A ROMAN MAGISTRATE.
Of all the base creatures who found a profit in the massacres and
plunderings which Sulla commanded or permitted, not one was baser than
Caius Verres. The crimes that he committed would be beyond our belief if
it were not for the fact that he never denied them. He betrayed his
friends, he perverted justice, he plundered a temple with as little
scruple as he plundered a private house, he murdered a citizen as boldly
as he murdered a foreigner; in fact, he was the most audacious, the most
cruel, the most shameless of men. And yet he rose to high office at home
and abroad, and had it not been for the courage, sagacity, and eloquence
of one man, he might have risen to the very highest. What Roman citizens
had sometimes, and Roman subjects, it is to be feared, very often to
endure may be seen from the picture which we are enabled to draw of a
_Roman magistrate_.
Roman politicians began public life as quaestors. (A quaestor was an
official who managed money matters for higher magistrates. Every
governor of a province had one or more quaestors under him. They were
elected at Rome, and their posts were assigned to them by lot.) Verres
was quaestor in Gaul and embezzled the public money; he was quaestor in
Cilicia with Dolabella, a like-minded governor, and diligently used his
opportunity. This time it was not money only, but works of art, on which
he laid his hands; and in these the great cities, whether in Asia or in
Europe, were still rich. The most audacious, perhaps, of these robberies
was perpetrated in the island of Delos. Delos was known all over the
world as the island of Apollo. The legend was that it was the birthplace
of the god. None of his shrines was more frequented or more famous.
Verres was indifferent to such considerations. He stripped the temple of
its finest statues, and loaded a merchant ship which he had hired with
the booty. But this time he was not lucky enough to secure it. The
islanders, though they had discovered the theft, did not, indeed,
venture to complain. They thought it was the doing of the governor, and
a governor, though his proceedings might be impeached after his term of
office, was not a person with whom it was safe to remonstrate. But a
terrible storm suddenly burst upon the island. The governor's departure
was delayed. To set sail in such weather was out of the question. The
sea was indeed so high that the town became scarcely habitable. Then
Verres' ship was wrecked, and the statues were found cast upon the
shore. The governor ordered them to be replaced in the temple, and the
storm subsided as suddenly as it had arisen.
On his return to Rome Dolabella was impeached for extortion. With
characteristic baseness Verres gave evidence against him, evidence so
convincing as to cause a verdict of guilty. But he thus secured his own
gains, and these he used so profusely in the purchase of votes that two
or three years afterwards he was elected praetor. The praetors performed
various functions which were assigned to them by lot. Chance, or it may
possibly have been contrivance, gave to Verres the most considerable of
them all. He was made "Praetor of the City;" that is, a judge before
whom a certain class of very important causes were tried. Of course he
showed himself scandalously unjust. One instance of his proceedings may
suffice.
A certain Junius had made a contract for keeping the temple of Castor in
repair. When Verres came into office he had died, leaving a son under
age. There had been some neglect, due probably to the troubles of the
times, in seeing that the contracts had been duly executed, and the
Senate passed a resolution that Verres and one of his fellow-praetors
should see to the matter. The temple of Castor came under review like
the others, and Verres, knowing that the original contractor was dead,
inquired who was the responsible person. When he heard of the son under
age he recognized at once a golden opportunity. It was one of the maxims
which he had laid down for his own guidance, and which he had even been
wont to give out for the benefit of his friends, that much profit might
be made out of the property of wards. It had been arranged that the
guardian of the young Junius should take the contract into his own
hands, and, as the temple was in excellent repair, there was no
difficulty in the way. Verres summoned the guardian to appear before
him. "Is there any thing," he asked, "that your ward has not made good,
and which we ought to require of him?" "No," said he, "every thing is
quite right; all the statues and offerings are there, and the fabric is
in excellent repair." From the praetor's point of view this was not
satisfactory; and he determined on a personal visit. Accordingly he went
to the temple, and inspected it. The ceiling was excellent; the whole
building in the best repair. "What is to be done?" he asked of one of
his satellites. "Well," said the man, "there is nothing for you to
meddle with here, except possibly to require that the columns should be
restored to the perpendicular." "Restored to the perpendicular? what do
you mean?" said Verres, who knew nothing of architecture. It was
explained to him that it very seldom happened that a column was
absolutely true to the perpendicular. "Very good," said Verres; "we will
have the columns made perpendicular." Notice accordingly was sent to
the lad's guardians. Disturbed at the prospect of indefinite loss to
their ward's property, they sought an interview with Verres. One of the
noble family of Marcellus waited upon him, and remonstrated against the
iniquity of the proceeding. The remonstrance was in vain. The praetor
showed no signs of relenting. There yet remained one way, a way only too
well known to all who had to deal with him, of obtaining their object.
Application must be made to his mistress (a Greek freedwoman of the name
of Chelidon or "The Swallow"). If she could be induced to take an
interest in the case something might yet be done. Degrading as such a
course must have been to men of rank and honor, they resolved, in the
interest of their ward, to take it. They went to Chelidon's house. It
was thronged with people who were seeking favors from the praetor. Some
were begging for decisions in their favor; some for fresh trials of
their cases. "I want possession," cried one. "He must not take the
property from me," said another. "Don't let him pronounce judgment
against me," cried a third. "The property must be assigned to me," was
the demand of a fourth. Some were counting out money; others signing
bonds. The deputation, after waiting awhile, were admitted to the
presence. Their spokesman explained the case, begged for Chelidon's
assistance, and promised a substantial consideration. The lady was very
gracious. She would willingly do what she could, and would talk to the
praetor about it. The deputation must come again the next day and hear
how she had succeeded. They came again, but found that nothing could be
done. Verres felt sure that a large sum of money was to be got out of
the proceeding, and resolutely refused any compromise.
They next made an offer of about two thousand pounds. This again was
rejected. Verres resolved that he would put up the contract to auction,
and did his best that the guardians should have no notice of it. Here,
however, he failed. They attended the auction and made a bid. Of course
the lowest bidder ought to have been accepted, so long as he gave
security for doing the work well. But Verres refused to accept it. He
knocked down the contract to himself at a price of more than five
thousand pounds, and this though there were persons willing to do it for
less than a sixth of that sum. As a matter of fact very little was
done. Four of the columns were pulled down and built up again with the
same stones. Others were whitewashed; some had the old cement taken out
and fresh put in.[1] The highest estimate for all that could possibly be
wanted was less than eight hundred pounds.
[Footnote 1: "Pointed," I suppose.]
His year of office ended, Verres was sent as governor to Sicily. By
rights he should have remained there twelve months only, but his
successor was detained by the Servile war in Italy, and his stay was
thus extended to nearly three years, three years into which he crowded
an incredible number of cruelties and robberies. Sicily was perhaps the
wealthiest of all the provinces. Its fertile wheat-fields yielded
harvests which, now that agriculture had begun to decay in Italy,
provided no small part of the daily bread of Rome. In its cities,
founded most of them several centuries before by colonists from Greece,
were accumulated the riches of many generations. On the whole it had
been lightly treated by its Roman conquerors. Some of its states had
early discerned which would be the winning side, and by making their
peace in time had secured their privileges and possessions. Others had
been allowed to surrender themselves on favorable terms. This wealth had
now been increasing without serious disturbance for more than a hundred
years. The houses of the richer class were full of the rich tapestries
of the East, of gold and silver plate cunningly chased or embossed, of
statues and pictures wrought by the hands of the most famous artists of
Greece. The temples were adorned with costly offerings and with images
that were known all over the civilized world. The Sicilians were
probably prepared to pay something for the privilege of being governed
by Rome. And indeed the privilege was not without its value. The days of
freedom indeed were over; but the turbulence, the incessant strife, the
bitter struggles between neighbors and parties were also at an end. Men
were left to accumulate wealth and to enjoy it without hindrance. Any
moderate demands they were willing enough to meet. They did not
complain, for instance, or at least did not complain aloud, that they
were compelled to supply their rulers with a fixed quantity of corn at
prices lower than could have been obtained in the open market. And they
would probably have been ready to secure the good will of a governor who
fancied himself a connoisseur in art with handsome presents from their
museums and picture galleries. But the exactions of Verres exceeded all
bounds both of custom and of endurance. The story of how he dealt with
the wheat-growers of the province is too tedious and complicated to be
told in this place. Let it suffice to say that he enriched himself and
his greedy troop of followers at the cost of absolute ruin both to the
cultivators of the soil and to the Roman capitalists who farmed this
part of the public revenue. As to the way in which he laid his hands on
the possessions of temples and of private citizens, his doings were
emphatically summed up by his prosecutor when he came, as we shall
afterwards see, to be put upon his trial. "I affirm that in the whole of
Sicily, wealthy and old-established province as it is, in all those
towns, in all those wealthy homes, there was not a single piece of
silver plate, a single article of Corinthian or Delian ware, a single
jewel or pearl, a single article of gold or ivory, a single picture,
whether on panel or on canvas, which he did not hunt up and examine,
and, if it pleased his fancy, abstract. This is a great thing to say,
you think. Well, mark how I say it. It is not for the sake of rhetorical
exaggeration that I make this sweeping assertion, that I declare that
this fellow did not leave a single article of the kind in the whole
province. I speak not in the language of the professional accuser but in
plain Latin. Nay, I will put it more clearly still: in no single private
house, in no town; in no place, profane or even sacred; in the hands of
no Sicilian, of no citizen of Rome, did he leave a single article,
public or private property, of things profane or things religious, which
came under his eyes or touched his fancy."
Some of the more remarkable of these acts of spoliation it may be worth
while to relate. A certain Heius, who was at once the wealthiest and
most popular citizen of Messana, had a private chapel of great antiquity
in his house, and in it four statues of the very greatest value. There
was a Cupid by Praxiteles, a replica of a famous work which attracted
visitors to the uninteresting little town of Thespiae in Boeotia; a
Hercules from the chisel of Myro; and two bronze figures,
"Basket-bearers," as they were called, because represented as carrying
sacred vessels in baskets on their heads. These were the work of
Polyclitus. The Cupid had been brought to Rome to ornament the forum on
some great occasion, and had been carefully restored to its place. The
chapel and its contents was the great sight of the town. No one passed
through without inspecting it. It was naturally, therefore, one of the
first things that Verres saw, Messana being on his route to the capital
of his province. He did not actually take the statues, he bought them;
but the price that he paid was so ridiculously low that purchase was
only another name for robbery. Something near sixty pounds was given for
the four. If we recall the prices that would be paid now-a-days for a
couple of statues by Michael Angelo and two of the masterpieces of
Raphael and Correggio, we may imagine what a monstrous fiction this sale
must have been, all the more monstrous because the owner was a wealthy
man, who had no temptation to sell, and who was known to value his
possessions not only as works of art but as adding dignity to his
hereditary worship.
A wealthy inhabitant of Tyndaris invited the governor to dinner. He was
a Roman citizen and imagined that he might venture on a display which a
provincial might have considered to be dangerous. Among the plate on the
table was a silver dish adorned with some very fine medallions. It
struck the fancy of the guest, who promptly had it removed, and who
considered himself to be a marvel of moderation when he sent it back
with the medallions abstracted.
His secretary happened one day to receive a letter which bore a
noteworthy impression on the composition of chalk which the Greeks used
for sealing. It attracted the attention of Verres, who inquired from
what place it had come. Hearing that it had been sent from Agrigentum,
he communicated to his agents in that town his desire that the seal-ring
should be at once secured for him. And this was done. The unlucky
possessor, another Roman citizen, by the way, had his ring actually
drawn from his finger.
A still more audacious proceeding was to rob, not this time a mere
Sicilian provincial or a simple Roman citizen, but one of the tributary
kings, the heir of the great house of Antiochus, which not many years
before had matched itself with the power of Rome. Two of the young
princes had visited Rome, intending to prosecute their claims to the
throne of Egypt, which, they contended, had come to them through their
mother. The times were not favorable to the suit, and they returned to
their country, one of them, Antiochus, probably the elder, choosing to
take Sicily on his way. He naturally visited Syracuse, where Verres was
residing, and Verres at once recognized a golden opportunity. The first
thing was to send the visitor a handsome supply of wine, olive-oil, and
wheat. The next was to invite him to dinner. The dining-room and table
were richly furnished, the silver plate being particularly splendid.
Antiochus was highly delighted with the entertainment, and lost no time
in returning the compliment. The dinner to which he invited the governor
was set out with a splendor to which Verres had nothing to compare.
There was silver plate in abundance, and there were also cups of gold,
these last adorned with magnificent gems.
Conspicuous among the ornaments of the table was a drinking vessel, all
in one piece, probably of amethyst, and with a handle of gold. Verres
expressed himself delighted with what he saw. He handled every vessel
and was loud in its praises. The simple-minded King, on the other hand,
heard the compliment with pride. Next day came a message. Would the King
lend some of the more beautiful cups to his excellency? He wished to
show them to his own artists. A special request was made for the
amethyst cup. All was sent without a suspicion of danger.
But the King had still in his possession something that especially
excited the Roman's cupidity. This was a candelabrum of gold richly
adorned with jewels. It had been intended for an offering to the
tutelary deity of Rome, Jupiter of the Capitol. But the temple, which
had been burned to the ground in the civil wars, had not yet been
rebuilt, and the princes, anxious that their gift should not be seen
before it was publicly presented, resolved to carry it back with them to
Syria. Verres, however, had got, no one knew how, some inkling of the
matter, and he begged Antiochus to let him have a sight of it. The young
prince, who, so far from being suspicious, was hardly sufficiently
cautious, had it carefully wrapped up, and sent it to the governor's
palace. When he had minutely inspected it, the messengers prepared to
carry it back. Verres, however, had not seen enough of it. It clearly
deserved more than one examination. Would they leave it with him for a
time? They left it, suspecting nothing.
Antiochus, on his part, had no apprehensions. When some days had passed
and the candelabrum was not returned, he sent to ask for it. The
governor begged the messenger to come again the next day. It seemed a
strange request; still the man came again and was again unsuccessful.
The King himself then waited on the governor and begged him to return
it. Verres hinted, or rather said plainly, that he should very much like
it as a present. "This is impossible," replied the prince, "the honor
due to Jupiter and public opinion forbid it. All the world knows that
the offering is to be made, and I cannot go back from my word." Verres
perceived that soft words would be useless, and took at once another
line. The King, he said, must leave Sicily before nightfall. The public
safety demanded it. He had heard of a piratical expedition which was on
its way from Syria to the province, and that his departure was
necessary. Antiochus had no choice but to obey; but before he went he
publicly protested in the market-place of Syracuse against the wrong
that had been done. His other valuables, the gold and the jewels, he did
not so much regret; but it was monstrous that he should be robbed of the
gift that he destined for the altar of the tutelary god of Rome.
The Sicilian cities were not better able to protect their possessions
than were private individuals. Segesta was a town that had early ranged
itself on the side of the Romans, with whom its people had a legendary
relationship. (The story was that Aeneas on his way to Italy had left
there some of his followers, who were unwilling any longer to endure the
hardships of the journey.) In early days it had been destroyed by the
Carthaginians, who had carried off all its most valuable possessions,
the most precious being a statue of Diana, a work of great beauty and
invested with a peculiar sacredness. When Carthage fell, Scipio its
conqueror restored the spoils which had been carried off from the cities
of Sicily. Among other things Agrigentum had recovered its famous bull
of brass, in which the tyrant Phalaris had burned, it was said, his
victims. Segesta was no less fortunate than its neighbors, and got back
its Diana. It was set on a pedestal on which was inscribed the name of
Scipio, and became one of the most notable sights of the island. It was
of a colossal size, but the sculptor had contrived to preserve the
semblance of maidenly grace and modesty. Verres saw and coveted it. He
demanded it of the authorities of the town and was met with a refusal.
It was easy for the governor to make them suffer for their obstinacy.
All their imposts were doubled and more than doubled. Heavy requisitions
for men and money and corn were made upon them. A still more hateful
burden, that of attending the court and progresses of the governor was
imposed on their principal citizens. This was a contest which they
could not hope to wage with success. Segesta resolved that the statue
should be given up. It was accordingly carried away from the town, all
the women of the town, married and unmarried, following it on its
journey, showering perfumes and flowers upon it, and burning incense
before it, till it had passed beyond the borders of their territory.
If Segesta had its Diana, Tyndaris had its Mercury; and this also Verres
was resolved to add to his collection. He issued his orders to Sopater,
chief magistrate of the place, that the statue was to betaken to
Messana. (Messana being conveniently near to Italy was the place in
which he stored his plunder.) Sopater refusing was threatened with the
heaviest penalties if it was not done without delay, and judged it best
to bring the matter before the local senate. The proposition was
received with shouts of disapproval. Verres paid a second visit to the
town and at once inquired what had been done about the statue. He was
told that it was impossible. The senate had decreed the penalty of
death against any one that touched it. Apart from that, it would be an
act of the grossest impiety. "Impiety?" he burst out upon the unlucky
magistrates; "penalty of death! senate! what senate? As for you,
Sopater, you shall not escape. Give me up the statue or you shall be
flogged to death." Sopater again referred the matter to his townsmen and
implored them with tears to give way. The meeting separated in great
tumult without giving him any answer. Summoned again to the governor's
presence, he repeated that nothing could be done. But Verres had still
resources in store. He ordered the lictors to strip the man, the chief
magistrate, be it remembered, of an important town, and to set him,
naked as he was, astride on one of the equestrian statues that adorned
the market-place. It was winter; the weather was bitterly cold, with
heavy rain. The pain caused by the naked limbs being thus brought into
close contact with the bronze of the statue was intense. So frightful
was his suffering that his fellow-townsmen could not bear to see it.
They turned with loud cries upon the senate and compelled them to vote
that the coveted statue should be given up to the governor. So Verres
got his Mercury.
We have a curious picture of the man as he made his progresses from town
to town in his search for treasures of art. "As soon as it was
spring--and he knew that it was spring not from the rising of any
constellation or the blowing of any wind, but simply because he saw the
roses--then indeed he bestirred himself. So enduring, so untiring was he
that no one ever saw him upon horseback. No--he was carried in a litter
with eight bearers. His cushion was of the finest linen of Malta, and it
was stuffed with roses. There was one wreath of roses upon his head, and
another round his neck, made of the finest thread, of the smallest mesh,
and this, too, was full of roses. He was carried in this litter straight
to his chamber; and there he gave his audiences."
When spring had passed into summer even such exertions were too much for
him. He could not even endure to remain in his official residence, the
old palace of the kings of Syracuse. A number of tents were pitched for
him at the entrance of the harbor to catch the cool breezes from the
sea. There he spent his days and nights, surrounded by troops of the
vilest companions, and let the province take care of itself.
Such a governor was not likely to keep his province free from the
pirates who, issuing from their fastnesses on the Cilician coast and
elsewhere, kept the seaboard cities of the Mediterranean in constant
terror. One success, and one only, he seems to have gained over them.
His fleet was lucky enough to come upon a pirate ship, which was so
overladen with spoil that it could neither escape nor defend itself.
News was at once carried to Verres, who roused himself from his feasting
to issue strict orders that no one was to meddle with the prize. It was
towed into Syracuse, and he hastened to examine his booty. The general
feeling was one of delight that a crew of merciless villains had been
captured and were about to pay the penalty of their crimes. Verres had
far more practical views. Justice might deal as she pleased with the old
and useless; the young and able bodied, and all who happened to be
handicraftsmen, were too valuable to be given up. His secretaries, his
retinue, his son had their share of the prize; six, who happened to be
singers, were sent as a present to a friend at Rome. As to the pirate
captain himself, no one knew what had become of him. It was a favorite
amusement in Sicily to watch the sufferings of a pirate, if the
government had had the luck but to catch one, while he was being slowly
tortured to death. The people of Syracuse, to whom the pirate captain
was only too well known, watched eagerly for the day when he was to be
brought out to suffer. They kept an account of those who were brought
out to execution, and reckoned them against the number of the crew,
which it had been easy to conjecture from the size of the ship. Verres
had to correct the deficiency as best he could. He had the audacity to
fill the places of the prisoners whom he had sold or given away with
Roman citizens, whom on various false pretenses he had thrown into
prison. The pirate captain himself was suffered to escape on the
payment, it was believed, of a very large sum of money.
But Verres had not yet done with the pirates. It was necessary that some
show, at least, of coping with them should be made. There was a fleet,
and the fleet must put to sea. A citizen of Syracuse, who had no sort of
qualification for the task, but whom Verres was anxious to get out of
the way, was appointed to the command. The governor paid it the unwonted
attention of coming out of his tent to see it pass. His very dress, as
he stood upon the shore, was a scandal to all beholders. His sandals,
his purple cloak, his tunic, or under-garment, reaching to his ankles,
were thought wholly unsuitable to the dignity of a Roman magistrate. The
fleet, as might be expected, was scandalously ill equipped. Its men for
the most part existed, as the phrase is, only "on paper." There was the
proper complement of names, but of names only. The praetor drew from the
treasury the pay for these imaginary soldiers and marines, and diverted
it into his own pocket. And the ships were as ill provisioned as they
were ill manned. After they had been something less than five days at
sea they put into the harbor of Pachynus. The crews were driven to
satisfy their hunger on the roots of the dwarf palm, which grew, and
indeed still grows, in abundance on that spot. Cleomenes meanwhile was
following the example of his patron. He had his tent pitched on the
shore, and sat in it drinking from morning to night. While he was thus
employed tidings were brought that the pirate fleet was approaching. He
was ill prepared for an engagement. His hope had been to complete the
manning of his ships from the garrison of the fort. But Verres had dealt
with the fort as he had dealt with the fleet. The soldiers were as
imaginary as the sailors. Still a man of courage would have fought. His
own ship was fairly well manned, and was of a commanding size, quite
able to overpower the light vessels of the pirates; and such a crew as
there was was eager to fight. But Cleomenes was as cowardly as he was
incompetent. He ordered the mast of his ship to be hoisted, the sails to
be set, and the cable cut, and made off with all speed. The rest of his
fleet could do nothing but follow his example. The pirates gave chase,
and captured two of the ships as they fled. Cleomenes reached the port
of Helorus, stranded his ship, and left it to its fate. His colleagues
did the same. The pirate chief found them thus deserted and burned them.
He had then the audacity to sail into the inner harbor of Syracuse, a
place into which, we are told, only one hostile fleet, the ill-fated
Athenian expedition, three centuries and a half before, had ever
penetrated. The rage of the inhabitants at this spectacle exceeded all
bounds, and Verres felt that a victim must be sacrificed. He was, of
course, himself the chief culprit. Next in guilt to him was Cleomenes.
But Cleomenes was spared for the same scandalous reason which had caused
his appointment to the command. The other captains, who might indeed
have shown more courage, but who were comparatively blameless, were
ordered to execution. It seemed all the more necessary to remove them
because they could have given inconvenient testimony as to the
inefficient condition of the ships.
The cruelty of Verres was indeed as conspicuous as his avarice. Of this,
as of his other vices, it would not suit the purpose of this book to
speak in detail. One conspicuous example will suffice. A certain Gavius
had given offense, how we know not, and had been confined in the
disused stone quarries which served for the public prison of Syracuse.
From these he contrived to escape, and made his way to Messana.
Unluckily for himself, he did not know that Messana was the one place in
Sicily where it would not be safe to speak against the governor. Just as
he was about to embark for Italy he was heard to complain of the
treatment which he had received, and was arrested and brought before the
chief magistrate of the town. Verres happened to come to the town the
same day, and heard what had happened. He ordered the man to be stripped
and flogged in the market-place. Gavius pleaded that he was a Roman
citizen and offered proof of his claim. Verres refused to listen, and
enraged by the repetition of the plea, actually ordered the man to be
crucified. "And set up," he said to his lictors, "set up the cross by
the straits. He is a Roman citizen, he says, and he will at least be
able to have a view of his native country." We know from the history of
St. Paul what a genuine privilege and protection this citizenship was.
And Cicero exactly expresses the feeling on the subject in his famous
words. "It is a crime to put a Roman citizen in irons; it is positive
wickedness to inflict stripes upon him; it is close upon parricide to
put him to death; as to crucifying him there is no word for it." And on
this crowning act of audacity Verres had the recklessness to venture.
After holding office for three years Verres came back to Rome. The
people of Messana, his only friends in the islands, had built a
merchantman for him, and he loaded it with his spoils. He came back with
a light heart. He knew indeed that the Sicilians would impeach him. His
wrong-doings had been too gross, too insolent, for him to escape
altogether. But he was confident that he had the means in his hands for
securing an acquittal. The men that were to judge him were men of his
own order. The senators still retained the privilege which Sulla had
given them. They, and they alone, furnished the juries before whom such
causes were tried. Of these senators not a few had a fellow-feeling for
a provincial governor accused of extortion and wrong. Some had
plundered provinces in the past; others hoped to do so in the future.
Many insignificant men who could not hope to obtain such promotion were
notoriously open to bribes. And some who would have scorned to receive
money, or were too wealthy to be influenced by it, were not insensible
to the charms of other gifts--to a fine statue or a splendid picture
judiciously bestowed. A few, even more scrupulous, who would not accept
such presents for their own halls or gardens, were glad to have such
splendid ornaments for the games which they exhibited to the people.
Verres came back amply provided with these means of securing his safety.
He openly avowed--for indeed he was as frank as he was unscrupulous--that
he had trebled his extortions in order that, after leaving a sufficiency
for himself, he might have wherewith to win the favor of his judges. It
soon became evident to him that he would need these and all other help,
if he was to escape. The Sicilians engaged Cicero to plead their cause.
He had been quaestor in a division of the province for a year six years
before, and had won golden opinions by his moderation and integrity. And
Cicero was a power in the courts of the law, all the greater because he
had never yet prosecuted, but had kept himself to what was held the more
honorable task of defending persons accused.[2] Verres secured Hortensius.
He too was a great orator; Cicero had chosen him as the model which he
would imitate, and speaks of him as having been a splendid and energetic
speaker, full of life both in diction and action. At that time, perhaps,
his reputation stood higher than that of Cicero himself. It was something
to have retained so powerful an advocate; it would be still more if it
could be contrived that the prosecutor should be a less formidable person.
And there was a chance of contriving this. A certain Caecilius was induced
to come forward, and claim for himself, against Cicero, the duty of
prosecuting the late governor of Sicily. He too had been a quaestor in the
province, and he had quarreled, or he pretended that he had quarreled, with
Verres. The first thing there had to be argued before the court, which,
like our own, consisted of a presiding judge and a jury, was the
question, who was to prosecute, Cicero or Caecilius, or the two
together. Cicero made a great speech, in which he established his own
claim. He was the choice of the provincials; the honesty of his rival
was doubtful, while it was quite certain that he was incompetent. The
court decided in his favor, and he was allowed one hundred and ten days
to collect evidence. Verres had another device in store. This time a
member of the Senate came forward and claimed to prosecute Verres for
misdoings in the province of Achaia in Greece. He wanted one hundred and
eight days only for collecting evidence. If this claim should be
allowed, the second prosecution would be taken first; of course it was
not intended to be serious, and would end in an acquittal. Meanwhile all
the available time would have been spent, and the Sicilian affair would
have to be postponed till the next year. It was on postponement indeed
that Verres rested his hopes. In July Hortensius was elected consul for
the following year, and if the trial could only be put off till he had
entered upon office, nothing was to be feared. Verres was openly
congratulated in the streets of Rome on his good fortune. "I have good
news for you," cried a friend; "the election has taken place and you are
acquitted." Another friend had been chosen praetor, and would be the
new presiding judge. Consul and praetor between them would have the
appointment of the new jurors, and would take care that they should be
such as the accused desired. At the same time the new governor of Sicily
would be also a friend, and he would throw judicious obstacles in the
way of the attendance of witnesses. The sham prosecution came to
nothing. The prosecutor never left Italy. Cicero, on the other hand,
employed the greatest diligence. Accompanied by his cousin Lucius he
visited all the chief cities of Sicily, and collected from them an
enormous mass of evidence. In this work he only spent fifty out of the
hundred and ten days allotted to him, and was ready to begin long before
he was expected.
[Footnote 2: So Horace compliments a friend on being "the illustrious
safeguard of the sad accused."]
Verres had still one hope left; and this, strangely enough, sprang out
of the very number and enormity of his crimes. The mass of evidence was
so great that the trial might be expected to last for a long time. If it
could only be protracted into the next year, when his friends would be
in office, he might still hope to escape. And indeed there was but
little time left. The trial began on the fifth of August. In the middle
of the month Pompey was to exhibit some games. Then would come the games
called "The Games of Rome," and after this others again, filling up much
of the three months of September, October, and November. Cicero
anticipated this difficulty. He made a short speech (it could not have
lasted more than two hours in delivering), in which he stated the case
in outline. He made a strong appeal to the jury. They were themselves on
their trial. The eyes of all the world were on them. If they did not do
justice on so notorious a criminal they would never be trusted any more.
It would be seen that the senators were not fit to administer the law.
The law itself was on its trial. The provincials openly declared that if
Verres was acquitted, the law under which their governors were liable to
be accused had better be repealed. If no fear of a prosecution were
hanging over them, they would be content with as much plunder as would
satisfy their own wants. They would not need to extort as much more
wherewith to bribe their judges. Then he called his witnesses. A
marvelous array they were. "From the foot of Mount Taurus, from the
shores of the Black Sea, from many cities of the Grecian mainland, from
many islands of the Aegean, from every city and market-town of Sicily,
deputations thronged to Rome. In the porticoes, and on the steps of the
temples, in the area of the Forum, in the colonnade that surrounded it,
on the housetops and on the overlooking declivities, were stationed
dense and eager crowds of impoverished heirs and their guardians,
bankrupt tax-farmers and corn merchants, fathers bewailing their
children carried off to the praetor's harem, children mourning for their
parents dead in the praetor's dungeons, Greek nobles whose descent was
traced to Cecrops or Eurysthenes, or to the great Ionian and Minyan
houses, and Phoenicians, whose ancestors had been priests of the Tyrian
Melcarth, or claimed kindred with the Zidonian Jah."[3] Nine days were
spent in hearing this mass of evidence. Hortensius was utterly
overpowered by it. He had no opportunity for displaying his eloquence,
or making a pathetic appeal for a noble oppressed by the hatred of the
democracy. After a few feeble attempts at cross-examination, he
practically abandoned the case. The defendant himself perceived that his
position was hopeless. Before the nine days, with their terrible
impeachment, had come to an end he fled from Rome.
[Footnote 3: Article in "Dictionary of Classical Biography and
Mythology," by William Bodham Donne.]
The jury returned an unanimous verdict of guilty, and the prisoner was
condemned to banishment and to pay a fine. The place of banishment
(which he was apparently allowed to select outside certain limits) was
Marseilles. The amount of the fine we do not know. It certainly was not
enough to impoverish him.
Much of the money, and many of the works of art which he had stolen were
left to him. These latter, by a singularly just retribution, proved his
ruin in the end. After the death of Cicero, Antony permitted the exiles
to return. Verres came with them, bringing back his treasures of art,
and was put to death because they excited the cupidity of the masters of
Rome.