rs for their
diversion. While the soldiers were intent on slaughter, these miscreants
were employed in plundering. The greatest part of the booty fell to
their share. Rome presented a scene truly shocking, a medley of savage
slaughter and monstrous vice; in one place war and desolation; in
another bathing, riot, and debauchery. The whole city seemed to be
inflamed with frantic rage, and at the same time intoxicated with
bacchanalian pleasures. In the midst of rage and massacre, pleasure knew
no intermission. A dreadful carnage seemed to be a spectacle added to
the public games."

It was a spectacle certainly without its like in the history of nations.

The battle ended in the complete overthrow of the army of Vitellius. The
camp was taken, and all that defended it were slain. And now took place
a scene which recalls that of the last days of Nero. Vitellius, seeing
that all was lost, was in an agony of apprehension. He left the palace
by a private way to seek shelter in his wife's house on the Aventine.
Then irresolution brought him back to the palace, which he found
deserted. The slaves had fled. The dead silence that reigned filled him
with terror. All was solitude and desolation. He wandered pitiably from
room to room, and finally, weary and utterly wretched, sought a humble
hiding-place. Here he was discovered and dragged forth.

And now the populace, who had lately refused his deposition, turned upon
him with the bitterest insults and contumely. With his hands bound
behind him and his garment torn, the obese old glutton was dragged
through crowds who treated him with scoffs and words of contempt, not a
voice of pity or sympathy being heard. A German soldier struck at him
with his sword, and, missing his aim, cut off the ear of a tribune. He
was killed on the spot.

As Vitellius was thus dragged onward, his captors, with swords pointed
at his throat, forced him to raise his head and expose his bloated face
to scorn and derision. They made him look at his statues, which were
being tumbled to the ground. They pointed out to him the place where
Galba had perished. They pricked his body with their weapons. With
endless contumely they brought him to the public charnel, where the body
of Sabinus had been thrown among those of the vilest malefactors.

A single expression is recorded as coming from his lips. "And yet," he
said, to a tribune who insulted his misery, "I have been your
sovereign."

His torment soon ended