_THE PERIL._
Things, bad begun, make strong themselves by ill.
MACBETH.
Sixteen days had elapsed, since the conspirators were again frustrated at
the Consular Comitia.
Yet not for that had the arch-traitor withdrawn his foot one hair’s
breadth from his purpose, or paused one moment in his career of crime and
ruin.
There is, beyond doubt, a necessity—not as the ancients deemed,
supernatural, and the work of fate, but a natural moral necessity—arising
from the very quality of crime itself, which spurs the criminal on to new
guilt, fresh atrocity.
In the dark path of wickedness there is no halting place; the wretched
climber must turn his face for ever upward, for ever onward; if he look
backward his fall is inevitable, his doom fixed.
So was it proved with Catiline. To gain impunity for his first deed of
cruelty and blood, another and another were forced on him, until at last,
harassed and maddened by the consciousness of untold guilt, his frantic
spirit could find no respite, save in the fierce intoxication of
excitement, the strange delight of new atrocity.
Add to this, that, knowing himself anticipated and discovered, he knew
also that if spared for a time by his opponent, it was no lack of will,
but lack of opportunity alone to crush him, that held the hands of Cicero
inactive.
Thus, although for a time the energies of his weaker comrades sank
paralysed by the frustration of their schemes, and by the certainty that
they were noted and observed even in their most secret hours, his stronger
and more vehement spirit found only in the greater danger the greater
stimulus to action.
Sixteen days had elapsed, and gradually, as the conspirators found that no
steps were taken by the government for their apprehension or punishment,
they too waxed bolder, and began to fancy, in their insolent presumption,
that the republic was too weak or too timid to enforce its own laws upon
undoubted traitors.
All the causes, moreover, which had urged them at first to councils so
desperate, existed undiminished, nay, exaggerated by delay.
Their debts, their inability to raise those funds which their boundless
profusion rendered necessary, still maddened them; and to these the
consciousness of detected guilt, and that "necessity which," in the words
of their chief, "makes even the timid brave," were superadded.
The people and the Senate, who had all, for a time, been vehemently
agitated by a thousand various emotions of anger, fear, anxiety, revenge,
forgetting, as all popular bodies are wont to do, the past danger in the
present security, were beginning to doubt whether they had not been
alarmed at a shadow; and were half inclined to question the existence of
any conspiracy, save in the fears of their Consul.
It was well for Rome at that hour, that there was still in the
commonwealth, a counterpoise to the Democratic Spirit; which, vehement and
energetical beyond all others in sudden and great emergencies, is ever
restless and impatient of protracted watchfulness and preparation, and
lacks that persistency and resolute endurance which seems peculiar to
aristocratic constitutions.
And now especially were demonstrated these opposite characteristics; for
while the lower orders, and the popular portion of the Senate, who had
been in the first instance most strenuous in their alarm, and most urgent
for strong measures, were now hesitating, doubting, and almost
compassionating the culprits, who had fallen under such a load of obloquy,
the firmer and more moderate minds, were guarding the safety of the
commonwealth in secret, and watching, through their unknown emissaries,
every movement of the traitors.
It was about twelve o’clock at night, on the eighth day before the Ides,
corresponding to our seventh of November, when the Consul was seated alone
in the small but sumptuous library, which has been described above,
meditating with an anxious and care-worn expression, over some papers
which lay before him on the table.
No sound had been heard in the house for several hours; all its
inhabitants except the Consul only, with the slave who had charge of the
outer door, and one faithful freedman, having long since retired to rest.
But from without, the wailing of the stormy night-wind rose and fell in
melancholy alternations of wild sobbing sound, and breathless silence; and
the pattering of heavy rain was distinctly audible on the flat roofs, and
in the flooded tank, or _impluvium_, which occupied the centre of the
hall.
It was in one of the lulls of the autumnal storm, that a heavy knock was
heard on the pannel of the exterior door, reverberating in long echoes,
through the silent vestibule, and the vast colonnades of the Atrium and
peristyle.
At that dead hour of night, such a summons would have seemed strange in
any season: it was now almost alarming.
Nor, though he was endowed pre-eminently with that moral strength of mind
which is the highest quality of courage, and was by no means deficient in
mere physical bravery, did Cicero raise his head from the perusal of his
papers, and listen to that unwonted sound, without some symptoms of
anxiety and perturbation.
So thoroughly acquainted as he was, with the desperate wickedness, the
infernal energy, and absolute fearlessness of Catiline, it could not but
occur to him instantly, when he heard that unusual summons, at a time when
all the innocent world was buried in calm sleep, how easy and obvious a
mode of liberation from all danger and restraint, his murder would afford
to men so daring and unscrupulous, as those against whom he was playing,
for no less a stake than life or death.
There was, he well knew, but a single slave, and he old and unarmed, in
the vestibule, nor was the aged and effeminate Greek freedman, one on whom
reliance could be placed in a deadly struggle.
All these things flashed suddenly upon the mind of Cicero, as the heavy
knocking fell upon his ear, followed by a murmur of many voices, and the
tread of many feet without.
He arose quietly from the bronze arm-chair, on which he had been sitting,
walked across the room, to a recess beside the book-shelves, and reached
down from a hook, on which it hung, among a collection of armor and
weapons, a stout, straight, Roman broad-sword, with a highly adorned hilt
and scabbard.
Scarcely, however, had he taken the weapon in his hand, before the door
was thrown open, and his freedman ushered in three men, attired in the
full costume of Roman Senators.
"All hail, at this untimely hour, most noble Cicero," exclaimed the first
who entered.
"By all the Gods!" cried the second, "rejoiced I am, O Consul, to see that
you are on your guard; for there is need of watchfulness, in truth, for
who love the republic."
"Which need it is, in short," added the third, "that has brought us
hither."
"Most welcome at all times," answered Cicero, laying aside the broad-sword
with a smile, "though of a truth, I thought it might be less gracious
visitors. Noble Marcellus, have you good tidings of the commonwealth? and
you, Metellus Scipio, and you Marcus Crassus? Friends to the state, I know
you; and would trust that no ill news hath held you watchful."
"Be not too confident of that, my Consul," replied Scipio. "Peril there
is, at hand to the commonwealth, in your person."
"We have strange tidings here, confirming all that you made known to the
Senate, on the twelfth day before the Calends, in letters left by an
unknown man with Crassus’ doorkeeper this evening," said Marcellus. "We
were at supper with him, when they came, and straightway determined to
accompany him hither."
"In my person!" exclaimed Cicero—"Then is the peril threatened from Lucius
Sergius Catiline! were it for myself alone, this were a matter of small
moment; but, seeing that I hold alone the clues of this dark plot, it were
disastrous to the state, should ought befall me, who have set my life on
this cast to save my country."
"Indeed disastrous!" exclaimed the wealthy Crassus; "for these most
horrible and cursed traitors are sworn, as it would seem, to consume this
most glorious city of the earth, and all its stately wealth, with the
sword and fire."
"To destroy all the noble houses," cried Scipio, "and place the vile and
loathsome rabble at the helm of state."
"All this, I well knew, of old," said Cicero calmly. "But I pray you, my
friends, be seated; and let me see these papers."
And taking the anonymous letters from the hands of Crassus, he read them
aloud, pausing from time to time, to meditate on the intention of the
writer.
"Marcus Licinius Crassus," thus ran the first, "is spoken of by those, who
love not Rome, as their lover and trusty comrade! Doth Marcus Licinius
Crassus deem that the flames, which shall roar over universal Rome, will
spare his houses only? Doth Marcus Crassus hope, that when the fetters
shall be stricken from the limbs of every slave in Rome, his serfs alone
will hold their necks beneath a voluntary yoke?—Doth he imagine that, when
all the gold of the rich shall be distributed among the needy, his seven
thousand talents shall escape the red hands of Catiline and his
associates? Be wise! Take heed! The noble, who forsakes his order, earns
scorn alone from his new partisans! When Cicero shall fall, all noble
Romans shall perish lamentably, with him—when the great Capitol itself
shall melt in the conflagration, all private dwellings shall go down in
the common ruin. Take counsel of a friend, true, though unknown and
humble! Hold fast to the republic! rally the nobles and the rich, around
the Consul! Ere the third day hence, he shall be triumphant, or be
nothing!—Fare thee well!"
"This is mysterious, dark, incomprehensible," said Cicero, as he finished
reading it. "Had it been sent to me, I should have read it’s secret thus,
as intended to awake suspicion, in my mind, of a brave and noble Roman! a
true friend of his country!" he added, taking the hand of Crassus in his
own. "Yet, even so, it would have failed. For as soon would I doubt the
truth of heaven itself, as question the patriotic faith of the conqueror
of Spartacus! But left at thy house, my Crassus, it seems almost senseless
and unmeaning. What have we more?
"The snake is scotched, not slain! The spark is concealed, not quenched!
The knife is sharp yet, though it lie in the scabbard! When was conspiracy
beat down by clemency, or treason conquered by timidity? Let those who
would survive the ides of November, keep their loins girded, and their
eyes wakeful. What I am, you may not learn, but this much only—I was a
noble, before I was a beggar! a Roman, before I was a—traitor!"
"Ha!" continued the consul, examining the paper closely, "This is somewhat
more pregnant—the Ides of November!—the Ides—is it so?—They shall be met
withal!—It is a different hand-writing also; and here is a third—Ha!"
"A third, plainer than the first," said Metellus Scipio—"pray mark it."
"Three men have sworn—who never swear in vain—a knight, a senator, and yet
a senator again! Two of the three, Cornelii! Their knives are keen, their
hands sure, their hearts resolute, against the new man from Arpinum! Let
those who love Cicero, look to the seventh day, before November’s Ides."
"The seventh day—ha? so soon? Be it so," said the undaunted magistrate. "I
am prepared for any fortune."
"Consul," exclaimed the Freedman, again entering, "I watched with Geta, in
the vestibule, since these good fathers entered; and now there have come
two ladies clad in the sacred garb of vestals. Two lictors wait on them.
They ask to speak with the consul."
"Admit them, madman!" exclaimed Cicero; "admit them with all honor. You
have not surely kept them in the vestibule?"
"Not so, my Consul. They are seated on the ivory chairs in the Tablinum."
"Pardon me, noble friends. I go to greet the holy virgins. This is a
strange and most unusual honour. Lead the way, man."
And with the words, he left the room in evident anxiety and haste; while
his three visitors stood gazing each on the other, in apprehension mingled
with wonder.
In a few moments, however, he returned alone, very pale, and wearing on
his fine features a singular expression of awe and dignified
self-complacency, which seemed to be almost at variance with each other.
"The Gods," he said, as he entered, in a deep and solemn tone, "the Gods
themselves attest Rome’s peril by grand and awful portents. The College of
the Vestals sends tidings, that ’The State totters to its fall’!"
"May the Great Gods avert!" cried his three auditors, simultaneously,
growing as pale as death, and faltering out their words from ashy lips in
weak or uncertain accents.
"It is so!" said Cicero; who, though a pure Deist, in truth, and no
believer in Rome’s monstrous polytheism, was not sufficiently emancipated
from the superstition of the age to dispute the truth of prodigies and
portents. "It is so. The priestess, who watched the sacred flame on the
eternal hearth, beheld it leap thrice upward in a clear spire of vivid and
unearthly light, and lick the vaulted roof-stones—thrice vanish into utter
gloom! Once, she believed the fire extinct, and veiled her head in more
than mortal terror. But, after momentary gloom, it again revived, while
three strange sighs, mightier than any human voice, came breathing from
the inmost shrine, and waved the flame fitfully to and fro, with a dread
pallid lustre. The College bids the Consul to watch for himself and the
republic, these three days, or ill shall come of it."
Even as he spoke, a bustle was again heard in the vestibule, as of a fresh
arrival, and again the freedman entered.
"My Consul, a veiled patrician woman craves to confer with you, in
private."
"Ha! all Rome is afoot, methinks, to-night. Do you know her, my Glaucias?"
"I saw her once before, my Consul. On the night of the fearful storm, when
the falchion of flame shook over Rome, and the Senate was convened
suddenly."
"Ha! She! it is well—it is very well! we shall know all anon." And his
face lighted up joyously, as he spoke. "Excuse me, Friends and Fathers.
This is one privy to the plot, with tidings of weight doubtless. Thanks
for your news, and good night; for I must pray you leave me. Your warning
hath come in good season, and I will not be taken unaware. The Gods have
Rome in their keeping, and, to save her, they will not let _me_ perish.
Fare ye well, nobles. I must be private with this woman."
After the ceremonial of the time, his visitors departed; but as they
passed through the atrium, they met the lady, conducted by the old Greek
freedman.
Little expecting to meet any one at that untimely hour, she had allowed
her veil to fall down upon her shoulders; and, although she made a
movement to recover it, as she saw the Senators approaching her by the
faint light of the single lamp which burned before the household gods on
the small altar by the _impluvium_, Marcus Marcellus caught a passing view
of a pair of large languishing blue eyes, and a face of rare beauty.
"By the great Gods!" he whispered in Crassus’ ear, "that was the lovely
Fulvia."
"Ha! Curius’ paramour!" replied the other. "Can it be possible that the
stern Consul amuses his light hours, with such high-born harlotry?"
"Not he! not he!" said Scipio. "I doubt not Curius is one of them! He is
needy, and bold, and bloody."
"But such a braggart!" answered Marcellus.
"I have known braggarts fight," said Crassus. "There was a fellow, who
served in the fifth legion; he fought before the standard of the hastati;
and I deemed him a coward ever, but in the last strife with Spartacus he
slew six men with his own hand. I saw it."
"I have heard of such things," said Scipio. "But it grows late. Let us
move homeward." And then he added, as he was leaving the Consul’s door,
"If he can trust his household, Cicero should arm it. My life on it! They
will attempt to murder him."
"He has given orders even now to arm his slaves," said the Freedman, in
reply; "and so soon as they have got their blades and bucklers, I go to
invite hither the surest of his clients."
"Thou shalt do well to do so—But see thou do it silently."
And with the words, they hurried homeward through the dark streets,
leaving the wise and virtuous magistrate in conference with his abandoned,
yet trustworthy informant, Fulvia.