THE WANTON.
Duri magno sed amore dolores
Pollute, notumque furens quid femina possit.
ÆN. V. 6. VIRGIL.
It was not till a late hour on the following day, that Catiline awoke from
the heavy and half lethargic slumber, which had fallen upon him after the
severe and stunning blow he received in the grotto of Egeria.
His head ached fearfully, his tongue clove to his palate parched with
fever, and all his muscular frame was disjointed and unstrung, so
violently had his nerves been shattered.
For some time after he awoke, he lay tossing to and fro, on his painful
couch, scarce conscious of his own identity, and utterly forgetful of the
occurrences of the past evening.
By slow degrees, however, the truth began to dawn upon him, misty at first
and confused, until he brought to his mind fairly the attack on Arvina,
and the affray which ensued; with something of an indistinct consciousness
that he had been stricken down, and frustrated in his murderous attempt.
As soon as the certainty of this was impressed on him, he sprang up from
his bed, with his wonted impetuosity, and inquired vehemently of a
freedman, who sat in his chamber motionless as a statue in expectation of
his waking—
"How came I home, Chærea? and at what hour of night?"
"Grievously wounded, Catiline; and supported in the arms of the sturdy
Germans, Geta and Arminius; and, for the time, it was past the eighth
hour."
"The eighth hour! impossible!" cried the conspirator; "why it was but the
fifth, when that occurred. What said I, my good Chærea? What said the
Germans? Be they here now? Answer me quick, I pray you."
"There was but one word on your lips, Catiline; a constant cry for water,
water, so long as you were awake; and after we had given you of it, as
much as you would take, and you had fallen into a disturbed and feverish
sleep, you still muttered in your dreams, ’water!’ The Germans answered
nothing, though all the household questioned them; and, in good truth,
Catiline, it was not very long that they were capable of answering, for as
soon as you were in bed, they called for wine, and in less than an hour
were thoroughly besotted and asleep. They are here yet, I think, sleeping
away the fumes of their potent flagons."
"Call me Arminius, hither. Hold! What is the time of day?"
"The sun is high already; it must be now near the fourth hour!"
"So late! you did ill, Chærea, to let me lie so long. Call me Arminius
hither; and send me one of the boys; or rather go yourself, Chærea, and
pray Cornelius Lentulus the Prætor, to visit me before he take his seat on
the Puteal Libonis. It is his day, I think, to take cognizance of criminal
matters. Begone, and do my bidding!"
Within a moment the Athenian freedman, for he was of that proud though
fallen city, returned conducting the huge German gladiator, whose
bewildered air and bloodshot eyes seemed to betoken that he had not as yet
recovered fully from the effect of his last night’s potations.
No finer contrast could be imagined by poet or painter, than was presented
by those three men, each eminently striking in his own style, and
characteristic of his nation. The tall spare military-looking Roman, with
his hawk nose and eagle eye, and close shaved face and short black hair,
his every attitude and look and gesture full of pride and dominion; the
versatile and polished Greek, beautiful both in form and face, as a marble
of Praxiteles, beaming with intellect, and having every feature eloquent
of poetry and imagination, and something of contempt for the sterner and
harder type of mind, to which he and his countryman were subjugated; and
last, the wild strong-limbed yet stolid-looking German, glaring out with
his bright blue eyes, full of a sort of stupid fierceness, from the long
curls of his auburn hair, a type of man in his most primitive state, the
hunter and the warrior of the forest, enslaved by Rome’s insatiate
ambition.
Catiline looked at him fiercely for a moment, and then nodded his head, as
if in assent to some of his own meditations; then muttering to himself,
"the boar! the mast-fed German boar!" he turned to the Greek, saying
sharply—
"Art thou not gone to Lentulus? methought thou hadst been thither, and
returned ere this time! Yet tarry, since thou art here still. Are any of
my clients in the atrium—any, I mean, of the trustiest!"
"Rufinus, surnamed Lupus, is without, and several others. Stolo, whom you
preserved from infamy, when accused of _dolus malus_, in the matter of
assault with arms on Publius Natro, is waiting to solicit you, I fancy,
for some favor."
"The very man—the Wolf is the very man! and your suitor for favors cannot
refuse to confer what he requests. Stay my Chærea. Send Glycon to summon
Lentulus, and go yourself and find out what is Stolo’s suit. Assure him of
my friendship and support; and, hark you, have him and Rufinus into an
inner chamber, and set bread before them and strong wine, and return to me
presently. Now, then, Arminius," he continued, as the Greek left the room,
"what did we do last night, and what befel us?—for I can remember nothing
clearly."
The giant shook his tawny locks away from his brow, and gazed into his
employer’s face with a look of stolid inquiry, and then answered—
"Do! we did nothing, that I know! We followed thee as in duty bound to
that cave by the Almo; and when we had stayed there awhile, we brought
thee back again, seeing thou couldst not go alone. What can I tell? you
know yourself why you took us thither."
"Thou stupid brute!" retorted Catiline, "or worse than brute, rather—for
brutes augment not their brutishness by gluttony and wine-bibbing—thou art
asleep yet! see if this will awaken thee!"
And with the word he snatched up a large brazen ewer full of cold water,
which stood on a slab near him, and hurled it at his head. The gladiator
stood quite still, and merely bent his neck a little to avoid the heavy
vessel, which almost grazed his temples, and then shook himself like a
water spaniel, as the contents flashed full into his face and eyes.
"Do not do that again," he grunted, "unless you want to have your throat
squeezed."
"By Pollux the pugilist! he threatens!" exclaimed Catiline, laughing at
his dogged anger. "Do you not know, cut-throat, that one word of mine can
have your tough hide slashed with whips in the common gaol, till your very
bones are bare?"
"And do you know what difference it makes, whether my hide be slashed with
dog-whips in the gaol, or with broadswords in the amphitheatre? A man can
only die! and it were as well, in my mind, to die having killed a Roman in
his own house, as a countryman on the arena."
"By all the Gods!" cried Catiline, "he is a philosopher! but, look you
here, my German Solon, you were better regard me, and attend to what I
tell you; so may you escape both gaol and amphitheatre. Tell me, briefly,
distinctly, and without delay, what fell out last evening."
"You led us to assault that younker, whom you know; and when we would have
set upon him, and finished his business easily, he blew a hunting horn,
and fifteen or sixteen stout fellows in full armor came down the bank from
behind and shut up the cave’s mouth—you know as well as I do."
"So far I do, most certainly," replied the conspirator, "but what then?"
"Why, then, thou wouldest not hear reason; but, though the youth swore he
would not betray thee, must needs lay on, one man against sixteen; and so,
as was like, gottest thine head broken by a blow of a boar-spear from a
great double-handed Thracian. For my part, I wondered he did not put the
spear-head through and through you. It was a great pity that he did not;
it would have saved us all, and you especially, a world of trouble."
"And you, cowardly dogs, forsook me; and held back, when by a bold rush we
might easily have slain him, and cut our way through the dastard slaves."
"No! no! we could not; they were all Thracians, Dacians, and Pannonians;
and were completely armed, too. We might have killed him, very likely, but
we could never have escaped ourselves."
"And he, he? what became of him when I had fallen?"
"He bade us take you up," replied the German, "and carry you home, and
tell you ’to fear nothing, he would betray no man, least of all you.’ He
is a fine young fellow, in my judgment; for he might just as well have
killed us all, as not, if he had been so minded; and I can’t say but that
it would have served us rightly, for taking odds of four to one upon a
single man. That is, I know, what you Romans call fighting; beyond the
Rhine we style it cowardly and murder! Then, after that he went off with
his men, leaving us scratching our heads, and looking as dastardly and
crest-fallen as could be. And then we brought you home hither, after it
had got late enough to carry you through the streets, without making an
uproar; and then Lydon and Chærea put you to bed; and I, and Geta, and
Ardaric, as for us, we got drunk, seeing there was no more work to do last
night, and not knowing what might be to do, to-day. And so it is all well,
very well, as I see it."
"Well, call you it, when he has got off unscathed, and lives to avenge
himself, and betray me?"
"But he swore he would do neither, Catiline," answered the simple-minded
son of the forest.
"Swore!" replied the conspirator, with a fell sneer.
"Ay did he, master! swore by all that was sacred he would never betray any
man, and you least of all; and I believe he will keep his promise."
"So do I," answered Catiline, bitterly, "I swear he shall; not for the
lack of will, but of means to do otherwise! You are a stupid brute,
Arminius; but useful in your way. I have no need of you to-day, so go and
tell the butler to give you wine enough to make all three of you drunk
again; but mind that ye are sound, clear-headed, and alert at day-break
to-morrow."
"But will he give it to me at my bidding?"
"If not, send him to me for orders; now, begone."
"I ask for nothing better," replied the gladiator, and withdrew, without
any word or gesture of salutation, in truth, despising the Roman in his
heart as deeply for what he deemed his over-craftiness and
over-civilization, as the more polished Greek did, for what on his side he
considered the utter absence of both.
Scarce had the German left the room, before the Greek returned, smiling,
and seemingly well satisfied with the result of his mission.
Catiline looked at him steadily, and nodding his head, asked him quietly—
"Are they prepared, Chærea?"
"To do anything you would have them, Catiline. Stolo, it seems, is again
emperilled—another charge of attempt to murder—and he wants you to screen
him."
"And so I will; and will do more. I will make him rich and great, if he do
my bidding. Now go, and make them understand this. They must swear that
they came hither this morning to claim my aid in bringing them to speech
with Lentulus, the Prætor, and then thou must be prepared to swear,
Chærea, that I have had no speech or communication with them at all—which
is quite true."
"That is a pity," answered the Greek, coolly; "for any one can swear
steadily to the truth, but it requires genius to carry out a lie bravely."
"Oh! never fear, thou shalt have lies enough to swear to! Now mark me,
when Lentulus comes hither, they must accuse to him Paullus Cæcilius
Arvina, whose person, if they know him not, you must describe to them—him
who dined with me, you know, the day before yesterday—of subornation to
commit murder. The place where he did so, the top of the Cælian hill. The
time, sunrise on that same day. The person whom he desired them to slay,
Volero the cutler, who dwelt in the Sacred Way. They must make up the tale
their own way, but to these facts they must swear roundly. Do you
understand me?"
"Perfectly; they shall do it well, and both be in one tale. I will help
them to concoct it, and dress it up with little truthful incidents that
will tell. But are you sure that he cannot prove he was not there?"
"Quite sure, Chærea. For he _was_ there."
"And no witnesses who can prove to whom he spoke?"
"Only one witness, and he will say nothing, unless called upon by
Paullus."
"And if so called upon?"
"Will most reluctantly corroborate the tale of Stolo and Rufinus!"
"Ha! ha!" laughed the freedman, "thou shouldst have been a Greek,
Catiline, thou art too shrewd to be a mere Roman."
"A _mere_ Roman, hang-dog!" answered Catiline, "but thou knowest thine
opportunity, and profitest by it! so let it pass! Now as for thee, seeing
thou dost love lying, thou shalt have thy part. Thou shalt swear that the
night before that same morning, at a short time past midnight, thou wert
returning by the Wicked street, from the house of Autronius upon the
Quirinal, whither I sent thee to bid him to dinner the next day—he shall
confirm the tale—when thou didst hear a cry of murder from the Plebeian
graveyard on the Esquiline; and hurrying to the spot, didst see Arvina,
with his freedman Thrasea bearing a torch, conceal a fresh bleeding body
in a broken grave; and, hidden by the stem of a great tree thyself, didst
hear him say, as he left the ground, ’That dog will tell no tales!’ Thou
must swear, likewise, that thou didst tell me the whole affair the next
morning, and that I bade thee wait for farther proof ere speaking of the
matter. And again, that we visited the spot where thou saw’st the deed,
and found the grass trampled and bloody, but could not find the body.
Canst thou do this, thinkest thou?"
"Surely I can," said the Athenian, rubbing his hands as if well pleased,
"so that no one shalt doubt the truth of it! And thou wilt confirm the
truth?"
"By chiding thee for speaking out of place. See that thou blurt it out
abruptly, as if unable to keep silence any longer, as soon as the others
have finished their tale. Begone and be speedy. Lentulus will be here
anon!"
The freedman withdrew silently, and Catiline was left alone in communion
with his own bad and bitter thoughts; and painful, as it seemed, and
terrible, even to himself, was that communion, for he rose up from his
seat and paced the room impetuously, to and fro, gnashing and grinding his
teeth, and biting his lips till the blood sprang out.
After a while, however, he mastered his passions, and began to dress
himself, which he did by fits and starts in a manner perfectly
characteristic of the man, uttering hideous imprecations if the least
thing ran counter to his wishes, and flinging the various articles of his
attire about the chamber with almost frantic violence.
By the time he had finished dressing himself, Lentulus was announced, and
entered with his dignified and haughty manner, not all unmixed with an air
of indolence.
"All hail, my Sergius," he exclaimed, as he crossed the threshold. "What
hast thou of so grave importance, that thou must intercept me on my way to
the judgment seat? Nothing has gone wrong in our councils—ha?"
"Nothing that I know," answered Catiline, "but here are two of my
trustiest clients, Stolo and Rufinus, have been these three hours waiting
for my awakening, that I might gain your ear for them. They sent me word
they had a very heavy charge to make to you; but for my part, I have not
seen them, and know not what it is."
"Tush! tush! man; never tell me that," replied Lentulus, with a grim
smile. "Do you think I will believe you have sent for me all the way
hither this morning, without some object of your own to serve? No! no! my
friend; with whomsoever that may pass, it will not go current with
Cornelius Lentulus!"
"Just as you please," said the traitor; "you may believe me or not exactly
as you choose; but it is true, nevertheless, that I have neither seen the
men, nor spoken with them. Nor do I know at all what they want."
"I would, then, you had not sent for me," answered the other. "Come, let
us have the knaves in. I suppose they have been robbing some one’s
hen-roost, and want to lay the blame on some one else!"
"What ho! Chærea."
And as he spoke the word, the curtain which covered the door-way was
withdrawn, and the keen-witted freedman made his appearance.
"Admit those fellows, Stolo and Rufinus. The prætor is prepared to give
them a hearing."
It would have been difficult, perhaps, to have selected from the whole
population of Rome at that day, a more murderous looking pair of
scoundrels.
"Well, sirrahs, what secrets of the state have you that weigh so
ponderously on your wise thoughts?" asked Lentulus, with a contemptuous
sneer.
"Murder, most noble Lentulus—or at least subornation thereof," answered
one of the ruffians.
"Most natural indeed! I should have thought as much. Well, tell us in a
word—for it is clear that nobody has murdered either of you—whom have you
murdered?"
"If we have murdered no one, it was not for the lack of prompting, or of
bribes either."
"Indeed! I should have thought a moderate bribe would have arranged the
matter easily. But come! come! to the point! whom were ye bribed or
instigated to get rid of? speak! I am in haste!"
"The cutler, Caius Volero!"
"Volero! Ha!" cried Lentulus, starting. "Indeed! indeed! that may well be.
By whom, then, were you urged to the deed, and when?"
"Paullus Cæcilius Arvina tempted us to the deed, by the offer of ten
thousand sesterces! We met him by appointment upon the Cælian hill, at the
head of the Minervium, a little before sunrise, the day before yesterday."
"Ha!" and for a moment or two Lentulus fixed his eyes upon the ground, and
pondered deeply on what he had just heard. "Have ye seen Volero since?"
"No, Prætor."
"Nor heard anything concerning him?"
"Nothing!" said Stolo. But he spoke with a confused air and in an
undecided tone, which satisfied the judge that he was speaking falsely.
Rufinus interposed, however, saying—
"But I have, noble Lentulus. I heard say that he _was_ murdered in his own
booth, that same night!"
"And having heard this, you told it not to Stolo?"
"I never thought about it any more," answered Rufinus doggedly, seeing
that he had got into a scrape.
"That was unfortunate, and somewhat strange, too, seeing that you came
hither together to speak about the very man. Now mark me. Volero _was_
that night murdered, and it appears to me, that you are bringing this
accusation against a young patrician, in order to conceal your own base
handiwork in the deed. Fellows, I grievously suspect you."
"Wrongfully, then, you do so," answered Stolo, who was the bolder and more
ready witted of the two. "Rufinus ever was a forgetful fool; and I trow I
am not to be brought into blame for his folly."
"Well for you, if you be not brought into more than blame! Now, mark me
well! can you prove where you were that night of the murder, excellent
Stolo?"
"Ay! can I," answered the man boldly. "I was with stout Balatro, the
fisherman, helping to mend his nets until the fourth hour, and all his
boys were present, helping us. And then we went to a cookshop to get some
supper in the ox forum, and thence at the sixth hour we passed across to
Lydia’s house in the Cyprian lane, and spent a merry hour or two carousing
with her jolly girls. Will that satisfy you, Lentulus?"
"Ay, if it can be proved," returned the Prætor. "And you, Rufinus; can you
also show your whereabout that evening?"
"I can," replied the fellow, "for I was sick abed; and that my wife can
show, and Themison the druggist, who lives in the Sacred Way. For she went
to get me an emetic at the third hour; and I was vomiting all night. A
poor hand should I have made that night at murder."
"So far, then," replied Lentulus, "you have cleared yourselves from
suspicion; but your charge on Arvina needs something more of confirmation,
ere I dare cite a Patrician to plead to such a crime! Have you got
witnesses? was any one in sight, when he spoke with you on the Minervium?"
"There was one; but I know not if he will choose to speak of it?"
"Who was it?" exclaimed Lentulus, growing a little anxious on the subject,
for though he cared little enough about Arvina, he was yet unwilling to
see a Patrician arraigned for so small a matter, as was in his eyes the
murder of a mechanic.
"Why should he not speak? I warrant you I will find means to make him."
"It was my patron, Lentulus."
"Your patron! man!" he cried, much astonished. "What, Catiline, here?"
"Catiline it was! my Prætor."
"And have you consulted with him, ere you spoke with me?"
"Not so! most noble, for he would not admit us!"
"Speak, Sergius. Is this so? did you behold these fellows in deep converse
with Cæcilius Arvina, in the Minervium? But no! it must be folly! for what
should you have been doing there at sunrise?"
"I prithee do not ask me, Lentulus," answered Catiline, with an air of
well feigned reluctance. "I hate law suits and judicial inquiries, and I
love young Arvina."
"Then you did see them? Nay! nay! you must speak out. I do adjure you,
Catiline, by all the Gods! were you, at sunrise, on the Cælian, and did
you see Arvina and these two?"
"I was, at sunrise, on the Cælian; and I did see them."
"And heard you what they said?"
"No! but their faces were grave and earnest; and they seemed angry as they
separated."
"Ha! In itself only, this were a little thing; but when it turns out that
the man _was_ slain that same night, the thing grows serious. You,
therefore, I shall detain here as witnesses, and partially suspected. Some
of your slaves must guard them, Catiline, and I will send a lictor to cite
Paullus, that he appear before me after the session at the Puteal Libonis.
I am in haste. Farewell!"
"Me! me! hear me! good Lentulus—hear me!" exclaimed Chærea, springing
forward, all vehemence and eagerness to speak, as it would seem, ere he
should be interrupted.
"Chærea?" cried Catiline, looking sternly at him, and shaking his finger,
"Remember!"
"No! no!" replied Chærea—"no! no! I will not hold my peace! No! Catiline,
you may kill me, if you choose, but I will speak; to keep this secret any
longer would kill me, I tell you."
"If it do not, I will," answered his master, angrily.
"This must not be, my Sergius," interposed Lentulus, "let the man speak if
he have any light to throw on this mysterious business. Say on, my good
fellow, and I will be your mediator with your master."
The freedman needed no more exhortation, but poured out a flood of eager,
anxious narrative, as had been preconcerted between himself and Catiline,
speaking with so much vehemence, and displaying so much agitation in all
his air and gestures, that he entirely imposed his story upon Lentulus;
and that Catiline had much difficulty in restraining a smile at the skill
of the Greek.
"Ha! it is very clear," said Lentulus, "he first slew the slave with his
own hand, and then would have compassed—nay! I should rather say, _has_
compassed—Volero’s slaughter, who must some how or other have become privy
to the deed. I must have these detained, and him arrested! There can be no
doubt of his guilt, and the people will be, I think, disposed to make an
example; there have of late been many cases of assassination!"
As soon as they were left alone, Lentulus looked steadily into the face of
his fellow-conspirator for a moment, and then burst into a hoarse laugh.
"Why all this mummery, my Sergius?" he added, as soon as he had ceased
from laughing, "Or wherefore would you have mystified me too?"
"I might have wished to see whether the evidence was like to seem valid to
the Judices, from its effect upon the Prætor!" answered the other.
"And are you satisfied?"
"I am."
"You may be so, my Sergius, for, of a truth, until Chærea swore as he did
touching Medon, I was myself deceived."
"You believe, then, that this will be sufficient to secure his
condemnation?"
"Beyond doubt. He will be interdicted fire and water, if these men stick
to their oaths only. It would be well, perhaps, to convict one of Arvina’s
slaves of the actual death of Volero. That might be done easily enough,
but there must be care taken, that you select one who shall not be able to
prove any alibi. But wherefore are you so bent on destroying this youth,
and by the law, too, which is ever both perilous and uncertain?"
"He knows too much, to live without endangering others."
"What knows he?"
"Who slew Medon—Who slew Volero—What we propose to do, ere long, in the
Campus!" answered Catiline, steadily.
"By all the Gods?" cried Lentulus, turning very pale, and remaining silent
for some moments. After which he said, with a thoughtful manner, "it would
be better to get rid of him quietly."
"That has been tried too."
"Well?"
"It failed! He is now on his guard. He is brave, strong, wary. It cannot
be done, save thus."
"He will denounce us. He will declare the whole, ere we can spring the
mine beneath him."
"No! he will not; he dares not. He is bound by oaths which—"
"Oaths!" interrupted Lentulus, with a sneer, and in tones of contemptuous
ridicule. "What are oaths? Did they ever bind you?"
"I do not recollect," answered Catiline; "perhaps they did, when I was a
boy, and believed in Lemures and Lamia. But Paullus Arvina is not Lucius
Catiline, nor yet Cornelius Lentulus; and I say that his oaths shall bind
him, until—"
"And I say, they shall not!" A clear high voice interrupted him, coming,
apparently, through the wall of the chamber.
Lentulus started—his very lips were white, and his frame shook with
agitation, if it were not with fear.
Catiline grew pale likewise; but it was rage, not terror, that blanched
his swarthy brow. He dashed his hand upon the table—
"Furies of Hell!"
While the words were yet trembling on his lips, the door was thrown
violently open, the curtains which concealed it torn asunder, and, with
her dark eyes gleaming a strange fire, and two hard crimson spots gleaming
high up on her cheek bones—the hectic of fierce passion—her bosom
throbbing, and her whole frame dilated with anger and excitement, young
Lucia stood before them.
"And I say," she repeated, "that they shall not bind him! By all the Gods!
I swear it! By my own love! my own dishonor! I swear that they shall not!
Fool! fool! did you think to outwit me? To blind a woman, whose every fear
and passion is an undying eye? Go to! go to! you shall not do it."
Audacious, as he was, the traitor was surprised, almost daunted; and while
Lentulus, a little reassured, when he saw who was the interlocutor, gazed
on him in unmitigated wonder, he faltered out, in tones strangely
dissimilar to his accustomed accents of indomitable pride and decision—
"You mistake, girl; you have not heard aright, if you have heard at all; I
would say, you are deceived, Lucia!"
"Then would you lie!" she answered, "for I am not deceived, though you
would fain deceive me! Not heard? not heard?" she continued. "Think you
the walls in the house of Catiline have no eyes nor ears?" using the very
words which he had addressed to her lover; "Lucius Catiline! I know all!"
"You know all?" exclaimed Lentulus, aghast.
"And will prevent all!" replied the girl, firmly, "if you dare cross my
purposes!"
"Dare! dare!" replied Catiline, who now, recovering from his momentary
surprise, had regained all his natural haughtiness and vigor. "Who are
you, wanton, that dare talk to us of daring?"
"Wanton!" replied the girl, turning fiery red. "Ay! But who made me the
wanton that I am? Who fed my youthful passions? Who sapped my youthful
principles? Who reared me in an atmosphere, whose very breath was luxury,
voluptuousness, pollution, till every drop of my wholesome blood was
turned to liquid flame? till every passion in my heart became a fettered
earthquake? Fool! fool! you thought, in your impotence of crime, to make
Lucia Orestilla your instrument, your slave! You have made her your
mistress! You dreamed, in your insolence of fancied wisdom, that, like the
hunter-cat of the Persian despots, so long as you fed the wanton’s
appetite, and basely pandered to her passions, she would leap hood-winked
on the prey you pointed her. Thou fool! that hast not half read thy
villain lesson! Thou shouldst have known that the very cat, thou
thoughtest me, will turn and rend the huntsman if he dare rob her of her
portion! I tell you, Lucius Catiline, you thought me a mere wanton! a mere
sensual thing! a soulless animal voluptuary! Fool! I say, double fool!
Look into thine own heart; remember what blood runs in these female veins!
Man! Father! Vitiator! My spirit is not female! my blood, my passions, my
contempt of peril, my will indomitable and immutable, are, like my mortal
body, your begetting! My crimes, and my corruption, are your teaching!
Beware then, as you know the heat of your own appetites, how you presume
to hinder mine! Beware, as you know your own recklessness in doing and
contempt in suffering, how you stir me, your child, to do and suffer
likewise! Beware, as you know the extent of your own crimes, the depth of
your own pollution, how you drive me, your pupil, to out-do her master!
Beware! I say! beware! This man is mine. Harm but one hair upon his head,
and you shall die, like a dog, with the dogs who snarl at your bidding,
and your name perish with you. I have spoken!"
There needed not one tenth part of the wisdom, which the arch-traitor
really possessed, to shew him how much he had miscalculated the range of
his daughter’s intellect; the fierce energies of her powerful but
misdirected mind.
He felt, for a moment, as the daring archimage whose spells, too potent
for their master’s safety, have evoked and unchained a spirit that defies
their guidance. But, like that archimage, conscious that all depends on
the exertion of his wonted empire, he struggled hard to regain his lost
authority.
"Girl," he replied, in those firm deep tones of grave authority, which he
deemed the best calculated to control her excitement, "You are mad! Mad,
and ungrateful; and like a frantic dog would turn and rend the hand that
feeds you, for a shadow. I never thought of making you an instrument; fool
indeed had I been, to think I could hoodwink such an intellect as yours!
If I have striven to clear away the mists of prejudice from before your
eyes, which, in your senseless anger, you now call corrupting you, it was
because I saw in you a kindred spirit to mine own, capable to soar
fearless and undazzled into the very noon of reason. If I have taught you
to indulge your passions, opened a universe of pleasures to your ken, it
was that I saw in you a woman of mind so manly, that all the weaknesses,
which fools call affections, would be but powerless to warp it from its
purpose. I would have made you"—
"The world’s scorn!" she interrupted him, bitterly; but he went on,
without noticing the interruption—
"The equal of myself in intellect, in energy, and wisdom; else how had you
dared to brave me thus, whom never man yet braved and lived to boast of
it! And now for a mere girlish fancy, a weak feminine caprice for a man,
who cares not for you; who has betrayed you; who, idiot and inconsistent
that he is, fresh from your fiery kisses, was whimpering within an hour at
the feet of his cold Julia; who has, I doubt not, boasted of your favors,
while he deplored his own infatuation, to her, his promised wife!—For a
fond frivolous liking of a moment, you would forego gratification, rank,
greatness, power, and vengeance! Is this just toward me, wise toward
yourself? Is this like Lucia Orestilla? You would preserve a traitor who
deserts you, nay, scorns you in his easy triumph! You would destroy all
those who love you; you would destroy yourself, to make the traitor and
his minion happy! Awake! awake, my Lucia, from this soft foolish fancy!
Awake, and be yourself once more! Awake to wisdom, to ambition, to
revenge!"
His words were spirited and fiery; but they struck on no kindred chord in
the bosom of his daughter. On the contrary, the spark had faded from her
eye and the flush from her cheek, and her looks were dispirited and
downcast. But as he ceased, she raised her eye and met his piercing gaze
firmly, and replied in a sorrowful yet resolute tone.
"Eloquent! aye! you are eloquent! Catiline, would I had never learned it
to my cost; but it is too late now! it is all too late! for the rest, I am
awake; and so far, at least, am wise, that I perceive the folly of the
past, and decipher clearly the sophistry of your false teaching. As for
the future, hope is dead, and ambition. Revenge, I seek not; if I did so,
thou art there, on whom to wreak it; for saving thou, and myself only,
none have wronged me. More words are needless. See that thou lay aside thy
plans, and dare not to harm him, or her. He shall not betray thee or
thine; for that will I be his surety and hostage! Injure them, by deed or
by word, and, one and all, you perish! I ask no promise of you—promises
bind you not!—but let fear bind you, for _I_ promise _you_, and be sure
that my plight will be kept!"
"Can this be Lucia Orestilla?" exclaimed Catiline, "this puling love-sick
girl, this timorous, repentant—I had nearly called thee—maiden! Why, thou
fool, what would’st thou with the man farther? Dost think to be his wife?"
"Wife!" cried the wretched girl, clasping her hands together, and looking
piteously in her destroyer’s face. "Wife! wife! and me!—alas! alas! that
holy, that dear, honored name!—Never! never for me the sweet sacred rites!
Never for me the pure chaste kiss, the seat by the happy hearth, the
loving children at the knee, the proud approving smile of—Oh! ye gods! ye
just gods!—a loved and loving husband!—Wife! wife!" she continued, lashing
herself, as she proceeded, into fresh anger; "there is not in the gaols of
Rome the slave so base as to call Lucia Orestilla wife! And wherefore,
wherefore not?—Man! man! if that thou be a man, and not a demon, but for
thee, and thy cursed teachings, I might have known all this—pure bliss,
and conscious rectitude, and the respect and love of men. I might have
been the happy bride of an honorable suitor, the cherished matron of a
respected lord, the proud glad mother of children, that should not have
blushed to be sprung from the wanton Lucia! Thou! it is thou, thou only
that hast done all this!—And why, I say, why should I not revenge? Beware!
tempt me no farther! Do my bidding! Thou slave, that thought’st but now to
be the master, obey my bidding to the letter!" And she stamped her foot on
the ground, with the imperious air of a despotic queen. And in truth,
crest-fallen and heavy in spirit, were the proud men whom she so superbly
threatened.
She gazed at them contemptuously for a moment, and then, shaking her fore
finger menacingly, "I leave ye," she said, "I leave ye, but imagine not,
that I read not your councils. Me, you cannot deceive. With yourselves
only it remains to succeed or to perish. For if ye dare to disobey me, the
gods themselves shall not preserve you from my vengeance!"
"I fear you not, my girl," cried Catiline, "for all that you are now mad
with disappointment, and with anger. So you may go, and listen if you
will," he added, pointing to the secret aperture concealed in the
mouldings of the wall. "We shall not speak the less freely for your
hearing us."
"There is no need to listen now," she answered, "for I know everything
already."
"Every thing that we _have_ said, Lucia."
"Everything that you _will_ do, Sergius Catiline!"
"Aye?"
"Aye! and everything that I shall do, likewise!" and with the word she
left the room.
"A perilous girl, by all the Gods!" said Lentulus, in Greek, as she
disappeared. "Will she do as she threatens?"
"Tush!" replied Catiline in Latin, "she speaks Greek like an Athenian. I
am not sure, however, that she could understand such jargon as that is.
No! she will do none of that. She is the cleverest and best girl living,
only a little passionate, for which I love her all the more dearly. No!
she will do none of that. Because she will not be alive, to do it, this
time to-morrow," he added, putting his mouth within half an inch of the
ear of Lentulus, and speaking in the lowest whisper.
Lentulus, bold as he was and unscrupulous, started in horror at his words,
and his lips were white as he faltered—"Your own daughter, Lucius!"
"Ha! ha!" laughed the fierce conspirator, aloud; "ha! ha! yes, she is my
own daughter, in everything but beauty. She is the loveliest creature in
all Rome! But we must yield, I suppose, to her wishes; the women rule us,
after all is said, and I suppose I was alarmed needlessly. Doubtless
Arvina will be silent. Come, I will walk with you so far on your way to
the Forum. What ho! Chærea, see that Rufinus and Stolo lack nothing. I
will speak with them, when I return home; and hark you in your ear. Suffer
not Lucia Orestilla to leave the house a moment; use force if it be
needed; but it will not. Tell her it is my orders, and watch her very
closely. Come, Lentulus, it is drawing toward noon."
They left the house without more words, and walked side by side in silence
for some distance, when Catiline said in a low voice, "This is unpleasant,
and may be dangerous. We must, however, trust to fortune till to-morrow,
when my house shall be void of this pest. Then will we proceed, as we had
proposed."
Lentulus looked at him doubtfully, and asked, with a quick shudder running
through his limbs, as he spoke: "And will you really?—" and there he
paused, unable to complete the question.
"Remove her?" added Catiline, completing the sentence which he had left
unfinished, "Ay! will I. Just as I would a serpent from my path!"
"And that done, what is to follow?" Lentulus inquired, with an assumption
of coolness, which in truth he did not feel.
"We will get rid of Arvina. And then, as it wants but four days of the
elections, we may keep all things quiet till the time."
"Be it so!" answered the other. "When do we meet again to settle these
things finally?"
"To-morrow, at the house of Læca, at the sixth hour of night."
"Will all be there?"
"All the most faithful; until then, farewell!"
"Farewell."
And they parted; Lentulus hurrying to the Forum, to take his seat on the
prætor’s chair, and there preside in judgment—fit magistrate!—on men, the
guiltiest of whom were pure as the spotless snow, when compared with his
own conscious guilt; and Catiline to glide through dark streets, visiting
discontented artizans, debauched mechanics, desperate gamblers, scattering
dark and ambiguous promises, and stirring up that worthless rabble—who,
with all to gain and nothing to lose by civil strife and tumult, abound in
all great cities—to violence and thirst of blood.
Three or four hours at least he spent thus; and well satisfied with his
progress, delighted by the increasing turbulence of the fierce and
irresponsible democracy, and rejoicing in having gained many new and
fitting converts to his creed, he returned homeward, ripe for fresh
villainy. Chærea met him on the threshold, with his face pale and haggard
from excitement.
"Catiline," he exclaimed, "she had gone forth already, before you bade me
watch her!"
"She!—Who, slave? who?" and knowing perfectly who was meant, yet hoping,
in his desperation, that he heard not aright, he caught the freedman by
the throat, and shook him furiously.
"Lucia Orestilla," faltered the trembling menial.
"And has not returned?" thundered the traitor.
"Catiline, no!"
"Liar! and fool!" cried the other, gnashing his teeth with rage, as he
gave way to his ungovernable fury, and hurling him with all his might
against the marble door-post.
The freedman fell, like a dead man, with the blood gushing from his nose
and mouth; and Catiline, striding across the prostrate body, retired
sullenly and slowly to muse on the disappointment of this his most
atrocious project, in the darkness and solitude of his own private chamber
whither none dared intrude unsummoned.