeeded. Deceived by the continued brave defence, the Turks were ignorant of the real state of the place, and offered the besiegers more honourable conditions than they might have expected. This famous isle, which had been for nearly three centuries the bulwark of Christianity, was wrested from the hands of its few surviving defenders, the wreck of a society of heroes. As soon as the capitulation was signed, Soliman entered the city for the purpose of expressing to l’Isle-Adam his admiration of his noble defence. After a long conversation the conqueror retired, saying, “Although I came here alone, do not imagine I was without an escort; I had the parole of the grand master and the faith of his knights, a security stronger than a whole army.” Soliman did not abuse his victory. He treated the grand master generously; he visited him, pitied him, and consoled him as that last of a race of heroes deserved.

GAZA.

A.C. 332.

Alexander besieged Gaza, one of the keys of Egypt, for two months. We do not think we should have noticed this siege, had it not been for the strange manner in which Alexander dismissed all the good feelings which so frequently distinguished him, after the conquest. Alexander is one of those great historical personages, who have so many fine redeeming qualities, that we feel inclined to pardon their errors and excuse even their crimes; but in this instance he sunk into a mere brutal and revengeful conqueror. He had an inclination to be compared to Achilles, and he boasted of being the son of Jupiter; but this siege proved that he was not invulnerable, like the former, nor exempt from human accidents, as the offspring of an immortal; he received two wounds in this siege, which perhaps was the cause of his wrath. He treated the inhabitants with the utmost cruelty, putting ten thousand to the sword. Betis, the governor of Gaza, was taken in one of the last assaults. Alexander was either angry or jealous at the courage with which he had seen him face death, and ordered him to appear before his throne: “Wretch!” cried he, “thou shalt not die sword in hand, as thou didst hope; expect to suffer all the torments vengeance can contrive.” To imitate Achilles, who dragged the body of Hector three times round the walls of Troy behind his chariot, he ordered the unfortunate Betis to be pierced through the heels, and to be fastened to a chariot, which he drove round the walls of Gaza; thus depriving the brave governor of the little life left by his wounds.

Demetrius lost a great battle on the plains of Gaza, against Ptolemy, one of Alexander’s officers, who had made himself king of Egypt,--A.C. 312.

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 633.

Amrou, commander of the Saracens, presented himself before Gaza in the year 633 of the Christian era. The governor of the place haughtily asked him, in an interview, what brought him into Syria? “The order of God and of my master,” replied Amrou. They soon proceeded to action: the troops of Gaza were cut to pieces; Amrou took the governor prisoner, and Gaza opened its gates to him.

THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 1799.

Gaza was taken by Buonaparte, in his Egyptian expedition; but as there is no striking circumstance to give interest to the siege, we shall content ourselves with recording the fact.

PERSEPOLIS.

A.C. 330.

Ever insatiable of glory, Alexander laid siege to Persepolis, the capital of the Persian empire. At his approach, the inhabitants deserted the city, and fled away into the deserts, and the conqueror entered without the least obstacle. The Macedonian soldiery, greedy of booty, pillaged the city, and destroyed the few inhabitants they met with. But Alexander stopped the carnage, and gave orders that the virtue of the women should be respected. Almost all the treasures and magazines of the Persians were collected in Persepolis, which had been their capital from the time of Cyrus. The amount of wealth is so enormous, that a modern historian is afraid to repeat what the ancients have stated: it appears to be a subject for the imagination rather than of calculation or comparison. So rich a booty gave rise to the idea of celebrating this event by a festival. Tables were spread in the streets; the soldiers gave themselves up to rejoicings and the enjoyment of good cheer, whilst their prince presided at a grand banquet given to his officers and friends. Thaïs, an Athenian courtezan, the mistress of Ptolemy, who was afterwards king of Egypt, had gained the privilege of being admitted to the royal table by her wit and gaiety, and was accustomed to address the conqueror of Asia with the utmost freedom. When wine had sufficiently warmed the guests, Thaïs exclaimed--“Noble lord! thanks to your invincible courage, Greece is avenged; you are master of Persia, and we are quaffing the wines of Darius in the palace of the Persian kings. The pleasures I enjoy in this superb abode make amends for the fatigues I have endured whilst you subdued Asia. There is only one thing wanting to complete my felicity. Great prince, why will you not permit the women who have had the honour to follow your warriors to make one glorious blaze of the dwelling of Xerxes, the barbarian who burnt and destroyed my country? I should consider myself a thousand times too fortunate if I could myself set fire to it in your presence, and to let it be known to all ages, that a woman in the train of the great Alexander had more nobly avenged Greece than Miltiades or Themistocles had done!” The guests applauded this boastful appeal. The king rose from table with his head crowned with flowers, and seizing a blazing torch, rushed to the execution of the suggested sacrifice. The Macedonians, following the example of their king and Thaïs, spread themselves in all directions with their flaming brands, and soon produced an awful conflagration. But scarcely had the first flame cast its glare around, than Alexander became aware of his folly, and gave earnest orders for the extinguishing of the fire; but it was too late--the palace was consumed.

LACEDÆMON.

A.C. 272.

The restless, ambitious, insatiable Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, laid siege to Lacedæmon. He arrived in the evening, with all his army, and only postponed the attack till the next day;--this delay saved Sparta. As soon as night came, the Lacedæmonians met to deliberate upon the propriety of sending their wives and daughters to the island of Crete; but the women strongly opposed such a determination. One of them, named Archidamia, entered the senate, sword in hand, and addressing the assembly in the name of all the rest, she proudly demanded why the senators had so bad an opinion of her and her companions, as to imagine they could love or endure life after the ruin of their country.

It was resolved that they should not leave the city. As the men were employed, with vigour and celerity, in digging a trench parallel with the camp of the enemy, to enable them to dispute the approach to the city, the women and girls came to join them, and after having exhorted those who would have to fight, to take repose during the night, they measured the length of the trench, and undertook, as their share, a third part of it, which they finished in the course of the day. This trench was nine feet wide, six deep, and nine hundred long. In all the attacks which took place till Pyrrhus was constrained to raise the siege, these courageous women conducted themselves in a manner worthy of the reputation of their mothers of former days.

ARGOS.

A.C. 272.

The same ambitious, quarrelsome prince fell upon Argos, at a time when it was divided by the factions of Aristias and Aristippus. The Argives at first sent to Pyrrhus to beg him to evacuate their territories. He promised to do so, but that very same night entered their gates, aided by the treachery of Aristias. A great part of his troops had already spread themselves throughout the city, when an act of imprudence deprived him of his victory and his life. Whoever reads the life of Pyrrhus will observe the importance he always attached to his elephants--engines of war, if we may so call them, introduced for a time into Europe by the conquests of Alexander. He had tried to terrify the Romans with these monstrous animals, but without success. So partial was he to these bulky assistants, that he insisted upon their being brought into Lacedæmon, though the gates were not large enough, or the streets sufficiently wide, to make them at all available. Alarmed by the noise created by the confusion the elephants produced, the Argives flew to arms, and their houses became so many citadels, from which they poured all sorts of missiles down upon the troops of the king of Epirus. The elephants so completely blocked up the way, as to prevent the entrance of fresh troops, and were of more injury to their masters than to the Spartans. Abandoned by his people, Pyrrhus maintained his character for personal valour by the brave manner in which he fought his way through the enemy. An Argive attacked him, and hurled his javelin at him; but the point was blunted by the thickness of his cuirass. The furious prince was about to strike him dead, when the mother of the Argive, who beheld the fight from the roof of her house, threw a tile at Pyrrhus, which, striking him on the head, stretched him senseless on the ground. One of the soldiers of Antigonus coming up, was rejoiced to find their great enemy in such a state, and immediately cut off his head. His soldiers, deprived of their leader, were soon put to the rout. Thus perished, by the hand of an old woman, a captain famous for his exploits against both Rome and Carthage, and whose victorious arms had made Greece tremble more than once.

MESSINA.

A.C. 264.

The power of the Romans had struggled during nearly five hundred years against the peoples of Italy; and it was not till after many and severe toils that they succeeded in laying the foundations of an empire which was doomed to embrace nearly the known universe. Rome, mistress of those vast countries which extend from the Rubicon to the southern extremity of Italy, became anxious to carry her conquests abroad. She ventured to attack the forces of Carthage, at that time the most flourishing republic in existence. The union of the Carthaginians with Hiero, king of Syracuse, for the destruction of the Messinians and the siege of Messina, were the pretexts for the first war between these two ambitious republics, whilst the conquest of Sicily was the real object. Messina having placed itself under the protection of Rome, Appius Claudius was ordered to march to the succour of that oppressed city; but a strait of the sea had to be crossed, and the Romans, without maritime experience, had nothing but boats, rudely constructed, very much resembling Indian canoes. Was it possible for such a fleet to resist that of the Carthaginians, well equipped and numerous, besides being accustomed to the domination of the seas? Appius at once perceived his weakness; and yet it was necessary that he should arrive at Messina quickly, as the enemy was pressing it very closely. In this embarrassment, the consul had recourse to an ingenious stratagem: he pretended to endeavour to cross the strait, but seeming to be terrified at the sight of the Carthaginians, he took to flight suddenly, and feigned to abandon the enterprise. The Carthaginians, fully persuaded that he would not return, but was gone back to Rome, retired, as if there was nothing more to be feared. Appius, taking advantage of this belief, crossed the strait in the night-time, and arrived safely in Sicily. The place at which he landed was close to the camp of the Syracusans; and the consul exhorted his troops to fall at once upon the enemy, promising them an easy victory;--in fact, it proved so. The army of Hiero could not sustain the impetuous shock of the Romans: it fled, and abandoned the entrances of Messina to the conquerors. The consul was received like a liberator from heaven; and the joy of the citizens was the greater, from their having been in utter despair. Appius, taking advantage of his victory, attacked the camp of the Carthaginians; but he was repulsed with some loss, and forced to retreat. He was pursued, which was what he desired and expected; he faced about, and fortune seemed to change with the situation of the place. The Carthaginians could not stand against the courage of the Romans, but took to flight in their turn, after losing many men. And thus Rome commenced the first Punic war.

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 1282.

Stung almost to madness by the celebrated Sicilian Vespers, Charles of Anjou collected all the troops in his power, set forward on his march, accompanied by an apostolic legate, and invested Messina, which he pressed closely. The unfortunate inhabitants, upon the point of having their city carried by assault, offered to capitulate. They promised to return to their duty, if the monarch would forget the past, and engage not to give to the French either places or magistracy in their city. Charles replied, that he intended to govern as to him should seem best; and that, if they did not promptly submit, they might prepare to be treated in the same manner as they had treated the French. The Messinese, irritated by this disheartening reply, swore that they would rather devour their own children than become slaves for ever. It was in vain that endeavours were made to bring them back to a more prudent line of conduct; the most terrible menaces were equally vain: they would listen to nothing: they declared that it would be better to die like brave men, than to be given up to the executioner like base malefactors. Old men, women, and children, all took up arms in the common cause. The king continued to press the siege very warmly; but the Messinese, animated by a generous despair, defended themselves with such heroic valour, that they gave Don Pedro of Arragon time to come to their succour. This prince, at the head of a fleet of fifty galleys, which had for admiral Roger Doria, the greatest seaman of his age, advanced into the strait of Messina, for the purpose of carrying off the French fleet, which lay there without defence. Charles, being informed of this project, thought it evident he should be ruined if he continued the siege; so he retreated without obtaining his revenge; but he could not save his vessels, of which the enemy took twenty-nine, and burnt thirty.

This war lasted many years, and was almost always unfortunate for the house of Anjou, which was at length obliged to share Sicily with that of Arragon, and to content itself with Calabria, Apulia, the Terra di Lavoro, and the Abruzzi, under the title of the kingdom of Naples.

We cannot leave the beautiful island of Sicily, where such interesting sieges have detained us so long, without offering our young readers a reflection upon the fate of that earthly paradise. From the shores of the Mediterranean to the summit of Etna, Sicily may be said to produce all that is desirable in most of the climates of the earth, and that almost spontaneously. But it is this spontaneity that we think creates its misfortune: Providence neither favours countries, nor limits its blessings to them, without countervailing checks or advantages. Sicily, from the time of the tyrants of Syracuse, under whom it was at least reckoned for something in the world, has always been under the subjugation of foreigners: successively enslaved by the Romans, the Vandals, the Arabs, the Normans; under the vassalage of the popes, the French, the Germans, and the Spaniards; always hating its masters; revolting against them, without making any efforts worthy of liberty; and continually exciting seditions, only to change its chains;--such is the history of Sicily; and only because it is one of the richest spots in the world--is the granary of the country that owns it--and produces this best of all wealth, as we have said, almost spontaneously. Where man is not constrained to gain his bread by the sweat of his brow, he degenerates; the worst of passions are engendered by idleness; and from the indulgence of them follows that loss of self-respect which makes him indifferent to liberty, careless of his rights, and the willing victim of the highest bidder to his vices. It is a curious fact, but no less a fact, that the most productive countries in the world are seldom ruled over by the inhabitants indigenous to them.

CORINTH.

A.C. 244.

Antigonus Deson, king of Macedon, had taken possession of the isthmus and citadel of Corinth, which were called the fetters of Greece, because he who was the master of them dominated over that country. Aratus, chief of the Achæans, formed the project of depriving him of this important place; and the following is the manner in which he had the good fortune to succeed. Erginus, an inhabitant of Corinth, having come to Sicyon, formed an intimacy with a well-known banker, a friend of Aratus. In the course of conversation, they happened to speak of the citadel of Corinth, and Erginus said that, going to see his brother Diocles, who was in garrison there, he had remarked, on the steepest side, a little path, cut crosswise in the rock, which led to a place where the wall was very low. The banker asked him, with a laugh, if he and his brother had a mind to make their fortunes? Erginus guessed what he meant, and promised to sound his brother upon the subject. A few days after he returned, and undertook to conduct Aratus to the spot where the wall was not more than fifteen feet high, and, with his brother, to aid him in the rest of the enterprise. Aratus promised to give them sixty thousand crowns if the affair succeeded; but the money must be deposited with the banker, for the security of the two brothers, and as Aratus had it not, and would not borrow it for fear of betraying his secret, the generous Achæan took the greater part of his gold and silver plate, with his wife’s jewels, and placed them in pledge with the banker, for the whole sum. Several accidents delayed this noble enterprise; but nothing daunted the intrepid defenders of liberty. When all was ready, Aratus ordered his troops to pass the night under arms, and taking with him four hundred picked men, the most part of whom were ignorant of what they were going to do, and who carried ladders with them, he led them straight to the gates of the city, by the side of the walls of the Temple of Juno. It was a beautiful moonlight night, which made them justly fear they should be discovered. Fortunately, there arose on the side towards the sea a thick mist, which covered all the environs of the city, and created a complete darkness. There all the troops sat down, and took off their shoes, in order that they might make less noise in marching, and might ascend the ladders better. In the mean time, Aratus, with seven brave, determined young men, equipped as travellers, slipped into the city without being perceived, and in the first place killed the sentinel and the guards on duty. They then applied their ladders to the walls, and Aratus made a hundred of the most resolute ascend with him, desiring the others to follow as best they could. He drew up the ladders, descended into the city, and, at the head of his troops, marched, full of joy, straight towards the citadel, without being perceived. As they advanced, they met a guard of four men, who carried a light. The shade concealed the adventurers, and, crouching against some walls, they waited for these soldiers, who, on passing before the Achæans, were attacked all at once. Three of them lost their lives; the fourth, wounded by a sword in the head, fled away crying that the enemy was in the city. A moment after, all the trumpets sounded the alarm, and the whole city was roused by the noise. The streets were soon filled with people, who ran hither and thither; and were illuminated by a multitude of flambeaux, which were lighted everywhere, both down in the city, and upon the walls, the ramparts, and the citadel. Aratus, without being dismayed, held on his way, climbing, with difficulty, the steep sides of the rocks, from having missed the path which led to the wall in a winding, circuitous manner. But, as if by a miracle, the clouds passed from before the moon, and revealed to him the whole labyrinth, till he had gained the bottom of the fortifications. Then, by a similar fortunate chance, the clouds gathered again, and the moon being concealed, replunged both besieged and besiegers into profound darkness. The three hundred soldiers whom Aratus had left without, near the Temple of Juno, having obtained entrance into the city, which they found filled with confusion and tumult, and not being able to find the path their leader had taken, clung close to the foot of a precipice, under the shadow of a great rock which concealed them, and waited in that retired place to see how fortune should dispose of their fate. The general of the Achæans in the mean time was fighting valiantly upon the ramparts of the citadel. They heard the noise of this combat, but could not tell whence it came, from the cries of the warriors being repeated a thousand times by the surrounding echoes. The Macedonians defended themselves with vigour: Archelaus, who commanded for King Antigonus, thought to overwhelm the Achæans by charging them in the rear. He placed himself at the head of a good body of troops, and, with sound of trumpet, marched against Aratus, filing before the three hundred concealed soldiers, without seeing them. The Achæans allowed him to pass on; then, rising all at once, as from an ambuscade in which they had been placed on purpose, they fell upon his party, killed many of them, put the rest to flight, and came to the succour of their general, uttering loud cries of victory. The moon once again shone forth in its splendour, and by favour of its light, the soldiers of Aratus united, and made so vigorous a charge that they drove the enemy from the walls, and when the first rays of the sun gleamed upon the citadel, it was as if to shed glory upon their victory. The Corinthians flocked to the standard of Aratus, who refused to sheath the sword till he had taken prisoners all the soldiers of the king of Macedon, and thus secured both his conquest and the liberty of Corinth.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 145.

The consul Mummius, having succeeded Metellus in the command of the Roman troops, prosecuted the war against the Achæans with much vigour, and in order to subdue them by one great effort, he laid siege to Corinth. This city, in addition to its advantageous situation and its natural strength, was defended by a numerous garrison, composed of experienced and determined soldiers. These troops, perceiving that a corps-de-garde was negligently kept, made a sudden sortie, attacked it vigorously, killed a great many, and pursued the rest to their camp. This trifling success singularly inflamed the courage of these warriors, but it became fatal to them; for Dicæus, their leader, having rashly given battle to the Romans, who feigned to dread his forces, fell into an ambush laid by the consul, was beaten, took to flight, and lost the greater part of his men. After this rout, the inhabitants lost all hopes of defending themselves. Without counsel, without a leader, without courage, without concert, no citizen put himself forward to rally the wrecks of the defeat, to make a show of resistance, and oblige the conqueror, who wished to terminate the war quickly, to grant them tolerable conditions. All the Achæans, and most of the Corinthians, abandoned, during the night, their unfortunate country, and sought refuge in other lands. Mummius entered the city without resistance, and gave it up to pillage. The furious and greedy soldiery immolated all who stood in the way of the sword, and bore away everything that could feed their avarice. Women and children were sold by auction, like flocks of sheep. Statues, pictures, valuable furniture, all the superb ornaments of this opulent city, were sent to adorn the proud capital of the universe. The towers and walls were levelled with the ground; all the houses were set fire to, and during several days the whole city was nothing but one vast conflagration. It is pretended, but perhaps without foundation, that the gold, silver, and brass melted together in this fire, formed a new and precious metal, whose name became proverbial as Corinthian brass. It was in obedience to his masters, and not for his private interest, that the conqueror acted in this manner. Mummius was as disinterested a man as he was a great captain. To his virtues he joined that warlike simplicity so common among the Romans of his time, who made it their glory to be ignorant of the arts of refinement, or indeed of anything which did not relate to the great arts of defending their country or fighting to promote its glory. He employed trustworthy persons to transport several pictures and statues of the most excellent masters to Rome. Had they been lost or injured, nothing could have replaced them; and yet the consul, whilst recommending care to be taken of them, said very seriously that if these things were damaged, others must be found in their place, and at the expense of those who undertook to convey them!

The Achæan league was buried under the ruins of Corinth; and Rome, always inexorable towards obstinate courage, which preferred dangerous liberty to tranquil servitude, reduced the whole of Achaia to a province.

TARENTUM.

A.C. 212.

Some years after the entrance of Hannibal into Italy, the Tarentines, an inconstant, fickle people, believing Rome without resources, opened their gates to the Carthaginians; but they could not force the citadel, which was held by a Roman garrison. These soldiers kept the enemy at bay for a length of time. Rome, having regained its superiority, turned its attention to Tarentum, and resolved to punish it for its infidelity. The consul Q. Fabius laid siege to it, and found means to terminate his important enterprise very speedily. Hannibal had placed in the city a body of Brutians, the commander of whom was passionately in love with a woman whose brother served in the army of the consul. This brother, with the consent of his general, threw himself into Tarentum, and, aided by the caresses of his sister, gained the confidence of the officer. In a party of pleasure, he prevailed upon him to deliver up to the Romans the quarter of the city intrusted to his guard. When measures were ready, the soldier made his escape and informed Fabius of his success. The consul gave the concerted signal to the Romans who defended the citadel, and to the Brutians, and placed himself, with a chosen body of troops, immediately opposite the place agreed upon. The noise of trumpets and of loud cries issued at the same moment from the citadel, the port, and the vessels at anchor. The consul, concealed at his post, maintained a profound silence. The general officer who guarded the quarter of the city near which Fabius was in ambush, seeing all quiet, thought he had nothing to fear, and flew towards the side whence the tumult came. The consul perceiving this, planted his ladders against that part of the wall where the Brutian cohorts were posted, and entered quietly into the city. He broke down the nearest gate, which gave access to more troops, and advanced towards the public place. The besieged defended themselves there for some time; but, overwhelmed by numbers, they were obliged to disperse. A great carnage ensued. Tarentum was pillaged; and, it is said, eighty-seven thousand pounds weight of gold rewarded the victors. Fabius had the wisdom to be satisfied with the money and rich moveables; with the exception of a single brazen statue from the hand of Lysippus, he let the statues and pictures remain, using this memorable expression: “Let us leave the voluptuous Tarentines their angry gods, whom they have so ill served.” Had all Roman generals followed the example of Fabius, and left objects of luxury and indulgence to the peoples they had corrupted, Rome would not, in its turn, have fallen a victim to sensuality and the corruption employed to support it.

TUNIS.

A.C. 334.

The mercenaries employed by Carthage for its defence not receiving their pay, revolted, to the number of a hundred thousand, and took possession of Tunis, of which they made a place of arms. During three years they had great advantages over the Carthaginians, and several times appeared before the gates of Carthage, with a threat of besieging it. At length Amilcar Barca was placed at the head of the troops of the republic; and this general surprised the army of the rebels, and besieged them in their camp. The famine soon became so terrible, that they were constrained to eat each other. After having suffered for a long time, they gave up their leaders, who were put to death. Amilcar afterwards marched straight to Tunis, where the rest of the rebels were, under the command of a seditious chief named Mathos. Tunis was carried, all the rebels were killed, and Mathos, their leader, terminated by a shameful death a life stained by barbarous cruelties.

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 1159.

Abdoulmoumen had rendered himself redoutable by his victories, and the whole of northern Africa trembled before this terrible and fortunate leader. Tunis alone was free; it seemed to brave the conqueror, who threatened its ramparts. The Arab monarch was anxious to subdue this proud city. As, in order to approach it, it was necessary to cross vast deserts, he gathered together great masses of corn, which he caused to be buried in wells upon the route he was to take. He left Morocco at the head of a hundred thousand men, and summoned the governor to surrender. This nobleman, faithful to the king of Sicily, his master, replied by a vigorous sortie, in which the barbarians were repulsed. This first success announced a continuation of triumphs; but, in the night, seventeen of the principal inhabitants escaped from the city, and offered to open the gates to Abdoulmoumen. This infamous treachery rendered that prince master of a place which might have defied all his efforts.

THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 1270.

The numberless disasters which accompanied the first expedition of Louis IX. against the infidels had not at all abated the ardour of that monarch, and he never laid down the cross after his return from Palestine. The sad news which he daily received from thence only served to inflame his zeal the more; and at length, in 1270, he resolved to make fresh efforts to liberate the Holy City, and the unfortunate Christians it contained, from the yoke of the Mussulmans. Most of his nobles were eager to accompany their prince, the faithful Joinville being almost the only one who refused to share the perils of his good lord and master. He said, in full assembly, that the last Crusade had ruined him; and that the king could not be advised to undertake this new expedition, without his councillors incurring mortal sin. The good seneschal was so weak and debilitated, that he could not bear the weight of his harness or get on horseback. The French army, consisting of sixty thousand men, embarked at Aigues-Mortes, on the first of July. They steered towards the coast of Barbary, where they soon arrived.

On the western coast of Africa, opposite Sicily, is a peninsula, whose circumference is about forty-two miles. This peninsula advances into the sea between two gulfs, of which the one on the west offers a commodious port. The other, between the east and the south, communicates by a canal with a lake which extends three leagues into the land, and which modern geographers call the Gouletta. It was there that stood the great rival of Rome, spreading itself to the two shores of the sea. The conquests of the Romans, the ravages even of the Vandals, had not utterly destroyed the once proud city of Carthage; but in the seventh century, after being invaded and desolated by the Saracens, it became little more than a heap of ruins; a hamlet upon the port, called Marsa, a tower on the point of the cape, a tolerably strong castle upon the hill of Byrsa,--this was all that remained of that city whose power dominated so long over the Mediterranean and the coasts of Asia and Africa, and contended in three wars with Rome for empire and glory.

At five leagues’ distance from this remarkable site, towards the south-east, a little beyond the Gouletta, stands Tunis, a place so ancient that Scipio made himself master of it before he attacked Carthage. At the time of Louis’ invasion, Tunis was one of the most flourishing cities of Africa. It contained ten thousand houses and three large faubourgs; the spoils of nations, the produce of an immense commerce had enriched it, and all that the art of fortification could invent, had been employed in defending the access to it.

At the sight of the Christian fleet, the inhabitants of the coast of Africa were seized with terror, and all who dwelt on the Carthage coast fled away either towards the mountains or Tunis, abandoning several vessels in the port. The officer sent by the king to reconnoitre, reported that there was no living being on the strand or in the port, and that no time was to be lost. But the king was made over-prudent by the remembrance of past disasters, and it was determined not to land till the morrow.

The next day, at dawn, the coast appeared covered with Saracens, most of them on horseback. This did not at all delay the landing of the Crusaders: at the approach of the Christians, instead of opposing them, the multitude of Saracens disappeared, which, for the former, was a most fortunate circumstance, for, according to an eye-witness, they were in such disorder that a hundred men might have stopped the whole army.

When the army had landed, it was drawn up in order of battle, and according to the laws of war, a herald read with a loud voice a proclamation by which the conquerors took possession of the territory. Louis himself had drawn up this proclamation, which began with these words: “Je vous dis le ban de notre Seigneur Jésus Christ, et de Louis, roi de France, son sergent.”

The baggage, provisions, and munitions of war were landed. A vast inclosure was marked out, and the tents were pitched. Whilst employed in the ditches and intrenchments, to defend the army from a surprise, a party was sent to take possession of the tower at the point of the cape. The next day five hundred sailors planted the standard of the lilies upon the castle of Carthage. The hamlet of Marsa, which was close to the castle, falling at the same time into the hands of the Crusaders, they sent their women and children thither, and the army remained under canvas.

Louis IX. had formed a strange idea that he could convert the inhabitants of Tunis; but this pious illusion soon faded away. The Mussulman prince replied to his proposal, that he would come and meet him at the head of a hundred thousand men, and would ask baptism of him on the field of battle; the Moorish king added, that he had arrested all the Christians residing in his states, and that every one should be massacred if the Christian army dared to insult his capital.

These bravadoes had no effect upon Louis; the Moors inspired no terrors, and did not conceal their own fears at the sight of the Crusaders. Never venturing to face their enemy, their bands, sometimes scattered, hovered about the Christian army, seeking to surprise wanderers from the camp; and sometimes united, they fell upon the advanced posts, launched a few arrows, just exhibited their naked swords, and then relied upon the swiftness of their horses for safety. They often had recourse to treachery: three of them came to the Christian camp, and said they wished to embrace the Christian faith; and a hundred others followed them, expressing the same intention. They were received with open arms; but, watching their opportunity, they fell, sword in hand, upon some unguarded Frenchmen; but upon the alarm being given, were surrounded, and most of them killed, The three first comers threw themselves on their knees and implored the compassion of the chiefs. The contempt such enemies were held in obtained their pardon, and they were kicked out of the camp.

Rendered bold by the inactivity of the Christian army, the Mussulmans at length presented themselves several times in the plains. Nothing would have been more easy than to attack and conquer them, but Louis had resolved to await the arrival of his brother, Charles of Anjou, before he began the war: a fatal resolution, that ruined everything. The Sicilian monarch, who had principally promoted this ill-starred expedition, was doomed to complete by his delay the evil he had commenced by his counsels.

So much time being afforded them, the Mussulmans flocked from all parts of Africa to defend the cause of Islamism. Thus the army of the Moors became formidable; but it was not this crowd of Saracens that the Crusaders had most to fear. Other dangers, other misfortunes threatened them: the army wanted water; they had none but salt provisions; the soldiers could not support the climate of Africa; winds prevailed, which, coming from the torrid zone, appeared to be accompanied by a devouring flame. The Saracens on the neighbouring mountains stirred up the sand with certain instruments, and the hot dust fell in clouds upon the plain where the Christians were encamped. At length dysentery, the malady of hot climates, attacked them, and the plague, which seemed to spring up of itself from the burning soil, spread its contagion among them.

The men were under arms night and day, not to defend themselves against an enemy who always ran away, but to avoid surprises. Most of the Crusaders sunk under the awful combination of fatigue, famine, and sickness. Some of the most renowned warriors of France fell a prey to the one or the other. They could not bury the dead; the ditches of the camp were filled with carcasses, thrown in pêle-mêle, which added to the corruption of the air and the spectacle of the general desolation.

Information was brought that the king of Sicily was about to embark with his army. This gave great joy, but did not mitigate the evils. The heats became insupportable; want of water, bad food, the diseases, and chagrin at being shut up in a camp without being allowed to fight, completed the discouragement of both soldiers and leaders. Louis endeavoured to animate them by his words and his example, but he himself was seized with the dysentery. His sons, Prince Philip, the duke de Nevers, and the king of Navarre, with the legate, all experienced the effects of the contagion. The duke de Nevers, who was much beloved by the king, was so dangerously ill that he was transported on ship-board. Louis was constantly asking news of his son, but his attendants preserved a mournful silence. At length it was announced to the king that his son was dead, and, notwithstanding his piety and resignation, he was deeply affected. A short time after the Pope’s legate died, much regretted by the clergy and the soldiers of the cross, who looked upon him as their spiritual father.

In spite of his sufferings, in spite of his griefs, Louis was constantly engaged in the care of his army. He issued his orders as long as he had strength, dividing his time between the duties of a Christian and those of a monarch. At length the fever increased; no longer able to attend to the wants of the army, or even to exercises of piety, he had a crucifix placed before him, and in silence implored the aid of Him who had suffered for mankind.

The whole army was in mourning; the commonest soldiers moved about in tears; the prayers of all were offered up for the preservation of so good a king. After giving most pious and salutary advice to his son Philip, both as a man and a king, and after taking an affectionate leave of his family, this good, religious, and exemplary man, but most mistaken monarch, expired at three o’clock in the evening of the 25th of August, 1270.

On the very day of the death of Louis IX., his brother, the duke of Anjou, landed with his army near Carthage. The trumpets and instruments of war resounded on the beach, but a solemn silence prevailed in the camp, and no one went to meet the Sicilians, whom they had looked for with so much impatience. Sad presentiments took possession of Charles; he preceded his army, flew to the tent of his brother, and found his body stretched upon its bed of ashes. Charles prostrated himself at his feet, which he bathed with his tears, calling upon him sometimes as his brother, sometimes as his lord. He remained in this attitude a long while, without heeding any of the persons who surrounded him, constantly addressing Louis as if he were living, and reproaching himself in accents of despair for not having heard, for not having imbibed the last words of the most affectionate of brothers, of the best of kings.

The death of Louis restored the confidence of the Saracens; they took the mourning they observed in the camp for discouragement, and flattered themselves with an approaching triumph over their enemies. But their hopes were of very short existence. During the sickness of Philip, now king, Charles of Anjou took the command of the army, and renewed the war with spirit. The soldiers he had brought with him were eager for battle, the diseases became less violent, and the Crusaders, so long confined to their camp, revived at the idea of the perils of war. Several battles were fought round the Lake of Gouletta, which it was necessary for them to possess before they could invest Tunis. The Moors, who only a few days before had threatened the Christians with extermination or slavery, could not stand for a moment the shock of the Christian chivalry; not unfrequently the arbalisters were sufficient to disperse innumerable multitudes. Horrible howlings, the noise of drums and other loud instruments, announced their approach; clouds of dust, pouring down from the neighbouring heights, announced their retreat and concealed their flight. In two rencontres, however, they were caught, and left a great number of dead on the field. Another time their camp was seized and plundered. The sovereign of Tunis could not depend upon his army for the defence of his states, and he himself gave no example of bravery or conduct to his soldiers. He remained constantly in subterranean grottos, to escape at once from the burning rays of the sun and the perils of the fight. Pressed by his fears, he saw no safety but in peace, and resolved to purchase it, if at the expense of all his treasures. His ambassadors came to the camp several times, charged with proposals, and were directed particularly to endeavour to seduce the king of Sicily. The Tunisian monarch was cunning and fortunate in this idea; venality was the weak side of Charles, and the other Crusaders were not immaculate in that respect. After much debating in the Christian council, a truce for ten years was signed, on the 31st of October, between the leaders of the crusade and the king of Tunis. All prisoners were to be restored on both sides, and all the Christians previously in chains were to be set at liberty. The sovereign of Tunis engaged not to require of the Franks any of the duties imposed in his kingdom upon foreign commerce. The treaty granted all Christians the faculty of residing in the states of Tunis, with permission to build churches, and even preach their faith. The Mussulman prince was to pay an annual tribute of forty thousand golden crowns to the king of Sicily, and two hundred and ten thousand ounces of gold for the expenses of the war to the leaders of the Christian army.

This was all in favour of the king of Sicily, and loud murmurs soon arose in the army. But what must have been the feelings of a real hero when he came amongst them? By an agreement with Louis, Edward of England was to take part in this expedition, and arrived in the camp only a few days after the signing of the truce, with the Crusaders of England and Scotland. The French and Sicilians were prodigal in their demonstrations of welcome and respect, and received him with great honours; but when he learnt they had made such a disgraceful peace, he retired to his tent, and refused to be present at any of the councils of the Christian leaders.

The Crusaders became impatient to leave this arid and unhealthy soil, and the army embarked for Sicily. But as if this expedition was doomed to be unfortunate, a violent tempest overtook the fleet when about to enter the port of Trapani. Eighteen large ships and four thousand Crusaders were submerged, and perished in the waves. Most of the leaders lost their arms, their horses, and their equipments. But as the crowning misfortune, and as if to point out the will of Heaven in the case, the whole of the money paid by the king of Tunis went to the bottom.

Of all this vaunted expedition, Edward of England was the only leader who kept his word and followed up his purpose. He went to Palestine in the spring, and, as every reader of history knows, distinguished himself there greatly. Edward I., when prince, may be said to have been the last Crusader of royal rank who appeared in Palestine. Here let me remark an inadvertency I was about to commit; I wrote Edward, prince of Wales, whereas his son, Edward of Caernarvon, was the first eldest son of our kings who bore that title. This is a common error with us. Shakspeare calls Louis, the father of Louis IX., dauphin when prince, whereas that title did not belong to the sons of French monarchs till more than a hundred years after Louis’ invasion of England.

FOURTH SIEGE, A.D. 1535.

Muley-Hassan, king of Tunis, driven from his states by Barbarossa, the terror of the Mediterranean, came to implore the aid of Charles V. That prince, touched by the prayers of the Barbary monarch, swore to replace him on his throne. He assembled a fleet of three hundred ships, on board of which were twenty-five thousand foot and two thousand horse, set sail from Cagliari, and arrived at Porto-Farina, formerly Utica. As that port was not very secure, the fleet again weighed anchor, and brought to within cannon-shot of the Gouletta. The whole Christian army landed without the least opposition on the part of the Mussulmans. The generals pitched their tents between Carthage and the Water Tower, and surrounded it with wide deep lines, fortified with redoubts. This was the exact spot on which Louis IX. had formerly placed his camp. The trenches were opened, and three batteries were raised against the fortress. Whilst the place was being cannonaded by land, the galleys advanced by turns and delivered their broadsides; the grand caique of Malta and a Portuguese galleon destroyed a part of the fortifications and dismounted the batteries of the town. The place being open in several places, it was determined to carry it by the sword. The Christians mounted to the assault, forced the breaches, gained the bulwarks and the top of the tower, and took possession of them. Chasse-Diable, and Sinan the Jew, leaders of the defenders of the Gouletta, being unable to resist the imperial conquerors, retired into Tunis, where their arrival spread terror and despair. The emperor entered this fortress, followed by Muley-Hassan, to whom he said, “This is the door by which you will re-enter your states.”

Barbarossa was terrified at the successes of Charles V. With the Gouletta he lost eighty-seven galleys, and more than three hundred pieces of bronze ordnance, inclosed in that citadel. He held a council with the Turks, and pointed out to them the dangers to which they were exposed. They had two enemies equally to fear,--the inhabitants and the Arabs, who detested their domination; the twenty-five thousand Christian slaves in Tunis must necessarily be expected to revolt, and open the gates to the Spaniards. With regard to these slaves, he declared he was resolved to put them all to death. Sinan the Jew represented to Barbarossa that he would render himself odious to all nations; that he would lose the ransom of the most considerable of the slaves, and that he must not have recourse to such a cruel measure till the last extremity. Barbarossa consented to suspend the horrible project he had formed; but he had the slaves loaded with fresh chains, shut them up in the castle, and placed under them a number of barrels of gunpowder. He passed the rest of the night in an agony of fear and hope, and in expectation of the day which was to decide his fate. He left Tunis the next morning, at the head of eighty thousand men, and encamped in a plain a full league from the city. The two armies were soon in face of each other. The Arabs at first attacked the Christians with great spirit; but scarcely had they sustained the first discharge of the artillery, than they broke their ranks, and drew with them the Moors, and even the Turks. Barbarossa did his utmost to rally them, but they were deaf to his voice, and only took counsel of the terror with which they were seized. Barbarossa, trembling with rage, sounded a retreat, rallied the fugitives, and passed the night under arms beneath the walls of the city. Whilst he was deliberating if he should go again and offer battle to the Christians, or shut himself up in Tunis, some Turks came to inform him that the slaves had broken their chains, and had made themselves masters of the castle. Barbarossa hastened thither, and was met by musket-shots and a shower of stones. Transported with fury, he cried out that all was lost, as the slaves were masters of the castle and of his treasures. He immediately left Tunis at the head of a body of Turks, and contrived to place himself in safety.

The emperor was ignorant of this revolution; on approaching Tunis, he was informed of it by some Moors. In an instant the imperialists dispersed themselves throughout the city, massacred all who came in their way, carried off all the women and children that were reserved for slavery, and abandoned themselves to all the excesses which accompany cruelty, avarice, and lubricity. The booty was so considerable, that there was not a single soldier who did not make his fortune. It is said that more than two hundred thousand persons perished in the sack of this unfortunate city; some expired under the sword of the conqueror; others, thinking to avoid death by flight, met with it in the burning sands of the deserts, where they died consumed by heat and thirst.

The emperor, master of Tunis, re-established Muley-Hassan on his throne; but that unfortunate prince did not enjoy it long. Muly Hameda, his eldest son, tore the diadem from his head; Hameda himself was deposed by his uncle Abdou-melek, afterwards recalled by his subjects. After having gone through these various changes, he reigned peaceably till the year 1570, when Ulachali, dey of Algiers, one of the successors of Barbarossa, took possession of the kingdom of Tunis, which became nothing but a nest of pirates.

CARTHAGENA.

A.C. 216.

The younger Scipio, charged with the prosecution of the war in Spain, after the death of his father and his uncle, evinced, from the early age of twenty-four, the wisdom and prudence of a consummate captain. Anxious to weaken Carthage, he undertook the siege of Carthagena, one of its most important colonies. This strong city served the Carthaginians at once as magazine, arsenal, and entrepôt; they kept within its walls the hostages which answered for the fidelity of Spain. Scipio made all his preparations during the winter; in the spring, he blockaded Carthagena with his fleet, at the same time that he invested it by land. On the day following, the armies, both by land and sea, commenced hostilities. Scipio ordered his soldiers to mount to the assault; and they executed his orders with ardour and celerity. Mago, the brother of Hannibal, who commanded in the place, had but a thousand soldiers, and thought himself lost. He armed the citizens, picked out two thousand of the best, and made a sortie. Victory was for a long time doubtful; but the Carthaginians were driven back within their walls. This first defeat would have produced the most complete discouragement in Carthagena, if the Romans had not been forced, by the height of the walls, to abandon the escalade and sound a retreat. This untoward circumstance restored hopes of succour to the besieged; but they were not unacquainted with the activity of Scipio. Whilst the sea was at ebb, he placed five hundred men with ladders along the lake where the walls of Carthagena were lowest; he surrounded these walls with fresh troops, and exhorted them to fight like Romans. The ladders were applied, and the soldiers shortly filled the whole extent of the walls. The besieged, although astonished, kept a good face everywhere, and defended themselves with courage. The sea retired, and left the lake everywhere fordable. This phenomenon seemed a marvel to the Romans; they hastened to climb the walls of Carthagena, destitute on that point of defenders, and penetrated into the city without meeting an obstacle. The confused Carthaginians rushed to the citadel, and the Romans entered with them. Mago and his troops surrendered to Scipio, and the city was given up to pillage. During this scene of horror, a young person of exquisite beauty was brought to Scipio; her graces attracted the eyes and admiration of all who were present. Scipio inquired what were her origin and family; and he learnt that she was affianced to Allucius, prince of the Celtiberians, who loved her exceedingly.

He immediately sent for that prince, together with the parents of the young beauty. As soon as Allucius arrived, Scipio took him on one side, and said: “We are both young; which circumstance enables me to speak more freely to you. My people who brought your affianced wife to me, told me that you loved her tenderly; and her great beauty leaves me no room to doubt that you do. Thereupon, reflecting that if, like you, I were about to form an engagement, and were not entirely occupied with the affairs of my country, I should wish that so honourable and legitimate a purpose should find favour; and I am extremely happy in the present conjuncture, to be able to render you such a service. She whom you are about to espouse has been among us as if she had been in the house of her father and mother; I have preserved her so as to make her a present worthy of you and of me. The only gratitude I require for this inestimable gift is, that you should become the friend of the Roman people. If you deem me a man of worth, if I have appeared so to the people of this province, be assured that there are in Rome many far better than I, and that there does not exist upon the earth a nation you ought more to dread as an enemy or court as a friend than mine.” Allucius, penetrated with joy and gratitude, kissed the hands of Scipio, and implored the gods to bless him for such purity and kindness. Scipio then sent for the parents of the lady, who had brought a large sum of money for her ransom. When they found that he had restored her without a ransom, they conjured him to accept of that sum as a present, and declared that that fresh favour would heighten their joy and satisfy their gratitude. Scipio could not resist their earnest entreaties: he accepted the gift, and ordered it to be laid at his feet. Then, addressing Allucius, he said: “I add this sum to the dowry you are to receive of your father-in-law, and beg you to accept it as a nuptial present.” The young prince, charmed with the virtue and generosity of Scipio, published throughout his province the praises of so magnanimous a conqueror. He said that a young hero had come into Spain, who resembled the gods; for he subdued all, more by the splendour of his virtues and his benefits, than by the power of his arms. Having made levies in the country he governed, he returned to Scipio some days after, with fourteen hundred horsemen. To render the evidence of his gratitude more durable, Allucius caused the noble action of Scipio to be inscribed upon a silver shield, and presented it to him,--a gift more glorious than any triumph!

UTICA.

A.C. 203.

What immortality do great men confer upon places by noble actions! A vessel sailing along the northern coasts of Africa, the curious traveller asks the name of a port, and he is told it is Biserta. The information creates no sensation, till, turning to his hand-book, he finds that that which is now Biserta, was Utica! Then, mark the change! Scipio, Cato, yea, even Joseph Addison, if he be an Englishman, all rush upon his mind at once, and he would stop the ship in her course, if it were possible, to allow him to contemplate at leisure a spot rendered sacred by heroism, patriotism, and genius!

Scipio Africanus having entered upon the country dominated over by the Carthaginians, turned all his attention towards Utica, with the purpose of making a place of arms of it advantageous to his ulterior plans; he attacked it at once, both by land and sea. Carthage exerted itself earnestly to save a city which might be said to protect the capital of its empire. Asdrubal raised a numerous body of troops, and Syphax, king of Numidia, fixed his camp within sight of that of the Roman general. The rival of Rome flattered itself with the hope of soon putting Scipio to flight; but that skilful captain quickly dispersed these smiling expectations. He at once conceived the great project of burning both camps; and this was the happy manner in which he executed it. He amused Syphax with proposals for an accommodation. A crowd of Roman officers disguised as slaves went with the deputies into the enemy’s camps, to observe the entrances and the places of issue, and to ascertain what sort of watch was kept day and night. After having taken measures and precautions according to the information thus gained, he silently attacked the intrenchments of the king of Numidia, in the obscurity of the night, and the soldiers set fire to the barracks, covered with mats, reeds, and dry wood. The whole camp appeared to be in a blaze; and the Numidians and Carthaginians, thinking the fire the effect of accident, were more intent at first upon extinguishing it than upon defending themselves. Scipio attacked the lines of Asdrubal, whilst the flames were consuming those of Syphax. The enemies who were occupied in suppressing the fire, were put to the sword; forty thousand men were left dead upon the spot, and seven thousand were reserved for slavery. The news of this defeat spread consternation amongst the Carthaginians. Asdrubal and Syphax raised fresh troops, whilst the Roman general pressed the siege of Utica. This second army obliged him to suspend his attacks; but another victory, more glorious than the first, maintained the reputation of the Roman general. Carthage, in despair, recalled Hannibal,--its only and last resource. The arrival of this great man entirely suspended the siege of Utica; but his defeat by Scipio terminated the war.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 46.

Cæsar, conqueror at Thapsus, pursued Scipio into Utica, and invested it. This city would not have fallen an easy conquest, if Cato, who had shut himself up in it, together with most of the senators opposed to tyranny, had found in all hearts a courage and a patriotism equal to his own. In vain this noble Roman endeavoured to awaken in those around him the sublime sentiments which had animated the early citizens of Rome; in vain he went through the streets to calm the alarms of the people,--the dread of the conqueror closed all ears against his exhortations: love of country had given place to love of life. Despairing then of defending Rome by defending Utica, he gave his whole care to the preservation of the senators, the companions of his misfortunes, whom the inhabitants wished to give up to Cæsar. When he had taken all the necessary precautions, he prepared to terminate his days in a manner worthy of himself. Some of his friends exhorted him to have recourse to the clemency of the dictator. “He who is conquered,” said he, “may servilely flatter the hand which has subdued him. Cato is invincible; he acknowledges neither master nor conqueror.” He then assembled his friends, and, after a long conversation upon the state of affairs, he strictly forbade his son ever to take any part in the government. “You cannot do so,” said he, “in a manner worthy of the name you bear; and to do it in any other way, would be to cover yourself with eternal ignominy.” He then took a bath, and whilst in it, remembered Statilius, his friend, who had refused to escape with the other senators. He had charged the philosopher Apollonius to persuade him to save himself. “Have you succeeded with Statilius,” said he,--“can he have gone without bidding me farewell?” “He! no,” replied the philosopher; “he is intractable: he declares he will positively remain here, and imitate you in everything.” “It will soon,” replied Cato, with a smile, “be seen how that will be.” After his bath, he gave a magnificent banquet to all his friends and the magistrates of Utica. They sat long at table, and the conversation was animated, lively, and learned, chiefly turning upon points of moral philosophy. Demetrius, a Peripatetic philosopher, undertook to refute, after the principles of his sect, the two Stoic paradoxes: “The wise alone are free; all the vicious are slaves.” But Cato replied to him with a fire, a vehemence, and in a tone of voice which betrayed his intentions, and changed the suspicions his friends had entertained into certainty. All at once, a dismal silence prevailed; sadness was painted in every countenance, and no one durst venture to raise his tear-dewed eyes towards Cato. This tender friend perceived the effect his rigid philosophy had produced; he changed the subject, and, to drive away melancholy ideas, he spoke of those who had just left them, showing the anxious inquietude he experienced respecting them. After the repast, he walked about for some time, according to his usual custom, and then retired to his apartment. There he spoke more affectionately than he had before done, to his son and his friends, which revived and strengthened the idea they had conceived of his determination. When he went into his inner chamber, he threw himself upon the bed, and meditated for a long time upon Plato’s dialogue on the immortality of the soul. He had already read a considerable part of it, when, turning his eyes upon his bolster, he perceived that his sword was not in its customary place; his son had had it removed whilst they were at supper. Cato called to a slave, and asked him what had become of his sword. The slave made no answer, and his master resumed his reading. A few minutes after; he made the same question, without any eagerness or warmth, but like a man who has no particular desire. At last, when he had finished his reading, seeing that nobody seemed disposed to obey him, he called all his slaves, one after the other, and in the tone of a master, said that he insisted upon having his sword; he even went so far as to give one of them so violent a blow, that he made his hand bloody. “What!” cried he, indignantly, “what! are my son and my people conspiring to deliver me up to my enemy, without arms and without defence?” At this moment, his son, coming into the apartment with his friends, burst into tears. He threw himself at his feet, he embraced his knees, and conjured him to depart from his purpose. Cato, angry at seeing his son in such an attitude of supplication, and darting at him glances denoting displeasure,--“Since when,” cried he, “am I fallen into imbecility, to make it necessary for my son to be my curator? I am treated like an insane man; I am not allowed to dispose of my own person; I am to be disarmed too! Brave and generous son, why do you not chain up your father till Cæsar arrives, so that that enemy of his country may find him destitute of defence? Do I stand in need of a sword, if I wished to deprive myself of life? Could I not hold my breath? could I not dash my head against the wall? If a man really wish for death, there are a thousand ways of obtaining it.” A young slave then brought him back his sword. Cato drew it, examined it, and finding that the point was quite straight and sharp, he exclaimed,--“Now, then, I am my own master.” He laid down his sword, took up his book, and read it through again from beginning to end; he then fell into so profound a sleep, that the anxious friends who listened at the door heard him snore; but the fatal moment approached. Cato called for his freed-man, and asked him if all was quiet; and when he was assured that it was, he threw himself upon the bed as if to take his repose for the night; but the moment he was left alone, he plunged the sword into his body a little below the breast. The blow did not kill him at once; he struggled a little, and fell off the bed on to the ground. At the noise of his fall, his people rushed in, and, as he still breathed, his surgeon bound up the wound. But the instant he recovered his senses, he tore away the bandages, and with them dragged out his bowels, and expired. “Oh, Cato!” cried Cæsar, when he heard of his noble end, “I envy thee the glory of thy death, since thou hast envied me that of sparing thy life.” And he entered triumphantly into Utica.

Without entering into the question of suicide in general, or that which would lead to a much longer digression than we can afford,--the strange mania for self-destruction which possessed the Romans of this age,--we cannot help observing that this celebrated death of Cato reads more like a dramatic scene than a reality. Why, if his son and his friends had been in earnest, when they knew of his intention, they ought to have bound him, hand and foot, and never have left him alone a minute. The man’s mind was weakened with trouble, and he ought to have been treated like a maniac. Such is the modern, or common sense view of the case; but the noblest of the Romans thought far otherwise. Stoicism, the favourite philosophy of the day, taught them to despise life without honour and freedom; and there must have been something exalted in this creed, for, whilst we constantly find great public men, for public reasons, laying violent hands upon themselves, we do not learn that the practice extended to persons affected by disappointed passions, or suffering under private calamities. We called it a mania--when we glance at this one point of history, it can be called nothing else: Cato, Brutus, Cassius, Antony, Cleopatra, Porcia, all playing in one short scene of the great drama; all contemporaries, and acted upon, in some way, by each other, all destroyed themselves, and all without a common-sense reason for doing so.

ABYDOS.

A.C. 201.

We now come to a siege which, from being unconnected with any rise or fall of empires, or being made or resisted by any extraordinary personages, may be passed by without particular notice by many readers of history; and yet what horrors are crowded into this short scene; what a picture it presents for human nature to shudder at!

Philip, king of Macedon, father of Perseus, who proved last monarch of that country, was at war with the Rhodians. The inhabitants of Abydos made common cause with that commercial people, who often came to visit the shores of the Dardanelles. Philip was successful in his passage through Thrace and the Chersonesus, where many cities surrendered to his arms, but Abydos shut its gates against him, and prepared for a bold resistance. We need not, in our time, go into any description of the situation of this city: the East is now more familiar to the inhabitants of central England than Cornwall or the isles of Scotland. But Abydos was of more importance in the days of Philip than now; the Dardanelles may still be of consequence as keys to the straits, but this was then a wealthy commercial city and entrepôt. Nothing of what is usually practised in such warlike proceedings was omitted in this siege. No place was ever defended with more bravery; but this bravery, in the end, degenerated into brutality and fury. Confiding in their own strength, the Abydenians repulsed the first attacks of the Macedonians with the greatest vigour. On the side next the sea, the machines no sooner came forward than they were immediately either dismounted by the balistæ or consumed by fire. Even the ships on which they were mounted were in danger, and were saved with difficulty. On the land side they also defended themselves for some time with great courage, and did not despair even of defeating the enemy. But, finding that the outer wall was sapped, and that the Macedonians were carrying their mines under the inner one, they sent deputies to Philip, offering to surrender upon the following terms:--That such forces as had been sent to them by the Rhodians and King Attalus should return to their respective sovereigns, under his safe conduct; and that all free citizens should retire whithersoever they pleased, with the clothes they had then on. Philip answered coolly, that the Abydenians had only to choose whether they would surrender at discretion, or continue to defend themselves bravely. This report being made by the deputies, the besieged, in transports of despair, assembled to debate what was best to be done. They came to the following resolutions:--First, that the slaves should be all set free, to animate them to defend the city; secondly, that all the women should be shut up in the Temple of Diana, and all the children, with their nurses, in the Gymnasium; that they should bring into the great square all the gold and silver in the city, and carry all the rest of the valuable effects to the vessels of the Rhodians and the Cyzicenians. These resolutions having passed unanimously, another assembly was called, in which they chose fifty of the wisest and most ancient of the citizens, but who at the same time had vigour enough left to execute what might be determined on; and they were made to take an oath, in presence of all the inhabitants, that the instant they saw the enemy master of the inner wall, they would kill the women and children, set fire to the galleys laden with their effects, and throw into the sea all their gold and silver, which they had heaped together: then, sending for their priests, they took an oath either to conquer or die, sword in hand; and, after having sacrificed the victims, they obliged the priests and priestesses to pronounce before the altar the greatest curses on those who should break their oath. This being done, they left off countermining, and resolved, the instant the wall should fall, to fly to the breach, and to fight till the last. Accordingly, the inward wall tumbling down, the besieged, true to the oath they had taken, fought in the breach with such unparalleled bravery, that, though Philip had perpetually sustained with fresh soldiers those who had mounted to the assault, yet, when night separated the combatants, he was still doubtful with regard to the success of the siege. Such Abydenians as marched first to the breach, over heaps of slain, fought with fury, and not only made use of their swords and javelins, but after their arms were broken to pieces, or forced out of their hands, they rushed headlong upon the Macedonians, knocked some down, and broke the long spears of others, and with the pieces struck their faces and such parts of their bodies as were uncovered, till they made them absolutely despair of the event. When night put an end to the slaughter, the breach was quite covered with the dead bodies of the Abydenians; and those who had escaped were so overwhelmed with fatigue, and had received so many wounds, that they could hardly support themselves. Things being come to this dreadful extremity, two of the principal citizens, being unable to bring themselves to execute the awful task they had undertaken, and which now came before them as a horrid reality, agreed that, to save their wives and children, they should send to Philip by daybreak all their priests and priestesses, clothed in their pontifical habits, to implore his mercy, and open the gates to him. Accordingly, next morning, the city was surrendered to Philip, whilst the greatest part of the Abydenians who survived vented millions of imprecations against their two fellow-citizens, but more particularly against the priests and priestesses for delivering up to the enemy those whom themselves had devoted to death with the most solemn oaths. Philip marched into the city, and seized, without opposition, all the rich effects which the Abydenians had collected together. But now he beheld a spectacle which might have terrified even an ambitious monarch or a conqueror. Among these ill-fated citizens, whom despair had made furious and distracted, some were smothering their wives and children, and others stabbing them with their own hands; some were running after them to strangle them, others were plunging them into wells, whilst again others were precipitating them from the tops of houses; in a word, death appeared in all its variety of terrors. Philip, penetrated with horror and grief at this spectacle, stopped the soldiers, who were eager to plunder, and published the strange declaration that he would allow three days to all who were resolved to lay violent hands on themselves. He was in hopes that in that interval they would change their determination: but their resolution was fixed. They thought it would be degenerating from those who had lost their lives in defending their country, if they should survive them. The individuals of every family killed one another, and none escaped this murderous sacrifice but a few whose hands were tied, or were otherwise kept, by force, from destroying themselves. And Philip, during the three days, satisfied his ideas of humanity by refraining from plundering the city he saw burning, and by beholding a people destroy each other, whom he might have saved with a word!

CREMONA.

A.C. 200.

A numerous army of Gauls laid siege to Cremona. The prætor Lucius Furius marched to the succour of the allies of the Romans, in the absence of the consul. He gave battle the moment he arrived. The Gauls fought bravely, but at length took to flight, and retired in disorder to their camp. The Romans followed them thither, attacked the camp, and took it. Out of thirty-five thousand combatants, scarcely six thousand were saved. Eighty standards and two hundred chariots filled with booty were the trophies and the ornaments of this triumph. Amilcar, a Carthaginian general, who had joined the barbarians, fell in this engagement, together with three of the most distinguished Gaulish leaders.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 69.

Vespasian was just raised to the empire, but he still had to tear the diadem from the brow of the barbarous Vitellius, and maintain the choice of the legions with the sword. The new emperor sent Primus, one of his lieutenants, and a very skilful general, against the tyrant of Rome. After several advantages, Primus attacked two legions posted before Cremona. The Roman legions fought against each other like the most determined enemies. Primus was near losing the battle; but his courage rallied his troops when on the point of giving way, he brought them back to the charge, and gained a complete victory. His army was eager to enter Cremona, but was prevented by the arrival of six legions of the opposite party. A fresh nocturnal combat instantly ensued between the victorious soldiers and their newly-arrived enemies. Success was doubtful; in the obscurity of night, address and courage were equally useless; they slaughtered each other indiscriminately,--their blows fell as frequently upon their friends as upon their foes. At length, however, the moon shed her beams over the bloody scene, and gave a more certain direction to the fury of the combatants; the troops of Primus had this friendly light at their backs. In this situation, the legions opposed to them, deceived by the shade, aimed their arrows badly, and shot them short of the mark. Primus profiting by this advantage, encouraged his soldiers, redoubled his exertions, and added the prudence of a consummate captain to the bravery of an enterprising soldier. Nothing could resist him; his enemies fled before him; and Primus was victor a second time. This carnage was signalized by one of those tragical events which are only met with in civil wars: a son killed his own father without knowing him; he recognised him as he was expiring, and, transported with grief, he gave himself up to despair, cursing the war which had made him an involuntary parricide. The victorious troops were indefatigable; believing that nothing was done till all was done, they attacked and carried the camp which surrounded Cremona. This place must have fallen into their hands, and the inhabitants surrendered, in the hopes of meriting some clemency by a prompt and voluntary submission; but they were deceived--the greedy legions would not be disappointed of their booty. Cremona was pillaged, its walls were razed, its citizens were slaughtered, its edifices were burnt, and the city was almost entirely destroyed by troops which ought to have respected the ancient allies of the Roman people and the citizens of the same empire.

THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 1702.

Cremona was besieged in 1702, by Prince Eugene. Marshal de Villeroi was at the time within the walls. Son of the governor of Louis XIV., Villeroi had always enjoyed the favour of the monarch. He was of very imposing and agreeable person, exceedingly brave, a worthy man, magnificent in everything he undertook--but no general. He was a courtier, and Louis and Madame de Maintenon had the weakness to send him against some of the best generals the world ever saw. Prince Eugene, who had beaten him at Chiari, still maintained his superiority over him. At length, in the depth of winter, whilst the marshal was one day comfortably asleep in Cremona, a city sufficiently strong, and provided with a good garrison, he was awakened by a discharge of musketry; he arose in all haste, and was quickly on horseback. The first thing he met was a squadron of the enemy, by whom he was in an instant brought to the ground. A German officer, judging by his uniform that he was a general, made him his prisoner. As soon as he was on his feet he whispered to the officer, “I am the Marshal de Villeroi; I will give you ten thousand pistoles, and the command of a regiment, if you will conduct me to the citadel.” “I have for a long time,” replied the officer, “served the emperor, my master, and I will not begin betraying him to-day.” He led him to the most remote corps-de-garde. The Marquis de Crenan, a lieutenant-general, was mortally wounded close to the marshal. Villeroi, a prisoner, showed great regret at not being free, and declared that he envied him his fate. He was immediately taken out of the city, without knowing what was going on there.

Prince Eugene was already in Cremona. A priest, named Cassoli, the prevôt of Sainte-Marie-la-Neuve, had introduced the Germans by a sewer. Four hundred soldiers, by means of this sewer, had gained the house of the priest, and had immediately killed the guards of two of the gates. Prince Eugene then entered with four thousand men. And all this had been done without the Spanish governor having the least suspicion, and before Marshal de Villeroi was awake. The secrecy, order, diligence, and all the possible precautions which distinguish an able commander, had secured the success of the enterprise. The Spanish governor showed himself in the streets at the head of a few soldiers, but was speedily killed by a musket-shot. All the general officers were either killed or taken, with the exception of the Count de Revel and the Marquis de Praslin. And yet the prudence of Prince Eugene was confounded. The Chevalier d’Entragues was that day to review, in the city, the royal regiment of the marine, of which he was colonel. These soldiers were already assembled at one extremity of the city, precisely at the moment Prince Eugene entered by the other. D’Entragues began by hastily scouring through the streets with his soldiers, and resisting all the Germans he met with, which gave time for the rest of the garrison to come up. Officers and soldiers, pêle-mêle, some badly armed, and some half-naked, without commanders, without order, filled the streets and public places, fought in confusion, or intrenched themselves from street to street, or from place to place. Two Irish regiments, which formed part of the garrison, stopped the efforts of the Imperialists. Never was city surprised with more art and prudence, and never was one better defended by courage and promptness. The garrison consisted of five thousand men; Prince Eugene had not introduced more than four thousand. A large detachment of his army was expected to arrive by the bridge over the Po; his measures were well taken, but another event deranged them all. The bridge over the Po, badly guarded by a hundred French soldiers, was to be seized by the German cuirassiers. At the instant Prince Eugene entered the city, it became necessary that as the cuirassiers had entered by the southern gate, near to the sewer, they should go out of Cremona immediately at the north, by the gate of the Po, and should hasten to the bridge. They went thither, but the guide who conducted them was killed by a musket-shot from a window, and the cuirassiers mistook one street for another, which made their passage much longer. In this short interval the Irish threw themselves into the gate of the Po, and fought and repulsed the cuirassiers. This resistance at first perplexed Prince Eugene. He sent Macdonald, one of their compatriots, to them, who had been the first man that entered the city. “Sir,” said he, addressing the commanding officer, “Prince Eugene has sent me here to say, that if you are willing to change your party, and come over to that of the Imperialists, he will promise you better pay and more considerable pensions than you have in the French service. The affection I bear for all persons of my nation, and for you, sir, in particular, obliges me to exhort you to accept the offers I make you from this general; if you refuse, I do not see how you are to escape certain destruction. With the exception of your solitary post, we are masters of the whole city; and this is why his highness only waits for my return to attack you with the greatest part of his forces, and cut you to pieces.” “Sir,” replied the commander, “if his highness waits your return to attack us and cut us to pieces, he is not likely to do so very quickly; for I arrest you as a prisoner, not considering you the envoy of a great general, but as a suborner. It is by such conduct we would merit the esteem of the prince who sent you, and not by a treachery unworthy of a man of honour.” At these words the combat was renewed with fresh fury. Eugene finding Macdonald did not return, at once comprehended that he was arrested; and being unwilling to resort to force, he conceived another stratagem to make them lay down their arms. He went to Marshal Villeroi: “You have passed through the city, monsieur,” said he, “and you must have remarked that we are masters of it. There are still some of your tirailleurs firing from the ramparts; if that continues, they will oblige me to put them all to the sword: order them to surrender.” The marshal easily perceived that the prince’s affairs were not going on so well as he could wish, and only coolly replied--“I have the misfortune not to be at liberty, and therefore can order nothing.” Eugene made a fresh attempt upon the Irish, who still opposed a wall of fire and steel to the Germans. The Baron de Freibourg was charged with this attack. Mahoney, commanding a battalion of Dillon, seized the bridle of this officer’s horse, exclaiming, “Good quarter for M. de Freibourg.” But the latter, looking at him with contempt, replied, “This is not a day for clemency; do your duty, and I will do mine.” He spoke, and a discharge of musketry stretched him dead on the pavement. The Marquis de Praslin, during this engagement, broke down the bridge over the Po, so that the Germans could not obtain the succours they looked for, and the city was saved. Prince Eugene, after fighting all day, being still master of the gate by which he had entered, at length retired, taking with him Marshal Villeroi and several officers prisoners, but having missed Cremona. His activity and prudence had given him the place, but the valour of the Irish and the French prevented his keeping it.

In the revolutionary war, Cremona was three times an object of attack and defence, but had no siege sufficiently interesting to claim a place in our pages.

CARTHAGE.

A.C. 146.

The siege of Carthage seemed to seal the fate of that great and ambitious republic. Whilst we have had to record so many sieges of Rome, we have only one to describe of her great rival, and that closed the career of that rival. Proud, wealthy, and, as the Romans would add, false Carthage, was never annoyed by the invasion of her capital, till Rome had so risen in the ascendant that Carthage must necessarily sink: and then she did sink, like a tropical sun, without twilight. Whether it is with the great captain, Hannibal, or with the powerful nation to which he did so much honour, that our sympathies are attached, we cannot say, but we acknowledge to feeling a greater interest for the Carthaginians throughout all the Punic wars than we do for the Romans. Besides, Carthage has no native historians, it was blotted from the map of nations, and we have reason to receive with suspicion much that the Latin, or even the Greek writers--for Carthage was generally at variance with Greece--may say on the subject of “Punica fides.”

Before we commence this memorable siege, it will be well to give our readers a short account of what Carthage was at this period. At the beginning of the war, Carthage contained seven hundred thousand inhabitants. It stood at the bottom of a gulf, surrounded by the sea, and in the form of a peninsula, whose neck,--that is, the isthmus which joined it to the continent,--was twenty-five stadia, or a league and a quarter, in breadth. The peninsula was three hundred and sixty stadia, or eighteen leagues round. On the west side there projected from it a long strip of land, half a stadium, or twelve fathoms, broad, which, advancing into the sea, divided it from a morass, and was fenced on all sides with rocks and a single wall. On the south side, towards the continent, where stood the citadel called Byrsa, the city was surrounded with a triple wall thirty cubits high, exclusive of the parapets and towers, with which it was flanked all round at equal distances, each interval being fourscore fathoms. Every tower was four stories high, and the stalls but two; they were arched, and in the lower part were stalls to hold three hundred elephants, with their fodder; and over these were stables for four thousand horses, and lofts for their food. There likewise was room enough to lodge twenty thousand foot and four thousand horse. All these were contained within the walls alone. In one place only the walls were weak and low, and that was a neglected angle, which began at the neck of land above mentioned, and extended as far as the harbours, which were on the west side. Of these there were two, which communicated with each other, but had only one entrance, seventy feet broad, shut up with chains: the first was appropriated to the merchants, and had several distinct habitations for the seamen; the second, or inner harbour, was for ships of war, in the midst of which stood an island, called Cothon, lined, as the harbours were, with large quays, in which were distinct receptacles for sheltering from the weather two hundred and twenty ships. Over these were magazines or storehouses, wherein was lodged everything necessary for arming and equipping fleets. The entrance to each of these receptacles was adorned with two marble pillars of the Ionic order; so that both the harbour and the island represented on each side two magnificent galleries. In the island was the admiral’s palace; and as it stood opposite to the mouth of the harbour, he could thence discover whatever was doing at sea, though no one could see what was being transacted in the inward parts of the harbour. The merchants, in like manner, had no prospect of the men-of-war, the two ports being separated by a double wall, each having a particular gate that led to the city, without passing through the other harbour. So that Carthage may be divided into three parts: the harbour, which was double, and was called Cothon, from the little island of that name; the citadel, named Byrsa; and the city properly so called, where the inhabitants dwelt, which lay round the citadel, and was called Megara.

The existence of Carthage constantly reminded the Romans of the fatal days of Cannæ and Thrasymenus; Rome dreaded to see her rival rise again from the state of humiliation to which her arms had reduced her. To free themselves from all apprehension for the future, the senate determined to annihilate Carthage, and sent thither a formidable army, under the command of the two consuls. In this circumstance, we find one of the most striking instances of political expediency overpowering the sense of justice in a great mind. Cato the Censor, a wise, good, and just man, was the principal promoter of this infamous infraction of the rights of nations and humanity. To judge of Cato by all the other parts of his character, we might as well expect to see Fénelon presiding over an auto-da-fè, as to find the great censor constantly urging the necessity for the destruction of Carthage.

At the approach of the Romans, the Carthaginians sent out deputies to offer to give up to the great republic, themselves and all that belonged to them. Hannibal, it is true, had long been dead; but one would think his very remembrance would have stimulated such a populous nation to some show of resistance to the tyranny of a people they had more than once beaten. Hostages and all their arms were demanded as proofs of their submission. This severe order was complied with: a long train of chariots arrived at the Roman camp, bearing an immense quantity of arms and machines of war. The most respectable old men of the senate of Carthage, with the most venerable priests, followed this melancholy cortège, to endeavour to excite compassion. “I praise your promptitude,” said Censorinus, one of the consuls; “and the senate now commands you to leave Carthage, which it is determined to destroy, and to remove your abode whithersoever it may please you, provided it be four leagues from the sea-shore.” This was a clap of thunder for the deputies. In vain they endeavoured to soften the Romans by their prayers and tears; they were forced to carry this terrible reply back to Carthage. At this news, despair and rage possessed the citizens, and it was resolved to sacrifice everything for the defence of their country. Asdrubal had the command of the troops, and every expedition was employed to fabricate new arms and machines. Temples, palaces, and all public places became so many workshops; men, women, children, and the aged worked in them day and night. Grave historians say that hemp for the manufacture of ropes being deficient, the women cut off their hair and supplied a substitute in abundance. But we consider this to be one of the pleasing “lies” of history. If we calculate how many of our fair damsels must be shorn of this their principal ornament to make one cable, we may judge of the probability of the story. During two years, the Romans made but little progress; they even experienced several checks and losses. It seemed to require another Scipio to terminate the wars in which the heroes of his family had been so successful. No name is more honoured in Roman history than that of Scipio; and our young readers must be particularly careful not to confound the various persons who bore it with one another; for there were many Romans, and most of them of superior character, who were honoured with it. The real family name was Cornelius, and the addition Scipio was what we should now call a sobriquet, or nickname, given to the first so called for serving as a staff to his blind father; Scipio being the Latin for a walking-stick. Many boasted names and titles have a less honourable source. This Scipio was, of course, not the conqueror of Hannibal; he is therefore termed Scipio Africanus the younger. He was the son of the great Paulus Æmilius, the conqueror of Perseus, and was adopted by the son of the first Scipio Africanus, and called Scipio Æmilianus, according to the laws of adoption. The two families, by marriages and adoptions, were almost one. Scipio Africanus the younger is one of the finest characters of antiquity; and if the reputation of Polybius the historian were not fully established for its truthfulness, we might almost suspect the picture we have of it to be too favourable. But really great historical characters escape from the charge of partiality in their biographers by means of their actions; history tells us how they affected the periods at which they lived, and either bears out or contradicts the record of the individuals. Where there are several persons in remote history of one name, their conspicuous actions are not unfrequently all given to one. There were many Hercules, but all their labours are laid upon the broad shoulders of one of them: so with the Scipios: the younger Africanus is such a favourite with ancient writers, that modern readers sometimes confound him with his senior of that name. We shall only observe, that though quite capable of such an action, it was not he who restored Allucius his beautiful bride.

Scipio, being proclaimed consul, immediately took the command of the army before Carthage. He found everything in disorder; discipline was relaxed, and luxury of every kind was indulged in. These evils were his first care; but these he speedily cured by the best of all possible means,--the example of his own attention to his duties, and his temperate mode of living.

As soon as that first of military requisites, discipline, was re-established, he at once proceeded to action. Having ordered his troops to provide themselves with axes, levers, and scaling-ladders, he led them, in the dead of the night and without noise, to the district of the city called Megara, where, commanding them to give a sudden and general shout, he commenced the attack with great vigour. Not expecting a night assault, the Carthaginians were at first in the utmost terror; they, however, defended themselves so courageously, that Scipio could not carry out his escalade; but, perceiving a tower that was forsaken, and which stood very near the city walls, he detached thither a party of intrepid and active soldiers, who, by the help of pontoons, got from the tower on to the walls, and thence into Megara, the gates of which they broke down. Scipio entered it immediately after, and drove the enemy out of that post. Terrified at this unexpected assault, and imagining that the whole city was taken, they fled into the citadel, whither they were followed even by those forces that were encamped without the city, who abandoned their camp to the Romans, and were glad to find a place of safety.

At daybreak, Asdrubal, perceiving the ignominious defeat of his troops, in order to be revenged upon the Romans and to deprive the inhabitants of all hopes of accommodation and pardon, brought all the Roman prisoners he had taken, upon the walls, in sight of both armies. There he put them to the most exquisite tortures, plucking out their eyes, cutting off their noses, ears, and fingers; tearing their skin from their bodies with iron rakes or harrows, and then threw them from the top of the battlements. Such inhumanity filled the Carthaginians even with horror; he, however, did not spare them, but murdered many senators who had ventured to oppose his cruelty and tyranny. This was a worthy descendant of the Carthaginians who in the first Punic war tortured Regulus.

Scipio, finding himself master of the isthmus, burnt the camp the enemy had deserted, and built a new one for his troops. It was of a square form, surrounded with strong and deep intrenchments, and fenced with large palisades; on the side which faced the Carthaginians, he built a wall twelve feet high, flanked at proper distances with towers and redoubts; and on the middle tower he erected a very high wooden fort, whence everything could be seen that was going on in the city. This wall was equal to the whole breadth of the isthmus,--that is, twenty-five stadia. The enemy, who were within bow-shot of it, employed their utmost efforts to put a stop to this work; but as the whole army were engaged in it night and day without intermission, it was finished in twenty-four days. Scipio reaped a double advantage from this work: first, his forces were lodged more safely and commodiously; secondly, he cut off all supplies of provisions from the besieged, to whom none could now be brought but by sea, which was attended with many difficulties, arising from the frequency of tempests and the good guard kept by the Roman fleet. This proved one of the chief causes of the famine which raged soon after in the city. Besides, Asdrubal distributed the corn that was brought only among the thirty thousand men who served under him, caring little what became of the rest of the inhabitants.

To complete their distress for provisions, Scipio attempted to stop up the mouths of the haven by a mole, beginning at the neck of land which was near the harbour. The besieged at first looked upon this attempt as ridiculous, and amused themselves with laughing at and insulting the workmen; but at last, seeing them make an astonishing progress every day, they began to be afraid, and to adopt measures to defeat the undertaking. Every one, even the women and children, went to work, but so privately, that all that Scipio could learn from the prisoners was, that they had heard a great noise in the harbour, but did not know the cause of it. At length, all things being ready, the Carthaginians opened on a sudden a new outlet on the other side of the haven, and appeared at sea, with a numerous fleet built with the old materials found in their magazines. It is generally allowed that, had they attacked the Roman fleet directly, they must infallibly have taken it; because, as no such attempt was expected and every man was elsewhere employed, the Carthaginians would have found it without rowers, soldiers, or officers. But the ruin of Carthage, says the historian, was decreed. Having offered a kind of bravado to the Romans, they returned into the harbour.

Two days after, they brought forward their ships with an intention of fighting in good earnest, but found the enemy ready for them. This battle was to determine the fate of both parties. The conflict was long and obstinate, each exerting themselves to the utmost,--the one to save their country, now reduced to the last extremity, and the other to complete their victory. During the fight, the Carthaginian brigantines, running along under the large Roman ships, broke to pieces sometimes their sterns, and at other times their rudders and oars; and when briskly attacked, retreated with surprising swiftness, and returned as quickly to the charge. At last, after the two armies had fought with equal success till sunset, the Carthaginians thought proper to retire; not that they believed themselves overcome, but in order to begin the fight again on the morrow. Part of their ships not being able to run swiftly enough into the harbour, because the mouth of it was too narrow, took shelter under a very spacious terrace, which had been thrown up against the walls to unload goods, on the side of which a small rampart had been raised during the war, to prevent the enemy from possessing themselves of it. Here the fight was again renewed with more vigour than ever, and lasted till late at night. The Carthaginians suffered very much, and the few ships that got off sailed for refuge to the city. As soon as morning dawned, Scipio attacked the terrace and carried it, though with much difficulty; after which, he made a lodgment there, fortified himself on it, and built a brick wall close to those of the city, and of the same height. When it was finished, he commanded four thousand men to get on the top of it, and to discharge a perpetual shower of darts and arrows upon the enemy, which did great execution, because the two walls being of equal height, almost every missile took effect. Thus ended this campaign.

During the winter quarters, Scipio endeavoured to overpower the enemy’s troops without the city, who very much harassed the convoys that brought his provisions, and protected such as were sent to the besieged. With this purpose, he attacked a neighbouring fort called Nepheris, in which they were accustomed to shelter themselves. In the last action an immense number of soldiers, and peasants who had been enlisted, were cut to pieces, and the fort was carried with great difficulty, after a siege of two-and-twenty days. The capture of this fort was followed by the surrender of almost all the strongholds in Africa, and contributed very much to the taking of Carthage itself, into which, from that time, it was almost impossible to bring any provisions.

Early in the spring, Scipio attacked, at one and the same time, the harbour called Cothon, and the citadel. Having possessed himself of the wall which surrounded this port, he threw himself into the great square of the city that was near it, whence was an ascent to the citadel, up three streets, on each side of which were houses, from the tops whereof a shower of darts was discharged upon the Romans, who were obliged, before they could advance further, to force the houses they first came to, and post themselves in them, in order to dislodge thence the enemy who fought from the neighbouring houses. This combat, which was carried on from the tops and from every part of the houses, continued six days, during which a dreadful slaughter was made. To clear the streets and make way for the troops, the Romans dragged aside, with hooks, the bodies of such of the inhabitants as had been slain, or precipitated from the tops of the houses, and threw them into pits, the greater part of them being still alive and panting. In this toil, which lasted six days and as many nights, the soldiers were relieved from time to time by fresh ones, Scipio being the only person who did not appear to take rest; he was in all places, and at all hours, scarcely allowing himself time to take food enough to support nature.

There was every reason to believe that the siege would last much longer, and occasion a still greater effusion of blood. But on the seventh day there appeared a company of men in the posture and habit of supplicants, who desired no other conditions than that the Romans would please to spare the lives of all those who should be willing to leave the citadel; which request was granted, only excepting the deserters. Accordingly, there came out fifty thousand men and women, who were sent into the fields under a strong guard. The deserters, who were about nine hundred, finding they would not be allowed quarter, fortified themselves in the Temple of Æsculapius, with Asdrubal, his wife, and two children; where, though their numbers were so small, they might have held out a long time, because the temple stood on a very high hill, upon rocks, and the ascent was by sixty steps. But, at last, exhausted by hunger and watching, oppressed with fear, and seeing their destruction at hand, they lost all patience; and abandoning the lower part of the temple, they retired to the uppermost story, resolved not to quit it but with their lives.

In the mean time, Asdrubal, being desirous of saving his own life, came down privately to Scipio, bearing an olive branch in his hand, and threw himself at his feet. Scipio exhibited him immediately to the deserters, who, transported with rage and fury at the sight, vented frightful imprecations against him, and set fire to the temple. Whilst it was kindling, we are told that Asdrubal’s wife, dressing herself as splendidly as possible, and placing herself with her two children in sight of Scipio, addressed him with a loud voice: “I call not down,” said she, “curses upon thy head, O Roman! for thou only takest the privilege allowed thee by the laws of war: but may the gods of Carthage, and thou in concert with them, punish, according to his deserts, the false wretch who has betrayed his country, his gods, his wife, his children!” Then, addressing herself to Asdrubal, “Perfidious wretch!” said she, “thou basest of men! this fire will presently consume both me and my children; but as to thee, unworthy general of Carthage, go--adorn the gay triumph of thy conqueror--suffer, in the sight of all Rome, the tortures thou so justly deservest.” She had no sooner pronounced these words than she seized her children, and, cutting their throats, threw them into the flames, and afterwards rushed into them herself--in which she was imitated by the deserters.

When Scipio saw this famous city, which had been so flourishing for seven hundred years, and might have been compared to the greatest empires, on account of the extent of its dominions both by sea and land; its mighty armies; its fleets, elephants, and riches; while the Carthaginians were even superior to other nations by their courage and greatness of soul; as, notwithstanding their being deprived of arms and ships, they had sustained, for three whole years, all the hardships and calamities of a long siege; seeing, I say, the city entirely ruined, historians relate that he could not refuse his tears to the unhappy fate of Carthage. He reflected that cities, nations, and empires are liable to revolution no less than private men; that the like sad fate had befallen Troy, anciently so powerful; and, in later times, the Assyrians, Medes, and Persians, whose dominions were once of so great an extent; and very recently, the Macedonians, whose empire had been so glorious throughout the world. Full of these mournful ideas, he repeated the following verses from Homer:--

“The day shall come, that great avenging day, Which Troy’s proud glories in the dust shall lay; When Priam’s powers, and Priam’s self shall fall, And one prodigious ruin swallow all.”--POPE.

Thereby denouncing the future destiny of Rome, as he himself confessed to Polybius, who desired Scipio to explain himself on that occasion.[8]

The fate of Carthage was similar to that of most empires or states that have grown inordinately wealthy, either by conquest or commerce: indulgence follows wealth, and luxury, sensuality, and vice follow indulgence. To support these requires more than that which attained them; to industry succeeds corruption--and then, good-night!

Carthage being taken, Scipio gave the plunder of it (the gold, silver, statues, and other offerings, which should be found in the temples, excepted) to his soldiers for some days. He afterwards bestowed several military rewards on them, as well as on the officers, two of whom, Tiberius Gracchus and Caius Tannius, had particularly distinguished themselves: they had been the first to scale the walls. After this, adorning a small ship, an excellent sailer, with the spoils of the enemy, he sent it to Rome with the news of the victory.

TOULOUSE.

A.C. 106.

In the year of Rome 646, Cepio, a man so covetous of wealth as to think both peculation and sacrilege justifiable in the pursuit of it, was sent into Transalpine Gaul. This general commenced his operations by attacking Tolosa, now Toulouse. The Roman garrison had been placed in irons. Cepio was admitted by treachery into the city, which he delivered up to pillage. Nothing was spared, sacred or profane; all became the prey of the soldiery. It is said that the consul’s share of the booty amounted to nearly two millions sterling, principally taken from the temples. It is to be remembered, when we feel astonished at this amount of wealth, that Tolosa was an ancient and very flourishing city, by its position connected with Greece, and sharing considerably in the Mediterranean trade. Notwithstanding its favourable position for commerce, during the last eight hundred years, Toulouse has been more celebrated for its love of the arts and its patronage of the Belles Lettres than for its industrial or trading enterprise. Historians held out the sacrilegious plunder of Cepio as a lesson to other conquerors; for they say he was punished in a striking manner: the Romans were defeated everywhere, and the life of Cepio proved such a continuous series of disasters, that when a man was unfortunate, it became a proverb to say he had “Aurum Tolosanum” (he was possessed of Toulouse gold).

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 1217.

The next siege of Toulouse is connected with one of the blackest pages in human history, the horrid war, or crusade as it is termed, against the Albigeois. The licentiousness of the clergy and the barefaced venality and ambition of the hierarchy led people to look with jealousy at the doctrines by which these men supported their influence; and the consequence necessarily was, that many seceded from the Church, and formed sects, or shades of belief, according to their intelligence, or perhaps passions. This, in fact, was the commencement of the Reformation, which, though kept under by the power of the Church, silently but unceasingly worked its way, till the ostentatious extravagance of Leo X. and the exasperated genius of Luther, nearly three hundred years after, brought it to a head. The rich provinces of the south of France were the first melancholy scenes of the series of persecutions, under the name of a religion of peace, which have since, in wars, assassinations, and autos-da-fè, in dungeons and inquisitions, tortures and the stake, disgraced humanity.

Raymond, count of Toulouse, was the richest prince in Europe when Innocent III. set on the dogs of rapine, by preaching a crusade against him and his beautiful country. In the crusades to the Holy Land many more had been attracted by the fabulous accounts of the riches of the East, than by any care about the redemption of the holy places, so, in this European crusade, the wealth of Toulouse was the principal incentive to the adventurers who flocked to the plunder. At that period, individual enterprise was perhaps stronger than at any other: a prince of Lorraine had become king of Jerusalem; a high-sounding title, though barren of everything but care: a few Norman knights had made themselves masters of Sicily and of part of the south of Italy: William of Normandy, and his wonderful success, were not forgotten; so that, directly there was a chance of territorial plunder, particularly under the sanction of the Church, the unscrupulous, restless, needy spirits of the age were all roused to action, and eager to obtain the first prize. One of the worst of this class, Simon de Montfort, was the leader of this infamous league. A French author describing him, says, “he would have been the hero of his age, if he had not been ambitious, barbarous, perfidious, and revengeful.” Plutarch would never have introduced the word hero, as in any way compatible with such a character. And here we take leave to warn our young readers against the partiality they may conceive for Simon de Montfort, earl of Leicester, who figured in the reign of our Henry III., from reading a pleasing tale by Mr. James. His De Montfort is a fiction, the real man was of the same character as his father; he was an adventurer, and his quarry was England, as Toulouse had been that of his predecessor.

In vain Count Raymond, the sovereign of the unfortunate Albigeois, endeavoured to defend them; he was crushed beneath the same anathema, and was obliged to fly before De Montfort. Subdued, a wanderer, and a proscribed heretic, the count was reduced to the most deplorable condition, and abandoned Toulouse to the conqueror. The Toulousians gave up their city very unwillingly. Suffering under the odious yoke, they recalled their ancient master. Montfort, informed of this revolution, hastened to the scene of action, came to the walls, and endeavoured to enter by the Nalbonnais Castle. But he there found intrepid warriors and impregnable fortifications. Finding his first attack, from which he had expected much, fail, he commenced the siege in form; he fought several bloody battles, made many terrible assaults, and spared neither fatigue nor stratagem for more than four months. But he made himself master of the place by means of a horrible piece of treachery, devised and executed by Bishop Foulquet. The latter proposed to all the inhabitants, in the name of the God of peace, to go forth and meet De Montfort, for the purpose of coming to terms. That atrocious commander received them at the head of his knights, and made prisoners of most of them. The war, however, continued with various success, and Toulouse was again in the hands of the inhabitants. Whilst besieging it, this scourge was removed by a death he merited. An enormous stone, cast from a mangonel, and aimed by a woman, struck him senseless to the earth. He was borne to his tent, and expired almost immediately. Thus, like Pyrrhus, perished the ever infamous Simon de Montfort, by an ignoble missile, launched by a woman.

Count Raymond, who was very aged, shortly after died, and the priests refused his body sepulture: his coffin remained for many years outside the door of a church. His toleration was his principal crime in the eyes of his clerical persecutors; a great part of his misfortunes may be attributed to the weakness of his character, but far more to the attractions held out to unscrupulous adventurers by his wealth. When we come to the siege of Béziers, we shall again have to turn to this horrible page of history.

SINOPE.

A.C. 71.

There is very little to relate of this siege; but the interest it has acquired by a recent melancholy event, and the contrast between Lucullus and the emperor of Russia, entitle it to a notice.

Irritated by the presumption and vanity of Tigranes, who refused to give up his father-in-law Mithridates, after Lucullus had conquered him, the Roman consul marched into Pontus, and took its cities as fast as he came to them. Among these was Sinope, known to classical readers as the birthplace and residence of the Cynic Diogenes, and of which Mithridates, king of Pontus, had made his capital. Lucullus easily made himself master of the place; he treated the inhabitants with the greatest humanity, restoring them, the moment the Roman power was acknowledged, their liberty and their civic privileges.

PARIS.

A.C. 52.

We now come to treat of one of the most conspicuous cities the world has ever seen. Upon opening such a subject, we feel strongly tempted to dilate upon all that belongs to this great city; but our business is with sieges, and we shall find enough of them to fill more than the space allotted to us.

Julius Cæsar had made the conquest of a part of Gaul, and Labienus, his lieutenant, keeping along the banks of the Seine, determined to take possession of Lutetia, the capital of the Parisians. It was not then the vast city which astonishes by its extent, its population, its wealth, its luxury, and its pleasures. Confined to that which is now called L’Ile du Palais, or Le Cité, it then presented nothing to the eye but a collection of rustic cabins; but its situation, in the middle of a river; its natural fortifications, which made the approach to it difficult and dangerous, with the well-known valour of its inhabitants, who preferred death to slavery, rendered it quite worthy of the efforts of the Romans. At the report of their approach, all the neighbouring peoples assembled in arms, under the orders of a distinguished personage, named Camulogenes. Notwithstanding his extreme old age, he knew and practised all the duties of a great captain. He at first avoided a pitched battle, in order to give his troops, who were much more courageous than disciplined, time to be formed. He took every advantage of his knowledge of the ground to make himself master of favourable opportunities. There was at that time upon the left bank of the Seine, above Lutetia, a large marsh, whose waters flowed into the river, of which he made a rampart. Labienus endeavoured to force him, but was repulsed; he might, indeed, have lost all his legions there, had he not made a speedy retreat. Irritated at this check, the Roman general fell upon Melun, whose inhabitants were in the army of Camulogenes, sacked that hamlet, crossed the Seine there, and following the right bank of the river, presented himself again before Lutetia. The Gaulish general, in order to prevent his taking the city and fortifying himself in it, set fire to it, and destroyed the bridges. Protected by the marsh, he remained in his camp opposite to the Romans, from whom he was separated by the river. In the mean time the nations who peopled the frontiers of the Parisii took up arms, for the purpose of overwhelming the Romans at once. Labienus had brought fifty large boats with him from Melun. At nightfall he despatched them, with orders to descend the river as silently as possible till they came below Lutetia, nearly at the spot where now stands the village of Anteuil, and to wait there without making the least movement. His design was to cross the Seine at that place. In order to deceive the Gauls, he sent towards the confluence of the Seine and the Maine five cohorts, who had charge of all the baggage, and were attended by some barks, filled with sailors. These soldiers marched with as much noise as possible, and the rowers struck the water with all their strength, in order to attract the attention of the Gauls. This stratagem was successful, and the Parisians had no idea of the movement of Labienus, until at daybreak they perceived that general advancing towards them on their side of the river. They were immediately in motion, and rushed forward to meet the Romans. The battle was fought in the plain where now stand the villages of Issi and Vangirard. It was warm and obstinate. The Gauls fought with a courage worthy of greater success. Camulogenes set them the example; though bent beneath the weight of years, this hero appeared, in the midst of his warriors, to regain all the vigour of youth; he was ever found at the post of danger, and threw himself fearlessly into the thickest of the mêlée. This first defender of Parisian liberty met with the death great men desire; he expired fighting for his country, amidst a heap of dead which his arm had immolated. The victory of the Romans was complete, and Labienus derived much glory from his achievement.

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 885.

From that time Lutetia, or Paris, became a famous city. Rome brought thither its intelligence and its errors, its wisdom and its vices, its wealth and its luxury, its laws and its abuses. But the Parisians, formerly so simple and so brave, changed all at once into sages, lost with their rustic virtue that intense love of liberty which had animated them. During nearly nine centuries they were no longer known than by the different masters they submitted to, and by the consideration they enjoyed among the peoples of Gaul. They were the head of them. Paris was the centre of the Roman dominions in that part of the empire; the Roman governors resided there. Emperors even preferred Lutetia to the most brilliant cities; Julian the Apostate, who embellished it with monuments, never called it anything but his “dear Lutetia.” When Clovis had laid the foundation of the French monarchy, Paris became the capital of his states. Under the reign of this prince and his successors, its extent was so enlarged as to comprise all the space contained between the two arms of the Seine. The irruptions of the barbarians rendered the fortification of it necessary. No entrance could be had to it but by two bridges: each of these was defended by a strong tower, situated nearly where the great and little Châtelet have since been built. In 885 the importance of these precautions was recognised; a swarm of Normans, eager for booty and thirsting for blood, besieged Paris, which they had often before uselessly attacked. Their army consisted of forty thousand men, and more than seven hundred boats covered the Seine for two leagues; fire-ships, towers, cavaliers, all the machines invented for the destruction of cities, were employed by these barbarians. They gave six assaults. The Parisians received them with the greatest courage, were animated by the example of the Count Eudes, whose great qualities afterwards raised him to the throne of the Franks, and by the exhortations of Bishop Gauzlin. This prelate, with helm on head, a quiver at his back, and an axe at his girdle, fought in the breach, within sight of a cross he had planted upon the rampart. He met with death whilst immolating a host of enemies. Anscheric, who succeeded him upon the episcopal seat, inherited his courage and his love of his country. He continued to lead the besieged, ably seconded by Ebole, the nephew of Gauzlin. This intrepid abbot spread astonishment and terror wherever he directed his arms, nature having endowed him with prodigious strength. In the second assault he rushed to the breach, armed with a javelin which looked like a great spit, with which he pierced the Normans, crying out to his compatriots, “Take these to the kitchen, they are all ready spitted.” At length, after eighteen months of successless efforts, the barbarians made a last attempt; they came in crowds to the foot of the walls; they were not expected, and many had already gained the parapets, and were crying victory. At that moment a soldier of moderate height, but of extraordinary valour, named Gerbaut, followed only by five men as brave as himself, killed the first, hurled the others into the ditch, snatched up the ladders, and saved the city. Charles le Gros, who had made but little effort to succour his faithful subjects, treated with the Normans, and induced them to retire, upon promising to pay them seven hundred pounds’ weight of silver in the course of a few months. This cowardly composition, made by a king at the head of an army, excited the general disgust of the Franks. He allowed the Normans to pillage his finest provinces. He was deposed at the diet of Tibur, in 888, and died the same year in indigence, deserted by everybody.

THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 1411.

Paris became in after-ages the sanguinary theatre of civil wars, which, under the reign of weak princes, desolated the kingdom. These unhappy times commenced under the pusillanimous administration of Charles VI. The hatreds which divided the nobles broke out openly: France was divided into two factions, almost equally powerful,--that of the duke of Orleans, which was called the Armagnacs; and that of the duke of Burgundy, called the Burgundians. Almost all the Parisians were of the latter party. The first wore, as a distinctive mark, a white cross at right angles; the second, a red cross oblique, called the cross of St. Andrew. These two parties soon made cruel war upon each other. The Armagnacs marched towards Paris, the hopes of plundering that great city exciting the ardour and cupidity of the troops. Everything yielded to their first efforts: at their approach, most of the garrisons distributed in the neighbouring places sought safety in flight. St. Denis was the only city that defended itself for a few days. Jean de Châlons, prince of Orange, commanded in the place; the fear of its being carried by assault obliged him to capitulate; he marched out with his garrison, under a promise of not bearing arms for four years. The treachery of Colonel De Paysieux rendered the Orléanais masters of St. Cloud, and of the passage of the Seine above Paris. That city, entirely closed in on the north side, already experienced a scarcity of provisions; the troops spread about the environs daily perpetrated the most horrid cruelties. Houses of pleasure, villages, fields of corn, were all on fire; massacres and violences of every kind, the most horrible sacrileges, the most guilty excesses, were the sports of these pitiless destroyers. Among these brigands was Montagu, archbishop of Sens, who, instead of a mitre, wore a bassinet; for a dalmaique, a habergeon; for a chasuble, a steel gorget; and instead of a cross, carried an axe. Nevertheless, with the danger from without, the fury of the Parisians increased daily, excited above all by the fanaticism of the priests of the capital. All the pulpits resounded with declamations against the Armagnacs. The besiegers were excommunicated. The Orléanais, in reply to this anathema, struck the duke of Burgundy and his adherents with excommunication. The archbishop of Sens, the bishops of Paris, Orléans, and Chartres, with several doctors of this age of ignorance, had dictated this dreaded decree. It was thus they sported with religion to justify the horrors committed on both sides. Every festival, the curés of Paris interrupted the sacrifice of the mass, to renew the thunders launched against the Armagnacs; they even made a difficulty of administering baptism to the children of those they believed favourable to that party. People did not dare to appear in the streets without the red scarf and the cross of St. Andrew. Priests wore them at the altar; the church pictures were decked with them; not even children newly born were exempt from displaying this distinctive mark of the dominant faction. They carried the madness so far as to make the sign of the cross according to the form of the crucifixion of St. Andrew. The people murmured at being shut up within the walls, whilst the enemy triumphed at their gates; seditious cries announced that they wanted to fight; and it became necessary to obey this blinded populace. The count de St. Paul and the prevôt Des Essarts, at the head of a detachment of Parisians, badly armed and without order, made a sortie by the gate of St. Denis; they were beaten, although six times more numerous than their adversaries, and precipitately re-entered the city by the gate St. Honoré, after having lost four hundred of their men. This humiliating disgrace completed the despair of the vanquished: in a transport of rage, they made a second sortie from the other side of the city. Goi, one of the officers of militia, led them to the castle of Wicestre (now Bicêtre), a pleasure-house, which the duke de Berry prided himself with having ornamented with all the embellishments the art of that age could furnish. As no troops appeared to stop these contemptible warriors, they gave free way to the madness which governed them: the gates of this palace were broken open; they plundered the valuable furniture; they even took away the glass windows, which were then an object of luxury reserved for the houses of the great. This brutal expedition was crowned by the firing of the building. Among the inestimable loss caused by the conflagration, persons of taste particularly regretted a chronological series of the portraits of the kings of France of the third race, most of them original.

Whilst both parties were giving themselves up to these horrible excesses, the duke of Burgundy formed the idea of delivering the capital. This prince, at the head of his own troops, and a few companies of English headed by the earl of Arundel, crossed the Seine at the bridge of Melun, where three thousand Parisians awaited him, and made his entrée into Paris, surrounded by fifteen thousand horsemen. The streets, filled with an innumerable multitude, resounded with acclamations; all were eager to load him with honours and to evince their gratitude. Amidst their transports of joy, however, the Parisians beheld with much pain squadrons of English mixed with the French troops. Secretly indignant at seeing the conservation of the capital, the security of the king, and the safety of the state, committed to the suspicious protection of a rival nation, not one of them would give lodging to these foreigners, who were obliged to pass the night upon their horses. The next day they were distributed with much trouble among the bourgeois, and principally among those whose attachment was doubtful. The appearance of everything was changed by the arrival of the Burgundian prince. The numbers of the Orléanais diminished daily; in the frequent sorties that were made, they hardly sufficed to guard their posts, till at length St. Cloud, the most important of them, was carried by assault. In this affair they lost nine hundred of their best soldiers, whilst only twenty of the Burgundians were killed. The duke of Orléans lost all hopes of entering Paris: his army was melting away; winter was coming on; and he had nothing left but a disgraceful retreat. He called a council of war, in which the necessity for raising the blockade was acknowledged by all. On the very evening of the day of the taking of St. Cloud, the Orléanais army loaded themselves with all the booty they could carry away, they pillaged the treasures of the queen, deposited for safety in the abbey of St. Denis, which they had till that time respected, crossed the Seine, and marched without halting to Etampes. Information of this nocturnal retreat was not conveyed to Paris till it was too late to pursue them.

FOURTH SIEGE, A.D. 1429.

Paris, which since the invasion of the English had been a prey to their tyranny, did not dare to declare in favour of Charles VII., who had just been crowned at Rheims. The king attempted to enter the capital, followed by his whole army. All the small neighbouring places vied with each other in their eagerness to receive him. He took possession of St. Denis, and occupied the posts of La Chapelle, Aubervilliers, and Montmartre. His generals, confiding in the intelligence they maintained with some in the city, resolved to attempt an assault on Sunday, 8th of September, 1429. They approached the gate of St. Denis with the design of persuading the English that they meant to attack the capital at that point; at the same time, a considerable detachment presented itself before an intrenchment which the enemy had raised before the rampart of the hog-market, upon which is built the quarter now called La Butte-Saint-Roch. The boulevard was carried at once. Whilst the English, led by the bishop of Thérouanne, L’Ile-Adam, Crequi, and Bonneval, were hastening thither, numerous voices shouted out in various quarters of Paris, for the purpose of terrifying the people,--“All is lost! all is lost! The royalists are masters of the city! Let every one look to himself!” This ruse produced the effect the English had expected: the people, in a state of consternation, precipitately sought refuge in their houses, and delivered the English from the suspicions they had conceived. In the mean time the royalists, finding the people made no movement in their favour, judged it prudent to retreat. Joan of Arc, who had joined the party in order to animate the French by her presence, accustomed by her successes never to recede, would not consent to give up the affair; she persisted in wishing to fill up the ditch filled with water, of which she did not at all know the depth. She was crying aloud for fascines to be brought to her, when she was wounded by an arrow from a cross-bow, in the thigh. Obliged by the pain of the wound and the quantity of blood she lost to recline behind the shelter of a little eminence, she remained there till evening, when the duke of Alençon was compelled to force her to return to St. Denis. Charles, conceiving the capture of Paris impossible, thought it best to retreat: his army decamped, and took the road to Lagni-sur-Marne, which had declared for him.

FIFTH SIEGE, A.D. 1465.

The duke de Berry, brother of Louis XI., at the age of sixteen escaped from the court, and joined the duke of Brittany, for the purpose of exciting a revolution which might prove favourable to him. The princes of the blood and the nobles, who waited for some outbreak to make war against the king, immediately issued manifestoes, in which they invited the noblesse, and all good citizens, “to take up arms, to obtain relief for the poor distressed people.” This specious pretext procured for this union of rebels the name of “The League for the Public Good.” The princes soon found themselves at the head of a pretty considerable army; and in order to commence by something brilliant, capable of giving credit to the revolt, after having gained several small places, they resolved to make a general assault upon the capital. But Paris was too well fortified to make the success of such an enterprise at all probable. The count de Charolais, the head of the leagued troops, drew up his soldiers in order of battle within sight of the ramparts. He believed this display would disconcert the zeal and fidelity of the inhabitants; but nothing could shake them. The marshal De Rohan made a sortie, and did not return until he had skirmished long and successfully. Some days after, the enemy attacked the faubourg Saint Lazare, the barriers of which were upon the point of being forced, when the citizen-militia coming up, courageously repulsed the rebels, who, harassed at the same time by the artillery from the ramparts, retired in disorder.

The battle of Montlhéry suspended for a time the project of the princes. But scarcely was that celebrated contest decided, than the count de Charolais made fresh attempts upon the capital. Our readers will the better understand the hardihood and persistency of the count’s attacks, when reminded that he was the son of the duke of Burgundy, and was afterwards known as “Charles the Bold.” As the royalists were masters of St. Cloud and Charenton, the leader of the enemy’s troops caused bridges of boats and casks tied together to be hastily constructed, upon which his army crossed the Seine at various times. He thus inclosed within a half-circle all the northern part of the environs of Paris, extending from St. Cloud to Charenton, of which he took possession without much trouble. Louis XI. and his troops were encamped on the southern side. The loss of Charenton might have intercepted the supply of provisions to the capital, but such prudent measures had been taken, that during the whole of the siege no deficiency in food was felt. The princes at first had recourse to negotiations, but they proved useless; and both sides renewed hostilities, which were warm and frequent. Sorties were made every day, and these combats generally terminated in favour of the king’s troops. The honour of this was principally due to the fair sex of the capital: “For the warriors,” says Philip de Commines, “beheld the ladies at all times; giving them a desire to show their prowess in their sight.” The enemy had placed their advanced posts at Bercy, which was then called “La Grange-aux-Merciers.” They were obliged to abandon them, and retire to Conflans, the head-quarters of the count de Charolais. The royal army occupied the opposite bank of the Seine. Several batteries, which defended the access to it, were erected there. The leagued princes undertook to throw a bridge of boats across the river, opposite the Port-à-l’Anglais. The king immediately constructed a bulwark, from which artillery, incessantly hurling its mortal thunders, prevented them from advancing. At the same time, a Norman archer, whose name history ought to have preserved, threw himself into the Seine, and contrived to reach the head of the bridge, of which he cut the cables that fastened it to the shore, and abandoned it to the current. This series of ill-fortune induced the League general to resume the interrupted negotiations, and at length, after numerous contentions and delays, a treaty of peace was concluded at Conflans, which delivered Paris from its besiegers. The capital signified its joy by brilliant festivals. The king, to reward its fidelity, confirmed all its privileges: he honoured with his presence a banquet at the Hôtel de Ville, at which many citizens and their wives were admitted to the table of the monarch, with the princes and nobles.

SIXTH SIEGE, A.D. 1589--1594.

The flame of civil wars, of which Francis II. had beheld the first sparks, had set all France in a blaze during the minority of Charles IX. Religion was the motive of these wars among the people, and the pretext among the great. The queen-mother, Catherine de Medici, who joined to the most boundless ambition the artful policy of her country, had more than once hazarded the safety of the kingdom to preserve her authority; arming the Catholics against the Protestants, and the Guises against the Bourbons, that they might destroy each other. In this age of troubles, the great, who had become too powerful, were factious and formidable; and the French, animated by that party fury which a false zeal inspires, were, for the most part, fanatics and barbarians. Passions or interests armed every hand: one-half of the nation made war against the other half. The greatest cities were taken, retaken, and sacked, in turn. Prisoners of war were put to death in a manner till that time unheard of. The churches were reduced to ashes by the Reformers, the temples by the Catholics. Poisonings and assassinations were looked upon as only the legitimate vengeance of clever enemies. The crowning horror of all these excesses was the massacre of St. Bartholomew. On that ever-execrable day, a young king of twenty-three commanded, in cool blood, the death of more than a million of his subjects, and himself set the example of murder. Charles IX. did not long survive this abuse of sovereign power. Henry III. quitted furtively the throne of Poland, to return to his country and plunge it once more into troubles. Of the two brothers, notwithstanding what we have said of Charles IX., Henry III. was the worse: there is no more detestable character in history than this prince, who rather resembles a Heliogabalus or a Commodus, than a king of chivalric France: in the great massacre he had been, if possible, more active than his brother.

He found in his states two dominant parties; that of the Reformers, reviving from its ashes, more violent than ever, and having at its head Henry the Great, then king of Navarre; and that of the League, a powerful faction, formed by the princes of the house of Guise, encouraged by the popes, fomented by Philip II. of Spain, whose dangerous policy procured him the name of the Demon of the South, increasing every day by the artifices of the monks, under the veil of zeal for the Catholic religion, but whose principal aim was rebellion. Its leader was the duke of Guise, surnamed le Balafré, from a scar on his cheek, a prince of a brilliant reputation, and who, having more shining qualities than good ones, seemed, in this season of confusion, born to change the destinies of France. Henry III., who perhaps might have crushed both these parties by a judicious exercise of the regal power, absolutely strengthened them by his own weakness. He thought to exhibit a great feat of policy by declaring himself the head of the League; whereas he only proved himself the slave of it. He was forced to make war for the interests of the duke de Guise, whose object was to dethrone him, against the king of Navarre, his brother-in-law and presumptive heir, who only wished to re-establish him in all the rights of his rank. Some successes against the Reformers carried the credit of the too-powerful Balafré to its height. This prince, inflated with his own glory, and strong in the weakness of the king, came to Paris in opposition to the royal command. Then arrived the celebrated day of the barricades, in which the people defeated the guards of Henry, and obliged him himself to fly from his capital. Guise did still more; he forced the king to hold the States-General of the kingdom at Blois, and took his measures so well, that he was near sharing the royal authority, with the consent of the representatives of the nation, and with an appearance of the most respectable formalities. Roused by a danger so pressing, Henry III. caused this redoutable enemy, and the cardinal de Lorraine, his brother, still more violent and ambitious than the duke, to be assassinated at the castle of Blois. That which happened to the Protestant party after the St. Bartholomew, now happened to the League; the death of the leaders reanimated the faction. On all parts the Leaguers threw off the mask. Paris closed its gates: nothing was thought or talked of but vengeance. Henry III. was considered as the assassin of the defenders of religion, as an odious, insupportable tyrant, and not as a king who had punished too audacious subjects. The king, pressed on all sides, was at length obliged to seek a reconciliation with Henry of Navarre; in the course of 1589 these two princes encamped in conjunction before Paris.

We cannot describe without a groan the excesses to which the capital gave itself up on learning the death of the duke de Guise: the shops closed, the people in crowds in the streets, arms in hand, seeking everywhere the duke d’Aumale, to place him at the head of the League, knocking down the king’s arms wherever met with, and imprisoning every one suspected of fidelity to him. A kind of vertigo or spirit of fury took possession of all the citizens without exception; they willingly allowed themselves to be dragged into the most detestable rebellion. The churches were hung with mourning, and the depositaries of the Word of God proclaimed aloud the martyrdom of the Balafré and his brother. “Those unworthy ministers,” says an historian of the time, “only mounted the pulpit to put forth, instead of the Scriptures, a series of bitter insults against the sovereign, and by the vomitings of an iliad of maledictions, they increased the fury of revolt. The people never came out from their infamous sermons without their brain being on fire, their feet prepared for running, and their hands for fighting, like so many wild beasts, against all who did not wear the badge of the League. The colporteurs of the palace cried nothing but an execration of the life of Henry III., the self-called king. They said that France was sick, and that she could never be cured without giving her a draught of French blood.”

The leaders of the sedition sought, however, to colour the public excesses with some specious pretexts. They caused a request to be presented to the faculty of Theology at Paris, in which it was said “that the princes of the house of Lorraine had always deserved well of the Catholic church during their lives, and that, being protectors of the faith, the king had put them to death; that the monarch must be declared to have forfeited his crown, and his subjects be released from their fidelity; that that prince was a hypocrite, a favourer of heresy, a persecutor of the Church, having bathed his hands in the blood of a cardinal, without respect to his person or his sacred character.” The Sorbonne, on the 7th of January, issued a decree, which allowed and even ordered all that this request stated. Lefebvre the dean, and several other doctors, refused to sign this abominable sentence; but the majority prevailed, and gave it all the authority that was desired. The principal Leaguers, armed with this fatal document, tried to lay the foundations of an authority, which the same caprice which gave it to them might deprive them of an instant after. The heads of the sixteen quarters of Paris, all scoundrels, and for the most part the issue of low families, were revered like so many sovereigns. These monsters governed Paris; they were its oracles, and put in motion the arms of all the rebels. They also determined to have the Parliament. Bussy le Clere, governor of the Bastille, who had been a master-at-arms, took upon himself the task of ordering that august company to enregister the decree of the Sorbonne. On the 16th of January he entered the assembly of French senators with fifty of his satellites, and, pistol in hand, presented to them a request, or rather an order, no longer to recognise the royal house. The refusal being unanimous, he selected the most conspicuous and led them away at once to the Bastille, where the barbarous manner in which he treated them procured him the sobriquet of “Grand Penitentiary of the Parliament.”

Very shortly, the duke de Mayenne, brother and heir to the power of the duke de Guise, arrived in Paris with a reinforcement of troops. This prince, intrepid and intelligent, but indolent, was still employed in placing the capital in a state of defence, when the two kings of France and Navarre appeared at its gates with an army of forty thousand men. Henry III. took possession of the bridge of St. Cloud, and formed the blockade of the faubourg St. Honoré and the whole quarter of the Louvre as far as the river; the king of Navarre, on the other side, besieged the faubourg St. Marceau to that of St. Germain. The consternation and the fury of the Parisians were extreme when they found themselves surrounded in this manner by the royal troops. The priests recommenced their seditious declamations; to strike the vulgar, they caused little figures of wax to be made, representing the two monarchs, which they placed upon the altar during mass, and pricked them with knives. All priests carried arms, and mounted guard with the other citizens. But this aimless and blind fury could not have protected the capital from the just anger of the king, had it not been prevented by the most infamous of crimes. Jacques Clement, a priest and Dominican, devoted himself, as he said, to the task of killing the tyrant. He communicated his project to the doctors, the Jesuits, the leaders of the League, and the principals of the Sixteen; all encouraged him, all promised him the greatest dignities, if he survived this generous action; and if he became a martyr to it, a place in Heaven, above the apostles. On the 31st of July he went to St. Cloud, where the king’s quarters were. He was arrested by the sieur de Coublan, and conducted to the procureur-général De la Guesle. This magistrate introduced him the next day into the king’s apartment. With a simple and respectful air he presented the king an intercepted letter to the president De Harley. The monarch having read it, and being separated from the Dominican by La Guesle, asked him if he had nothing else to say to him. “I have many important things to reveal to the king,” replied Clement, “but I can only do it in a whisper to his own ear.” “Speak out!” cried the procureur-général two or three times, as he began to mistrust the good father. “Speak aloud, and before me; there is no one here in whom the king has not confidence.” Henry then told him to approach. The villain obeyed, and instead of communicating secrets, plunged a knife, expressly forged for the purpose, into his bowels, and left it sticking in the wound. The astonished king immediately drew out the knife, and springing upon the assassin, stabbed him in the forehead. La Guesle put the finishing stroke with his sword. His body was thrown out at the window, torn in pieces, burnt, and his ashes cast into the Seine.

In proportion as this parricide spread consternation in the army, so did it give cause of triumph to the Parisians. A relation of the martyrdom of Brother Jacques Clement was printed; he was canonized, and lauded at Rome from the very pulpit in which the funeral oration of Henry III. ought to have been pronounced. The object was by such means to incite fresh assassinations. The king died of his wound on the 2nd of August, at two o’clock in the morning; and Henry of Bourbon, king of Navarre, whom he had proclaimed his successor as he was dying, was acknowledged by a part of the army, and by all who deserved the name of Frenchmen. The new monarch was obliged to interrupt the attacks upon Paris to disperse the different armies of the League; and it was not till after he had rendered himself master of the places which served as magazines to the capital, that he formed the blockade of it with less than twenty thousand men. He commenced by attacking the faubourgs: his army, divided into ten bodies, attacked ten different quarters of Paris. In order to witness the operations, he placed himself in the abbey of Montmartre, and at midnight gave the signal. The artillery was immediately heard to roar on both sides. “There is nobody,” says Sully, “who would not have supposed that that immense city was about to perish by fire, or by an infinite number of mines ignited in its entrails; there perhaps never was a spectacle more capable of inspiring horror. Dense masses of smoke, through which pierced at intervals sparks or long trains of flame, shrouded all the surface of that sort of world which, by the vicissitudes of light and darkness, appeared either plunged in black night or covered with a sea of fire. The roar of the artillery, the clash of arms, the cries of combatants, added everything to this scene that can be imagined that is terrifying; and the natural horror of night redoubled it still more. This lasted two whole hours, and ended by the reduction of all the faubourgs, even of that of St. Antoine, though, from its extent, it was obliged to be attacked from a great distance.”

The king’s success did not relax the mad courage and the blind fury of the Parisians; the leaders set the same springs to work that had been employed the preceding year: sacrilegious sermons, the confirmation of the Sorbonne, and the excommunication of the king.

As soon as Henry IV. had closed all the issues from the city, provisions began to fail, and more than two hundred thousand persons of all conditions were reduced to the most awful extremity, but without losing any of that factious ardour which had seized all minds. To animate the people still further, a kind of regiment of ecclesiastics was formed, to the number of thirteen hundred; they appeared on the bridge of Notre Dame in battle-array, and made a general review, which was called the Procession of the League. The leaders carried in one hand a crucifix, and in the other a halbert, the rest having all sorts of arms.

The Pope’s legate, by his presence, approved of a proceeding at once so extraordinary and so laughable; but one of these new soldiers, who was no doubt ignorant that his arquebuss was loaded with ball, wishing to salute the legate in his carriage, fired into it, and killed his almoner. The legate, in consequence of this accident, made as speedy a retreat as possible; but the people exclaimed that it was a great blessing for the almoner to be killed in such a holy cause. Such was the frightful persuasion of this populace, whom impunity had rendered formidable. They believed themselves invincible under the orders of the duke de Nemours, a skilful, courageous, and prudent general, whom the duke de Mayenne, his brother, had left in Paris during his absence; they were backed by three or four thousand good troops, and by several nobles of high courage. They every day skirmished against the royal army, or fought small battles; the Chevalier d’Aumale, of the blood of Lorraine, being always at the head of their sorties, and imparting his impetuous valour to his followers. Henry IV. satisfied himself with repulsing these attacks, convinced that famine would soon open the gates of the capital to him.

In fact, this terrible scourge began to make rapid progress; there was neither wheat, barley, nor oats left; more than fifty thousand persons had already died of want; the sad remains of this numerous population, nobles, plebeians, rich or poor, languidly crawled through the streets to seek for and devour the grass and weeds that grew in them. Mules, horses, cats, dogs, all the domestic animals,--even beasts that are reckoned unclean,--served for food. The leather of shoes was sold for its weight in gold; it was boiled and devoured in secret, for fear some wretch, stronger and more hungry, should tear it from the mouth of the purchaser. Mothers were seen feeding upon the flesh of their children, and miserable beings flew like vultures upon a newly-dead body that had fallen in the streets. The Spanish ambassador to the League advised that bread should be made of the ground bones of the dead, and his plan was eagerly adopted; but this shocking aliment cost the lives of most of those who partook of it. In this general desolation, the priests and monks enjoyed the comforts of abundance; on visiting their abodes, there was generally enough for the present discovered, and, in many instances, a good provision for the future. At length the leaders of the League, to appease the people, who now never ceased crying, “Bread or peace!” charged the bishop of Paris and the archbishop of Lyons with proposals to the king. “I am no dissembler,” said the monarch, “I speak plainly and without deceit what I think. I should be wrong if I told you I did not wish for a general peace; I do wish for it, I ardently desire it, that I may have the power of enlarging and settling the limits of my kingdom. For a battle I would give a finger, for a general peace I would give two. I love my city of Paris; it is my eldest daughter; I am jealous of her. I am anxious to confer upon her more good, more kindness, more pity than she could ask of me; but I desire that she should owe them to me and to my clemency, and not to the duke de Mayenne or the king of Spain. When you ask me to defer the capitulation and surrender of Paris till a universal peace, which cannot take place till after many journeys, backwards and forwards, you ask for a thing highly prejudicial to my city of Paris, which cannot wait so long. So many persons have already died of hunger, that if a further delay of ten or twelve days took place, vast numbers must die, which would be a great pity (une éstrange pitié). I am the father of my people, and I am like the mother of old before Solomon, I would almost prefer having no Paris at all to having it ruined and dissipated by the death of so many Parisians. You, Monsieur le Cardinal, ought to have pity on them; they are your flock. I am not a remarkably good theologian; but I know enough of divinity to be able to tell you that God is not pleased that you should treat thus the poor people he has consigned to you. How can you hope to convert me to your religion, if you set so little store by the safety and lives of your flock? It is giving me but a poor proof of your holiness; I am but little edified by it.”

Of all the monarchs that ever lived, we like to hear Henry IV. of France speak. His words come forth with that unstudied frankness which proves that they flow from a manly heart and a right mind. He had his faults--what human creature has not? but neither the annals of France nor England describe a king with whom we would rather have sat in council; have followed his white panache in the battle-field; have crossed the hand of friendship, or chatted in a lady’s bower, than with the good, valiant, and witty Béarnais. We verily think that delightful word of the French language, bonhomie, was coined to express the character of Henry IV.

“Such,” says the historian, “were the words and sentiments of this generous prince; the evils which oppressed his people penetrated his compassionate and tender heart. He could not endure the idea,” says Sully, “of seeing that city, of which Providence had destined him the empire, become one vast cemetery; he held out his hands to all he could secretly assist, and shut his eyes upon the supplies of provisions which his officers and soldiers frequently stole in, whether out of compassion for relations or friends, or for the sake of the heavy prices they made the citizens pay for them.”

He could have carried Paris by the sword; and his soldiers, the Huguenots in particular, demanded that favour of him with loud cries; but he resisted all their entreaties. The duke de Nemours having turned out a vast number of useless mouths, the council advised the king to refuse them a passage. Henry, deeply affected by their melancholy fate, gave orders to let them go where they liked.

“I am not astonished,” said he, “that the chiefs of the League, or the Spaniards, should have so little compassion on these poor people, they are but their tyrants; but as for me, I am their father and their king, and I cannot behold them without being moved to my inward heart.” But he was deceived, if he thought these kindnesses would make any impression upon the Parisians. They availed themselves of his benevolence, without ceasing to regard him as the author of all the public calamities; and when, a short time after, the prince of Parma and the duke de Mayenne, at the head of an army, obliged him to pause in his enterprise, they insulted him who had only raised the siege because he was too sensible to the misfortunes of the besieged.

Paris persisted in its revolt to the month of March, 1594; when the duke de Brissac, who had joined the League because Henry III. had told him that he was good for nothing, either by land or sea, negotiated with Henry IV. and opened the gates of Paris to him, for the reward of the baton of a marshal of France. Henry IV. made his entrée, which only cost the lives of a small body of lansquenets, and of two or three citizens, who endeavoured to induce the people to take up arms against a king who was willing to treat them as a father.

Of the policy or propriety of Henry’s changing his religion, to insure the peaceful possession of his throne, it is not our province to speak.

When Brissac had thrown open the gates, Henry’s troops marched in in silence, keeping close and careful order, and took possession of the squares, public places, and great thoroughfares. After the prévôt des marchands and De Brissac had presented the keys to him, he advanced at the head of a large troop of the nobility, with lances lowered: his march was a triumph, and, from that day, he considered himself among the Parisians, as in the midst of his children. “Let them alone!” cried he, to those who wished to drive back the crowd; “let them alone! they want to see a king.” His clemency extended to all classes, even to his worst enemies, the fanatical preachers. The Spanish garrison quitted Paris the day of his entrée, with the honours of war; Philip’s ministers departing with them. The king placed himself at a window to see them pass, and when they were at a distance, he laughingly cried to them: “Make my compliments to your master, gentlemen, but don’t come back any more.” He received the Bastille by capitulation, welcomed the repentant and submissive Sorbonne, and joined to the parliament of Paris the magistrates of the parliament he had established at Châlons and Tours.

The ridiculous yet bloody war of the Fronde, though it maddened and for a time half-starved the Parisians, and although its two parties were headed by a Condé and a Turenne, does not furnish us with a regular siege.

SEVENTH SIEGE, A.D. 1814.

When the inordinate ambition of Buonaparte, and, still more, his misfortunes in Russia, had banded all Europe against him, Paris may be said to have again experienced a short siege.

When Napoleon opened the campaign on the 25th of January, he confided the command of the capital to his brother Joseph. His enemies were numerous and powerful. The English advanced on the south; a hundred and fifty thousand men, under Schwartzenberg, poured into France by way of Switzerland; a large army of Prussians, commanded by Blucher, arrived from Frankfort; and a hundred thousand Swedes and Germans penetrated into Belgium, under Bernadotte. Here was work cut out for even the genius of a Hannibal; and Buonaparte seemed to be duly roused by the perils which surrounded him. He redoubled his activity and energy, and never had his strategic calculations been more skilful. He was near destroying the two most formidable armies of his enemies by isolating them, and attacking them by turns. But Buonaparte’s successes became fatal to him, by inspiring him with too much confidence: he would not listen to the proposals of the allies for France to return within her ancient limits, and revoked the powers he had given to the duke of Vicenza to conclude a peace at Châtillon. Wherever he did not command in person, the allies triumphed: the English entered Bordeaux, which declared for the Bourbons; the Austrians occupied Lyons; and the united armies marched towards Paris. Napoleon then subscribed to the demands of the Congress; but it was too late: the conferences were broken up. Joseph received orders to defend Paris to the last extremity; the emperor depended upon him, and conceived the almost wildly brave project of cutting off the retreat of the allies, by marching rapidly behind them to St. Dizier. By this march he lost precious time; but by it, if he had been seconded, Napoleon might have saved his crown. The two grand armies of the allies had effected their junction, and drew near to the capital. To secure the success of the emperor’s manœuvres, it ought to have been defended till his arrival; but timid councillors surrounded the regent, Maria Louisa, and persuaded her to retire to the Loire. In vain Talleyrand and Montalivet expressed a courageous opinion, and represented to the empress that the safety of France was in Paris: fear alone was listened to; Maria Louisa quitted the capital, and transported the regency to Blois. In the mean time Napoleon approached Paris by forced marches; but it was no longer time: Marshals Marmont and Mortier, on the 30th of March, fought a desperate battle under the walls of the city with forces very inferior to the allies. Ignorant of the emperor’s proximity, Joseph gave orders for a capitulation; he abandoned his post, and set out for Orléans. On the 31st of March, the allies entered Paris. Napoleon was hastening to the defence of his capital, when, on the 1st of April, he received this terrible news; he immediately fell back upon Fontainebleau, where his army took up a position. There he learnt that the senate, till that time guilty of so much servility and adulation towards him, had proclaimed him a tyrant, and that, guided by Talleyrand, it had declared Napoleon deposed from the throne, the hereditary right of his family abolished, and the French people and the army liberated from their oath of fidelity to him.

The capitulation of 1814, and the celebrated day of the Barricades, July, 1830, do not come under the head of sieges.

RIMINI.

A.C. 49.

Cæsar, forgetting his virtues in order to sacrifice everything to his ambition, prepared to march against his country. But this was not done without a mental struggle. When he arrived on the banks of the Rubicon, he was a prey to a thousand conflicting thoughts; he stopped all at once, and turning to his friends, said: “We have it still in our power to retract; but if we cross this rivulet, the enterprise must be carried out by force of arms.” According to Suetonius, there appeared at that moment a man of extraordinary height, playing upon a rustic flute, and the soldiers flocked round him to listen to him. This wonderful man, seizing a trumpet, applied it to his mouth, and sounding a charge, crossed the river. This was most likely a ruse of Cæsar’s to encourage his troops; be that as it may, he immediately cried out,--“Forward! let us go whither the voice of the gods and the injustice of our enemies call us;--the die is cast!” And he crossed the Rubicon. The short siege and the capture of Rimini were the consequences of this determination, followed by the civil war between Cæsar and Pompey, which annihilated the liberties of Rome.

SECOND SIEGE, A.D. 538.

Vitiges, king of the Ostrogoths, appeared before Rimini, and laid siege to it. He brought towards the walls an enormous tower, at the top of which was a large drawbridge, to be let down when within reach of the parapets. The inhabitants were in a terrible fright; but the commander rendered the tower useless by having the ditch widened during the night; and by a spirited and unexpected attack upon the enemy’s camp, he raised as much dread among them as the machine had created in Rimini. Some of the bravest of the Goths fell in this sortie, and their leader turned the siege into a blockade. The arrival of Belisarius compelled him to abandon the enterprise altogether.

MARSEILLES.

A.C. 49.

The inhabitants of Marseilles being under great obligations to Pompey, were not willing to open their gates to Cæsar. Irritated by this affront, Cæsar laid siege to their city. It was long, because that great general did not at first conduct it in person; but as soon as he presented himself before the place, it surrendered. The conqueror was satisfied with disarming the citizens, and ordering them to bring to him all the money in the public treasury.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 310.

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