Historical Tales [calibre 5.4.1]

It was a quick and easy way of peopling a city. Doubtless the country held many such fugitives,—men lurking in woods or caves, hiding in mountain clefts, abiding wherever a place of safety offered,—hundreds of whom, no doubt, were glad to find a shelter among men and behind walls of defence. But it was probably a sorry population, made up of the waifs of mankind, many of whom had been slaves or murderers. There were certainly no women among this desperate horde, and Romulus appealed in vain to the neighboring cities to let his people obtain wives from among their maidens. It was not safe for the citizens of Rome to go abroad to seek wives for themselves; the surrounding peoples rejected the appeal of Romulus with scorn and disdain; unless something was done Rome bade fair to remain a city of bachelors.

In this dilemma Romulus conceived a plan to win wives for his people. He sent word abroad that he had discovered the altar of the god Consus, who presided over secret counsels, and he invited the citizens of the neighboring towns to come to Rome and take part in a feast with which he proposed to celebrate the festal day of the deity. This was the 21st of August, just four months after the founding of the city,—that is, if it was the same year.

There were to be sacrifices to Consus, where libations would be poured into the flames that consumed the victims. These would be followed by horse and chariot-races, banquets, and other festivities. The promise of merry-making brought numerous spectators from the nearer cities, some doubtless drawn by curiosity to see what sort of a commonwealth this was that had grown up so suddenly on the sheep pastures of the Palatine Hill; and they found their wives and daughters as curious and eager for enjoyment as themselves, and brought them along, ignoring the scorn with which they had lately rejected the Roman proposals for wives. It was a religious festival, and therefore safe; so visitors came from the cities of Cœnina, Crustumerium, and Antemna, and a multitude from the neighboring country of the Sabines.

The sacrifices over, the games began. The visitors, excited by the races, became scattered about among the Romans. But as the chariots, drawn by flying horses, sped swiftly over the ground, and the eyes of the visitors followed them in their flight, Romulus gave a preconcerted signal, and immediately each Roman seized a maiden whom he had managed to get near and carried her struggling and screaming from the ground. As they did so, each called out "Talasia," a word which means spinning, and which afterwards became the refrain of a Roman marriage song.

The games at once broke up in rage and confusion. But the visitors were unarmed and helpless. Their anger could be displayed only in words, and Romulus told them boldly that they owed their misfortune to their pride. But all would go well with their daughters, he said, since their new husbands would take the place with them of home and family.

This reasoning failed to satisfy the fathers who had been robbed so violently of their daughters, and they had no sooner reached home than many of them seized their arms and marched against their faithless hosts. First came the people of Cœnina; but the Romans defeated them, and Romulus killed their king. Then came the people of Crustumerium and Antemna, but they too were defeated. The prisoners were taken into Rome and made citizens of the new commonwealth.

But it was the Sabines who had most to deplore, for they had come in much the greatest number, and it was principally the Sabine virgins whom the Romans had borne off from the games. Titus Tatius, the king of the Sabines, therefore resolved upon a signal revenge, and took time to gather a large army, with which he marched against Rome.

The war that followed was marked by two romantic incidents. Near the Tiber is a hill,—afterwards known as the Capitoline Hill,—which was divided from the Palatine Hill by a low and swampy valley. On this hill Romulus had built a fortress, as a sort of outwork of his new city. It happened that Tarpeius, the chief who held this fortress, had a daughter named Tarpeia, who was deeply affected by that love of finery which has caused abundant mischief since her day. When she saw the golden collars and bracelets which many of the Sabines wore, her soul was filled with longing, and she managed to let them know that she would betray the fortress into their hands if they would give her the bright things which they wore upon their arms.

They consented, and she secretly opened to them a gate of the fortress. But as they marched through the gate, and the traitress waited to receive her reward, the Sabine soldiers threw on her the bright shields which they wore on their arms, and she was crushed to death beneath their weight. The steep rock of the Capitoline Hill from which traitors were afterwards thrown was called, after her, the Tarpeian Rock.

The fortress thus captured, the valley between the hill and the city became the scene of battle. Here the Sabines repulsed the Romans, driving them back to one of their gates, through which the fugitives rushed in confusion, shutting it hastily behind them. But—if we may trust the legend—the gate refused to stay shut. It opened again of its own accord. They closed it twice more, and twice more it swung open. The victorious Sabines, who had now reached it, began to rush in; but just then, from the Temple of Janus, near by, there burst forth a mighty stream of water, which swept the Sabines away and saved Rome from capture. Therefore, in after-days, the gates of the Temple of Janus stood always wide open in time of war, that the god might go out, if he would, to fight for the Romans.