THE CONSUL.
Therefore let him be Consul; The Gods give
Him joy, and make him good friend to the people.
CORIOLANUS.
The morning was yet young, when Paullus Arvina, leaving his mansion on the
Cælian hill by a postern door, so to avoid the crowd of clients who even
at that early hour awaited his forth-coming in the hall, descended the
gentle hill toward the splendid street called Carinæ, from some fanciful
resemblance in its shape, lying in a curved hollow between the bases of
the Esquiline, Cælian, and Palatine mounts, to the keel of a galley.
This quarter of the city was at that time unquestionably the most
beautiful in Rome, although it still fell far short of the magnificence it
afterward attained, when the favourite Mecænas had built his splendid
palace, and laid out his unrivalled gardens, on the now woody Esquiline;
and it would have been difficult indeed to conceive a view more sublime,
than that which lay before the eyes of the young patrician, as he paused
for a moment on the highest terrace of the hill, to inhale the breath of
the pure autumnal morning.
The sun already risen, though not yet high in the east, was pouring a
flood of mellow golden light, through the soft medium of the half misty
atmosphere, over the varied surface of the great city, broken and
diversified by many hills and hollows; and bringing out the innumerable
columns, arches, and aqueducts, that adorned almost every street and
square, in beautiful relief.
The point at which the young man stood, looking directly northward, was
one which could not be excelled, if it indeed could be equalled for the
view it commanded, embracing nearly the whole of Rome, which from its
commanding height, inferior only to the capitol, and the Quirinal hill, it
was enabled to overlook.
Before him, in the hollow at his feet, on which the morning rays dwelt
lovingly, streaming in through the deep valley to the right over the city
walls, lay the long street of the Carinæ, the noblest and most sumptuous
of Rome, adorned with many residences of the patrician order, and among
others, those of Pompey, Cæsar, and the great Latin orator. This broad and
noble thoroughfare, from its great width, and the long rows of marble
columns, which decked its palaces, all glittering in the misty sunbeams,
shewed like a waving line of light among the crowded buildings of the
narrower ways, that ran parallel to it along the valley and up the easy
slope of the Cælian mount, with the Minervium, in which Arvina stood,
leading directly downward to its centre. Beyond this sparkling line, rose
the twin summits Oppius and Cispius, of the Esquiline hill, still decked
with the dark foliage of the ancestral groves of oak and sweet-chesnut,
said to derive their origin from Servius Tullius, the sixth king of Rome,
and green with the long grass and towering cypresses of the plebeian
cemetery, across which the young man had come home, from the villa of his
lady-love, but a few hours before.
Beyond the double hill-tops, a heavy purple shadow indicated the deep
basin through which ran the ill-famed Suburra, and the "Wicked-Street", so
named from the tradition, that therein Tullia compelled her trembling
charioteer to lash his reluctant steeds over the yet warm body of her
murdered father. And beyond this again the lofty ridge of the Quirinal
mount stood out in fair relief with all its gorgeous load of palaces and
columns; and the great temple of the city’s founder, the god Romulus
Quirinus; and the stupendous range of walls and turrets, along its
northern verge, flashing out splendidly to the new-risen sun.
So lofty was the post from which Paullus gazed, as he overlooked the
mighty town, that his eye reached even beyond the city-walls on the
Quirinal, and passing over the broad valley at its northern base, all
glimmering with uncertain lights and misty shadows, rested upon the Collis
Hortulorum, or mount of gardens, now called Monte Pincio, which was at
that time covered, as its name indicates, with rich and fertile
shrubberies. The glowing hues of these could be distinctly made out, even
at this great distance, by the naked eye. For it must be remembered that
there was in those days no sea-coal to send up its murky smoke-wreaths,
blurring the bright skies with its inky pall; no factories with tall
chimnies, vomiting forth, like mimic Etnas, their pestilential breath,
fatal to vegetable life. Not a cloud hung over the great city; and the
charcoal, sparingly used for cookery, sent forth no visible fumes to
shroud the daylight. So that, as the thin purplish haze was dispersed by
the growing influence of the sunbeams, every line of the far architecture,
even to the carved friezes of the thousand temples, and the rich foliage
of the marble capitals could be observed, distinct and sharp as in a
painted picture.
Nor was this all the charm of the delicious atmosphere; for so pure was
it, that the odours of that flowery hill, wafted upon the wings of the
light northern breeze, blent with the coolness which they caught from the
hundreds of clear fountains, plashing and glittering in every public
place, came to the brow of the young noble, more like the breath of some
enchanted garden in the far-famed Hesperides, than the steam from the
abodes of above a million of busy mortals.
Before him still, though inclining a little to the left hand, lay a
broader hollow, presenting the long vista of the sacred way, leading
directly to the capitol, and thence to the Campus Martius, the green
expanse of which, bedecked with many a marble monument and brazen column,
and already studded with quick moving groups, hurling the disc and
javelin, or reining the fierce war-horse with strong Gaulish curbs, lay
soft and level for half a league in length, till it was bounded far away
by a gleaming reach of the blue Tiber.
Still to the left of this, uprose the Palatine, the earliest settled of
the hills of Rome, with the old walls of Romulus, and the low straw-built
shed, wherein that mighty son of Mars dwelt when he governed his wild
robber-clan; and the bidental marking the spot where lightning from the
monarch of Olympus, called on by undue rites, consumed Hostilius and his
house; were still preserved with reverential worship, and on its eastern
peak, the time-honoured shrine of Stator Jove.
The ragged crest of this antique elevation concealed, it is true, from
sight the immortal space below, once occupied by the marsh of the
Velabrum, but now filled by the grand basilicæ and halls of Justice
surrounding the great Roman forum, with all their pomp of golden shields,
and monuments of mighty deeds performed in the earliest ages; but it was
far too low to intercept the view of the grand Capitol, and the Tarpeian
Rock.
The gilded gates of bronze and the gold-plated roof of the vast national
temple—gold-plated at the enormous cost of twenty-one thousand talents,
the rich spoil of Carthage—the shrine of Jupiter Capitoline, and Juno, and
Minerva, sent back the sun-beams in lines too dazzling to be borne by any
human eye; and all the pomp of statues grouped on the marble terraces, and
guarding the ascent of the celebrated hundred steps, glittered like forms
of indurated snow.
Such was the wondrous spectacle, more like a fairy show than a real scene
of earthly splendour, to look on which Arvina paused for one moment with
exulting gladness, before descending toward the mansion of the consul. Nor
was that mighty panorama wanting in moving crowds, and figures suitable to
the romantic glory of its scenery.
Here, through the larger streets, vast herds of cattle were driven in by
mounted herdsmen, lowing and trampling toward the forum; here a concourse
of men, clad in the graceful toga, the clients of some noble house, were
hastening along to salute their patron at his morning levee; there again,
danced and sang, with saffron colored veils and flowery garlands, a band
of virgins passing in sacred pomp toward some favourite shrine; there in
sad order swept along, with mourners and musicians, with women wildly
shrieking and tearing their long hair, and players and buffoons, and
liberated slaves wearing the cap of freedom, a funeral procession, bearing
the body of some _young_ victim, as indicated by the morning hour, to the
funereal pile beyond the city walls; and far off, filing in, with the
spear heads and eagles of a cohort glittering above the dust wreaths, by
the Flaminian way, the train of some ambassador or envoy, sent by
submissive monarchs or dependent states, to sue the favour and protection
of the great Roman people.
The blended sounds swept up, in a confused sonorous murmur, like the sea;
the shrill cry of the water-carriers, and the wild chant of the choral
songs, and the keen clangour of the distant trumpets ringing above the
din, until the ears of the youth, as well as his eyes, were filled with
present proofs of his native city’s grandeur; and his whole soul was
lapped in the proud conscious joy, arising from the thought that he too
was entitled to that boastful name, higher than any monarch’s style, of
Roman citizen.
"Fairest and noblest city of the universe," cried the enthusiastic boy,
spreading his arms abroad over the glorious view, which, kindling all the
powers of his imaginative mind, had awakened something of awe and
veneration, "long may the everliving gods watch over thee; long may they
guard thy liberties intact, thy hosts unconquered! long may thy name
throughout the world be synonymous with all that is great, and good, and
glorious! Long may the Roman fortune and the Roman virtue tread, side by
side, upon the neck of tyrants; and the whole universe stand mute and
daunted before the presence of the sovereign people."
"The sovereign slaves!" said a deep voice, with a strangely sneering
accent, in his ear; and as he started in amazement, for he had not
imagined that any one was near him, Cataline stood at his elbow.
Under the mingled influence of surprise, and bashfulness at being
overheard, and something not very far removed from alarm at the unexpected
presence of one so famed for evil deeds as the man beside him, Arvina
recoiled a pace or two, and thrust his hand into the bosom of his toga,
disarranging its folds for a moment, and suffering the eye of the
conspirator to dwell on the hilt of a weapon, which he recognized
instantly as the stiletto he had lost in the struggle with the miserable
slave on the Esquiline.
No gleam in the eye of the wily plotter betrayed his intelligence; no show
of emotion was discoverable in his dark paleness; but a grim smile played
over his lips for a moment, as he noted, not altogether without a sort of
secret satisfaction, the dismay caused by his unexpected presence.
"How now," he said jeeringly, before the smile had yet vanished from his
ill-omened face—"what aileth the bold Paullus, that he should start, like
an unruly colt scared by a shadow, from the approach of a friend?"
"A friend," answered the young man in a half doubtful tone, but instantly
recovering himself, "Ha! Cataline, I was surprised, and scarce saw who it
was. Thou art abroad betimes this morning. Whither so early? but what
saidst thou about slaves?"
"I thought thou didst not know me," replied the other, "and for the rest,
I am abroad no earlier than thou, and am perhaps bound to the same place
with thee!"
"By Hercules! I fancy not," said Paullus.
"Wherefore, I pray thee, not? Who knoweth? Perchance I go to pay my vows
to Jupiter upon the capitol! perchance," he added with a deep sneer, "to
salute our most eloquent and noble consul!"
A crimson flush shot instantly across the face and temples of Arvina,
perceiving that he was tampered with, and sounded only; yet he replied
calmly and with dignity, "Thither indeed, go I; but I knew not that thou
wert in so much a friend of Cicero, as to go visit him."
"Men sometimes visit those who be not their friends," answered the other.
"I never said he was a friend to me, or I to him. By the gods, no! I had
lied else."
"But what was that," asked the youth, moved, by an inexplicable curiosity
and excitement, to learn something more of the singular being with whom
chance had brought him into contact, "which thou didst say but now
concerning slaves?"
"That all these whom we see before us, and around us, and beneath us, are
but a herd of slaves; gulled and vainglorious slaves!"
"The Roman people?" exclaimed Paullus, every tone of his voice, every
feature of his fine countenance, expressing his unmitigated horror and
astonishment. "The great, unconquered Roman people; the lords of earth and
sea, from frosty Caucasus to the twin rocks of Hercules; the tramplers on
the necks of kings; the arbiters of the whole world! The Roman people,
slaves?"
"Most abject and most wretched!"
"To whom then?" cried the young man, much excited, "to whom am I, art
thou, a slave? For we are also of the Roman people?"
"The Roman people, and thou, as one of them, and I, Paullus Cæcilius, are
slaves one and all; abject and base and spirit-fallen slaves, lacking the
courage even to spurn against our fetters, to the proud tyrannous rich
aristocracy."
"By the Gods! we are of it."
"But not the less, for that, slaves to it!" answered Cataline! "See! from
the lowest to the highest, each petty pelting officer lords it above the
next below him; and if the tribunes for a while, at rare and singular
moments, uplift a warning cry against the corrupt insolence of the
patrician houses, gold buys them back into vile treasonable silence!
Patricians be we, and not slaves, sayest thou? Come tell me then, did the
patrician blood of the grand Gracchi preserve them from a shameful doom,
because they dared to speak, as free-born men, aloud and freely? Did his
patrician blood save Fulvius Flaccus? Were Publius Antonius, and Cornelius
Sylla, the less ejected from their offices, that they were of the highest
blood in Rome; the lawful consuls by the suffrage of the people? Was I,
the heir of Sergius Silo’s glory, the less forbidden even to canvass for
the consulship, that my great grandsire’s blood was poured out, like
water, upon those fields that witnessed Rome’s extremest peril, Trebia,
and the Ticinus, and Thrasymene and Cannæ? Was Lentulus, the noblest of
the noble, patrician of the eldest houses, a consular himself, expelled
the less and stricken from the rolls of the degenerate senate, for the
mere whining of a mawkish wench, because his name is Cornelius? Tush,
Tush! these be but dreams of poets, or imaginings of children!—the commons
be but slaves to the nobles; the nobles to the senate; the senate to their
creditors, their purchasers, their consuls; the last at once their tools,
and their tyrants! Go, young man, go. Salute, cringe, fawn upon your
consul! Nathless, for thou hast mind enough to mark and note the truth of
what I tell thee; thou wilt think upon this, and perchance one day, when
the time shall have come, wilt speak, act, strike, for freedom!"
And as he finished speaking, he turned aside with a haughty gesture of
farewell; and wrapping his toga closely about his tall person, stalked
away slowly in the direction neither of the capitol nor of the consul’s
house; turning his head neither to the right hand nor to the left; and
taking no more notice of the person to whom he had been speaking, than if
he had not known him to be there, and gazing toward him half-bewildered in
anxiety and wonder!
"Wonderful! by the Gods!" he said at last. "Truly he is a wonderful man,
and wise withal! I fain would know if all that be true, which they say of
him—his bitterness, his impiety, his blood-thirstiness! By Hercules! he
speaks well! and it is _true_ likewise. Yea! true it is, that we,
patricians, and free, as we style ourselves, may not speak any thing, or
act, against our order; no! nor indulge our private pleasures, for fear of
the proud censors! Is this, then, freedom? True, we are lords abroad; our
fleets, our hosts, everywhere victorious; and not one land, wherein the
eagle has unfurled her pinion, but bows before the majesty of Rome—but
yet—is it, is it, indeed, true, that we are but slaves, sovereign slaves,
at home?"
The whole tenor of the young man’s thoughts was altered by the few words,
let fall for that very purpose by the arch traitor. Ever espying whom he
might attach to his party by operating on his passions, his prejudices,
his weakness, or his pride; a most sagacious judge of human nature,
reading the character of every man as it were in a written book, Cataline
had long before remarked young Arvina. He had noted several points of his
mental constitution, which he considered liable to receive such
impressions as he would—his proneness to defer to the thoughts of others,
his want of energetic resolution, and not least his generous indignation
against every thing that savored of cruelty or oppression. He had resolved
to operate on these, whenever he might find occasion; and should he meet
success in his first efforts, to stimulate his passions, minister to his
voluptuous pleasures, corrupt his heart, and make him in the end, body and
soul, his own.
Such were the intentions of the conspirator, when he first addressed
Paullus. His desire to increase the strength of his party, to whom the
accession of any member however humble of the great house of Cæcilii could
not fail to be useful, alone prompting him in the first instance. But,
when he saw by the young man’s startled aspect that he was prepossessed
against him, and had listened probably to the damning rumors which were
rife everywhere concerning him, a second motive was added, in his pride of
seduction and sophistry, by which he was wont to boast, that he could
bewilder the strongest minds, and work them to his will. When by the
accidental disarrangement of Arvina’s gown, and the discovery of his own
dagger, he perceived that the intended victim of his specious arts was
probably cognizant in some degree of his last night’s crime, a third and
stronger cause was added, in the instinct of self-preservation. And as
soon as he found out that Paullus was bound for the house of Cicero, he
considered his life, in some sort, staked upon the issue of his attempt on
Arvina’s principles.
No part could have been played with more skill, or with greater knowledge
of his character whom he addressed. He said just enough to set him
thinking, and to give a bias and a colour to his thoughts, without giving
him reason to suspect that he had any interest in the matter; and he had
withdrawn himself in that careless and half contemptuous manner, which
naturally led the young man to wish for a renewal of the subject.
And in fact Paul, while walking down the hill, toward the house of the
Consul, was busied in wondering why Cataline had left so much unsaid,
departing so abruptly; and in debating with himself upon the strange
doctrines which he had then for the first time heard broached.
It was about the second hour of the Roman day, corresponding nearly to
eight o’clock before noon—as the winter solstice was now passed—when
Arvina reached the magnificent dwelling of the Consul in the Carinæ at the
angle of the Cærolian place, hard by the foot of the Sacred Way.
This splendid building occupied a whole _insula_, as it was called, or
space between four streets, intersecting each other at right angles; and
was three stories in height, the two upper supported by columns of marble,
with a long range of glass windows, at that period an unusual and
expensive luxury. The doors stood wide open; and on either hand the
vestibule were arranged the lictors leaning upon their fasces, while the
whole space of the great Corinthian hall within, lighted from above, and
adorned with vast black pillars of Lucullean marble, was crowded with the
white robes of the consul’s plebeian clients tendering their morning
salutations; not unmixed with the crimson fringes and broad crimson
facings of senatorial visitors.
Many were there with gifts of all kinds; countrymen from his Sabine farm
and his Tusculan retreat, some bringing lambs; some cages full of doves;
cheeses, and bowls of fragrant honey; and robes of fine white linen the
produce of their daughters’ looms; for whom perchance they were seeking
dowers at the munificence of their noble patron; artizans of the city,
with toys or pieces of furniture, lamps, writing cases, cups or vases of
rich workmanship; courtiers with manuscripts rarely illuminated, the work
of their most valuable slaves; travellers with gems, and bronzes,
offerings known to be esteemed beyond all others by the high-minded lover
of the arts, and unrivalled scholar, to whom they were presented.
These presents, after being duly exhibited to the patron himself, who was
seated at the farther end of the hall, concealed from the eyes of Paullus
by the intervening crowd, were consigned to the care of the various
slaves, or freedmen, who stood round their master, and borne away
according to their nature, to the storerooms and offices, or to the
library and gallery of the consul; while kind words and a courteous
greeting, and a consideration most ample and attentive even of the
smallest matters brought before him, awaited all who approached the
orator; whether he came empty handed, or full of gifts, to require an
audience.
After a little while, Arvina penetrated far enough through the crowd to
command a view of the consul’s seat; and for a time he amused himself by
watching his movements and manner toward each of his visitors, perhaps not
altogether without reference to the conversation he had recently held with
Catiline; and certainly not without a desire to observe if the tales he
had heard of shameless bribery and corruption, as practiced by many of the
great officers of the republic, had any confirmation in the conduct of
Cicero.
But he soon saw that the courtesies of that great and virtuous man were
regulated neither by the value of the gifts offered, nor by the rank of
the visitors; and that his personal predilections even were not allowed to
interfere with the division of his time among all worthy of his notice.
Thus he remarked that a young noble, famed for his dissoluteness and evil
courses, although he brought an exquisite sculpture of Praxiteles, was
received with the most marked and formal coldness, and his gift, which
could not be declined, consigned almost without eliciting a glance of
approbation, to the hand of a freedman; while, the next moment, as an old
white-headed countryman, plainly and almost meanly clad, although with
scrupulous cleanliness, approached his presence, the consul rose to meet
him; and advancing a step or two took him affectionately by the hand, and
asked after his family by name, and listened with profound consideration
to the garrulous narrative of the good farmer, who, involved in some petty
litigation, had come to seek the advice of his patron; until he sent him
away happy and satisfied with the promise of his protection.
By and by his own turn arrived; and, although he was personally unknown to
the orator, and the assistance of the nomenclator, who stood behind the
curule chair, was required before he was addressed by name, he was
received with the utmost attention; the noble house to which the young man
belonged being as famous for its devotion to the common weal, as for the
ability and virtue of its sons.
After a few words of ordinary compliment, Paullus proceeded to intimate to
his attentive hearer that his object in waiting at his levee that morning
was to communicate momentous information. The thoughtful eye of the great
orator brightened, and a keen animated expression came over the features,
which had before worn an air almost of lassitude; and he asked eagerly—
"Momentous to the Republic—to Rome, my good friend?"—for all his mind was
bent on discovering the plots, which he suspected even now to be in
process against the state.
"Momentous to yourself, Consul," answered Arvina.
"Then will it wait," returned the other, with a slight look of
disappointment, "and I will pray you to remain, until I have spoken with
all my friends here. It will not be very long, for I have seen nearly all
the known faces. If you are, in the mean time, addicted to the humane
arts, Davus here will conduct you to my library, where you shall find food
for the mind; or if you have not breakfasted, my Syrian will shew you
where some of my youthful friends are even now partaking a slight meal."
Accepting the first offer, partly perhaps from a sort of pardonable
hypocrisy, desiring to make a favourable impression on the great man, with
whom he had for the first time spoken, Arvina followed the intelligent and
civil freedman to the library, which was indeed the favourite apartment of
the studious magistrate. And, if he half repented, as he went by the
chamber wherein several youths of patrician birth, one or two of whom
nodded to him as he passed, were assembled, conversing merrily and jesting
around a well spread board, he ceased immediately to regret the choice he
had made, when the door was thrown open, and he was ushered into the
shrine of Cicero’s literary leisure.
The library was a small square apartment; for it must be remembered that
books at this time being multiplied by manual labor only, and the art
being comparatively rare and very costly, the vast collections of modern
times were utterly beyond the reach of individuals; and a few scores of
volumes were more esteemed than would be as many thousands now, in these
days of multiplying presses and steam power. But although inconsiderable
in size, not being above sixteen feet square, the decorations of the
apartment were not to be surpassed or indeed equalled by anything of
modern splendor; for the walls,(4) divided into compartments by mouldings,
exquisitely carved and overlaid with burnished gilding, were set with
panels of thick plate glass glowing in all the richest hues of purple,
ruby, emerald, and azure, through several squares of which the light stole
in, gorgeously tinted, from the peristyle, there being no distinction
except in this between the windows and the other compartments of the
wainscot, if it may be so styled; and of the ceiling, which was finished
in like manner with slabs of stained glass, between the intersecting beams
of gilded scroll work.
The floor was of beautiful mosaic, partially covered by a foot-cloth woven
from the finest wool, and dyed purple with the juice of the cuttle-fish;
and all the furniture corresponded, both in taste and magnificence, to the
other decorations of the room. A circular table of cedar wood, inlaid with
ivory and brass, so that its value could not have fallen far short of ten
thousand sesterces(5), stood in the centre of the floor-cloth; with a
_bisellium_, or double settle, wrought in bronze, and two beautiful chairs
of the same material not much dissimilar in form to those now used. And,
to conclude, a bookcase of polished maple wood, one of the doors of which
stood open, displayed a rare collection of about three hundred volumes,
each in its circular case of purple parchment, having the name inscribed
in letters of gold, silver, or vermilion.
A noble bust in bronze of the Phidian Jupiter, with the sublime expanse of
brow, the ambrosian curls and the beard loosely waving, as when he shook
Olympus by his nod, and the earth trembled and the depth of Tartarus,
stood on a marble pedestal facing the bookcase; and on the table, beside
writing materials, leaves of parchment, an ornamental letter-case, a
double inkstand and several reed pens, were scattered many gems and
trinkets; signets and rings engraved in a style far surpassing any effort
of the modern graver, vases of onyx and cut glass, and above all, the
statue of a beautiful boy, holding a lamp of bronze suspended by a chain
from his left hand, and in his right the needle used to refresh the wick.
Nurtured as he had been from his youth upward among the magnates of the
land, accustomed to magnificence and luxury till he had almost fancied
that the world had nothing left of beautiful or new that he had not
witnessed, Paul stood awhile, after the freedman had departed, gazing with
mute admiration on the richness and taste displayed in all the details of
this the scholar’s sanctum. The very atmosphere of the chamber, filled
with the perfume of the cedar wood employed as a specific against the
ravages of the moth and bookworm, seemed to the young man redolent of
midnight learning; and the superb front of the presiding god, calm in the
grandeur of its ineffable benignity, who appeared to his excited fancy to
smile serene protection on the pursuits of the blameless consul, inspired
him with a sense of awful veneration, that did not easily or quickly pass
away.
For some moments, as he gradually recovered the elasticity of his spirits,
he amused himself by examining the exquisitely wrought gems on the table;
but after a little while, when Cicero came not, he crossed the room
quietly to the bookshelves, and selecting a volume of Homer, drew it forth
from its richly embossed case, and seating himself on the bronze settle
with his back toward the door, had soon forgotten where he was, and the
grave business which brought him thither, in the sublime simplicity of the
blind rhapsodist.
An hour or more elapsed thus; yet Paul took no note of time, nor moved at
all except to unroll with his right hand the lower margin of the parchment
as he read, while with the left he rolled up the top; so that nearly the
same space of the manuscript remained constantly before his eyes, although
the reader was continually advancing in the poem.
At length the door opened noiselessly, and with a silent foot, shod in the
light slippers which the Romans always wore when in the house, Cicero
entered the apartment.
The consul was at this time in the very prime of intellectual manhood, it
having been decreed(6) about a century before, that no person should be
elected to that highest office of the state, who should not have attained
his forty-third year. He was a tall and elegantly formed man, with nothing
especially worthy of remark in his figure, if it were not that his neck
was unusually long and slender, though not so much so as to constitute any
drawback to his personal appearance, which, without being what would
exactly be termed handsome, was both elegant and graceful. His features
were not, indeed, very bold or striking; but intellect was strongly and
singularly marked in every line of the face; and the expression,—calm,
thoughtful, and serene,—though it had not the quick and restless play of
ever-varying lights and shadows which belongs to the quicker and more
imaginative temperaments among men of the highest genius,—could not fail
to impress any one with the conviction, that the mind which informed it
must be of eminent capacity, and depth, and power.
He entered, as I have said, silently; and although there was nothing of
stealthiness in his gait, which being very light and slow was yet both
firm and springy, nor any of that cunning in his manner which is so often
coupled to a prowling footstep, he yet advanced so noiselessly over the
soft floor-cloth, that he stood at Arvina’s elbow, and overlooked the page
in which he was reading, before the young man was aware of his vicinity.
"Ha!" he exclaimed, after standing a moment, and observing with a soft
pleasant smile the abstraction of his visitor, "so thou readest Greek, and
art thyself a poet."
"A little of the first, my consul," replied Arvina, arising quickly to his
feet, with the ingenuous blood rushing to his brow at the detection. "But
wherefore shouldst thou believe me the second?"
"We statesmen," answered the consul, "are wont to study other men’s
characters, as other men are wont to study books; and I have learned by
practice to draw quick conclusions from small signs. But in this instance,
the light in your eye, the curl of your expanded nostril, the half frown
on your brow, and the flush on your cheek, told me beyond a doubt that you
are a poet. And you are so, young man. I care not whether you have penned
as yet an elegy, or no—nevertheless, you are in soul, in temperament, in
fantasy, a poet. Do you love Homer?"
"Beyond all other writers I have ever met, in my small course of reading.
There is a majesty, a truth, an ever-burning fire, lustrous, yet natural
and most beneficent, like the sun’s glory on a summer day, in his immortal
words, that kindles and irradiates, yet consumes not the soul; a grand
simplicity, that never strains for effect; a sweet pathos, that elicits
tears without evoking them; a melody that flows on, like the harmony of
the eternal sea, or, if we may call fancy to our aid, the music of the
spheres, telling us that like these the blind bard sang, because song was
his nature—was within, and must out—not bound by laws, or measured by
pedantic rules, but free, unfettered, and spontaneous as the billows,
which in its wild and many-cadenced sweep it most resembles."
"Ah! said I not," replied Cicero, "that you were a poet? And you have been
discoursing me most eloquent poetry; though not attuned to metre,
rythmical withal, and full of fancy. Ay! and you judge aright. He is the
greatest, as the first of poets; and surpassed all his followers as much
in the knowledge of the human heart with its ten thousands of conflicting
passions, as in the structure of the kingly verse, wherein he delineated
character as never man did, saving only he. But hold, Arvina. Though I
could willingly spend hours with thee in converse on this topic, the state
has calls on me, which must be obeyed. Tell me, therefore, I pray you, as
shortly as may be, what is the matter you would have me know. Shortly, I
pray you, for my time is short, and my duties onerous and manifold."
Laying aside the roll, which he had still held open during that brief
conversation, and laying aside with it his enthusiastic and passionate
manner, the young man now stated, simply and briefly, the events of the
past night, the discovery of the murdered slave, and the accident by which
he had learned that he was the consul’s property; and in conclusion, laid
the magnificently ornamented dagger which he had found, on the board
before Cicero; observing, that the weapon might give a clue to poor
Medon’s death.
Cicero was moved deeply—moved, not simply, as Arvina fancied, by sorrow
for the dead, but by something approaching nearly to remorse. He started
up from the chair, which he had taken when the youth began his tale, and
clasping his hands together violently, strode rapidly to and fro the small
apartment.
"Alas, and wo is me, poor Medon! Faithful wert thou, and true, and very
pleasant to mine eyes! Alas! that thou art gone, and gone too so
wretchedly! And wo is me, that I listened not to my own apprehensions,
rather than to thy trusty boldness. Alas! that I suffered thee to go, for
they have murdered thee! ay, thine own zeal betrayed thee; but by the Gods
that govern in Olympus, they shall rue it!"
After this burst of passion he became more cool, and, resuming his seat,
asked Paullus a few shrewd and pertinent questions concerning the nature
of the ground whereon he had found the corpse, the traces left by the
mortal struggle, the hour at which the discovery was made, and many other
minute points of the same nature; the answers to which he noted carefully
on his waxed tablets. When he had made all the inquiries that occurred to
him, he read aloud the answers as he had set them down, and asked if he
would be willing at any moment to attest the truth of those things.
"At any moment, and most willingly, my consul," the youth replied. "I
would do much myself to find out the murderers and bring them to justice,
were it only for my poor freedman Thrasea’s sake, who is his
cousin-german."
"Fear not, young man, they _shall_ be brought to justice," answered
Cicero. "In the meantime do thou keep silence, nor say one word touching
this to any one that lives. Carry the dagger with thee; wear it as
ostentatiously as may be—perchance it shall turn out that some one may
claim or recognise it. Whatever happeneth, let me know privately. Thus far
hast thou done well, and very wisely: go on as thou hast commenced, and,
hap what hap, count Cicero thy friend. But above all, doubt not—I say,
doubt not one moment,—that as there is One eye that seeth all things in
all places, that slumbereth not by day nor sleepeth in the watches of
night, that never waxeth weak at any time or weary—as there is One hand
against which no panoply can arm the guilty, from which no distance can
protect, nor space of time secure him, so surely shall they perish
miserable who did this miserable murder, and their souls rue it
everlastingly beyond the portals of the grave, which are but the portals
of eternal life, and admit all men to wo or bliss, for ever and for ever!"
He spoke solemnly and sadly; and on his earnest face there was a deep and
almost awful expression, that held Arvina mute and abashed, he knew not
wherefore; and when the great man had ceased from speaking, he made a
silent gesture of salutation and withdrew, thus gravely warned, scarce
conscious if the statesman noted his departure; for he had fallen into a
deep reverie, and was perhaps musing on the mysteries yet unrevealed of
the immortal soul, so totally careless did he now appear of all sublunary
matters.