CHAPTER VIII “THE END OF THE OLD WORLD” The peace hastily made in A.D. 175 was broken two years later. The local commanders again proved incompetent to drive back the barbarian hordes, and Marcus had once more to assume the command in person. This time he decided to take with him Commodus, in the hope perhaps that, like so many of the Roman nobles, worthless at home, he might develop in the provinces those powers for government and war which were innate in that race of rulers; or, at the very least, in the hope of strengthening him against effeminate influences by the hard northern winters and the privations of camp life. Before leaving Rome the Emperor gave a pitiful exhibition of his powerlessness to diffuse the light of his own philosophy amongst his subjects; or else of the strange grip, growing stronger as the shades drew round him, which the pagan superstitions had upon his soul. For seven days before his departure the city was the scene of the wildest religious extravagances. The older gods of the West shared the honours with their lighter brethren from the East and South. The number of white steers sacrificed was so great that some of the wits circulated an epigrammatical petition from them to the Emperor: “The white oxen to the Emperor Marcus Aurelius: If you return as conqueror, that will be the end of us.” Sumptuous feasts were prepared before every temple at which the statues of the gods reclined: and Rome reeled in mad revel. Quacks from all parts of the Empire gathered in Rome and flourished during those days. Lucian has left us a vivid picture of one of these. This was Alexander of Abonoteichos, the prince of impostors. He had started a new religion in Paphlagonia with mysteries and rites based on those of Eleusis. This had quickly spread over the East; and with the other Eastern impostures found a welcome at Rome. Rutilianus, a Roman senator of consular rank, became its patron and zealous advocate. The new mysteries were celebrated during three days with scenes of wild excitement and immorality. Even the friends of Marcus and Marcus himself were deceived. During the Northern wars, at a word from Alexander’s sacred serpent, Marcus had solemnly presided in the robes of the Pontifex Maximus over a most ridiculous ceremony. The Romans were assured that if they cast two lions alive into the Danube they would be victorious over the enemy arrayed against them on the opposite bank. The lions were cast in with all ceremony; but, unfortunately for Alexander’s reputation and Marcus’ credulity, they were beaten to death on reaching the other bank, and the Romans, when they crossed, fared no better.