A Struggle for Rome v. 1 Read online

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  A STRUGGLE FOR ROME.

  BY FELIX DAHN.

  _T R A N S L A T E D F R O M T H E G E R M A N_ BY LILY WOLFFSOHN.

  "If there be anything more powerful than Fate, It is the courage which bears it undismayed." GEIBEL.

  IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I.

  LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON. 1878. [_All Rights Reserved._]

  PREFACE.

  These pictures of the sixth century originated in my studies for thefollowing works:

  "The Kings of the Goths," vol. ii., iii., iv. Munich and Wuerzburg,1862-66.

  "Procopius of Caesarea:" a contribution to the historiography of themigration of nations and the decay of the Roman Empire. Berlin, 1865.

  By referring to these works, the reader may distinguish the details andchanges which the romance has added to the reality.

  In history the events here described filled a period of almost thirtyyears' duration. From reasons easily understood, it was necessary toshorten, or at least to disguise, this long interval.

  The character of the Roman hero of the story, Cethegus Caesarius, is apure invention. That such a person existed is, however, known.

  The work was begun at Munich in 1859, continued at Ravenna, Italy, andconcluded at Koenigsberg in 1876.

  FELIX DAHN.

  Koenigsberg: _January_, 1876.

  A STRUGGLE FOR ROME.

  BOOK I. THEODORIC. "Dietericus de Berne, de quo cantant rustici usque hodie."

  CHAPTER I.

  It was a sultry summer night of the year five hundred and twenty-six,A.D.

  Thick clouds lay low over the dark surface of the Adrea, whose shoresand waters were melted together in undistinguishable gloom; only nowand then a flash of distant lightning lit up the silent city ofRavenna. At unequal intervals the wind swept through the ilexes andpines on the range of hills which rise at some distance to the west ofthe town, and which were once crowned by a temple of Neptune. At thattime already half ruined, it has now almost completely disappeared,leaving only the most scanty traces.

  It was quiet on the bosky heights; only sometimes a piece of rock,loosened by storms, clattered down the stony declivity, and at lastsplashed into the marshy waters of the canals and ditches which beltedthe entire circle of the sea-fortress; or a weather-beaten slab slippedfrom the tabled roof of the old temple and fell breaking on to themarble steps--forebodings of the threatened fall of the whole building.

  But these dismal sounds seemed to be unnoticed by a man who satimmovable on the second step of the flight which led into the temple,leaning his back against the topmost step and looking silently andfixedly across the declivity in the direction of the city below.

  He sat thus motionless, but waiting eagerly, for a long time. He heedednot that the wind drove the heavy drops which began to fell into hisface, and rudely worried the full long beard that flowed down to hisiron belt, almost entirely covering his broad breast with shining whitehair.

  At last he rose and descended several of the marble steps: "They come,"said he.

  The light of a torch which rapidly advanced from the city towards thetemple became visible; then quick and heavy footsteps were heard, andshortly after three men ascended the flight of steps.

  "Hail, Master Hildebrand, son of Hilding!" cried the advancingtorch-bearer, as soon as he reached the row of columns of the Pronaosor antehall, in which time had made some gaps. He spoke in the Gothictongue, and had a peculiarly melodious voice. He carried his torch in asort of lantern--beautiful Corinthian bronze-work on the handle,transparent ivory forming the four-sided screen and the arched andornamentally-perforated lid--and lifting it high, put it into the ironring that held together the shattered centre column.

  The white light fell upon a face beautiful as that of Apollo, withlaughing light-blue eyes; his fair hair was parted in the middle of hisforehead into two long and flowing tresses, which fell right and leftupon his shoulders. His mouth and nose, finely, almost softlychiselled, were of perfect form; the first down of a bright goldenbeard covered his pleasant lip and gently-dimpled chin. He wore onlywhite garments--a war-mantle of fine wool, held up on the rightshoulder by a clasp in the form of a griffin, and a Roman tunic of softsilk, both embroidered with a stripe of gold. White leather strapsfastened the sandals to his feet, and reached, laced cross-wise, to hisknees. Two broad gold rings encircled his naked and shining white arms.And as he stood reposing after his exertion, his right hand clasping atall lance which served him both for staff and weapon, his left restingon his hip, looking down upon his slower companions, it seemed as ifthere had again entered the grey old temple some youthful godlike formof its happiest days.

  The second of the new-comers had, in spite of a general familylikeness, an expression totally different from that of thetorch-bearer.

  He was some years older, his form was stouter and broader. Low downupon his bull-neck grew his short, thick, and curly brown hair. He wasof almost gigantic height and strength. There were wanting in his facethe sunny shimmer, the trusting joy and hope which illumined thefeatures of his younger brother. Instead of these, there was in hiswhole appearance an expression of bear-like strength and bear-likecourage; he wore a shaggy wolf-skin, the jaws of which shaded his headlike a cowl, a simple woollen doublet beneath, and on his rightshoulder he carried a short and heavy club made of the hard root of anoak.

  The third comer followed the others with a cautious step; a middle-agedman with a dignified and prudent expression of countenance. He wore thesteel helmet, the sword, and the brown war-mantle of the Gothicfootmen. His straight light-brown hair was cut square across theforehead--an ancient Germanic mode of wearing the hair, which one oftensees represented on Roman triumphal columns, and which has beenpreserved by the German peasant to this day. The regular features ofhis open face, his grey and steady eyes, were full of reflectivemanliness and sober repose.

  When he, too, had reached the cella of the temple, and had greeted theold man, the torch-bearer cried in an eager voice:

  "Well, old Master Hildebrand, a fine adventure must it be to which thouhast bidden us on such an inhospitable night, and in this wilderness ofart and nature! Speak--what is it?"

  Instead of replying, the old man turned to the last comer and asked:"Where is the fourth whom I invited?"

  "He wished to go alone. He shunned us all. Thou knowest his mannerwell."

  "There he comes!" cried the beautiful youth, pointing to another sideof the hill. And, in fact, a man of very peculiar appearance now drewnear.

  The full glare of the torch illumined a ghastly-pale face that seemedalmost bloodless. Long and shining black locks, like dark snakes, hungdishevelled from his uncovered head. Arched black brows and long lashesshaded large and melancholy dark eyes, full of repressed fire. Asharply-cut eagle nose bent towards the fine and smoothly-shaven mouth,around which resigned grief had traced deep lines.

  His form and bearing were still young; but pain seemed to haveprematurely ripened his
soul.

  He wore a coat of mail and greaves of black steel, and in his righthand gleamed a battle-axe with a long lance-like shaft. He merelygreeted the others with a nod of the head, and placing himself behindthe old man, who now bade them all four step close to the pillar onwhich the torch was fixed, began in a suppressed voice:

  "I appointed you to meet me here to listen to earnest words, which mustbe spoken, unheard, to faithful men. I have sought for months in allthe nation, and have chosen you. You are the right men. When you haveheard me, you will yourselves feel that you must be silent about thisnight's meeting."

  The third comer, he with the steel helmet, looked at the old man withearnest eyes.

  "Speak," said he quietly, "we hear and are silent. Of what wilt thouspeak to us?"

  "Of our people; of this kingdom of the Goths, which stands close to anabyss!"

  "An abyss!" eagerly cried the fair youth. His gigantic brother smiledand lifted his head attentively.

  "Yes, an abyss," repeated the old man; "and you alone can hold and saveit."

  "May Heaven pardon thee thy words!" interrupted the fair youth withvivacity. "Have we not our King Theodoric, whom even his enemies callthe Great; the most magnificent hero, the wisest prince in the world?Have we not this smiling land Italia, with all its treasures? What uponearth can compare with the kingdom of the Goths?"

  The old man, without heeding his questions, continued:

  "Listen to me. The greatness and worth of King Theodoric, my belovedmaster and my dear son, are best known by Hildebrand, son of Hilding.More than fifty years ago I carried him in these arms, a strugglingboy, to his father, and said: 'There is an offspring of a strongrace--he will be a joy to thee.' And when he grew up I cut for him hisfirst arrow, and washed his first wound. I accompanied him to thegolden city of Byzantium, and guarded him body and soul. When he foughtfor this lovely land, I went before him, foot by foot, and held theshield over him in thirty battles. He may possibly, since then, havefound more learned advisers and friends than his old master-at-arms,but hardly wiser, and surely not more faithful. Long ere the sun shoneupon thee, my young falcon, I had experienced a thousand times howstrong was his arm, how sharp his eye, how clear his head, how terriblehe could be in battle, how friendly over the cup, and how superior hewas even to the Greekling in shrewdness. But the old Eagle's wings havebecome heavy. His battle-years weigh upon him; for he and you, and allyour race, cannot bear years like I and my play-fellows; he lies sickin soul and body, mysteriously sick, in his golden hall down there inthe Raven-town. The physicians say that though his arm be yet strong,any beat of his heart may kill him with lightning-like rapidity, andwith any setting sun he may journey down to the dead. And who is hisheir? who will then uphold this kingdom? Amalaswintha, his daughter;and Athalaric, his grandson; a woman and a child!"

  "The Princess is wise," said he with the helmet and the sword.

  "Yes, she writes Greek to the Emperor, and speaks Latin with the piousCassiodorus. I doubt that she even thinks in Gothic. Woe to us, if sheshould hold the rudder in a storm!"

  "But I see no signs of storm, old man," laughed the torch-bearer, andshook his locks. "From whence will it blow? The Emperor is againreconciled, the Bishop of Rome is installed by the King himself, theFrank princes are his nephews, the Italians are better off under ourshield than ever before. I see no danger anywhere."

  "The Emperor Justinus is only a weak old man," said he of the sword,assentingly. "I know him."

  "But his nephew, who will soon be his successor, and is already hisright arm--knowest thou him? Unfathomable as the night and false as thesea is Justinian! I know him well, and fear that which he meditates. Iaccompanied the last embassy to Byzantium. He came to our camp; hethought me drunk--the fool! he little knows what Hilding's child candrink!--and he questioned me about everything which must be known inorder to undo us. Well, he got the right answer from me! But I know aswell as I know my name, that this man will again get possession ofItaly; and he will not leave in it even the footprint of a Goth!"

  "If he can," grumblingly put in the brother of the fair youth.

  "Right, friend Hildebad, if he can. And he can do much. Byzantium cando much."

  The other shrugged his shoulder

  "Knowest thou _how_ much?" asked the old man angrily. "For twelve longyears our great King struggled with Byzantium and did not prevail. Butat that time thou wast not yet born," he added more quietly.

  "Well," interposed the fair youth, coming to his brother's help, "butat that time the Goths stood alone in the strange land. Now we have wona second half. We have a home--Italy. We have brothers-at-arms--theItalians!"

  "Italy our home!" cried the old man bitterly; "yes, that is themistake. And the Italians our allies against Byzantium? Thou youngfool!"

  "They were our King's own words," answered the rebuffed youth.

  "Yes, yes; I know these mad speeches well, that will destroy us all. Weare as strange here to-day as forty years ago, when we descended fromthe mountains; and we shall still be strangers in the land afteranother thousand years. Here we shall be for ever 'the barbarians.'"

  "That is true; but why do we remain barbarians? Whose fault is it butours? Why do we not learn from the Italians?"

  "Be silent," cried the old man, trembling with wrath, "be silent,Totila, with such thoughts; they have become the curse of my house!"Painfully recovering himself, he continued: "The Italians are ourdeadly enemies, not our brothers. Woe to us if we trust them! Oh thatthe King had followed my counsel after his victory, and slain all whocould carry sword and shield, from the stammering boy to the stammeringold man! They will hate us eternally. And they are right. But we, weare the fools to trust them."

  There ensued a pause; the youth had become very grave, and asked:

  "So thou holdest friendship to be impossible 'twixt them and us?"

  "No peace between the sons of Gaul and the Southern folk! A man entersthe gold cave of a dragon--he holds the head of the dragon down with aniron fist; the monster begs for life. The man feels compassion becauseof his glittering scales, and feasts his eyes on the treasures of thecavern. What will the poisonous reptile do? As soon as he can he willsting him stealthily, so that he who spared him dies."

  "Well then, let them come, the despicable Greeks!" shouted the giganticHildebad; "let the race of vipers dart their forked tongues at us. Wewill beat them down--so!" And he lifted his club and let it fallheavily, so that the marble slab split into pieces, and the old templeresounded with the blow.

  "Yes, they shall try!" cried Totila, and from his eyes shone a martialfire that made him look still more beautiful; "if these unthankfulRomans betray us, if the false Byzantines come," he looked with lovingpride at his strong brother, "see, old man, we have men like oaks!"

  The old master-at-arms nodded, well pleased:

  "Yes, Hildebad is very strong, though not quite as strong as Winither,Walamer and others, who were young with me. Against North-men strengthis a good thing. But this Southern folk," he continued angrily, "fightfrom towers and battlements. They carry on war as they might make areckoning, and at last they reckon a host of heroes into a corner,where they can neither budge nor stir. I know one such arithmetician inByzantium, who is himself no man, but conquers men. Thou, too, knowesthim, Witichis?" So asking, he turned to the man with the sword.

  "I know Narses," answered Witichis reflectively. He had become verygrave. "What thou hast said, son of Hilding, is, alas! too true. Suchthoughts have often crossed my mind, but confusedly, darkly, more ahorror than a thought. Thy words are undeniable; the King is at thepoint of death--the Princess has Grecian sympathies--Justinian is onthe watch--the Italians are false as serpents--the generals ofByzantium are magicians in art, but"--here he took a deep breath--"weGoths do not stand alone. Our wise King has made friends and allies inabundance. The King of the Vandals is his brother-in-law, the King ofthe West Goths his grandson, the Kings of the Burgundians, theHerulians, the Thuringians, the Franks, are related to him; all p
eoplehonour him as their father; the Sarmatians, even the distant Esthonianson the Baltic, send him skins and yellow amber in homage. Is allthat----"

  "All that is nothing! It is flattering words and coloured rags! Willthe Esthonians help us against Belisarius and Narses with their amber?Woe to us, if we cannot win alone! These grandsons and sons-in-lawflatter as long as they tremble, and when they no more tremble, theywill threaten. I know the faith of kings! We have enemies around us,open and secret, and no friends beyond ourselves."

  A silence ensued, during which all gravely considered the old man'swords; the storm rushed howling round the weather-beaten columns andshook the crumbling temple.

  Then, looking up from the ground, Witichis was the first to speak:

  "The danger is great," said he, firmly and collectedly, "we will hopenot unavoidable. Certainly thou hast not bidden us hither to lookdeedless at despair. There must be a remedy, so speak; how, thinkestthou, can we help?"

  The old man advanced a step towards him and took his hand:

  "That's brave, Witichis, son of Waltari. I knew thee well, and will notforget that thou wert the first to speak a word of bold assurance. Yes,I too think we are not yet past help, and I have asked you all to comehere, where no Italian hears us, in order to decide upon what is bestto be done. First tell me your opinion, then I will speak."

  As all remained silent, he turned to the man with the black locks:

  "If thy thoughts are ours, speak, Teja! Why art thou ever silent?"

  "I am silent because I differ from you."

  The others were amazed. Hildebrand spoke:

  "What dost thou mean, my son?"

  "Hildebad and Totila do not see any danger; thou and Witichis see itand hope; but I saw it long ago, and have no hope."

  "Thou seest too darkly; who dare despair before the battle?" saidWitichis.

  "Shall we perish with our swords in the sheath, without a struggle andwithout fame?" cried Totila.

  "Not without a struggle, my Totila, and not without fame, I am sure,"answered Teja, slightly swinging his battle-axe. "We will fight so thatit shall never be forgotten in all future ages; fight with highestfame, but without victory. The star of the Goths is setting."

  "Meseems, on the contrary, that it will rise very high," cried Totilaimpatiently. "Let us go to the King; speak to him, Hildebrand, as thouhast spoken to us. He is wise; he will devise means."

  The old man shook his head:

  "I have spoken to him twenty times. He listens no more. He is tired andwill die, and his soul is darkened, I know not by what shadows. What isthy advice, Hildebad?"

  "I think," answered Hildebad, proudly raising his head, "that as soonas the old lion has closed his tired eyes, we arm two hosts. Witichisand Teja lead the one before Byzantium and burn it down; with the otherI and my brother climb the Alps and destroy Paris, that dragon's nestof the Merovingians, and make it a heap of stones for ever. Then therewill be peace in East and West."

  "We have no ships against Byzantium," said Witichis.

  "And the Franks are seven to one against us," said Hildebrand. "But thyintentions are valiant, Hildebad. Say, what advisest thou, Witichis?"

  "I advise a league--weighted with oaths, secured with hostages--of allthe Northern races against the Greeks."

  "Thou believest in fidelity, because thou thyself art true. My friend,only the Goths can help the Goths. But they must be reminded that they_are_ Goths. Listen to me. You are all young, love all manner ofthings, and have many pleasures. One loves a woman, another weapons, athird has some hope or some grief which is to him as a beloved one. Butbelieve me, a time will come--it may be during your young days--whenall these joys and even pains will become worthless as faded wreathsfrom yesterday's banquet.

  "Then many will become soft and pious, forget that which is on earth,and strive for that which is beyond the grave. But that neither you norI can do. I love the earth, with mountain and wood and meadow andrushing stream; and I love life, with all its hate and long love, itstenacious anger and dumb pride. Of the ethereal life in the wind-cloudswhich is taught by the Christian priests, I know, and will know,nothing. But there is one possession--when all else is gone--which atrue man never loses. Look at me. I am a leafless trunk. I have lostall that rejoiced my life; my wife is dead long since; my sons, mygrandchildren are dead: except one, who is worse than dead--who hasbecome an Italian.

  "All, all are gone, and now my first love and last pride, my greatKing, descends tired into his grave. What keeps me still alive? Whatgives me still courage and will? What drives _me_, an old man, up tothis mountain in this night of storm like a youth? What glows beneathmy icy beard with pure love, with stubborn pride, and with defiantsorrow? What but the impulse that lies indestructible in our blood,the deep impulsion and attraction to my people, the glowing andall-powerful love of the race that is called Goth; that speaks thenoble, sweet, and homely tongue of my parents! This love of raceremains like a sacrificial fire in the heart, when all other flames areextinguished; this is the highest sentiment of the human heart; thestrongest power in the human soul, true to the death and invincible!"

  The old man had spoken with enthusiasm--his hair floated on thewind--he stood like an old priest of the Huns amongst the young men,who clenched their hands upon their weapons.

  At last Teja spoke: "Thou art in the right; these flames still glowwhen all else is spent. They burn in thee--in us--perhaps in a hundredother hearts amongst our brothers; but can this save a whole people?No! And can these fires seize the mass, the thousands, the hundredthousands?"

  "They can, my son, they can! Thanks to the gods, that they can!--Hearme. It is now five-and-forty years ago that we Goths, many hundredthousands, were shut up with our wives and children in the ravines ofthe Haemus. We were in the greatest need.

  "The King's brother had been beaten and killed in a treacherous attackby the Greeks, and all the provisions that he was to bring to us werelost. We lay in the rocky ravines and suffered such hunger, that wecooked grass and leather. Behind us rose the inaccessible precipices;before, and to the left of us, the sea; to the right, in a narrow pass,lay the enemy, threefold our number. Many thousands of us weredestroyed by famine or the hardships of the winter; twenty times had wevainly tried to break through the pass.

  "We almost despaired. Then there came a messenger from the Emperor tothe King, and offered us life, freedom, wine, bread, meat--under onecondition: that, separated from each other, four by four, we should bescattered over the whole Roman Empire; none of us should ever again wooa Gothic woman; none should ever again teach his child our tongue orcustoms; the name and being of Goth should cease to exist, we shouldbecome Romans.

  "The King sprang up, called us together, and reported this conditionto us in a flaming speech, and asked at the end, whether we wouldrather give up the language, customs and life of our people, or diewith him? His words spread like wildfire, the people shouted like ahundred-voiced tumultuous sea; they brandished their weapons, rushedinto the pass; the Greeks were swept away as if they had never stoodthere, and we were victors and free!"

  His eyes glittered with pride; after a pause he continued:

  "It is this alone which can save us now as then; if once the Goths feelthat they fight for their nationality, and to protect the secret jewelthat lies in the customs and speech of a people, like a miraculouswell-spring, then they may laugh at the hate of the Greeks and thewiles of the Italians. And, first of all, I ask you solemnly: Do youfeel as strongly convinced as I do, that this love of our people is ourhighest aim, our dearest treasure, our strongest shield? Can you saywith me: My people is to me the highest, all else is nothing; to mypeople I will sacrifice all that I have and am. Will you say this, andcan you do it?"

  "We will; we can!" cried the four men.

  "'Tis well," continued the old man. "But Teja is right, all Goths donot feel this as we do, and yet, if it is to be of any use, all _must_feel it. Therefore swear to me, to fill with the spirit of this hourall those with whom y
ou live and act, from now henceforward. Too manyof our folk have been dazzled by the foreign splendour; many havedonned Grecian clothing and Roman thoughts; they are ashamed to becalled barbarians; they wish to forget, and to make it forgotten, thatthey are Goths--woe to the fools! They have torn their hearts out oftheir bosoms, and yet wish to live; they are like leaves that haveproudly loosened themselves from the parent stem. The wind will comeand blow them into the mire and dirt to decay; but the stem will stillstand in the midst of the storm, and will keep alive whatever clings toit faithfully. Therefore awaken and warn the people. Tell the boys thelegends of their forefathers, relate the battles of the Huns, thevictories over the Romans; show the men the threatening danger, andthat nationality alone is our shield; warn your sisters that they mayembrace no Roman and no would-be Roman; teach your wives and yourbrides that they must sacrifice everything, even themselves and you, tothe fortune of the good Goths, so that when the enemy come, they mayfind a strong, proud, united people, against which they shall breakthemselves like waves upon a rock. Will you aid me in this?"

  "Yes," they cried, "we will!"

  "I believe you," continued the old man; "I believe you on your mereword. Not to bind you faster--for what can bind the false?--but becauseI cling to old custom, and because _that_ succeeds best which is doneafter the manner of our forefathers--follow me."