Rome had been
watching a crescendo that had mounted with the years. Its
culmination was in that hermaphrodite. But the tension had been
too great--something snapped; there was nothing left--a procession
of colorless bandits merely, Thracians, Gauls, Pannonians,
Dalmatians, Goths, women even, with Attila for a climax and the
refurbishing of the world.
Rome was still mistress, but she was growing very old. She had
conquered step by step. When one nation had fallen, she garrotted
another. To vanquish her, the earth had to produce not only new
races, but new creeds. The parturitions, as we know, were
successful. Already the blue, victorious eyes of Vandal and of
Goth were peering down at Rome; already they had whispered
together, and over the hydromel had drunk to her fall. The earth's
new children fell upon her, not one by one, but all at once, and
presently the colossus tottered, startling the universe with the
uproar of her agony; calling to gods that had vacated the skies;
calling to Jupiter; calling to Isis; calling in vain. Where the
thunderbolt had gleamed, a crucifix stood. On the shoulders of a
prelate was the purple that had dazzled the world.
End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Imperial Purple
by Edgar Saltus
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