THE SENATE.
Most potent, grave, and reverend Seniors.
OTHELLO.
The second morning had arrived, after that regularly appointed for the
Consular elections.
No tumult had occurred, nor any overt act to justify the apprehensions of
the people; yet had those apprehensions in no wise abated. The very
indistinctness of the rumored terror perhaps increased its weight; and so
wide-spread was the vague alarm, so prevalent the dread and excitement,
that in the haggard eyes and pale faces of the frustrated conspirators,
there was little, if anything, to call attention; for whose features wore
their natural expression, during those fearful days, each moment of which
might bring forth massacre and conflagration? Whose, but the great
Consul’s?
The second morning had arrived; and the broad orb of the newly risen sun,
lurid and larger than his wont, as it struggled through the misty haze of
the Italian autumn, had scarcely gained sufficient altitude to throw its
beams over the woody crest of the Esquiline into the hollow of the Sacred
Way.
The slant light fell, however, full on the splendid terraces and shrines
of the many-templed Palatine, playing upon their stately porticoes, and
tipping their rich capitals with golden lustre.
And at that early hour, the ancient hill was thronged with busy
multitudes.
The crisis was at hand—the Senate was in solemn session. The knights were
gathered in their force, all armed. The younger members of the patrician
houses were mustered with their clients. The fasces of the lictors
displayed the broad heads of the axes glittering above the rods, which
bound them—the axes, never borne in time of peace, or within the city
walls, save upon strange emergency.
In the old temple of Jupiter Stator, chosen on this occasion for the
strength of its position, standing on the very brink of the steep
declivity of the hill where it overlooked the great Roman forum, that
grand assembly sate in grave deliberation.
The scene was worthy of the actors, as were the actors of the strange
tragedy in process.
It was the cella, or great circular space of the inner temple. The brazen
doors of this huge hall, facing the west, as was usual in all Roman
temples, were thrown open; and without these, on the portico, yet so
placed that they could hear every word that passed within the building,
sat on their benches, five on each side of the door, the ten tribunes(19)
of the people.
Within the great space, surrounded by a double peristyle of tall Tuscan
columns, and roofed by a vast dome, richly carved and gilded, but with a
circular opening at the summit, through which a flood of light streamed
down on the assembled magnates, the Senate was in session.
Immediately facing the doors stood the old Statue of the God, as old, it
was believed by some, as the days of Romulus, with the high altar at its
base, hung round with votive wreaths, and glittering with ornaments of
gold.
Around this altar were grouped the augurs, each clad, as was usual on
occasions of high solemnity, in his _trabea_, or robe of horizontal
stripes, in white and purple; each holding in his hand his _lituus_, a
crooked staff whereby to designate the temples of the heaven, in which to
observe the omens.
On every side of the circumference, except that occupied by the altar and
the idol, were ranged in circular state the benches of the order.
Immediately to the right of the altar, were placed the curule chairs, rich
with carved ivory and crimson cushions, of the two consuls; and behind
them, erect, with their shouldered axes, stood the stout lictors.
Cicero, as the first chosen of the consuls, sat next the statue of the
God; calm in his outward mien, as the severe and placid features of the
marble deity, although within him the soul labored mightily, big with the
fate of Rome. Next him Antonius, a stout, bold, sensual-looking soldier,
filled his place—worthily, indeed, so far as stature, mien, and bearing
were concerned; but with a singular expression in his eye, which seemed to
indicate embarrassment, perhaps apprehension.
After these, the presiding officers of the Republic, were present, each
according to his rank, the conscript fathers—first, the Prince of the
Senate, and then the Consulars, Censorians, and Prætorians, down to those
who had filled the lowest office of the state, that of Quæstor, which gave
its occupant, after his term of occupancy expired, admission to the grand
representative assembly of the commonwealth.
For much as there has been written on all sides of this subject, there now
remains no doubt that, from the earliest to the latest age of Rome, the
Senate was strictly, although an aristocratical, still an elective
representative assembly.
The Censors, themselves, elected by the Patricians out of their own order,
in the assembly of the Curiæ, had the appointment of the Senators; but
from those only who had filled one of the magistracies, all of which were
conferred by the popular vote of the assembly of the centuries; and all of
which, at this period of the Republic, might be, and sometimes were,
conferred on Plebeians—as in the case of Marius, six times elected Consul
in spite of Patrician opposition.
Such was the constitution of the Senate, purely elective, though like all
other portions of the Roman constitution, under such checks and balances
as were deemed sufficient to ensure it from becoming a democratical
assembly.
And such, in fact, it never did become. For having been at first an
elective body chosen from an hereditary aristocracy, it was at that time,
save in the varying principles of individuals, wholly aristocratic in its
nature. Nor, after the tenure of the various magistracies, which conferred
eligibility to the Senate, was thrown open to the plebeians, did any great
change follow; since the preponderance of patrician influence in the
assembly of the centuries, and the force perhaps of old habit, combined to
continue most of the high offices of state in the hands of members of the
Old Houses. Again, when plebeians were raised to office, and became, as
they were styled, New Men, they speedily were merged in the nobility; and
were no less aristocratic in their measures, than the oldest members of
the aristocracy.
For when have plebeians, anywhere, when elevated to superior rank, been
true to their origin; been other than the fellest persecutors of
plebeians?
The senate was therefore still, as it had been, a calm and conservative
assembly.
It was not indeed, what it had been, before Marius first, and then Sylla,
the avenger, had decimated it of their foes with the sword; and filled the
vacancies with unworthy friends and partizans.
Yet it was still a grand, a wise, a noble body—when viewed as a body—and,
for the most part, its decisions were worthy of its dignity and power—were
sage, conservative, and patriotic.
On this occasion, all motives had conspired to produce a full house;
doubt, anger, fear, excitement, curiosity, the love of country, the strong
sense of right, the fiery impulses of interest, hate, vengeance, had urged
all men of all parties, to be participants in the eventful business of the
day.
About five hundred senators were present; men of all ages from thirty-two
years(20) upward—that being the earliest at which a man could fill this
eminent seat. But the majority were of those, who having passed the prime
of active life, might be considered to have reached the highest of mental
power and capacity, removed alike from the greenness of inconsiderate
youth, and the imbecility of extreme old age.
The rare beauty of the Italian race—the strength and symmetry of the
unrivalled warrior nation, of which these were, for the most part, the
noblest and most striking specimens; the grand flow of the snow-white
draperies, faced with the broad crimson laticlave—the classic grace of
their positions—the absence of all rigid angular lines, of anything mean
or meagre, fantastic or tawdry in the garb of the solemn concourse,
rendered the meeting of Rome’s Fathers a widely different spectacle from
the convention of any other representative assembly, the world has ever
witnessed.
There was no flippancy, no affectation, no light converse—The members,
young or old, had come thither to perform a great duty, in strength of
purpose, singleness of spirit—and all felt deeply the weight of the
present moment, the vastness of the interests concerned. The good and the
true were there convened to defend the majesty, perhaps the safety, of
their country—the wicked to strive for interest, for revenge, for life
itself!
For Catiline well knew, and had instilled his knowledge carefully into the
minds of his confederates, that now to conquer was indeed to triumph; that
now to be defeated was to fail, probably, forever—to die, it was most
like, by the dread doom of the Tarpeian.
Not one of the conspirators but was in his appointed place, firm,
seemingly unconscious, and unruffled; and as the eye of the great consul
glanced from one to another of that guilty throng, he could not, even amid
his detestation of their crimes, but admire the cool hardihood with which
they sat unmoved on the brink of destruction; could not but think, within
himself, how vast the good that might be wrought by such resolution, under
a virtuous leader, and in an upright cause. Catiline noticed the glance;
and as he marked it run along the crowded benches, dwelling a moment on
the face of each one of his own confederates, he saw in an instant, that
all was discovered; and, as he saw, resolved that since craft had failed
to conceal, henceforth he would trust audacity alone to carry out his
detected villainy.
But now the augurs had performed their rites; the day was pronounced
fortunate; the assembly formal; and nothing more remained, but to proceed
to the business of the moment.
A little pause ensued, after the sanction of the augurs had been given; a
short space, during which each man drew a deep breath, as though he were
aware that ere long he should hear words spoken, that would thrill his
every nerve with excitement, and hold him breathless with awe and
apprehension.
There was not a voice, not a motion, not the rustling of a garment,
through the large building; for every living form was mute, as the marble
effigies around them, with intense expectation.
Every eye of conspirator, or patriot, was riveted upon the consul, the new
man of Arpinum.
He rose, not unobservant of the general expectation, nor ungratified; for
that great man, with all his grand genius, solid intellect, sound virtue,
had one small miserable weakness; he was not proud, but vain; vain beyond
the feeblest and most craving vanity of womanhood.
Yet now he showed it not—perhaps felt it, in a less degree than usual; it
might be, it was crushed within him for the time, by the magnitude of vast
interests, the consciousness of right motives, the necessity of
extraordinary efforts.
He rose; advanced a step or two, in front of his curule chair, and in a
clear slow voice gave utterance to the solemn words, which formed the
exordium to all senatorial business.
"May this be good, and of good omen, happy, and fortunate to the Roman
people, the Quirites; which now I lay before you, Fathers, and Conscript
Senators."
He paused, emphatically, with the formula; and then raising his voice a
little, and turning his eyes slowly round the house, as if in mute appeal
to all the senators.
"For that," he said, "on which you must this day determine, concerns not
the majesty or magnitude of Rome—the question is not now of insolent foes
to be chastised, or of faithful friends to be rewarded—is not, how the
city shall be made more beautiful, the state more proud and noble, the
empire more enduring. No, conscript fathers; for the round world has never
seen a city, so flourishing in all rare beauty, so decorated with the
virtue of her living citizens, so noble in the memories of her dead
heroes—the sun has never shone upon a state, so solidly established; upon
an empire so majestical and mighty; extending from the Herculean columns,
the far limits of the west, beyond the blue Symplegades; from Hyperborean
snows, to the parched sands of Ethiopia!—no! Conscript Fathers, for we
have no foes unsubdued, from the wild azure-tinctured hordes of Gaul to
the swart Eunuchs of the Pontic king—for we have no friends unrewarded,
unsheltered by the wings of our renown.
"No! it is not to beautify, to stablish, to augment—but to preserve the
empire, that I now call upon you; that I now urge you, by all that is
sweet, is sacred, is sublime in the name of our country; that I implore
you, by whatever earth contains of most awful, and heaven of most holy!
"I said to preserve it! And do you ask from whom? Is there a Gallic
tumult? Have Cimbric myriads again scaled the Alps, and poured their
famished deluge over our devastated frontiers? Hath Mithridates trodden on
the neck of Pompey? By the great gods! hath Carthage revived from her
ashes? is Hannibal, or a greater one than Hannibal, again thundering at
our gates, with Punic engines visible from the Janiculum?
"If it were so, I should not despair of Rome—my heart would not throb, as
it now does, nor my voice tremble with anxiety.
"Cisalpine Gaul is tranquil as the vale of Arno! No bow is bended in the
Teutonic forests, unless against the elk or urus! The legions have not
turned their backs before the scymetars of Pontus! The salt sown in the
market-place of Carthage hath borne no crop, but desolation. The one-eyed
conqueror is nerveless in the silent grave!
"But were all these, now peaceful, subjugated, lifeless, were all these, I
say, in arms, victorious, present, upon this soil of Italy, around these
walls of Rome, I should doubt nothing, fear nothing, expect nothing, but
present strife, and future victory!
"There is—there is, that spark of valor, that clear light of Roman virtue,
alive in every heart; yea! even of our maids and matrons, that they would
brook no hostile step even upon the threshold of our empire!
"What then do I foresee? what fear?
Massacre—parricide—conflagration—treason! Treason in Rome itself—in the
Forum—in the Campus—_here!_ Here in this holiest and safest spot! Here in
the shrine of that great God, who, ages since, when this vast Rome was but
a mud-built hamlet, that golden capitol, a straw-thatched shed, rolled
back the tide of war, and stablished here, here, where my foot is fixed,
the immortal seat of empire!
"Even now as I turn my eyes around me they fall abhorrent on the faces,
they read indignant the designs, of their country’s parricides!
"Aye! Conscript Fathers, prætorians, patricians of the great old houses, I
see them in their places here; ready to vote immediately on their own
monstrous schemes! I see them here, adulterers, forgers of wills,
assassins, spendthrifts, poisoners, defilers of vestal virgins, contemners
of the Gods, parricides of the Republic! I see them, with daggers
sharpened against all true Romans, lurking beneath their fringed and
perfumed tunics! Misled by strange ambition, maddened with lust, drunk
with despairing guilt, athirst for the blood of citizens!
"I see them! you all see them! Will you await in coward apathy, until they
shake you from your lethargy—until the outcries of your murdered children,
of your ravished wives arouse you, until you awake from your sleep and
find Rome in ashes?
"You hear me—you gaze on me in wonder, you ask me with your eyes what it
is that I mean I who are the traitors? Lend me your ears then, and fix
well your minds, lest they shrink in disgust and wonder. Lend me your ears
only, and I fear not that you will determine, worthily of yourselves, and
of the Republic!
"You all well know that on the 16th day before the calends of November,
which should have been the eve of the consular Elections, I promised that
I would soon lay before you ample proofs of the plot, which then I
foretold to you but darkly.
"Mark, now, the faces of the men I shall address, and judge whether I then
promised vainly; whether what I shall now disclose craves your severe
attention—your immediate action."
He paused for a moment, as if to note the effect of his words; then
turning round abruptly upon the spot, where Catiline sat, writhing with
rage and impatience, and gnawing his nether lip, until the blood trickled
down his chin, he flung forth his arm with an indignant gesture, and
instantly addressed him by his name, in tones that rang beneath the
vaulted roof, over the heads of the self-convicted traitors, like heaven’s
own thunder, and found a fearful echo in their dismayed and guilty souls.
"Where wert thou, Catiline?" he thundered forth the charge, amid the mute
astonishment of all—"Where wert thou on the evening of the Ides? what wert
thou doing? Speak! Unless guilt and despair hold thee silent, I say to
thee, speak, Catiline!"
Again he stopped in mid-speech, as if for an answer, fixed his eye
steadily on the face of the arch conspirator. But he, though he spoke not
to reply, quailed not, nor shunned that steady gaze, but met it with a
terrible and portentous glare, pregnant with more than mortal hatred.
"Thou wilt not—can’st not—darest not! Now hear and tremble! Hear, and know
that no step of thine, or deed, or motion escapes my eye—no, traitor, not
one movement!
"On the eve of the Ides, thou wert in the street of the Scythemakers! Ha!
does thy cheek burn now? In the house of a senator—of Marcus Porcius Læca.
But thou wert not there, till thou hadst added one more deed of murder to
those which needed no addition. Thou wert, I say, in the house of Læca;
and many whom I now see around me, with trim and well-curled beards, with
long-sleeved tunics and air-woven togas, many whom I could name, and will,
if needs be, were there with thee!
"What beverage didst thou send around? what oath didst thou administer,
thou to thy foul associates? and on the altar of what God?
"Fathers, my mind shrinks, as I speak, with horror—that bowl mantled to
the brim with the gore of a human victim; those lips reeked with that
dread abomination! His lips, and those of others, fitter to sip voluptuous
nectar from the soft mouths of their noble paramours than to quaff such
pollution!
"That oath was to destroy Rome, utterly, with fire and the sword, till not
one stone should stand upon another, to mark the site of empire!
"The silver eagle was the god to whom he swore! The silver eagle, whose
wings were dyed so deep in massacre by Marius—to whom he had a shrine in
his own house, consecrated by what crimes, adored by what sacrilege, I say
not!
"The consular election was the day fixed; and, had the people met on that
day in the Campus, on that day had Rome ceased to be!
"To murder me in my robes of peace, at the Comitia, to murder the consuls
elect, to murder the patricians to a man, was his own task, most congenial
to his own savage nature!
"To fire the city in twelve several places was destined to his worthy
comrades, whose terror my eye now beholds, whose names for the present my
tongue shall not disclose. For I would give them time to repent, to change
their frantic purpose, to cast away their sin—oh! that they would do so!
oh! that they would have compassion on their prostrate and imploring
country—compassion on themselves—on me, who beseech them to turn back, ere
it be too late, to the ways of virtue, happiness, and honor!
"But names there are, which I will speak out, for to conceal them would
avail nothing, since they have drawn the sword already, and raised the
banner of rebellion against the majesty of Rome.
"Septimius of Camerinum has stirred the slaves even now to a fresh servile
war! has given out arms! has appointed leaders! by the Gods! has a force
on foot in the Picene district! Julius is soliciting the evil spirits of
Apulia; and, ere four days have flown, you shall have tidings from the
north, that Caius Manlius is in arms at Fæsulæ. Already he commands more
than two legions; not of raw levies, not of emancipated slaves, or
enfranchised gladiators—though these ere long will swell his host. No!
Sylla’s veterans muster under his banner—the same swords gleam around him
which conquered the famed Macedonian phalanx at bloody Chæronea, which
stormed the long walls of Piræus, which won Bithynia, Cappadocia,
Paphlagonia, which drove great Mithridates back to his own Pontus!
"Nor is this all—for, if frustrated by the postponement of the consular
comitia, believe not that the rage of the parricide is averted, or his
thirst for the blood of Romans quenched forever.
"No, Fathers, he hath but deferred the day; and even now he hath
determined on another. The fifth before the calends! Await that day in
quiet, and ye will never rue your apathy. For none of you shall live to
rue it, save those who now smile grimly, conscious of their own desperate
resolve, expectant of your apathy.
"Nor is his villainy all told, even now; for so securely and so wisely has
he laid his plans, that, had not the great Gods interfered and granted it
to me to discover all, he must needs have succeeded! On the night of the
calends themselves he would have been the master of Præneste, that rich
and inaccessible strong-hold, by a nocturnal escalade! That I myself have
already made impossible—the magistrates are warned, the free burghers
armed, and the castle garrisoned by true men, and impregnable.
"Do ye the like, Fathers and Conscript Senators, and Rome also shall be
safe, inaccessible, immortal. Give me the powers to save you, and I devote
my mind, my life. I am here ready to die at this instant—far worse than
death to a noble mind, ready to go hence, and be forgotten, if I may
rescue Rome from this unequalled peril!"
Again, he ceased speaking for a moment, and many thought that he had
concluded his oration; but in a second’s space he resumed, in a tone more
spirited and fiery yet, his eyes almost flashing lightning, and his whole
frame appearing to expand, as he confronted the undaunted traitor.
"Dost thou not now see, Catiline, that in all things thou art my inferior?
Dost thou not feel thyself caught, detected like a thief? baffled?
defeated? beaten? and wilt thou not now lay down thine arms, thy rage, thy
hate, against this innocent republic? wilt thou not liberate me now from
great fear, great peril, and great odium?
"No! thou wilt not—the time hath flown! thou canst not repent—canst not
forgive, or be forgiven—the Gods have maddened thee to thy destruction—thy
crimes are full-blown, and ripening fast for harvest—earth is aweary of
thy guilt—Hades yawns to receive thee!
"Tremble, then, tremble! Yea! in the depths of thy secret soul—for all
thine eye glares more with hate than terror, and thy lip quivers, not with
remorse but rage—yea! thou dost tremble—for thou dost see, feel, know, thy
schemes, thy confederates, thyself, detected, frustrated, devoted to
destruction!
"Enough! It is for you, my Fathers, to determine; for me to act your
pleasure. And if your own souls, your own lives, your own interests, yea!
your own fears, cry not aloud to rouse you, with a voice stronger than the
eternal thunder, why should I seek to warn you? Whom his own, his wife’s,
children’s, country’s safety, the glory of his great forefathers, the
veneration of the everlasting Gods awaiting his decision from the
tottering pinnacle of Rome’s capitol—whom all these things excite not to
action—no voice of man, no portent of the Gods themselves can stir to
energy or valor; and I but waste my words in exhorting you to manhood!
"But they _will_ burst the bonds of your long stupor; they _will_
re-kindle, in your hearts, that blaze of Roman virtue, which may sleep for
a while, but never can be all extinguished!—and ye _will_ stir yourselves
like men; ye _will_ save your country! For this thing I do not believe;
that the immortal Gods would have built up this commonwealth of Rome to
such a height of beauty, of glory, of puissance, had they foredoomed it to
destruction, by hands so base as those now armed against it. Nor, had it
been their pleasure to abolish its great name, and make it such as Troy
and Carthage, would they have placed me here, the consul, endowed by
themselves with power to discern, but with no power to avert destruction!"
His words had done their work. The dismayed blank faces of all the
conspirators, with the exception of the arch traitor only, whom it would
seem that nothing could disconcert or dismay, confirmed the impression
made upon all minds by that strong appeal. For, though he had mentioned no
man’s name save Catiline’s and Læca’s only, suspicion was called instantly
to those who were their known associates in riot and debauchery; and many
eyes were scrutinizing the pale features, which struggled vainly to appear
calm and unconcerned.
The effect of the speech was immediate, universal. There were not three
men of the order present who were not now convinced as fully in their own
minds of the truth of Cicero’s accusation, as they would, had it come
forth in thunder from the cold lips of the marble God, who overlooked
their proud assembly.
There was a long drawn breath, as he ceased speaking—one, and simultaneous
through the whole concourse; and, though there were a few men there,
Crassus, especially, and Caius Julius Cæsar, who, though convinced of the
existence of conspiracy, would fain have defended the conspirators, in the
existing state of feeling, they dared not attempt to do so.
Then Cicero called by name on the Prince of the Senate, enquiring if he
would speak on the subject before the house, and on receiving from him a
grave negative gesture, he put the same question to the eldest of the
consulars, and thence in order, none offering any opinion or showing any
wish to debate, until he came to Marcus Cato. He rose at once to speak,
stern and composed, without the least sign of animation on his impassive
face, without the least attempt at eloquence in his words, or grace in his
gestures; yet it was evident that he was heard with a degree of attention,
which proved that the character of the man more than compensated the
unvarnished style and rough phraseology of the speaker.
"As it appears to me," he said, "Fathers and Conscript Senators, after the
very luminous and able oration which our wise consul has this day held
forth, it would be great folly, and great loss of time, to add many words
to it. This I am not about to do, I assure you, but I arise in my place to
say two things. Cicero has told you that a conspiracy exists, and that
Catiline is the planner, and will be the executor of it. This, though I
know not by what sagacity or foresight, unless from the Gods, he
discovered it—this, I say, I believe confidently, clearly—all things
declare it—not least the faces of men! I believe therefore, every word our
consul has spoken; so do you all, my friends. Nevertheless, it is just and
right, that the man, villain as he may be, shall be heard in his own
behalf. Let him then speak at once, or confess by his silence! This is the
first thing I would say—the next follows it! If he admit, or fail clearly
to disprove his guilt, let us not be wanting to ourselves, to our country,
or to the great and prudent consul, who, if man can, will save us in this
crisis. Let us, I say, decree forthwith, ’THAT THE CONSULS SEE THE
REPUBLIC TAKES NO HARM!’ and let us hold the consular election to-morrow,
on the field of Mars—There, with our magistrates empowered to act, our
clients in arms to defend us, let us see who will dare to disturb the
Roman people! Let who would do so, remember that not all the power or
favor of Great Marius could rescue Saturninus from the death he owed the
people—remember that we have a consul no less resolute and vigorous, than
he is wise and good—that there are axes in the fasces of the Lictors—that
there stands the Tarpeian!"
And as he spoke, he flung wide both his arms; pointing with this hand to
the row of glittering blades which shone above the head of the chief
magistrate, with that, through the open door-way of the temple, to the
bold front of the precipitous and fatal rock, all lighted up by the gay
sunbeams, as it stood fronting them, beyond the hollow Velabrum, crowned
with the ramparts of the capitol.
A general hum, as if of assent, followed, and without putting the motion
to the vote, Cicero turned his eye rapidly to every face, and receiving
from every senator a slight nod of assent, he looked steadily in the
fierce and ghastly face of the traitor, and said to him;
"Arise, Catiline, and speak, if you will!—But take my counsel, confess
your guilt, go hence, and be forgiven!"
"Forgiven!" cried the traitor, furious and desperate—"Forgiven!—this to a
Roman citizen!—this to a Roman noble! Hear me, Fathers and Conscript
Senators—hear me!—who am a soldier and a man, and neither driveller nor
dotard. I tell you, there is no conspiracy, hath been none, shall be
none—save in the addled brains of yon prater from Arpinum, who would fain
set his foot upon the neck of Romans. All is, all shall be peace in Rome,
unless the terror of a few dastards drive you to tyranny and persecution,
and from persecution come resistance? For myself, let them who would ruin
me, beware. My hand has never yet failed to protect my head, nor have many
foes laughed in the end at Sergius Catiline!—unless," he added with a
ferocious sneer—"they laughed in their death-pang. For my wrongs past, I
have had some vengeance; for these, though I behold the axes, though I
see, whence I stand, the steep Tarpeian, I think I shall have more, and
live to feast my eyes with the downfall of my foes. Fathers, there are two
bodies in the State, one weak, with a base but crafty head—the other
powerful and vast, but headless. Urge me a little farther, and you shall
find that a wise and daring head will not be wanting long, to that bold
and puissant body. Urge me, and I will be that head; oppress me, and—"
But insolence such as this, was not tolerable. There was an universal
burst, almost a shout, of indignation from that assembly, the wonted mood
of which was so stern, so cold, so gravely dignified, and silent. Many
among the younger senators sprang to their feet, enraged almost beyond the
control of reason; nor did the bold defiance of the daring traitor, who
stood with his arms folded on his breast, and a malignant sneer of
contempt on his lip, mocking their impotent displeasure, tend to disarm
their wrath.
Four times he raised his voice, four times a cry of indignation drowned
his words, and at length, seeing that he could obtain no farther hearing,
he resumed his seat with an expression fiendishly malignant, and a fierce
imprecation on Rome, and all that it contained.
After a little time, the confusion created by the audacity of that strange
being moderated; order and silence were restored, and, upon Cato’s motion,
the Senate was divided.
Whatever might have been the result had Catiline been silent, the majority
was overwhelming. The very partisans and favorers of the conspiracy, not
daring to commit themselves more openly, against so strong a
manifestation, passed over one by one, and voted with the consul.
Catiline stood alone, against the vote of the whole order. Yet stood and
voted resolute, as though he had been conscious of the right.
The vote was registered, the Senate declared martial law, investing the
consuls with dictatorial power, by the decree which commanded them to SEE
THAT THE REPUBLIC TAKES NO HARM.
The very tribunes, factious and reckless as they were, potent for ill and
powerless for good, presumed not to interpose. Not even Lucius Bestia,
deep as he was in the design—Bestia, whose accusation of the consul from
the rostrum was the concerted signal for the massacre, the
conflagration—not Bestia himself, relied so far on the inviolability of
his person, as to intrude his VETO.
The good cause had prevailed—the good Consul triumphed! The Senate was
dismissed, and as the stream of patrician togas flowed through the temple
door conspicuous, the rash and reckless traitor shouldered the mass to and
fro, dividing it as a brave galley under sail divides the murmuring but
unresisting billows.
Once in the throng he touched Julius Cæsar’s robe as he brushed onward,
and as he did so, a word fell on his ear in the low harmonious tones which
marked the orator, second to none in Rome, save Cicero alone!—
"Fear not," it said—"another day will come!—"
"Fear!—" exclaimed the Conspirator in a hoarse cry, half fury, half
contempt. "What is fear?—I know not the thing, nor the word!—Go, prate of
fear to Cicero, and he will understand you!"
These words perhaps alienated one who might have served him well.
But so it ever is! Even in the shrewdest and most worldly wise of men,
passion will often outweigh interest; and plans, which have been framed
for years with craft and patience, are often wrecked by the impetuous
rashness of a moment.
END OF VOL. I.
FOOTNOTES
_ 1 Vicus sceleratus._ So called because Tullia therein drove her
chariot over her father’s corpse.
2 Τροιας αμακον αθιραβη κιονα.—PINDAR
3 That it was such, can scarce be doubted, from the line of Martial:
"Myrrheaque in Parthis pocula cocta focis."
4 It must not be imagined that this is fanciful. Rooms were fitted up
in this manner, and termed _camera vitræ_, and the panels _vitræ
quadraturæ_. But a few years later than the period of the text, B.
C. 58, M. Æmilius Scaurus built a theatre capable of containing
80,000 persons, the scena of which, composed of three stories, had
one, the central, made entirely of colored glass in this fashion.
5 About £90 sterling. See Pliny Hist. Nat. 13, 16, for a notice of
this very table, which was preserved to his time.
6 By the _Lex annalis_, B. C. 180, passed at the instance of the
tribune L. V. Tappulus.
7 The _Quinquertium_, the same as the Greek Pentathlon, was a conflict
in five successive exercises—leaping, the discus, the foot race,
throwing the spear, and wrestling.
8 The _Aqua Crabra_ was a small stream flowing into the Tiber from the
south-eastward, now called _Maranna_. It entered the walls near the
Capuan gate, and passing through the _vallis Murcia_ between the
Aventine and Palatine hills, where it supplied the Circus Maximus
with water for the _naumachia_, fell into the river above the
Palatine bridge.
9 The _Muræna Helena_, which we commonly translate Lamprey, was a
sub-genus of the Conger; it was the most prized of all the Roman
fish, and grew to the weight of twenty-five or thirty pounds. The
value set upon them was enormous; and it is said that guilty slaves
were occasionally thrown into their stews, to fatten these voracious
dainties.
10 The aureus was a gold coin, as the name implies, worth twenty-five
denarii, or about seventeen shillings and nine pence sterling.
11 The stylus was a pointed metallic pencil used for tracing letters on
the waxen surface of the table.
12 The cavalry attached to every legion, consisting of three hundred
men, was divided into ten troops, _turmæ_ of thirty each, which were
subdivided into decuriæ of ten, commanded by a decurio, the first
elected of whom was called _dux turmæ_, and led the troop.
13 The guests at Roman banquets usually brought their own napkins,
_mappæ_, and wore robes of bright colors, usually flowered, called
_cænateriæ_ or _cubitoriæ_.
14 Pro certo creditur, necato filio, _vacuam_ domum scelestis nuptiis
fecisse.
15 The Petasus was a broad brimmed hat of felt with a low round crown.
It was originally an article of the Greek dress, but was adopted by
the Romans.
16 Seven thousand talents, about 7,500,000 dollars.
17 The classical reader will perhaps object to the introduction of the
Alcaic measure at this date, 62 B. C., it being generally believed
that the Greek measures were first adapted to the Latin tongue by
Horace, a few years later. The desire of giving a faint idea of the
rhythm and style of Latin song, will, it is hoped, plead in
mitigation of this very slight deviation from historical truth—the
rather that, in spite of Horace’s assertion,
Non ante vulgatas per artes
Verba loquor sociata chordis,
it is not certain, that no imitations of the Greek measures existed
prior to his success.
18 The senior consul, or he whose month it was to preside, had twelve
lictors; the junior but one, while within the city.
19 The Tribunes of the people were, at this period of the Republic,
Senators; the Atinian law, the date of which is not exactly fixed,
having undoubtedly come into operation soon after B. C. 130. I do
not, however, find it mentioned, that their seats were thereupon
transferred into the body of the Senate; and I presume that such was
not the case; as they were not real senators, but had only the right
of speaking without voting, as was the case with all who sat by the
virtue of their offices, without regular election.
20 The age of senatorial eligibility is nowhere distinctly named. But
the quæstorship, the lowest office which gave admission to the
Curia, required the age of thirty-one in its occupant.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
The author’s footnotes have been moved to the end of the volume.
The author uses both "Cataline" and "Catiline". Both spellings were
retained, as were other peculiarities in spelling and punctuation.
The following typographical errors were corrected:
page 17, quote added (_"But, in good sooth_)
page 26, "of" added (_side of the doorway_)
page 43, period added (_unpleasant night._)
page 56, quote removed (after _I pray thee, not?_)
page 57, quote added (_answered Cataline! "See!_)
page 69, period changed to comma (_Aristius, here_)
page 76, quote removed (after _how the very chased work fits!_), and
"and ho spoke" corrected to "and he spoke"
page 86, "pear" changed to "spear" (_better with the spear than
Marcius_)
page 96, comma added (_Should you, Arvina?_)
page 125, quote added (_"Never mind that!_)
page 130, double "they" removed (_shall never teach you that they
are so_)
page 154, "Paulus" changed to "Paullus" (_Paullus Cæcilius Arvina
tempted us_)
page 159, quotes added (_"Lucius Catiline! I know all!"_)
page 175, quote removed (after _ye gods!_)
page 175, period added (_sad bitter irony._)
page 185, "A. C." changed to "B. C." (_62 B. C._)
page 185, "It" changed to "it" (_it is not certain_)
page 194, period added (_the rebuke of Cato._)
page 219, "silet" changed to "silent" (_stood for many minutes
silent_)
page 235, "hagard" changed to "haggard" (_in the haggard eyes_)
page 236, "A. C." changed to "B. C." (_soon after B. C. 130_)
page 243, "Porcus" changed to "Porcius" (_of Marcus Porcius Læca_)