The third Roman emperor was Caligula. His real name was Caius. He was a son of Germanicus and Agrippina first, and a grandson of Drusus, who was a brother of the Emperor Tiberius. On his mother’s side he was a great-grandson of Augustus. Tiberius seems to have preferred him for his successor to Tiberius Gemellus, his own grandson.

Caius was brought up chiefly in the royal court and was, as we have seen, in company with Tiberius in much of the luxurious dissipation of that monarch’s later days in the island of Capri. Pampered and flattered, it is not strange that he grew up conceited and arbitrary,—a spoiled child.

It is said that when Caligula was a young boy he was dressed in miniature military accouterments, including the boots, and presented to the soldiers of the prÆtorian guard. This greatly pleased them, and drew from them the nickname of Caligula, which means “little boot.” A bronze statue, found at Pompeii, represents him at about that time in his life, with his hair in long curls, ornaments of silver upon his cuirass, and his feet shod as indicated. As a youth he seemed to have had a weak constitution. He was very excitable and a poor sleeper.

When he came to the throne he was for a short time diligent and thoughtful. He sailed to the island where his mother Agrippina I had perished and brought back her ashes to Rome for burial in the mausoleum of Augustus. A cippus, or monumental stone, set up among others in the city and erected probably by him, because mention is made on it of his accession to the throne, was hollowed out in the Middle Ages so as to be a standard measure for three hundred pounds of grain and as such was set up to be used by the public in the portico of the City Hall. It is now in the court of the Palace of the Conservatori on the Capitoline. Caligula introduced some measures of wise statesmanship. Then he gained for himself great popularity by his fondness for public sports and his lavish expenditures on great gladiatorial shows, in which Tiberius had taken very little interest. There seems to have been a great deal of enterprise and dash about him.

But Caligula soon abandoned the spirit of discretion and modesty. He showed no true interest for his subjects. Very few of them, however, knew of his unworthy tastes and conduct at Capri. He had been greatly influenced for evil by the companionship at court of Herod Agrippa, a grandson of Herod the Great, who had taken the name of Agrippa in compliment to Vipsanius Agrippa, the prime minister of Augustus. We shall later learn more of this Herod Agrippa I, for under the title of Herod the King it is he who appears in the twelfth chapter of the Acts. Agrippa had filled Caligula’s mind with oriental ideas of what a monarch should be, namely, one who should make the people feel his absolute power and should dazzle them at times with great parades and startling spectacles. Accordingly, Caligula is reported to have said, “Let them hate me, if only they fear me.” It became very soon evident that Caligula’s vanity, arrogance, and cruelty would stop at no limits. He obliged Tiberius Gemellus, his rival for the throne, to commit suicide. He forced a similar fate upon other friends of Tiberius. His morals were execrable. His defiance of public opinion was shameless. He lived with his own sister Drusilla in a disgraceful manner and, when she died, decreed that she should be worshiped as a goddess. He successively took three wives from other men.

He distributed crowns to foreign princes. Among these was his friend Herod Agrippa, whom he allowed to repair to his tetrachy in Palestine, going by the way of Alexandria. In that city Herod Agrippa’s presence was made the occasion of an insult to the Jews by the people of Alexandria. Their governor, Avilius Flaccus, knowing the repugnance of the Jews to all graven images, instigated the Alexandrians to demand that statues of the emperor be set up in the synagogues. This pleased the intolerable arrogance of Caligula. Augustus and Tiberius had allowed themselves to be spoken of as divine in the provinces, but they had forbidden the worship of their pretended divinity at Rome during their lives. A deputation of Jews went to Rome to dissuade the emperor Caligula from sanctioning any such idolatries in regard to himself. They said they had prayed for him and had offered sacrifices for him, but they feared Jehovah as the only God. They were shocked by his blasphemy and returned disheartened when he replied:

“Yes; you have offered sacrifices for me, but not to me.”

He, thereupon, issued his order that a statue of himself should be prepared to be worshiped even in the temple at Jerusalem. He went so far as to arrange for priests and sacrifices in his honor. The governor of Syria told the workmen to proceed slowly upon this statue; so that it was not completed before Caius’s death.

Caligula seems really to have persuaded himself that he was a god, not one of moral purity, but, according to his own depraved idea, a god of outward and sensuous power,—a Bacchus or a Hercules. He caused himself to be adored in the Forum. He showed himself to the people, sitting between the statues of Castor and Pollux in their temple.

“If you do not kill me I will kill you,” he cried out to Jupiter in a thunderstorm, and then he ridiculously invented a machine for imitating thunder. He built some kind of a lofty passageway, which was called a bridge, over the roofs of the houses from the Palatine to the Capitoline, so that he could go over and confer, as he said, with Jupiter in his temple. Merivale says that “to stand on the summit of a high basilica and scatter money to the populace seemed to him an act of divine munificence and to sail along the Campanian coast in enormous galleys equipped with porticos, baths, and banquet halls interspersed with gardens and orchards delighted him as a gorgeous parade and as a defiance to the elements.” He also constructed at great expense a bridge of boats across the bay from BaiÆ to Puteoli. This he did as a token of his power to win a victory even over the god Neptune himself. It was about two miles long. We may here quote again from Merivale:

“He ransacked, we are told, the havens far and near to collect every vessel he could lay hands on till commerce was straitened in every quarter and Italy itself threatened with famine. These vessels he yoked together side by side in a double line extending from one shore to the other. On this broad and well-compacted base he placed an enormous platform of timber; this again he covered with earth and paved it after the manner of a military highroad with stones hewn and laid in cement. He determined to enact on it a peculiar pageant, the novelty and brilliancy of which should transcend every recorded phantasy of Kings or Emperors. From Puteoli to BaiÆ the semicircle of the bay was crowded with admiring multitudes; the loungers of the baths and porticos sallied forth from their cool retreats; the promenaders of the Lucrine beach checked their palanquins and chariots and hushed the strains of their delicious symphonies; the terraces of the gorgeous villas, which lined the coasts and breasted the fresh and sparkling ripples, glittered with streamers of a thousand colors and with the bright array of senators and matrons drowning the terrors of a popular uprising which day and night beset them, in shrieks of childish joy and acclamation. The clang of martial music echoed from shore to shore. From Bauli the emperor descended upon the bridge, having first sacrificed to the gods, and chiefly to Neptune and Envy, arrayed in a coat of mail adorned with precious gems which had been worn by Alexander the Great, with his sword by his side, his shield on his arm, and crowned with a chaplet of oak leaves. On horseback, followed by a dense column of soldiers, he traversed the solid footway and charged into Puteoli as a conquering foe. There he indulged his victorious army with a day of rest and expectation. On the morrow he placed himself in a triumphal car and drove back exulting in the garb of a charioteer of the Green at the games of the circus. The mock triumph of this entrance was adorned by pretended captives represented by some royal hostages from Parthia who were at the time in the custody of the Roman government. The army followed in long procession. In the center of the bridge the emperor halted and harangued his soldiers on the greatness of their victory from a tribunal erected for the purpose. He contrasted the narrow stream of the Bosphorus and the Hellespont, only seven stades in width, with the broad ocean which he had yoked with chains; and declared that the exploits of Xerxes and Darius were trifles compared with his mightier enterprise. After wearying both himself and his hearers with this prodigious folly he distributed money among them and invited them to a banquet. At nightfall the bridge and the ships were illuminated with torches and at the signal the whole curving line of the coast shone forth, as in a theater, with innumerable lights.”

All this was simply useless extravagance, the wild freak of a madman, the whim of a childish tyrant who confounded arbitrary power and splendor with divinity. He did not know of any better way of proving himself to be godlike.

It is possible that some thought of all this blasphemous arrogance may have been in the Apostle Paul’s mind when, in 2 Thess. ii, 4, he pictures “the man of sin” to be revealed, as one “who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God or that is worshiped; so that he as God sitteth in the temple of God showing himself that he is God.”

In order to keep up his assumed character of a god, Caligula had to accomplish, of course, many mighty things. He completed the temple of Augustus at Rome. He enlarged the imperial residence on the Palatine with oriental extravagance, connecting by descending porticos the palace of Tiberius with the temple of Castor and Pollux. He projected, and perhaps commenced, the great Claudian aqueduct. He brought from Egypt and erected in the Vatican circus the immense granite obelisk, one hundred and thirty-two feet high, which now stands in front of St. Peter’s, not very far, indeed, from the locality where he placed it.

But Caligula was so jealous of other men that he caused many statues and monuments that had been erected by Augustus to be thrown down and so broken that the names could not be restored to the figures. He was so consumed with envy that he had a passion for destroying every well-earned reputation. He forbade the circulation of the writings of Virgil, of Livy, and of other famous authors whom Augustus had fostered, and of whom the people were proud. He even threatened to abolish the laws and make his own word and will the rule for mankind. No personal excellence could escape his erratic hostility.

It was inevitable that he should look with hatred upon the popularity of the distinguished Seneca. This writer and philosopher we have referred to as winning public approval in the days of Tiberius. He had become a great advocate and was beginning to express exalted opinions. Caius prided himself on his brilliant wit, of which, indeed, a few illustrations have come down to us; but he could not tolerate such a noble and talented man as Seneca. He was so displeased with him that he singled him out for immediate execution; but one of the emperor’s favorites whispered to him that he need not take the trouble to extinguish an expiring lamp, Seneca was in such poor health at the time. So Seneca escaped, but withdrew into obscurity for the rest of the reign of Caius and devoted himself to his studies and meditations. He abhorred the conduct of the emperor. He speaks of “wretches doomed to undergo stones, sword, fire, and Caius”; and described Caius as one whose “face was ghastly pale with a look of insanity, his eyes half hidden under a wrinkled brow; his ill-shaped head was partly bald, partly covered with dyed hair, his neck covered with bristles, his legs thin and his feet misshapen.” On the other hand Caius called Seneca’s writings “mere displays” and “sand without lime.”

This emperor spent fabulous sums on extraordinary entertainments. It was the custom of the times for the vulgar rich to lay out enormous amounts of money upon the decorations and luxurious provisions of their tables, and Caligula was not to be surpassed in this regard by any of them. Viands were set before his guests with fantastic display, chiefly on account of their rarity and costliness. The brains of peacocks and the tongues of nightingales and flamingoes, besides rare birds from distant regions, were only specimens of the extravagant dishes, while pearls dissolved by powerful acids placed in the wine seemed to give an additional relish to the foolish prodigality. He had the most richly furnished banquet-halls, the most elaborate furniture, and the most exquisite music that the empire could furnish.

He was fond of imposing military demonstrations. He celebrated with great pomp a barren victory over the Germans. He made ridiculous boasts over an invasion of Great Britain, an invasion that was abandoned not far from that country’s shores.

The people soon became very tired and disgusted with Caligula’s revels and dissipations. His extravagance, of course, required increased taxation, and his capricious cruelty put every man’s life in jeopardy. He seemed to delight in causing suffering. It is declared that he told his executioners to strike in such a manner that their victims might feel themselves dying, and that once, when a sufficient number of animals was wanting, he commanded some of the spectators in the amphitheater to be thrown to the wild beasts. His imagination seems to have had a tendency to dwell on cruel and grewsome thoughts, as the following quotation will show:

“One day at a public banquet, when the consuls were reclining by his side, he burst suddenly into a fit of laughter and, when they courteously inquired the cause of his mirth, astounded them by coolly replying that he was thinking how by one word he could cause the heads of both of them to roll on the floor. He amused himself with similar banter even with his wife CÆsonia, for whom he seems to have had a stronger feeling than for any of his former consorts. While fondling her neck, he is reported to have said, ‘Fair as it is, how easily I could sever it!’ He did not content himself with such fancies. Too often they were followed by actual cruelty and bloodshed, so that few could laugh at his joking. There was no telling how he would shock the public next.”

“This prince,” said Seneca, “only lived to show what the greatest vices could do in the circumstances of the highest fortune.”

It may be asked: Where was the Roman Senate? Had it no power in the time of such public distress? The senators had more power than they had courage to exercise. They were weak and vacillating, each man fearing for his own life. They were often struck dumb by his imperious and remorseless demands, but the next day they would meet and pay servile court to him.

It was fortunate that Caligula’s reign was not long. It lasted less than four years. The suppressed and muttering storm of popular indignation was long reaching its climax. But at last the outburst came, and the merciless lightning fell. He had presided on a certain occasion at the games at the foot of the Palatine. At the hour of intermission and rest he allowed most of his guard to go up into the palace by the open way, while he entered through the cryptoporticus,—a long tunnel-like passageway under the building, the same one through the shadows of which the modern visitor to the Palatine Hill now generally passes. Hither Cassius ChÆrea, a tribune of the Guard, whom Caligula had insulted by mockingly imitating his squeaky voice, followed him, with others, and arresting his steps, suddenly struck him upon the head with a sword. Blow followed blow till life was extinct. The bearers of his litter had run to his assistance with their poles, while his small body-guard of Germans had struck wildly at the assassins. But these assassins made their escape from the narrow passage, and left the body where it fell. It was borne in secret by friendly hands to a place of cremation, where it was only partially consumed. Later his sisters, Livia and Agrippina II, reduced it completely to ashes, which they consigned to a decent sepulcher.

The people must have breathed more freely when his death was announced, for they felt that nothing worse could follow and something better might. Caligula is not mentioned in the New Testament, but he was carrying out his wild career while the Gospel was spreading from Jerusalem through Judea and Samaria and as far perhaps as to Antioch. The preaching of Peter and Philip and John, in Samaria, and the conversion of Saul of Tarsus at about that time would have had no interest for him if he had been told about it.

There is a bronze bust of him in the Hall of the Emperors in the Capitoline Museum at Rome, from which we would suppose him to be somewhat good-looking. He had regular features and an intellectual head, but wore a sort of frown upon his brow. He did not part his hair. None of the first emperors seem to have done that; so it was probably the fashion for other men not to do it. The bust represents him as wearing a corselet over the woven garment that falls in folds from his shoulders. There is some alertness and vigor in the face. Perhaps in his youth he was a possible statesman. If so, he was badly spoilt by his early training in a hot-bed of corruption and sensuality. His name is a black spot upon the history of a period dark enough at best, and is never mentioned but to be despised.