I must begin by telling you about a man who lived a life almost completely un-examined. He was Prince William Henry von Hanover (above), younger brother of the English King George III, who lost America. William dreamed of being a great general, and wore uniforms braided with gold. But nobody was ever foolish enough to let him near a battlefield. He spent most of his life not impressing much of anybody, supervising the constant renovations of his various estates and fathering children, occasionally with his wife. But William did say one revealing thing, and that to the historian, Edward Gibbon.
Gibbon was the only survivor of six siblings, and his parents did not appreciate the boy's persistence. He described himself as “..."a puny child, neglected by my mother...” His father only showed interest when, in 1753, the boy converted to Catholicism. The threat of disinheritance produced a re-conversion to the Church of England, but did not inspire a respect for Christianity. Edward would later write, “I know but of one religion in which the god and the victim are the same.”
After his father's death in 1770, Edward moved to London, where the great writer James Boswell described him (accurately) as an, “ ugly...disgusting fellow”. Gibbon's excessive vanity tended to rub other vain men the wrong way. And his love of expensive and fancy clothes just made things worse.
Then in late 1774, he began writing one of the greatest history books in history, the monumental “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire”. During his youth Edward combed the Roman archives at the Tabularium, which still stood at the base of the Capitoline Hill in Rome, and he closely read the contemporary historians as well. Edward was uniquely qualified to pierce the vale of a millennium of Christian obfuscations and justifications. When the first volume of “Decline...” was published in 1776, “...though greatly admired, it was immediately attacked on account of the offensive chapters in it respecting Christianity.” Despite these criticisms, the work made Edward Gibbon rich in his own right, and famous.
In 1781 Edward published the second and third volumes of his history, and that fall he gave a “presentation copy” to Prince William (above). By then many of the English “”snobility” had noted what they saw as Edward's “implacable hostility to Christianity”. Laying the heavy tome aside – probably the last time he touched the book - Prince William said, “Another damned big black book, Mr. Gibbon. Scribble, scribble, scribble - eh, Mr. Gibbon?''
In that arrogant ignorance Gibbon must have seen the shadow of one of the most infamous characters in his most recent volume, the “...feeble nonentity" of the Roman Emperor, Flavius Honorius Augustus (above) - the man who lost Rome to the Visigoths.
You see, about the time of the birth of the current era 2,000 years ago, something happened in Scandinavia. It may have been an early effect of global warming, but I suspect it was the invention of the missionary position. Whatever the proximate cause, the place suddenly had more people than it could feed. Those not prone to motion sickness built boats and became Vikings. Those who preferred a firm footing came to be called the Goths, and filtered south into Germania.
Not having been invited, these Nordic interlopers were forced to murder, burn and pillage their way south through the various Germanic tribes, looking in vain for a welcome mat and dragging their families and belongings along in wagons. When able or forced to pause they would circle their wagons into a mobile fort or a “laager”.
Eventually they crossed the Carpathian mountains and reached the province of Dracia, north of the Danube River – modern Romania. That's when the Romans – and Edward Gibbon – named them the Visigoths, or the Western Goths.
These Visigoths, most of whom I assume were good people, scared the living hell out of the Roman general and Emperor Theodosius. He had just managed to stitch the broken empire back together again, by allying with the growing Christian church. Now these pagans came rampaging out of the woods, threatening to upset the table.
So in 382 A.D, Theodosius allowed the Visigoths to occupy land south of the Danube River. In exchange the Visigoths converted to Christianity, enlisted as “foederati”, or Roman trained militia, and even paid taxes. However, the western Christians did not take a liking to their new brethren.
See, the Emperor Constantine had been baptized (above) on his death bed in 337 A.D. Back then 2/3rds of the senior Roman bureaucracy were still “pagans”. However, thirty years later, under the “Theodosian Decrees” new hires were now required to convert.
As Mr Gibbon noted in his “damned big black book”, by the time Theodosius died, in January of 395 C.E. , “The Church offered 'the officer class' an alternative career... one superior in rewards of status, wealth and power...(to) the priesthood...By and large, the bishops of western Europe were the old Roman aristocracy wearing a new hat.” And as the new century approached, they began a civil war against their fellow Christians.
So the Empire divided again. Theodosius's eldest son, Arcadia, became Emperor in Constantinople, supported by what became the Eastern Orthodox Church.
His younger brother, 11 year old Flavius Honorius (above), became Western Emperor in Milan (capital since 286) on the plains of northern Italy. Honorius was supported by what was becoming the Catholic Church. So, the hierarchy of both churches controlled their Emperors, and saw the opposition as heretics. And as soon as it was convenient, in 400 A.D., the Catholic courtiers around Honorious, like the “ ...worm tongued...” religious fanatic named Olympius, reneged on their deal with the Visigoths.
Their excuse was that the Visigoths had been baptized in the eastern church, which did not accept the Catholic Trinity (above) – the idea that God was at once the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost. Advised by Olympus, “Honorius excluded all persons who were adverse to the catholic church...”
So, no more tribute for Visigoth leaders, and no more hiring of Visigoth Generals to lead Visigoth troops in Roman service, something they had been doing for 20 years, and kept doing for Constantinople. The result was the western empire now faced a large, angry, unemployed Roman trained Visigoth army just outside of Italy. What could possibly go wrong?
The only remaining Roman legions were stationed on the Rhine and in Britain. Learning the Visigoths were marching on Milan, the general whom Theodosius had hired to watch over young Honorius, the Vandal named Stilicho, ordered the British legions to march for the capital. But it would take them 6 months to reach Italy. Meanwhile, as Gibbon explained, “...pride and luxury...” sedated Honorious and Olympious, and “...concealed the impending danger till (the Visigoths) approached the palace of Milan.”
The panicked Catholics hustled their adolescent Emperor out of Milan (above), closely followed by the pissed off Visigoth cavalry, who trapped the Imperial party in the little fortress village of Hasta, near the Italian azure coast. Then, at almost the very last second, Stilicho rode to the rescue with the advance guard of the legions from the Rhine - maybe 10,000 men. The Visigoths vastly outnumbered the Romans, but then they weren't looking for a fight. They just wanted to get paid. So they pulled back and started looting the countryside.
The Catholic's now needed a hole into which to stash their rescued Emperor. The only logical choice seemed to be a town of 30,000 on the Adriatic called Ravenna (above).
Gibbon described it as being much like Venice – a city established just 2 years earlier and 90 miles to the north. Altho its harbor of Ravenna had silted up in the 400 years since Caesar Augustus had established the town surrounded by swamps, a mile long canal now re-connected Ravenna to the sea. The city was “..divided into a variety of small islands...the houses...were raised on the foundation of wooden piles...” It had an aqueduct to bring in fresh water, and a large fortified naval base nearby, where the eastern empire navy stood ready to whisk the western Emperor away from danger. So, in 402 A.D., “...in the twentieth year of his age, the emperor of the West...retired to the perpetual confinement of the walls and morasses of Ravenna.” He now spent his time raising racing pigeons.
In March of that same year, the legions from Britain finally arrived, and on Sunday, 6 April, Stilicho attacked the larger Visigoth army while they were attending Easter sunrise services. The Romans overran the Visigoth Laager, capturing their women and children. In exchange for their families' lives, the Visigoths agreed to leave. And, with a little kick in the butt at Verona, they limped over the Julian Alps and out of Italy. For the time being.
But, Gibbon observed, “ ...such was the feeble and exhausted state of the empire...” in 403 the pagan Ostrogoths – the eastern Goths – smelled opportunity , invaded Italy and in 404 sacked Florence. Stilicho was able to drive them off with the help of German foederati.
But his success unnerved Olympius, and later that same year, the Greek adviser engineered the massacre of tens of thousands of German women and children in towns all over northern Italy. Honorious barely looked up from his dovecote, but the tragedy sent 30,000 bitter German soldiers into the Visigoth army.
Thus reinforced, in 405 A.D., the Visigoths demanded 4,000 pounds of gold to finance their attack against some place else besides Italy. Stilicho advised Honorius to pay the ransom, but at least one Christian Roman Senator objected, calling the offer, "...not a treaty of peace, but of servitude”
Olympious now began to whisper “...many bitter expressions” in the Emperor's ear about his military nurse maid. Honorius, suspiciously tugging on his short and scraggly beard, already resented Stilicho for his interruptions of the training of his imperial homers and hens. He was more than willing to believe Olympious' lies that Stilicho wanted to wear his purple robes. The Emperor was even persuaded to promote Olympius to Master of Offices, putting him in control of the entire Imperial government.
Then, in early August of 408 A.D. Honorious and Olympious journeyed to Tictinum, north of Milan - modern day Pavia - to supposedly pay homage to the victorious army and its general. Their arrival was followed by news of a hick up in the Senate's (above) approval of the Visigoth treaty. So on 10 August, Stilicho left the army's encampment to ride the 175 miles back to Ravenna, to push the treaty forward.
The day after he left, Honorious ordered all German foederati commanders to attend a conference with him. The commanders suspected they were being set up to be executed, and, as Olympious expected, none showed up. That convinced the Emperor of their treasonous intentions. The next day, 13 August, 408, the Christian officers murdered all the top military commanders, Roman and German, pagan and Christian, who were loyal to Stilicho. “Many lives were lost, many houses were plundered,” says Gibbon.
Stilicho reached Ravenna, on 22 August, followed closely by accounts of the massacre. Now trapped alone in the enemy camp, the general sought sanctuary in one of Ravenna's churches.
After dark, a guard carrying an arrest warrant arrived. The officers assured the bishop of Ravenna their intention was merely to detain the general and hold him for trial. With that understanding, the Bishop allowed the soldiers to enter the church. Rather than disturb the holy place, Stilicho peacefully surrendered.
But the moment he left the church, new orders, signed by Honorious, were revealed. Stilicho was now being charged with sacrilege for having attacked the Visigoths on holy Easter morning. And immediately, the last great general of the Western Roman empire was beheaded. Later his wife Serena and their children were tortured. When they failed to provide Olympious with evidence of Stilicho's treason, Serena was strangled and her boys were clubbed to death.
The result was sadly predictable. Early in 409 the Visigoths invaded Italy again, this time marching across the Julian Alps and avoiding Ravenna. Rather they marched directly on Rome. But first, they took its port of Ostia, capturing a year's worth of grain, and used that to feed themselves while they laid siege to the city.
Having proven all generals were untrustworthy, Olympious was now forced to take command himself. But as a soldier the Master of Plotters was no match the Visigoth generals, and when he failed to relive the holy city of Rome, other court plotters followed his lead and began warning Honorious about Olypmious' ambition. The Greek knew he was now destined to the same fate he had delivered to Stilicho. Early in 410, Olympious slipped across the Adriatic to Dalmatia - what is today the southern coast of Croatia - and went into hiding. Two years later he was captured and beaten to death by friends of Stilicho.
Faced with a power vacuum, Honorious vowed to defend Rome, declaring “I will attend to the barbarians.” But he did not. He was frozen, “...vacillating between diffidence and defiance,” wrote Gibbon, each making the other worse. Meanwhile the common citizens of Rome were starving.
As the social order within the city began to crumble the Bishop of Rome, Innocent I, seems to have stepped up. He was the son of the previous Pope, Anastasius, and had begun to call himself Pope. But he was a far better leader than Honorious. Innocent created Rome's supremacy in the Cathocism through his practical and reasoned advice on doctrine and practice, until he was called the “Doctor of the Church”. And his solution to the siege was supremely practical. He paid off the Visigoths and then he surrendered.
Their price had gone up of course, to cover the cost of the invasion and their insulted pride. The Church and city now had to cough up 500 pounds of gold, and accept an occupation. On 24 August 410, they opened the Salarian, or salt gate through the city's western wall (above), allowing the Visigoths to walk through.
But, despite the Church's parable about the sins of "pagan" Rome causing its fall, Rome was not sacked. It was occupied by a disciplined army. St. Peters and St. Pauls churches were not burned. No rich person's homes were invaded.
The only public buildings "looted" were the mausoleums of the pagan Roman Emperors, like Augustus and Hadrian. There were rapes, and some thefts. But the only people sold off into slavery were the poor and usually pagans. The bigger blow to the Christian ruling class was psychological. As St. Jerome, put it, after 800 years of dominance "...the city which had taken the whole world was itself taken."
The historian Procopoius, says it was a flustered royal eunuch who informed Honorius that Rome fallen. The Emperor was stunned for a moment. Tears welled up in this eyes and he cried out in anguish, “And yet it has just eaten from my hands!” The eunuch, realizing his master thought he was referring to the favorite royal pigeon cock, named “Rome,” quickly explained he had meant the eternal city. Honorius was greatly relieved. Or so the story goes. Gibbon did not believe Procopoius's story. But it could have been true. Honorius remained little more than an “...ill-informed spectator...” because that is what the Catholic Church and the aristocracy wanted him to be.
As Gibbon (above) pointed out, the Rome which fell had been aggressively Christian since the “Theodosian Decrees”, 30 years earlier, and exclusively Christian by law since 14 November, 408. The generations ( some 500 years) of ignorance and fear which followed the fall of the Roman Empire, known as the Dark Ages, might not have been the goal of the Church, but it was a product of their efforts. “Now the followers of the old (pagan) faith almost threatened to shout...‘christianos ad leones’. “Christians to the lions!” But the church made certain it was too late to go back.
Honorius (above) died on 25 August, 423, suffering from edema – fluid build caused by lack of exercise. Gibbon lowered the curtain on his bland protagonist in the 29th chapter of “Decline and Fall” this way. “The son of Theodosius passed the slumber of his life, a captive in his palace, a stranger in his country, and the patient, almost the indifferent, spectator of the ruin of the Western empire... In the eventful history of a reign of twenty-eight years, it will seldom be necessary to mention the name of the emperor Honorius.”
The church buried their faithful servant on Vatican Hill in Rome, but his small crypt (above) was demolished in 1506 during construction of the new St. Peter's church..
Volume IV of “Decline and Fall...” was published in June, 1784. It took Edward 4 more years to finish the last 3 volumes, dealing with the Byzantine Empire, which went to press in May of 1788. And then, when the last drops of knowledge had been squeezed from his bloated body, Edward Gibbon died on 16 January, of 1794. He was just 56 years old. At his death he was called the "English giant of the Enlightenment", but even today the “Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire” is not read as much as it should be. It's just such a “...damned big black book.” Seven of them, actually.
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