THE DOOM.
Without debatement further, more or less,
He should the bearers put to sudden death,
Not striving time allowed.
HAMLET.
The nones(11) of November were perilous indeed to Rome.
The conspirators, arrested two days previously, and fully convicted on the
evidence of the Gaulish ambassadors, of Titus Volturcius of Crotona, and
of Lucius Tarquinius,—convicted on the evidence of their own letters—and
lastly convicted by their own admissions, were yet uncondemned and in free
custody, as it was termed; under the charge of certain senators and
magistrates, whose zeal for the republic was undoubted.
There was still in the city a considerable mass of men, turbulent,
disaffected, ripe for tumult—there was still in the Senate a large party,
not indeed favorable to the plot, but far from being unfavorable to the
plotters,—Catiline was at the head of a power which had increased already
to nearly the force of two legions, and was in full march upon Rome.
Should the least check of the armies sent against him occur under such
circumstances, there was but little doubt that an eruption of the
Gladiators, and a servile insurrection, would liberate the traitors, and
perhaps even crown their frantic rashness with success.
Such was the state of things, on the morning of the nones; and the brow of
the great Consul was dark, and his heart heavy, as he entered the Senate,
convened on this occasion in the temple of Jupiter Stator, in order to
take the voice of that body on the fate of Lentulus and the rest.
But scarcely had he taken his seat, before a messenger was introduced,
breathless and pale, the herald of present insurrection.
The freedmen and clients of Lentulus were in arms; the gladiators and the
slaves of Cethegus were up already, and hurrying through the streets
toward the house of Quintus Cornificius, wherein their master was
confined.
Many slaves of other houses, and no small number of disaffected citizens
had joined them; and the watches were well nigh overpowered.
Ere long the roar of the mob might be heard even within those hallowed
precincts, booming up from the narrow streets about the Forum, like the
distant sound of a heavy surf.
Another, and another messenger followed the first in quick succession—one
manipule of soldiers had been overpowered, and driven into some houses
where they defended themselves, though hard set, with their missiles—the
multitude was thundering at the gates of the City Prisons; and, if not
quelled immediately, would shortly swell their numbers by the accession of
all the desperate criminals, convicted slaves, and reckless debtors, who
were crowded together in those abodes of guilt and wretchedness.
Then was it seen, when the howls of the rabble were echoing through the
arches of the sanctuary wherein they sate; when massacre and conflagration
were imminent, and close at hand; then was it seen, how much of real
majesty and power resided still in the Roman Senate.
Firm, as when Hannibal was thundering at their gates, solemn as when the
Gaul was ravaging their city, they sat, and debated, grave, fearless, and
unmoved.
Orders were issued to concentrate forces upon the spot where the tumult
was raging; the knights, who were collected under arms, in the whole force
of their order, without the gates of the Temple as a guard to the Senate,
were informed that the Fathers were sufficiently defended by their own
sanctity; and were requested to march down upon the forum, and disperse
the rioters.
The heavy tramp of their solid march instantly succeeded the transmission
of the order; and, in a short time after, the deep swell of their charging
shout rose high above the discordant clamors of the mob, from the hollow
of the Velabrum.
Still, not a Senator left his seat, or changed countenance; although it
might be seen, by the fiery glances and clinched hands of some among the
younger nobles, that they would have gladly joined the knights, in
charging their hereditary enemies, the Democratic rabble.
The question which was then debating was of more weight, however, than any
triumph over the mob; for by the decision of that question it was to be
determined whether the traitors and the treason should be crushed
simultaneously and forever, or whether Rome itself should be abandoned to
the pleasure of the rebels.
That question was the life or death of Lentulus, Cethegus, Gabinius,
Statilius, and Cæparius; all of whom were in separate custody, the last
having been brought in on the previous evening, arrested on his way to the
camp of Catiline and Manlius.
Should the Senate decree their death, the commonwealth might be deemed
safe—should it absolve them, by that weakness, the republic must be lost.
And on the turn of a die did that question seem to hang.
Decius Junius Silanus, whose opinion was first asked, spoke briefly, but
strenuously and to the point, and as became the Consul elect, soon to be
the first magistrate of that great empire. He declared for the capital
punishment of all those named above, and of four others, Lucius Cassius,
Publius Furius, Publius Umbrenus, and Quintus Annius, if they should be
thereafter apprehended.
Several others of the high Patrician family followed on the same side; and
no one had as yet ventured openly to urge the impunity of the parricides,
although Tiberius Nero had recommended a delay in taking the question, and
the casting of the prisoners meanwhile into actual incarceration under the
safeguard of a military force.
But it had now come to the turn of Caius Julius Cæsar, the great leader
then of the Democratic faction, the great captain that was to be in after
days, and the first Emperor of subjugated Rome.
An orator second, if second, to Cicero alone, ardent, impassioned, yet
bland, clement, easy; liberal both of hand and council; averse to Cicero
from personal pique, as well as from party opposition; an eager candidate
for popular applause and favor, it was most natural that he should take
side with the conspirators.
Still, his name having been coupled obscurely with their infamous designs,
although Cicero had positively refused to suffer his accusation or
impeachment, it required so much boldness, so much audacity indeed, to
enable him to stand forward as their open champion, that many men
disbelieved that he would venture on a step so hazardous.
The greatest possible anxiety was manifested, therefore, in the house,
when that distinguished Senator arose, and began in low, deep, harmonious
tones, and words which rolled forth like a gentle river in an easy and
silvery flow.
"It were well," he said, "Conscript Fathers, that all men who debate on
dubious matters, should be unbiassed in opinion by hate or friendship,
clemency or anger. When passions intervene, the mind can rarely perceive
truth; nor hath at one time any man obeyed his interests and his
pleasures. The intellect there prevails, where most it is exerted. If
passion governs it, passion hath the sole sway; reason is powerless. It
were an easy task for me, Conscript Fathers, to quote instances in which
kings and nations, impelled by enmity or pity, have taken unadvised and
evil counsels; but I prefer to cite those, wherein our ancestors, defying
the influence of passion, have acted well and wisely. During the
Macedonian war which we waged against King Perseus, the state of Rhodes,
splendid then and stately, which had been built up by the aid and opulence
of Rome, proved faithless to us, and a foe. Yet, when, the war being
ended, debate was had concerning her, our fathers suffered her citizens to
go unpunished, in order that no men might infer that Rome had gone to war
for greed, and not for just resentment. Again, in all the Punic wars,
although the Carthaginians repeatedly committed outrages against them, in
violation both of truce and treaties, never once did they follow that
example, considering rather what should seem worthy of themselves, than
what might be inflicted justly on their foes.
"This same consideration you should now take, Conscript Fathers; having
care that the crimes of Publius Lentulus and his fellows weigh not upon
your minds with greater potency, than your own dignity and honor; and that
ye obey not rather the dictates of resentment, than the teachings of your
old renown. For if a punishment worthy their crimes can be discovered, I
approve of it, of how new precedent soever; but if the enormity of their
guilt overtop the invention of all men, then, I shall vote that we abide
by the customs, prescribed by our laws and institutions.
"Many of those who have already spoken, have dilated in glowing and set
phrases on the perils which have menaced the republic. They have descanted
on the horrors of warfare, on the woes which befall the vanquished. The
rape of virgins; the tearing of children from parental arms; the
ransacking of human homes and divine temples; the subjecting of matrons to
the brutal will of the conquerors; havoc and conflagration, and all places
filled with arms and corpses, with massacre and misery—But, in the name of
the immortal Gods! to what do such orations tend? Do they aim at inflaming
your wrath against this conspiracy? Vain, vain were such intent; for is it
probable that words will inflame the mind of any one, if such and so
atrocious facts have failed to inflame it? That is indeed impossible! Nor
hath any man, at any period, esteemed his own injuries too lightly. Most
persons, on the contrary, hold them more heavy than they are. But
consequences fall not equally on all men, Conscript Fathers. They who in
lowly places pass their lives in obscurity, escape the censure of the
world, if they err on occasion under the influences of passion. Their
fortunes and their fame are equal. They who, endowed with high commands,
live in exalted stations, perform every action of their lives in the full
gaze of all men. Thus to the greatest fortunes, the smallest licence is
conceded. The great man must in no case consult his affections, or his
anger. Least of all, must he yield to passion. That which is styled wrath
in the lowly-born, becomes tyranny and cruel pride in the high and noble.
"I indeed think, with those who have preceded me, that every torture is
too small for their atrocity and crime. But it is human nature’s trick to
remember always that which occurs the last in order. Forgetful of the
criminal’s guilt, the world dwells ever on the horror of his punishment,
if it lean never so little to the side of severity. Well sure am I, that
the speech of Decius Silanus, a brave and energetic man, was dictated by
his love for the republic—that in a cause so weighty he is moved neither
by favor nor resentment. Yet his vote to my eyes appears, I say not cruel
—for what could be cruel, inflicted on such men?—but foreign to the sense
of our institutions. Now it is clear, Silanus, that either fear of future
peril, or indignation at past wrong, impelled you to vote for an
unprecedented penalty! Of fear it is needless to speak farther; when
through the active energy of that most eminent man, our consul, such
forces are assembled under arms! concerning the punishment of these men we
must speak, however, as the circumstances of the case require. We must
admit that in agony and wo death is no penalty, but rather the repose from
sorrow. Death alone is the refuge from every mortal suffering—in death
alone there is no place for joy or grief. But if this be not so,
wherefore, in the name of the Gods! have ye not added also to your
sentence, that they be scourged before their execution? Is it, that the
Porcian law forbids? That cannot be—since other laws as strenuously
prohibit the infliction of capital punishment on condemned citizens,
enjoining that they be suffered to go into exile. Is it, then, that to be
scourged is more severe and cruel than to be slain? Not so—for what can be
too severe or too cruel for men convicted of such crime. If on the other
hand it be less severe, how is it fitting to obey that law in the lesser,
which you set at naught in the greater article? But, you will ask me
perchance, who will find fault with any punishment inflicted upon the
parricides of the republic? Time—future days—fortune, whose caprice
governs nations! True, these men merit all that can befall them; but do
ye, Conscript Fathers, pause on the precedent which you establish against
others? Never did bad example arise but from a good precedent—only when
the reins of empire have fallen from wise hands into ignorant or wicked
guidance, that good example is perverted from grand and worthy to base and
unworthy ends. The men of Lacedemon, when they had conquered Athens, set
thirty tyrants at the helm who should control the commonwealth. They at
the first began to take off the guiltiest individuals, wretches hated by
all, without form of trial. Thereat the people were rejoiced, and cried
out that their deaths were just and merited. Ere long, when license had
gained ground, they slew alike the virtuous and the guilty, and governed
all by terror. Thus did that state, oppressed by slavery, rue bitterly its
insane mirth. Within our memory, when victorious Sylla commanded
Damasippus and his crew, who had grown up a blight to the republic, to be
put to the sword’s edge, who did not praise the deed? Who did not exclaim
earnestly that men, factious and infamous, who had torn the republic by
their tumults, were slain justly? And yet that deed was the commencement
of great havoc. For, when one envied the city mansion or the country farm,
nay, but the plate or garment of another, he strove with all his energy to
have him on the lists of the proscription. Therefore, they who exulted at
the death of Damasippus were themselves, ere long, dragged to execution;
nor was there an end put to the massacre, until Sylla had satiated all his
men with plunder. These things, indeed, I fear not under Marcus Tullius,
nor at this day; but in a mighty state there are many and diverse
dispositions. It may be at another time, under another consul, who shall
perhaps hold an army at his back, that the wrong shall be taken for the
right. If it be so when—on this precedent, by this decree, of this
Senate—that consul shall have drawn the sword, who will compel him to put
it back into the scabbard, who moderate his execution? Our ancestors, O
Conscript Fathers, never lacked either wisdom in design, or energy in
action; nor did their pride restrain them from copying those institutions
of their neighbors, which they deemed good and wise. Their arms offensive
and defensive they imitated from the Samnites—most of the ensigns of their
magistracies they borrowed of the Tuscans. In a word, whatsoever they
observed good and fitting, among their allies or their foes, they followed
up with the greatest zeal at home. They chose to imitate, rather than
envy, what was good. But in those days, after the fashion of the Greeks,
they punished citizens with stripes; they took the lives of condemned
criminals. As the republic grew in size, and party strife arose among its
multitudinous citizens, innocent persons were taken off under the pretext
of the law, and many wrongful deeds were committed with impunity. Then was
the Porcian Law enacted, with others of like tenor, permitting convicts to
depart into exile. This I esteem, O Conscript Fathers, the first great
cause wherefore this novel penalty be not established as a precedent. The
wisdom and the valor of our ancestors who from a small beginning created
this vast empire, were greater far than we, who scarcely can retain what
they won so nobly. Would I have, therefore, you will ask, these men
suffered to go at large, and so to augment the hosts of Catiline? Far from
it. But I shall vote thus, that their property be confiscated, and they
themselves detained in perpetual fetters, in those municipalities of Italy
which are the wealthiest and the strongest. That the Senate never again
consider their case, or bring their cause before the people—and that
whosoever shall speak for them, be pronounced, of the Senate, an enemy to
his country, and to the common good of all men."
This specious and artful oration, in which, while affecting to condemn
what he dared not defend openly, he had more than insinuated a doubt of
the legality of sentencing the traitors, was listened to by all present,
with deep attention; and by the secret partizans of the conspiracy with
joy and exultation. So sure did they esteem it that, in the teeth of this
insidious argument, the Senate would not venture to inflict capital
punishment on their friends, that they evinced their approbation by loud
cheers; while many of the patrician party were shaken in their previous
convictions; and many of those who perceived the fallacy of his
sophistical reasoning, and detected his latent determination to screen the
parricides of the state, felt the hazard and difficulty of proceeding as
the exigencies of the case required.
Cicero’s brow grew dark; as Silanus avowed openly that he had altered his
opinion, and should vote for the motion of Tiberius Nero, to defer
judgment.
Then Cicero himself arose, and in the noblest perhaps of all his orations,
exerted himself strenuously to controvert the arguments and abolish the
evil influence of the noble demagogue.
He did not, indeed, openly urge the death of the traitors; but he dwelt
with tremendous force on the atrocious nature of the crimes, and on the
consequence of their success. He showed the fallacy of Cæsar’s
insinuation, that death was a less severe enactment than perpetual
imprisonment. He pointed out the impossibility and injustice of compelling
the municipalities to take charge of the prisoners—the insecurity of those
towns, as places of detention—the almost entire certainty, that the men
would ere long be released, either by some popular tumult, or some party
measure; and he concluded with a forcible and earnest peroration,
appealing to the Senators, by their love of life, of their families, of
their country, to take counsel worthily of themselves, and of their common
mother; entreating them to decree firmly, and promising that he would
execute their sentence, be it what it might, fearlessly.
As he sat down, the order was agitated like a sea in the tumultuous calm,
which succeeds to the wrath and riot created by a succession of gales
blowing from different quarters. Murmurs of approbation and encouragement
were mixed with groans and loud evidences of displeasure.
The passions of the great concourse were aroused thoroughly, and the
debate waxed wild and stormy.
Senator arose after Senator, advocating some the death, some the
banishment, and some, emboldened by Cæsar’s remarks, even proposing the
enlargement of the conspirators.
At length, when all arguments appeared to be exhausted, and no hope left
of anything like an unanimous decision being adopted, Marcus Portius Cato
arose from his seat, stern, grave, composed, and awful from the severe
integrity of his grand character.
The turbulent assembly was calm in a moment. All eyes were fixed on the
harsh features of the stoic; all ears hung rivetted in expectation, on his
deep guttural intonations, and short vigorous sentences. It was evident,
almost ere he began to speak, that his opinion would sway the votes of the
order.
"My mind is greatly different," he said, "Conscript Fathers, when I
consider the perils of our case, and recall to my memory the speeches of
some whom I have heard to-day. Those Senators, it seems to me, have
descanted on the punishment of the men who have levied war against their
country and their parents, against their healths and their altars. But the
facts of the case require not punishment of their crimes, but defence from
their assaults.—Other crimes you may punish after their commission—unless
you prevent this from being done, when it is done, vainly shall ye ask for
judgment. The city stormed, nothing remains to the vanquished. Now, in the
name of the immortal Gods! I call upon you, _you_, who have always set
more store on your mansions, your farms, your statues and your pictures,
than on the interests of the state, if you desire to retain these things,
be they what they may, to which you cling so lovingly, if you desire to
give yourselves leisure for your luxuries, arouse yourselves, now or
never, and take up the commonwealth! It is no question now of taxes! No
question of plundering our allies! The lives, the liberties of every one
of us, are hanging on your doubtful decision. Oftentimes, Conscript
Fathers, have I spoken at length in this assembly. Oftentimes have I
inveighed against the luxury and avarice of our citizens, and, therefore,
have I many men my enemies. I, who have never pardoned my own soul even
for any trivial error, could not readily excuse in others the lusts which
result in open criminality. But, although you neglected those crimes as
matters of small moment, still the republic, by its stability and
opulence, sustained the weight cast on it by your negligence. Now,
however, we ask not whether we shall live, corrupt or virtuous; we ask not
how we shall render Rome most great, and most magnificent; we ask
this—whether we ourselves, and with ourselves all that we possess
whatsoever, shall be yielded up to the enemy? Who here will speak to me of
clemency and pity? Long, long ago have we cast away the true names of
things; for now to be lavish of the goods of others is termed liberality;
audacity in guilt is denominated valor. Into such extremity has the
republic fallen. Let Senators, therefore, since such are their habitudes
and morals, be liberal of the fortunes of our allies, be merciful to the
pilferers of the treasury; but let them not be lavish in bestowing our
blood upon them! Let them not, in pity for a few scoundrels, send all good
citizens to perdition. Caius Cæsar spoke a while since, eloquently and in
set terms, in this house, concerning life and death; esteeming those
things false, I presume, which are believed by most men of a future state
that the wicked, I mean, journey on a different road from the righteous,
and inhabit places aloof from them, dark, horrid, waste, and fearful.
"He hath declared his intent, therefore, to vote for the confiscation of
their property; and the detention of themselves in the borough towns in
close custody. Fearing, forsooth, that if they be kept in Rome, they may
be rescued forcibly, either by the confederates in their plot, or by a
hireling rabble. Just as if there were only rogues and villains in this
city, and none throughout all Italy.—Just as if audacity cannot effect the
greatest things there, where the means of defence are the smallest.
Wherefore his plan is absurd, if he fear peril from these men. And if he
alone, in the midst of consternation so general, do not fear, the more
need is there that you and I do fear them. Wherefore, when you vote on the
fate of Publius Lentulus and the rest, hold this assured, that you are
voting also on the fate of Catiline’s army, on the fate of the whole
conspiracy. With the more energy you act, the more will their courage fail
them. If they shall see you falter but a little, all at once they will
fall on fiercely. Be far from believing that our ancestors raised this
republic from a small state to a great empire, by dint of arms alone. Had
it been so, much greater should we have rendered it, who have much greater
force than they, of citizens and of allies, of arms and of horses. But
there were other things which made them great, which we lack altogether.
At home, industry, abroad justice! A mind free to take counsel, unbiassed
by crime or passion. Instead of these things we possess luxury and
avarice. Public need, private opulence. We praise wealth, and practice
indolence. Between righteous and guilty we make no distinction. Ambition
gains all the rewards of virtue. Nor is this strange, when separately
every one of you takes counsel for himself alone. When at home, you are
slaves to pleasure; here in the Senate house, to bribery or favor. Thence
it arises that a general charge is made from all quarters against the
helpless commonwealth.
"But this I will pass over.
"The noblest of our citizens have conspired to put the torch to the
republic. They have called to their aid, in open war, the Gallic nation
most hostile to the name of Roman. The chief of your enemy is thundering
above your very heads; and are you hesitating even now what you shall do
with enemies taken within your very walls?—Oh! you had better pity them, I
think—the poor young men have only erred a little, misled by ambition—you
had better send them away in arms! I swear that, should they once take
those arms, that clemency and mercifulness of yours will be changed into
wo and wailing. Forsooth, it is a desperate crisis; and yet you fear it
not. Yea, by the Gods! but you do fear it vehemently. Yet, in your
indolence and feebleness of mind, waiting the one upon the other, you
hesitate, relying, I presume, on the protection of the Immortals, who have
so many times preserved this republic in its greatest dangers. The aid of
the Gods is not gained by prayers or womanish supplication. To those who
watch, who act, who take counsel, wisely, all things turn out successful.
Yield yourselves up to idleness and sloth, and in vain you shall implore
the Gods—they are irate and hostile.
"In the time of our forefathers, Titus Manlius Torquatus during the Gallic
war commanded his own son to be slain, because he had fought against
orders; and that illustrious youth suffered the penalty of his immoderate
valor.—Do ye know this, and delay what ye shall decide against the
cruellest parricides? Is it forsooth that the lives of these men are in
their character repugnant to this guilt.—Oh! spare the dignity of
Lentulus, if he have ever spared his own modesty, his own good report; if
he have ever spared any man or any God! Oh! pardon the youth of Cethegus,
if this be not the second time that he has waged war on his country. For
wherefore should I speak of Gabinius, Statilius or Cæparius?—who if they
ever felt any care for the republic, would never have taken these
councils. To conclude, Conscript Fathers, if there were any space for a
mistake, I would leave you right willingly, by Hercules, to be corrected
by facts, since you will not be warned by words! But we are hemmed in on
all sides. Catiline with his army is at our very throats—others of our
foes are within our walls in the bosom of the state. Nothing can be
prepared, nor any counsel taken, so privately but they must know
it.—Wherefore I shall vote thus, seeing that the republic is plunged into
most fearful peril by the guilty plot of atrocious citizens, seeing that
these men are convicted on the evidence of Titus Volturcius, and of the
ambassadors of the Allobroges, and seeing that they have confessed the
intent of murder, conflagration, and other foul and barbarous crimes,
against their fellow citizens and native country—I shall vote, I say, that
execution, according to the custom of our ancestors, be done upon them
having thus confessed, as upon men manifestly convicted of capital
treason."
The stern voice ceased. The bitter irony, which had stung so many souls to
the quick, the cutting sarcasm, which had demolished Cæsar’s sophistry,
the clear reasoning, which had so manifestly found the heart of the
mystery, were silent. And, folding his narrow toga closely about him, the
severe patriot resumed his seat, he alone unexcited and impassive.
But his words had done their work. The guilty were smitten into silence;
even the daring eloquence and high heart of the ambitious Cæsar, were
subdued and mute.—The friends of their country were encouraged to shake
off their apathy.
With one voice, unanimous, the consulars of Rome cried out for the
question, applauding loudly the energy and fearlessness of Cato, and
accusing one another of timidity and weakness.
A great majority of the Senate, likewise, exclaimed aloud that they
required no more words, but were prepared to vote.
And convinced that the time had arrived for striking, Cicero put it to the
vote, according to the regular form, requiring those who thought with
Marcus Porcius Cato, to pass over to the right of the curule chair.
The question was not in doubt a moment; for above three-fourths of the
whole body arose, as a single man, and passed over to the right of the
chair, and gathered about the seat of Cato; while very few joined
themselves openly to Julius Cæsar, who sat, somewhat crest-fallen and
scarcely able to conceal his disappointment, immediately on the left of
the consul.
Rallying, however, before the vote of the Senate had been taken, the
factious noble sprang to his feet and loudly called upon the tribunes in
general, and upon Lucius Bestia, in particular, a private friend of
Catiline, and understood by all to be one of the conspirators, to
interpose their VETO.
That was too much, however, even for tribunician daring. No answer was
made from the benches of the popular magistrates, for once awed into
patriotic silence.
But a low sneering laugh ran through the crowded ranks of the Patricians,
and the vote was taken, now nearly unanimous; for many men disgusted by
that last step, who had believed the measure to be unconstitutional,
passed across openly from Cæsar’s side to that of Cato.
A decree of the Senate was framed forthwith, and committed to writing by
the persons appointed, in presence of Marcus Porcius Cato and Decius
Julius Silanus, as authorities or witnesses of the act, empowering the
consul to see execution done upon the guilty, where and when it should to
him seem fitting.
Thus was it that Cicero and Cato for a while saved the commonwealth, and
checked the future Dictator in his first efforts to subvert the liberties
of Rome, happy for him and for his country if it had been his last.