The Population of Rome.—?The Reign of Tiberius CÆsar.—?His Character and Death.—?The Proposal to deify Jesus.—?Caligula.—?His Crimes, and the Earthly Retribution.—?Nero and his Career.—?His Crimes and Death.—?The Spirit of the Gospel.—?Sufferings of the Christians.—?Testimony of Tacitus.—?Testimony of Chrysostom.—?Panic in Rome.—?The Sins and Sorrows of weary Centuries.—?Noble Sentiments of the Bishop of Rome.

HE inspired narrative of Luke, contained in the Acts of the Apostles, brings down the history of Christianity through a period of thirty years after the ascension of our Saviour,—to A.D. 62. The subsequent career of the apostle Paul is involved in much obscurity. It is generally supposed, from allusions in his letters, that he was soon brought to trial, and acquitted, in the year of our Lord63. From Rome he probably returned to Jerusalem, and thence visited Ephesus, Laodicea, and Colosse. Afterwards he returned to Rome by the way of Troas, Philippi, and Corinth. Rome presented to him the widest and most important field of labor, and on that account he probably decided to spend the remainder of his life there; and there he suffered martyrdom (it is supposed, in the year of our Lord65), as will be related in subsequent pages.

But it is necessary for us now to retrace our steps a little, and to turn back a few leaves of the pages of history. Luke, in his narrative, has conducted Paul to Rome, then proud mistress of the world, containing a population variously estimated from two to four millions. Rome was the central and apparently impregnable fortress of pagan superstition; and it was in Rome, in deadly struggle with her wicked emperors and her degraded populace, that some of the greatest victories of Christianity were won. The strife between paganism and the religion of Jesus continued for centuries, and developed heroism on the part of the Christians to which no parallel can be found in secular annals.

It will be remembered, that, when Jesus was crucified as a malefactor upon Mount Calvary,—the sacrificial Lamb of God, bearing in his own wonderful person, as both God and man, the mysterious burden of the world’s atonement,—Tiberius CÆsar, the adopted son and heir of Octavius CÆsar, or CÆsar the August, sat upon the imperial throne. It was in the eighteenth year of the reign of Tiberius that Jesus was crucified. This event, the crucifixion of the Son of God,—probably the most wonderful which has occurred during the annals of eternity,—produced no impression whatever; was unknown in the distant palaces of Rome.

The death of Tiberius strikingly illustrates the depravity of the times. He had retired to the Island of CapreÆ, where, in a palace of the most luxurious surroundings, he surrendered himself to almost every conceivable indulgence of sin. For six years he remained there, while conspiracies and revolts agitated the empire. There was a young man in his suite by the name of Caligula, son of the renowned general Germanicus, whom Tiberius, through jealousy, had put to death.

Caligula was one of the vilest of the vile. He ingratiated himself in the favor of the tyrant by pandering to all his wickedness, and by the most sycophantic adulation. At length, the death-hour of Tiberius tolled. Remorse, with scorpion-lashes, hovered over his dying-bed. He resorted to every expedient to repel reflection, and to close his eyes against the approach of the king of terrors. In pursuit of health, he had left CapreÆ, and was at Misenum, near Naples. Caligula had, with many other courtiers, accompanied him.

The wretched emperor, reclining upon his couch, was taken with a fainting-fit. His physician, feeling his pulse, said, “His life is ebbing fast.” All thought him dying. The courtiers abandoned the powerless monarch, who had no longer any favors to grant, and gathered tumultuously with their congratulations around Caligula, declaring him to be emperor. In the midst of their hilarity, Tiberius, to the consternation of all, revived; but he was weak and helpless, and could be easily put out of the way. Afew of the courtiers entered his chamber, and pressed a pillow upon his face; and, after a brief and feeble struggle, the smothered king lay still in death. Caligula, who was, if possible, still more infamous than Tiberius, was now decorated with the imperial purple.

It is stated by Justin and other early writers, that Pontius Pilate, after the crucifixion of Christ, wrote to the Emperor Tiberius, giving an account of his death, his resurrection, and of the miracles which he had performed; and that Tiberius proposed to the Roman senate that Jesus should be recognized as one of the gods, and that his statue should be placed in a niche in one of the temples of paganism. The senate, for some unexplained reason, did not accede to this request.

Caligula, elated by his accession to sovereign power, surrendered himself to the uncontrolled dominion of lusts and passions, which had already been rendered furious and untamable by long years of indulgence. It is difficult to account for the cruel and senseless atrocities perpetrated by this monster upon any other supposition than that he was a madman, or that fiends had taken possession of his person.

He erected a temple of gold; placed in it a statue of himself, which he ordered to be dressed every day in clothes similar to those which he should that day wear; and, declaring himself to be a god, constrained his subjects to worship his statue with divine honors. The degraded populace, without religion, without any moral principle, hesitated not to bow in adoration before this image of the most contemptible of men. The most rare delicacies which money could purchase were offered in sacrifice at his shrine. His wife, and even his horse, were ordained as priests to officiate in his temple. The insane luxury which he displayed surpassed all that had hitherto been known. His baths were composed of the most costly liquids. His table service was of solid gold. Even in his sauces he had jewels dissolved, that they might be more costly. He built a stable of marble for his favorite horse, and fed him with gilded oats from a manger of ivory.

The cruelty of this idiotic monster was equal to his folly. Senators, untried, uncondemned, were wantonly murdered at his bidding. His victims were thrown into the dens of half-famished lions and tigers to be devoured alive. It was one of the entertainments of his meals to place persons upon the rack, that he might be amused by their shrieks, and entertained by their convulsions.

The guilty, cowardly wretch was ever trembling in every nerve in apprehension of assassination. Suspecting one of the most beautiful women of his court of being engaged in a conspiracy against him, he placed her upon the rack to enforce confession, and dislocated every joint in her body. Her shrieks and mutilation roused the courtiers to the energies of despair. Cherea, a Roman senator, approached the emperor, and, plunging a dagger into his heart, exclaimed, “Tyrant, think of this!”

Caligula fell dead. He was but twenty-nine years of age, and had reigned but four years. To such men, how awful the declaration of Christianity!—“All that are in the graves shall hear His voice, and shall come forth,—they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of damnation.”

Anarchy succeeded. As some drunken Roman soldiers were rioting through the palace, they found a half-crazed old man named Claudius, an uncle of Caligula, hidden behind a pile of lumber in the garret. They seized him, and partly in jest, and partly in earnest, proclaimed him emperor. The army took up the joke, and ratified the choice. In solid phalanx, with banners, shoutings, and bugle-peals, they presented him to the trembling senate, and compelled his enthronement.

In Claudius, the worst of conceivable bad elements were combined: he united the stupidity of the idiot with the ferocity of the demon. He commenced his reign about the forty-sixth year of the Christian era. Britain, then inhabited by barbaric tribes, invited invasion. Claudius sent an army to march through Gaul, and, crossing the channel, to plant the banners of the empire on those distant shores. Many and bloody were the battles; but the Roman legions were triumphant.

Claudius was so elated with the conquest, that he in person repaired to Britain to receive the homage of the savage inhabitants of the conquered isle. Still the conquest was very imperfect. But a few of the tribes had been vanquished. Large portions of the island still remained under the sway of their bold and indomitable chieftains. Thirty battles were subsequently fought, and several years of incessant conflict passed, before Britain was fairly reduced to the condition of a Roman province.

Messalina, the wife of Claudius, has attained the unenviable notoriety of having been the worst, the most shameless woman earth has ever known. The renown of her profligacy has survived the lapse of eighteen centuries. The story of her life can now never be told: modern civilization would not endure the recital. The ladies of her court were compelled, under penalty of torture and death, publicly to practise the same enormities in which she rioted. Her brutal husband was utterly regardless of the infamy of her life. At length, becoming weary of her, he connived with another for her assassination.

Claudius, having murdered Messalina, married Agrippina. She had already given birth to the monster Nero. For a short time, she ruled her imbecile husband with a rod of iron. Three wives had preceded her. One day, Claudius, in his cups, imprudently declared that it was his fate to be tormented with bad wives, and to be their executioner. Agrippina weighed the words. Claudius loved mushrooms. Agrippina prepared for him a delicious dish, sprinkled poison upon it, and with her own loving hands presented it to her spouse. She had the pleasure of seeing him fall and die in convulsions at her feet.

Such was life in the palaces of Rome at the time of the apostles. Such was the world that Jesus came to redeem. The question is sometimes asked, whether humanity is advancing or retrograding in moral character. No one familiar with the history of past ages will ask that question. Manifold as are the evils in many of the courts of Europe at the present time, most of them are as far in advance of ancient Rome, in all that constitutes integrity and virtue, as is the most refined Christian family in advance of the most godless and degraded.

Nero, a lad of seventeen, whom Claudius had adopted as his heir, succeeded to the throne. It is said, that, at the commencement of his reign, he gave indications of a humane spirit; but this period was so short as scarcely to deserve notice. The character and career of Nero were such, that, from that day to this, the ears of mankind have tingled with the recital of the outrages he inflicted upon humanity. The sceptre of the world was placed in the hands of this boy in the year of our Lord54. The knowledge of the doctrines of Jesus had already reached Rome. Paul was there, though in chains, boldly preaching the religion of Jesus of Nazareth.

“There is one God, and one only,” said Jesus; “and all idols are vanity and a lie.”

“All mankind are brethren,” said Jesus; “and God commands that every man should love his brother as himself.”

“The divine benediction,” said Jesus, “rests upon the lowly in spirit, the pure in heart; upon the peacemakers; upon those who visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction, and who practise every thing that is true and lovely and of good report. Repent of sin, seek pardon through faith in a Saviour who has died to atone for your sins, commence a life of devotion to the glory of God and to the welfare of your brother-man, and death shall introduce you to realms of honor, glory, and immortality.”

“God is no respecter of persons,” said Jesus. “The monarch and the slave stand alike at his tribunal. The wicked, and those who fear not God, shall be cast into hell. The smoke of their torment ascendeth for ever and ever.”

These offers of salvation to all who would repent and commence the Christlike life, these good news and glad tidings, were joyfully accepted by hundreds and by thousands of the poor and the oppressed and the world-weary; but the denunciations of divine wrath upon those who, by their enormities, were converting this world into a realm of woe, fell appallingly upon the ears of proud and unrelenting oppressors.

The teachings of Jesus were thus hateful to Nero. He hated that religion which condemned him. He hated those who preached it. He deliberately determined to blot out that religion from the world; to silence in death every tongue that proclaimed it. It was apparently an easy task to do this. Nero was monarch of the world. Aresistless army moved unquestioning at his bidding. All power was apparently in his hands. He was a man, for the times, highly educated. He was endowed with intellectual shrewdness as well as physical energy, and could bring public opinion to bear against the Christians, while he assailed them with the axe of the headsman and the flames of martyrdom.

The Christians were few and feeble. To turn against them popular indignation, atrocious libels were fabricated. The Christians were in the habit of taking their infants to church to be baptized. Pagan slanderers affirmed that they were taken there to be offered in bloody sacrifice. The Christians often met to celebrate the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper: they ate of that bread which represented the body of Jesus broken for us; they drank of that wine emblematic of the blood of Jesus, shed for our sins. The pagans declared that the Christians were cannibals; that they secretly met in midnight feasts, and, having murdered a man, ate his flesh, and drank his blood.

Thus a terrible prejudice was created against the Christians. Many were deceived by these cruel slanders who would possibly have joined the disciples had they known the truth. Thus shrewdly Nero prepared the public mind for the outrages he was about to inflict upon those whom he had doomed to destruction. Even Tacitus, the renowned Roman historian, a man of much candor, was manifestly under the influence of these gross libels. In the following terms, he describes the first persecution of the Christians at Rome by Nero:—

“Christ, the founder of that name, was put to death as a criminal by Pontius Pilate, procurator of JudÆa, in the reign of Tiberius. But the pernicious superstition, repressed for a time, broke out again, not only through JudÆa, where the mischief originated, but through the city of Rome also, whither all things horrible and disgraceful flow from all quarters as to a common receptacle, and where they are encouraged. Accordingly, first those were seized who confessed that they were Christians; next, on their information, a vast multitude were convicted, not so much on the charge of burning the city, as of hating the human race.

“And in their deaths they were made the subject of sport; for they were covered with skins of wild beasts, and worried to death by dogs, or nailed to crosses, or set fire to, and, when day declined, burned to serve for nocturnal lights. Nero offered his own gardens for that spectacle, and exhibited a circensian game, indiscriminately mingling with the common people in the habit of a charioteer, or else standing in his chariot. Whence a feeling of compassion rose towards the sufferers, though guilty, and deserving to be made examples of by capital punishment, because they seem not to be cut off for the public good, but victims to the ferocity of one man.”167

It will be noticed in the above paragraph that Tacitus alludes to a charge which Nero brought against the Christians, of having set fire to the city of Rome. One day, some one repeated in conversation, in presence of the tyrant, the line, “When Iam dead, let fire devour the world.” Nero replied, “It shall be said, ‘When Iam living, let fire devour the world.’”

Rome then contained, according to the general estimate, about four million inhabitants. They were crowded together in narrow, winding streets. Nero ordered his emissaries to apply the torch in various sections of the city. The wind was fresh; the buildings, which were mostly of wood, were dry; the flames fierce. Nero ascended a neighboring tower to view the cruel, sublime, awful spectacle. Earth never witnessed such a scene before, has never since. For nine days and nights the flames raged in quenchless fury. Uncounted multitudes, caught in the narrow streets, perished miserably. The most magnificent specimens of architecture and priceless works of art were consumed.

The motives which led to this diabolical deed were probably complex. It is said that Nero, satiated with every conceivable indulgence, longed for some new excitement. The spectacle of the dwellings of four millions of people in flames; the frenzy, the dismay, the runnings to and fro, of the perishing millions,—men, women, and children; the rush and roar of the conflagration, flashing in billowy flames by night to the clouds,—all combined to present a spectacle such as mortal eye had never gazed upon before.

The estimated population of the Roman empire at this time was about a hundred and fifty millions. By the assessment of enormous taxes upon these millions, funds could easily be raised to rebuild Rome in hitherto unimagined splendor. It is said that this ambition was one of the motives which inspired Nero to his infamous deed.

Nero commenced with great energy, levying taxes, and rebuilding the city; but the cry of the starving, houseless millions could not be stifled. The tyrant was alarmed. To shield himself from obloquy, he accused the Christians of the crime, and visited them with the most terrible retribution.

“Not all the relief,” writes Tacitus, “that could come from man, not all the bounties that the prince could bestow, nor all the atonements which could be presented to the gods, availed to relieve Nero from the infamy of being believed to have ordered the conflagration. Hence, to suppress the rumor, he falsely charged with the guilt, and punished with the most exquisite tortures, the persons called Christians.”

To enter into the detail of the outrages to which the Christians were exposed would but harrow the feelings of the reader. Demoniac ingenuity was employed in inflicting the most revolting and terrible suffering; while at the same time the victims were so disguised, sewed up in skins of wild beasts, or wrapped in tarred sheets, as to deprive them of all sympathy, and expose them to the derision of the brutal mob. Tender Christian maidens passed through ordeals of exposure, suffering, and death, too dreadful for us, in these modern days, even to contemplate. That divine support which Christ promised to his followers in these predicted hours of persecution sustained them. The imagination cannot conceive of greater cruelty than Nero inflicted upon these disciples of Jesus: and yet in death they came off more than conquerors; and it proved then emphatically true, that “the blood of the martyrs was the seed of the Church.”

It was during this persecution by Nero that Paul suffered martyrdom at Rome. He had been there a prisoner in chains for some years. With his accustomed power and success, he had preached the gospel of Jesus; and those pure doctrines had gained access even to the palace of the CÆsars. Alarge and flourishing church had been gathered in that city, which in corruption equalled, even if it did not outvie, Sodom and Gomorrah. On no page of Holy Writ does the light of inspiration beam more brightly than in Paul’s Epistle to the Church at Rome.

Chrysostom says, that a cup-bearer of Nero, and one of the most distinguished females of his court, became, through the preaching of Paul, disciples of Jesus, and recoiled from the sin and the shame everywhere around them. This so enraged the tyrant, that he ordered Paul immediately to be beheaded.

It is one of the legends of the Romish Church, founded upon evidence which has not generally been entirely satisfactory to Protestants, that the apostle Peter visited Rome, where he was arrested, and imprisoned with Paul. It is said that the two apostles were incarcerated together in the prison of Mamertin, which was at the foot of the Capitoline Hill, and which was constructed of damp and gloomy underground vaults, extensive in their range, and crowded with the victims of tyranny. Two of the prison-guards and forty-seven of the prisoners, impressed by the character and by the teachings of these holy men, became converts. Peter baptized them. Nero ordered both of the apostles to be executed. Their death took place, according to the declaration of the Catholic fathers, on the same day,—the 29th of June, A.D. 67. St.Paul, being a Roman citizen, could not be subjected to the ignominy of crucifixion: he was beheaded. St.Peter, being a Jew, was regarded as a vile person, and doomed to the cross. Paul was led a distance of three miles from the city to a place called the Fountain of Salvienne, where the block of the executioner awaited him. On the way, forgetful of self, he preached the gospel of Jesus to the soldiers who guarded him. Three of them became converts, and soon after suffered martyrdom.

St. Peter was led across the Tiber to the quarter inhabited by the Jews, and was crucified on the top of Mount Janiculum. As they were preparing to nail him to the cross in the ordinary manner, he said that “he did not merit to be treated as was his Master,” and implored them to crucify him with his head downwards. His wish was granted.168

Nero had a half-brother, Britannicus, the son of Claudius and his own mother Agrippina. Legitimately, he was entitled to the throne rather than Nero. The tyrant became jealous of Britannicus. He was invited, with his mother and his sister Octavia, to a supper in the palace of Nero. Agoblet of poisoned wine was placed before him: he drank, fell into convulsions, and died in the arms of his mother. Nero reclined listlessly upon a sofa, and, as he witnessed his agonizing convulsions, said “he did not think much was the matter with Britannicus; that it was probably merely a fainting-fit.” When it appeared that the prince was really dead, he ordered the body to be immediately removed and burned; while the entertainment went on undisturbed. It was a tempestuous night. Floods of rain were falling, and a tornado swept the city, as the funeral-pyre of the young prince blazed in the Campus Martius.

“The appointments for his burial,” writes Tacitus, “had been prepared beforehand. His ashes were entombed in the Campus Martius during such tempestuous rains, that the populace believed them to be denunciations of the wrath of the gods against the deed. Nero, by an edict, justified the hurrying of the obsequies, alleging that it was an institution of their ancestors to withdraw from the sight such as died prematurely, and not to lengthen the solemnity by encomiums and processions.”

The vast estates of Britannicus, consisting of palaces, villas, and other property, were seized by Nero, and divided among his partisans to purchase their support.

Agrippina understood full well that Britannicus had been poisoned by his brother Nero; but she feigned to be deceived, and to believe that he died accidentally in a fit. Agrippina was another Messalina. She hated Nero, and determined to secure his death. Nero hated her, and was plotting day and night how he might kill her, and yet not expose himself to the charge of being the murderer of his mother. They both affected the most cordial relations in their social intercourse, and addressed each other in the most endearing epithets.

Agrippina was immensely rich, had numerous and powerful partisans, and had formed the plan of effecting the assassination of Nero, and of placing upon the throne one of her favorites, Rubellius Plautus. Nero, whose suspicions were ever active, received some intimations of this plan. The following ingenious device he adopted to rid himself of his mother: He caused a vessel to be constructed with more than regal splendor, but so arranged, that, by the withdrawal of a few bolts, the heavy canopy which overhung the royal couch would fall with a fatal crash; and at the same time planks would give way, which would cause the vessel immediately to founder.

Agrippina was residing at her magnificent country-seat at Antium, near Rome. Nero invited his mother to an entertainment, such as only a Roman emperor could provide, at BaiÆ, near Naples. It is probable that the mother was somewhat deceived by the marvellous affection manifested for her by her son. She accepted his invitation. She was conveyed to BaiÆ in a sedan. Nero met her upon her approach, embraced her affectionately, and led her to the villa of Bauli, washed by the sea, where her reception was as magnificent as imperial wealth and power could give. Agrippina was assigned a seat by the side of her son. He loaded her with caresses, amused her with anecdotes, and honored her by pretending to seek her counsel upon the most serious affairs of state.

It was a late hour when the banquet came to a close. Nero conducted his mother to the beach, and assisted her into the imperial barge, which, driven by three banks of oars, was appointed to convey her to Antium. It was a brilliant night. The unclouded sky was resplendent with stars, while not a breath of wind rippled the polished surface of the sea. With lusty sinews the well-trained seamen pushed the barge from the shore. The hired assassins of Nero on board had made all the arrangements for the destruction of the empress, her attendants, and the seamen; while precautions had been adopted for their own escape. They had proceeded but a short distance on their voyage, when suddenly the heavy-laden imperial canopy fell, with such force as to crush to death one of the female attendants who reclined at Agrippina’s feet; but it so happened that some of the timbers fell in such a way as to protect Agrippina from serious harm, though she was slightly wounded. Instantly apprehending the treachery of her son, she had sufficient presence of mind to remain perfectly quiet. One of her maids, who was thrown into the sea, in her drowning terror cried out that she was Agrippina, and implored of them to save the mother of the prince. The assassins smote her upon the head with their oars and boat-poles, and she sank senseless in the waves. The barge soon foundered; but Agrippina floated off on a portion of the wreck. The agents of Nero, supposing they had effected their object, swam to the shore.

Agrippina, in the early dawn, was picked up by a small boat, and conveyed to her villa at Antium. Shrewdly she pretended to regard the adventure as an accident. She despatched a courier to inform her affectionate son, that, through the mercy of the gods, she had escaped fearful peril. She entreated him not to be needlessly alarmed, as she had received but a slight wound, and would probably soon be quite restored.

Nero was thunderstruck. He knew his mother too well to imagine that she was blind to the stratagem from which she had so wonderfully escaped. He felt assured that she would at once resort to some desperate measures of retaliation and of self-defence. Not a moment was to be lost. He despatched a band of assassins to Antium to break into the apartment of his mother, and with their daggers immediately to secure her death beyond all question.

The armed band reached the villa late at night, burst open the gates, and advanced rapidly to the chamber where the empress had retired to her bed. All the slaves encountered on the way were seized. In the chamber of Agrippina a dim light was burning, and one maid was in attendance. The assassins surrounded the bed. The leader struck her a heavy blow on the head with a club: the rest plunged their daggers into her heart. She slept in death, the guilty mother of a demoniac son.

“In these particulars,” writes Tacitus, “authors are unanimous; but as to whether Nero surveyed the breathless body of his mother, and applauded its beauty, there are those who have affirmed it, and those who deny it.”

After the murder of Agrippina, which was so openly perpetrated as to render it vain to attempt any disguise, Nero, either consumed by remorse or distracted by terror, retired to Naples. It is said that his appearance and movements indicated that he was the victim of utter misery; while at the same time his demoniac malice blazed forth more luridly than ever. He sent a communication to the senate, stating that he had caused the death of his mother because she was plotting his assassination. His sister Octavia and his wife PoppÆa soon fell victims to his insane vengeance: the one was placed in a vapor-bath, had her veins opened in every joint, and then had her head cut off; the other perished from a brutal kick.

Immediately there ensued a series of executions and assassinations of the most illustrious men of Rome, who were accused of conspiring against the tyrant. Tacitus gives the details of many of these atrocities. The recital would be but wearisome and revolting to the reader.

Rome was stricken with terror. No one was safe from either the poisoned cup, the dagger, or the headsman’s axe. At length, human nature, even unspeakably corrupt as it had become in Rome, could endure the monster no longer. Servius Galba, seventy-two years of age, was governor of Spain. He was a man of unusual virtues for those times, was of pensive, thoughtful temperament, and endued with courage which no peril could intimidate. Placing himself at the head of his devoted legions, he openly proclaimed war against the tyrant, and commenced a march upon Rome for his dethronement. The tidings outstripped the rapid movements of his troops, and garrison after garrison unfurled the banners of revolt.

One night, Nero, dressed in woman’s clothes, was in one of the palaces of Rome, surrounded by his boon companions, male and female, indulging in the most loathsome orgies, when a great uproar was heard in the streets. Amessenger was sent to ascertain the cause. He returned with the appalling tidings, that Galba, at the head of an avenging army, was marching rapidly upon Rome; that insurrection had broken out in the streets; and that a countless mob, breathing threatenings and slaughter, were surging toward the palace.

The wretched tyrant, as cowardly as he was infamous, was struck with dismay. He sprang from the table so suddenly as to overturn it, dashing the most costly vases in fragments upon the floor. Beating his forehead like a madman, he cried out, “Iam ruined, Iam ruined!” and called for a cup of poison. Suicide was the common resort of the cowardly, in those days, in their hours of wretchedness. Nero took the poisoned cup, but dared not drink it. He called for a dagger, and examined its polished point, but had not sufficient nerve to press it to his heart. He then rushed from the palace in his woman’s robes, with his long hair fluttering in the wind. Thus disguised, he almost flew through the dark and narrow streets, intending to plunge into the Tiber. As he reached the bank, and gazed upon its gloomy waves, again his courage failed.

Several of his companions had accompanied him. One of them suggested that he should flee to a country-seat about three miles from Rome, and there conceal himself. Insane with terror, bareheaded, in his shameful garb, he covered his face with a handkerchief, leaped upon a horse, and succeeded, through a thousand perils, in gaining his retreat. Just before he reached the villa, some alarm so frightened him, that he leaped from his horse, and plunged into a thicket by the roadside. Through briers and thorns, with torn clothes and lacerated flesh, he reached the insecure asylum he sought.

In the mean time, the Roman senate had hurriedly assembled. Emboldened by the insurrection, and by the approach of Galba, they passed a decree, declaring Nero to be the enemy of his country, and dooming him to death more majorum; i.e., according to ancient custom. Some one of Nero’s companions brought him the tidings in his hiding-place. Pallid and trembling, he inquired, “And what is death more majorum?” The appalling reply was, “It is to be stripped naked, to have the head fastened in the pillory, and thus to be scourged to death.”

The monster who had amused himself in witnessing the tortures of others recoiled with horror from this dreadful infliction. Seizing a dagger, he again endeavored to nerve himself to plunge it into his heart. Aprick from its sharp point was all that he could summon resolution to inflict. He threw the dagger aside, and groaned in terror. Again he strove to talk himself into courage.

“Ought Nero,” said he, “to be afraid? Shall the emperor be a coward? No! Let me die courageously.”

Again he grasped the dagger, and anxiously examined its keen edge; and again he threw it aside with a groan of despair.

Just then the clatter of horsemen was heard, and a party of dragoons was seen approaching. His retreat was discovered, and in a few moments Nero would be helpless in the hands of his enemies: then there would be no possible escape from the ignominious and agonizing death. In the delirium of despair, he ordered a freedman to hold a sharp sword, so that he might throw himself violently against it. He thus succeeded in severing the jugular vein, and his life-blood spouted forth. As he sank upon the ground, the soldiers came up. He looked at them with a malignant scowl; and, saying “You’re too late!” he died.

Thus perished this monster of depravity. It is said that this event took place on the 19th of June, A.D. 68. Many Christians at the time supposed Nero to be the antichrist. This wretch had reigned thirteen years, and died in the thirty-second year of his age. In view of his career, the only solution upon which the mind can repose is found in the declaration of Scripture, “After death cometh the judgment.”

These events occurred eighteen hundred years ago. During the long and weary centuries which have since elapsed, what a spectacle has this world almost constantly presented to the eye of God! The billows of war have, with scarcely any intermission, surged over the nations, consigning countless millions to bloody graves. Pestilence and famine have ever followed in the train of armies, creating an amount of misery which no human arithmetic can ever gauge. Slavery, intemperance, domestic discord, ungovernable passions, the tyranny of kings, the oppression of the rich and powerful, and the countless forms in which man has trampled upon his feebler brother-man, have made this world indeed a vale of tears. The student of history is appalled in view of the woes which, century after century, man has visited upon his fellow-man. For all this there is and can be no remedy but in the religion of Jesus. Here is the panacea for nearly every earthly woe. Here, and here only, is there hope for the world.

Against this almost universal corruption the Christians were struggling. The conflict seemed hopeless. In this moral warfare, the only weapon they had to wield was the simple preaching of the gospel of Christ. But that gospel, by its wonderful triumphs, has proved itself to be “the wisdom of God and the power of God to salvation.” It is refreshing to read a letter which Clement, the bishop of Rome, wrote to the church at Corinth about this time. We can quote but one paragraph:—

“Let us endeavor to be of the number of those who hope to share in the promises of God. And how shall we accomplish this, my dear brethren? If our minds are established in the faith; if we seek in all things to please God; if we bring ourselves in entire accord with his holy will; if we follow the paths of truth, renouncing all injustice, avarice, contention, anger, deceptions, complainings, impiety, pride, vanity, ambition,—then, my dear brothers, we shall be in the path which conducts us to Jesus Christ our Saviour. Let the strong help the feeble, and let the feeble respect the strong. Let the rich give to the poor, and let the poor thank God that he has given to the rich the means of supplying their wants. He who has created us has introduced us into this world, which he has so richly prepared for our abode. Having received from him so many favors, we ought to thank him for all things. To him be glory for ever and ever. Amen.”

Such was the spirit of the religion of Jesus. To banish this gospel from the world, imperial Rome often combined all its energies.