debtors held by their creditors should be released. And hereafter the
Plebeians should have as their protectors two officials, who should have
power to veto all oppressive laws, while their persons should be held as
sacred and inviolable as those of the messengers of the gods. These
officials were to be called Tribunes, and to be the chief officers of
the commons as the consuls were of the nobles.
This proposition was accepted by the senate, and a treaty signed between
the contesting parties, as solemnly as if they had been two separate
nations. It was an occasion as important to the liberties of Romans as
the treaty signed many centuries afterwards on the field of Runnymede,
between King John and his barons, was to the liberties of Englishmen,
and was held by the Romans in like high regard. The hill on which the
treaty had been made was ever after known as the Sacred Mount. Its top
was consecrated and an altar built upon it, on which sacrifices were
made to Jupiter, the god who strikes men with terror and then delivers
them from fear; for the people had fled thither in dread, and were now
to return home in safety.
Thus ended the great revolt of the people, who had gained in the
Tribunes defenders of more power and importance than they or the senate
knew. They were never again to suffer from the bitter oppression to
which they had been subjected in preceding years. As for Lanatus, to
whose pleadings they had yielded, he died before the year ended, and was
found to have not left enough to pay for his funeral. Therefore the
Plebeians collected funds to give him a splendid burial; but the senate
having decreed that the state should bear this expense, the money raised
by the grateful people was formed into a fund for the benefit of his
children.
_THE REVENGE OF CORIOLANUS._
Caius Marcius, a noble Roman youth, descended from the worthy king Ancus
Marcius, fought valiantly when but seventeen years of age in the battle
of Lake Regillus, and was there crowned with an oaken wreath, the Roman
reward for saving the life of a fellow-soldier. This he showed with the
greatest joy to his mother, Volumnia, whom he loved exceedingly, it
being his greatest pleasure to receive praise from her lips for his
exploits. He afterwards won many more crowns in battle, and became one
of the most famous of Roman soldiers.
One of his memorable exploits took place during a war with the
Volscians, in which the Romans attacked the city of Corioli. The
citizens made a sally, and drove the Romans back to their camp. But
Caius, with a few followers, stopped them and turned the tide of battle,
driving the Volscians back. As they fled into the city through the open
gates, he cried, "Those gates are set open for us rather than for the
Volscians. Why are we afraid to rush in?" And suiting his act to his
words, the daring soldier pursued the enemy into the town.
Here he found himself almost alone, for very few had followed him. The
enemy turned on the bold invaders, but Caius proved so strong of hand
and stout of heart that he drove them all before him, keeping a way
clear for the Romans, who soon thronged in through the open gate and
took the city. The army gave Caius the sole credit for the victory,
saying that he alone had taken Corioli; and the general said, "Let him
be called after the name of the city." He was, therefore, afterwards
known by the name of Caius Marcius Coriolanus.
Courage was not the only marked quality of Coriolanus. His pride was
equally great. He was a noble of the nobles, so haughty in demeanor and
so disdainful of the commons that they grew to hate him bitterly. At
length came a time of great scarcity of food. The people were on the
verge of famine, to relieve which shiploads of corn were sent from
Sicily to Rome. The senate resolved to distribute this corn among the
suffering people, but Coriolanus opposed this, saying, "If they want
corn let them show their obedience to the Patricians, as their fathers
did, and give up their tribunes. If they do this we will let them have
corn, and take care of them."
When the people heard of what the proud noble had said they broke into
such fury that a mob gathered around the doors of the senate house,
prepared to seize and tear him to pieces when he came out. They were
checked in this by the tribunes, who said, "Let us not have violence. We
will accuse him of treason before the assembly, and you shall be his
judges."
The tribunes, therefore, as the law gave them the right, summoned
Coriolanus to appear before the popular tribunal and answer to the
charges against him. But he, knowing how deeply he had offended them,
and that they would show him no mercy, stayed not for the trial, but
fled from Rome, exiled from his native land by his pride and disdain of
the people.
The exile made his way to the land of the Volscians, and seating himself
by the hearth-fire of Attius Tullius, their chief, waited there with
covered head till his late bitter foe should come in. How Attius would
receive him he knew not; but he was homeless, and had now only his
enemies to trust. But when the chieftain entered, and learned that the
man who sat crouched beside his hearth, subject to his will, was the
great warrior who by his own hands had taken a Volscian city, but was
now banished and a fugitive, he was filled with compassion. He greeted
him kindly and offered him a home, saying to himself, "Caius, our worst
foe, is now our friend and a foe to Rome; we will make war against that
proud city, and by his aid will conquer it."
But the Volscians were not eager for war. They were afraid of the
Romans, who had so often defeated them, and Attius sought in vain to
stir them to hostility. Failing to rouse them by eloquence, he practised
craft. There was a great festival at Rome, to which had come the people
of various cities, among them many of the Volscians. Attius now went
privately to the Roman consuls and bade them beware of the Volscians,
lest they should stir up a riot and make trouble in the city, hinting
that mischief was intended. In consequence of this warning proclamation
was made that every Volscian should leave Rome before the setting of the
sun.
This produced the effect which Attius had hoped. He met the Volscians on
their way home, and found them fired with indignation against Rome. He
pretended similar indignation. "You have been made a show of before all
the nations," he cried. "You and your wives and children have been
basely insulted. They have made war on us while their guests; if you are
men you will make them rue this deed."
His words inflamed his countrymen. The story of the insult spread widely
through the country, all the tribes of the Volscians took up the
quarrel, and a great army was raised and set in march towards Rome, with
Attius and Coriolanus at its head.
The Volscian force was greater than the Romans were prepared to meet,
and the army marched victoriously onward, taking city after city, and
finally encamping within five miles of Rome. When the Volscians entered
Roman territory they laid waste, by order of Coriolanus, the lands of
the commons, but spared those of the nobles, the exiled patrician
deeming the former his foes and the latter his friends. The approach of
this powerful army threw the Romans into dismay. They had been assailed
so suddenly that they had made no preparations for defence, and the city
seemed to lie at the mercy of its foes. The women ran to the temples to
pray for the favor of the gods. The people demanded that the senate
should send deputies to the invading army to treat for peace. The
senate, apparently no less frightened than the people, obeyed, sending
five leading Patricians to the Volscian camp.
These deputies were haughtily received by Coriolanus, who offered them
the following severe terms: "We will give you no peace till you restore
to the Volscians all the land and cities which Rome has ever taken from
them, and till you make them citizens of Rome, and give them all the
rights in your city which you have yourselves."
These conditions the deputies had no power to accept, and they threw the
senate into dismay. The deputies were sent again, instructed to ask for
gentler terms, but now, Coriolanus refused even to let them enter his
camp.
This harsh repulse plunged Rome into mortal terror. The senate, helpless
to resist, now sent the priests of the gods and the augurs, all clothed
in their sacred garments, and bearing the sacred emblems from the
temples. But even this solemn delegation Coriolanus refused to receive,
and sent them back to Rome unheard.
Where all this time was the Roman army, which always before and after
made itself heard and felt? This we are not told. We are in the land of
legend, and cannot look for too much consistency. For once in its
history Rome seems to have forgotten that its mission was not to plead,
but to fight. Perhaps its armies had been beaten and demoralized in
previous battles. At any rate we can but tell the story as it is told to
us.
The help of delegates, priests, and augurs having proved unavailing,
that of women was next sought. A noble lady, Valeria by name, who with
other suppliants had sought the Temple of Jupiter, was inspired by a
sudden thought, which seemed sent by the god himself. Rising, and
bidding the other noble ladies to accompany her, she proceeded to the
house of Volumnia, the mother of Coriolanus, whom she found with
Virgilia, his wife, and his little children.
"We have come to ask you to join us," she said, "in order that we women,
without aid from man, may deliver our country, and win for ourselves a
name more glorious even than that of the Sabine wives of old, who
stopped the battle between their husbands and fathers. Come with us to
the camp of Caius, and let us pray him to show us mercy."
"It is well thought of; we shall go with you," said Volumnia, and, with
Virgilia and her children, the noble matron prepared to seek the camp
and tent of her exiled son.
It was a sad and solemn spectacle, as this train of noble ladies, clad
in their habiliments of woe, and with bent heads and sorrowful faces,
wound through the hostile camp, from which they were not excluded, like
the men. Even the Volscian soldiers watched them with pitying eyes, and
spoke no word as they moved slowly past. On reaching the midst of the
camp, they saw Coriolanus on the general's seat, with the Volscian
chiefs gathered around him.
At first he wondered who these women could be. But when they came near,
and he saw his mother at the head of the train, his deep love for her
welled up so strongly in his heart that he could not restrain himself,
but sprang up and ran to meet and kiss her. The Roman matron stopped him
with a dignified gesture, saying,--
"Ere you kiss me, let me know whether I am speaking to an enemy or to my
son; whether I stand here as your prisoner or your mother."
He stood before her in silence, with bent head, and unable to speak.
"Must it then be that if I had never borne a son, Rome would have never
seen the camp of an enemy?" said Volumnia, in sorrowful tones. "But I am
too old to bear much longer your shame and my misery. Think not of me,
but of your wife and children, whom you would doom to death or to life
in bondage."
Then Virgilia and the children came up and kissed him, and all the noble
ladies in the train burst into tears and bemoaned the peril of their
country. Coriolanus still stood silent, his face working with contending
thoughts. At length he cried out, in heart-rending accents, "O mother,
what have you done to me?"
Clasping her hand, he wrung it vehemently, saying, "Mother, the victory
is yours! A happy victory for you and Rome, but shame and ruin to your
son."
Then he embraced her with yearning heart, and afterwards clasped his
wife and children to his breast, bidding them return with their tale of
conquest to Rome. As for himself, he said, only exile and shame
remained.
Before the women reached home the army of the Volscians was on its
homeward march. Coriolanus never led them against Rome again. He lived
and died in exile, far from his wife and children. When very old, he
sadly remarked, "That now in his old age he knew the full bitterness of
banishment."
The Romans, to honor Volumnia and those who had gone with her to the
Volscian camp, built a temple to "Woman's Fortune" on the spot where
Coriolanus had yielded to his mother's entreaties; and the first
priestess of this temple was Valeria, who had been inspired in the
temple of Jupiter with the thought that saved Rome.
_CINCINNATUS AND THE AEQUIANS._
In the old days of Rome, not far from the time when Coriolanus yielded
up his revenge at his mother's entreaty, the Roman state possessed a
citizen as patriotic as Coriolanus was proud, and who did as much good
as the other did evil to his native land. This citizen, Lucius Quinctius
by name, was usually called Cincinnatus, or the "crisp-haired," from the
fact that he let his hair grow long, and curled and crisped it so
carefully as to gain as much fame for his hair as for his wisdom and
valor.
Cincinnatus was the simplest and least ambitious of men. He cared
nothing for wealth, and had no craving for city life, but dwelt on his
small farm beyond the Tiber, which he worked with his own hands,
content, so his crops grew well, to let the lovers of power and wealth
pursue their own devices within the city walls. But he was soon to be
drawn from the plough to the sword.
While Cincinnatus was busy ploughing his land, Rome kept at its old work
of ploughing the nations. War at this time broke out with the AEquians, a
neighboring people; but for this war the AEquians were to blame. They had
plundered the lands of some of the allies of Rome, and when deputies
were sent to complain of this wrong, Gracchus, their chief, received
them with insulting mockery.
He was sitting in his tent, which was pitched in the shade of a great
evergreen oak, when the deputies arrived.
"I am busy with other matters," he answered them; "I cannot hear you;
you had better tell your message to the oak yonder."
"Yes," said one of the deputies, "let this sacred oak hear, and let all
the gods hear also, how treacherously you have broken the peace. They
shall hear it now, and shall soon avenge it; for you have scorned alike
the laws of the gods and of men."
The deputies returned to Rome, and reported how they had been insulted.
The senate at once declared war, and an army was sent towards Algidus,
where the enemy lay. But Gracchus, who was a skilled soldier, cunningly
pretended to be afraid of the Romans, and retreated before them, drawing
them gradually into a narrow valley, on each side of which rose high,
steep, and barren hills.
When he had lured them fairly into this trap, he sent a force to close
up the entrance of the valley. The Romans suddenly found that they had
been entrapped into a _cul-de-sac_, with impassable hills in front and
on each side, and a strong body of AEquians guarding the entrance to the
ravine. There was neither grass for the horses nor food for the men.
Gracchus held not only the entrance, but the hill-tops all round, so
that escape in any direction was impossible. But before the road in the
rear was quite closed up five horsemen had managed to break out; and
these rode with all speed to Rome, where they told the senate of the
imminent danger of the consul and his army.
These tidings threw the senate into dismay. What was to be done? The
other consul was with his army in the country of the Sabines. He was at
once sent for, and hastened with all speed to Rome. Here a consultation
took place, which ended in the leading senators saying, "There is only
one man who can deliver us. We must make Lucius Quinctius Master of the
People." Master of the People meant in Rome what we now mean by
Dictator,--that is, a man above the law, an autocrat supreme. What
service this unambitious tiller of the ground had previously done for
Rome to make him worthy of this distinction we are not told, but it is
evident that he was looked upon as the man of highest wisdom and
soldiership in Rome.
Caius Nautius, the consul, appointed Cincinnatus to this high office, as
he alone was privileged to do, and then hastened back to his army. Early
the next morning deputies from the senate sought the farm of the new
dictator, to apprise him of the honor conferred on him. Early as it was,
Cincinnatus was already at work in his fields. He was without his toga,
or cloak, and vigorously digging in the ground with his spade, never
dreaming that he, a simple husbandman, had been chosen to save a state.
"We bring you a message from the senate," said the deputies. "You must
put on your cloak to receive it with the fitting respect."
"Has evil befallen the state?" asked the farmer, as he bade his wife to
bring him his cloak. When he had put it on he returned to the deputies.
"Hail to you, Lucius Quinctius!" they now said. "The senate has declared
you Master of the People, and have sent us to call you to the city; for
the consul and the army in the country of the AEquians are in imminent
danger."
Without further words, Cincinnatus accompanied them to the boat in which
they had crossed the Tiber, and was rowed in it to the city. As he left
the boat he was met by a deputation consisting of his three sons, his
kinsmen and friends, and many of the senators of Rome. They received him
with the highest honor, and led him in great state to his city
residence, the twenty-four lictors walking before him, with their rods
and axes, while a great multitude of the people crowded round with
shouts of welcome. The presence of the lictors signified that this plain
farmer had been invested with all the power of the former kings.
The new dictator quickly proved himself worthy of the trust that had
been placed in him. He chose at once as his Master of the Horse Lucius
Tarquinius, a brave man, of noble descent, but so poor that he had been
forced to serve among the foot-soldiers instead of the horse. Then the
two entered the Forum, where orders were given that all booths should be
closed and all lawsuits stopped. All men were forbidden to look after
their own affairs while a Roman army lay in peril of destruction.
Orders were next given that every man old enough to go to battle should
appear before sunset with his arms and with five days' food in the
Field of Mars, and should bring with him twelve stakes. These they were
to cut where they chose, without hinderance from any person. While the
soldiers occupied themselves in cutting these stakes, the women and
older men dressed their food. Such haste was made, under the energetic
orders of the dictator, that an army was ready, equipped as commanded,
in the Field of Mars before the sun had set. The march was at once
begun, and was continued with such rapidity that by midnight the
vicinity of Algidus was reached. On the enemy being perceived, a halt
was called.
Cincinnatus now rode forward and inspected the camp of the enemy, so far
as it could be seen by night. He then ordered the soldiers to throw down
their baggage, and to keep only their arms and stakes. Marching
stealthily forward, they now extended their lines until they had
completely surrounded the hostile camp. Then, upon a given signal, a
simultaneous shout was raised, and each soldier began to dig a ditch
where he stood and to plant his stakes in the ground.
The shout rang like a thunder-clap through the camp of the AEquians,
waking them suddenly and filling them with dismay. It also reached the
ears of the Romans who lay in the valley, and inspired them with hope,
for they recognized the Roman war-cry. They raised their own
battle-shout in response, and, seizing their arms, sallied out and made
a fierce attack upon the foe, fighting so desperately that the AEquians
were prevented from interrupting the work of the outer army. All the
remainder of the night the battle went on, and when day broke the
AEquians found that a ditch and a palisade of stakes had been made around
their entire camp.
This work accomplished, Cincinnatus ordered his men to attack the foe,
and thus aid their entrapped countrymen. The AEquians, finding themselves
between two armies, and as closely walled in as the Romans in the valley
had before been, fell into a panic of hopelessness, threw down their
arms, and begged their foes for mercy. Cincinnatus now signalled for the
fighting to cease, and, meeting those who came to ask on what terms he
would spare their lives, said,--
"Give me Gracchus and your other chiefs bound. As for you, you can have
your lives on one condition. I will set two spears upright in the
ground, and put a third spear across, and every man of you, giving up
your arms and your cloaks, shall pass under this yoke, and may then go
away free."
To go under the yoke was accounted the greatest dishonor to a soldier.
But the AEquians had no alternative and were obliged to submit. They
delivered up to the Romans their king and their chiefs, left their camp
with all its spoil to the foe, and passed without cloaks or arms under
the crossed spears, their heads bowed with shame. They then went home,
leaving their chiefs as Roman prisoners. Thus was Gracchus punished for
his pride.
In less than a day's time Cincinnatus had saved a Roman army and
humiliated the AEquian foe. As for the battle-spoils, he distributed them
among his own men, giving none to the consul's army, and degraded the
consul, making him his under-officer. He then marched the two armies
back to Rome, which he reached that same evening, and where he was
received with as much astonishment as joy. The rescued army were too
full of thankfulness at their escape to feel chagrin at their loss of
spoil, and voted to give Cincinnatus a golden crown, calling him their
protector and father.
The senate decreed that Cincinnatus should enter the city in triumph. He
rode in his chariot through the gates, Gracchus and the chiefs of the
AEquians being led in fetters before him. In front of all the standards
were borne, while in the rear marched the soldiers, laden with their
spoil. At the door of every house tables were set, with meat and drink
for the soldiers, while the people, singing and rejoicing, danced with
joy as they followed the conqueror's chariot, and all Rome was given up
to feasting and merry-making.
As for Cincinnatus, he laid down his power and returned to his farm,
glad to have rescued a Roman army, but caring nothing for the pomp and
authority he might have gained. And for all we know, he lived and died
thereafter a simple tiller of the ground.
_THE SACRIFICE OF VIRGINIA._
In the year 504 B.C. a citizen of Regillum, of much wealth and
importance, finding himself at odds with his fellow-citizens, left that
city and proceeded to Rome, with a long train of followers, much as the
elder Tarquin had come from Tarquinii. His name was Atta Clausus, but in
Rome he became known as Appius Claudius. He was received as a patrician,
was given ample lands, and he and his descendants in later years became
among the chief of those who hated and oppressed the plebeians.
[Illustration: THE SACRIFICE OF VIRGINIA.]
About half a century after this date, one of these descendants, also
named Appius Claudius, was a principal actor in one of the most dramatic
events of ancient Rome. The trouble which had long existed between the
patricians and the plebeians now grew so pronounced, and the demand for
a reform in the laws so great, that in the year 451 B.C. a commission
was sent to the city of Athens, to report on the system of government
they found there and elsewhere in Greece. After this commission had
returned and given its report, a body of ten patricians was appointed,
under the title of Decemvirs (or ten men), to prepare a new code of laws
for Rome. They were chosen for one year, and took the place of the
consuls, tribunes, and all the chief officials of Rome.
At the head of this body was Appius Claudius. The laws of Rome had
previously been only partly written, the remainder being held in memory
or transmitted as traditions. A complete code of written laws was
desired, and to this work the decemvirs set themselves diligently. After
a few months they prepared a code of laws, which was accepted by nobles
and people alike as fair and satisfactory, and it was ordered that these
laws should be engraved upon ten tables of brass and hung up in the
comitium, or place of assembly of the people, where all might read them
and learn under what laws they lived. It is probable that the plebeian
demand for reform was so great that the decemvirs did not dare to
disregard it.