All she had got out of her son's principate was sorrow and
a good name. On December 17 he heard the news that the legion and the
Guards at Narnia had deserted him and surrendered to the enemy. He at
once put on mourning and left the palace, surrounded by his sorrowful
household. His small son was carried in a little litter, as though
this had been his funeral. The populace uttered untimely flatteries:
the soldiers kept an ominous silence.
On that day there was no one so indifferent to the tragedy of 68
human life as to be unmoved by this spectacle. A Roman emperor,
yesterday master of the inhabited world, had left the seat of his
authority, and was now passing through the streets of the city,
through the crowding populace, quitting the throne. Such a sight had
never been seen or heard of before. The dictator, Caesar, had been the
victim of sudden violence; Caligula of a secret conspiracy. Nero's had
been a stealthy flight to some obscure country house under cover of
night. Piso and Galba might almost be said to have fallen on the field
of battle. But here was Vitellius--before the assembly of his own
people, his own soldiers around him, with women even looking
on--uttering a few sentences suitable to his miserable situation. He
said it was in the interest of peace and of his country that he now
resigned. He begged them only to retain his memory in their hearts and
to take pity on his brother, his wife, and his little innocent
children.
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