Founding of Rome

The king, Amulius, as was related in the last chapter, had stolen the throne from his brother Numitor, and now, that he might be very secure in all the years to come, he ordered that Numitor's daughter should be put into prison, and her two little baby boys be thrown into the River Tiber.

But often when wicked people plan, no matter how deeply and wisely, their plans do some way seem to fail—yes, more than that, they seem often to turn back upon the very ones who make them. Did you ever hear the quaint old verse?—

There is, I fancy, "more truth than poetry" in these simple lines, especially if we judge from the story of Numitor and Amulius; for certainly never did a plot more completely fail than did this of the wicked brother.

"Send Faustulus, the shepherd, to me," said he, when the gentle mother of the little children had been thrown into prison.

"These babies," said Amulius, "must be destroyed. Never shall I feel my throne secured to me and my line unless these boys—these sons of the daughter of Numitor, are safe out of my way. They shall be drowned in the River Tiber."

But Amulius, instead of drowning them himself—wicked men are usually cowardly in carrying out their own schemes—gave them into the hands of this shepherd, saying, "Take these children to the river. See to it that they are drowned. Come back and prove to me that you have obeyed. Fail to do my bidding and the dungeon awaits you. Your wife, your children, all your family shall die at the hands of the soldiers."

Now, it was quite the fashion in these early days for the king to threaten a man and all his family with death, whenever for any reason it happened to suit his pleasure. Disobedience to the king, therefore, no matter how cruel or how unjust his orders, was not to be thought of.

"Such beautiful boys!" said the shepherd to himself as he bore them to the river. "So strong! so beautifully formed! They are indeed children of the gods. Aye, and the gods will revenge their cruel death upon this crime-covered king. Such wickedness goes not unpunished. O wretched king!"

And now he had reached the water's edge. O how the waters sparkled! Such cruel waters! And the children, clinging so trustfully about the shepherd's neck, sprang forward, laughing and crowing as babies will, as they caught sight of the sparkling, rippling water.

The shepherd set them down amid the pebbles upon the soft warm sand, and looked at them. How happy they were; and how innocent!

"The gods forbid," groaned the shepherd, "that I should take the lives of these noble lads. I cannot! I will not!—and still, O my wife and my children! Why was I chosen for this wicked work? Far more fitting would it have been had one been chosen from that band of blood-thirsty soldiers whose sabres even now are stained with the blood of our good King Numitor's brave men."

And the children still laughed and played—the waters still sparkled and rippled.

Lifting the babies tenderly in his arms, the kind-hearted shepherd, calling upon the gods to witness that he did this cruel thing, not for himself, but to save his own from the vengeance of a cruel king, threw the children out upon the water. O, how their cry smote upon the shepherd's honest, tender heart! With a groan, he staggered up the bank, and flew across the plain, not once daring to look back lest he should see the struggling of the children in the waters.

Now, it was very fortunate for the babies that the shepherd had so tender a heart; for in his fright he had thrown them only into very shallow water which did not even cover them. Then, too, it was that time in the year when the water of the Tiber was growing lower and lower every hour; so that in a short time the children were left on the dry bank.

Soon, like all babies from that time to this, they grew hungry and began to cry. And here comes the strangest part of the story. Perhaps you will not be quite willing to accept it as true, still I will tell it to you just as the old Romans long, long ago used to tell it to their children.

When the little boys began to cry, a wolf, whose home was near by, hastened to them. She dragged them away to her own home, and fed them and cared for them just as she did for her own little ones.

One day, another shepherd, while passing through the woods, saw them, and carried them to his home.

"See," said he to his wife, "see what I have found in the woods."

"Surely they are sent us by the gods," said the good wife. And taking them in her arms, she returned thanks to the gods, promising to bring them up as her own.

And here in the shepherd's hut, Romulus and Remus, for these were the names their foster father gave them, grew to be tall, strong, brave-hearted youths.

Often as the good shepherd looked upon them at work or at play, he would say, "Truly these lads are of noble line. The blood of kings flows in their veins. Some day, the gods grant, the secret of their birth shall be revealed to them."

And it was revealed to them—the story of their birth, their mother's cruel death, and the king's wicked plot against their own baby lives.

Then uprose the brave lads; and, calling the shepherds together from far and near, they marched against Amulius, and wrested his power from him, and placed the rightful king, Numitor, upon the throne.

"And now," said Romulus, "knowing that we are royal born, let us build a city of our own."

"And let us," added Remus, "build it upon the banks of the Tiber where we were thrown by the command of our uncle, and where we were so wonderfully saved through the kindness of our protecting gods."

Thus it was the city of Rome was built. But during the building, Remus, sneering at the low walls, said, "Even the sheep could scale these walls."

Turning upon him, Romulus plunged his sabre into his side, crying, "So perish now and forever any traitor who dares scorn the power of Rome!"

The people seemed to think this a very grand thing for Romulus to have done. "See," said they, "he loves the city more than he loves his brother!"