A NIGHT OF HORROR.
Rider and horse, friend, foe, in one red burial blent.
CHILDE HAROLD.
The battle was at an end; the sun had set; the calm and silvery moon was
sailing through the azure skies; as peaceful as though her pure light
shone upon sights of happiness alone, and quiet. The army of the
commonwealth had returned to their camp victorious, but in sadness, not
triumph.
Of the magnificent array, which had marched out that morning from the
Prætorian gate, scarce two-thirds had returned at sun-set.
And the missing were the best, the bravest, the most noble of the host;
for all the most gallant had fallen dead in that desperate struggle, or
had sunk down faint, with wounds and bloodshed, beside the bodies of their
conquered foemen.
Of the rebels there was not a remnant left; some had escaped from that
dread route; and of that mighty power, which at the close of day was
utterly exterminated, it is on record that neither in the combat, while it
lasted, nor in the slaughter which followed it, was any free born citizen
taken—a living captive.
For the numbers engaged on both sides it is probable that never in the
annals of the world was there the like carnage; nor is this wonderful,
when the nature of the ground, which rendered flight almost impossible to
the vanquished, the nature of the weapons, which rendered almost every
wound surely mortal, and the nature of the strife, which rendered the men
of either party pitiless and desperate, are all taken into consideration.
In long ranks, like grass in the mower’s swathes, the rebel warriors lay,
with their grim faces, and glazed eyes, set in that terrible expression of
ferocity which is always observed on the lineaments of those who have died
from wounds inflicted by a stabbing weapon; and under them, or near them,
in ghastly piles were heaped, scarce less in number, the corpses of their
slaughtered conquerors. So equal was the havoc; so equal the value which
the men had set on their own lives, and on those of their enemies.
Never perhaps had there been such, or so signal, a retribution. They who
had taken to the sword had perished by the sword, not figuratively but in
the literal meaning of the words. Stabbers by trade, they had fallen
stabbed, by the hands of those whom they had destined to like massacre.
With the exception of the five chiefs who had already wrestled out their
dark spirits, in the Tullianum, slavishly strangled, there was no traitor
slain save by the steel blade’s edge.
The field of Pistoria was the tribunal, the ruthless sword the judge and
executioner, by which to a man the conspirators expiated their atrocious
crimes.
No chains, no scaffolds followed that tremendous field. None had survived
on whom to wreak the vengeance of the state. Never was victory so complete
or final.
But in that victory there was no triumph, no joy, no glory to the victors.
So long, and so desperate had been the battle, so furiously contested the
series of single combats into which it was resolved, after the final and
decisive charge of the Prætorian cohort, that the shades of the early
winter night were already falling over the crimson field, when, weak and
shattered, sorrowful and gloomy, the Roman host was recalled by the
wailing notes of the brazen trumpets from that tremendous butchery.
The watches were set, as usual, and the watch fires kindled; but no shouts
of the exulting soldiers were to be heard hailing their general
"Imperator;" no songs of triumph pealed to the skies in honor of the great
deeds done, the deathless glory won; no prizes of valor were distributed;
no triumph—not an oration even—was to be hoped for by the victorious
leader of that victorious host, which had conquered indeed for the
liberties of Rome, but had conquered, not on foreign earth, in no
legitimate warfare, against no natural foe, but on the very soil of the
republic, at the very gates of Rome, in an unnatural quarrel, against
Romans, citizens, and brothers.
The groans of the wounded, the lamentations of friends, the shrieks of
women, went up the livelong night from that woful camp. To hear that
grievous discord, one would have judged it rather the consequences of
defeat than of victory, however sad and bloody.
No words can express the anguish of the ladies, with whom the camp was
crowded, as rushing forth to meet the returning legions, they missed the
known faces altogether, or met them gashed and pallid, borne home, perhaps
to die after long suffering, upon the shields under which they had so
boldly striven.
Enquiries were fruitless. None knew the fate of his next neighbor, save in
so much as this, that few of those who went down in such a meleè, could be
expected ever again to greet the sunrise, or hail the balmy breath of
morning.
Averted heads and downcast eyes, were the sole replies that met the wives,
the mothers, the betrothed maidens, widowed ere wedded, as with rent
garments, and dishevelled hair, and streaming eyes, they rushed into the
sorrowful ranks, shrieking, "Where are they," and were answered only by
the short echo, "Where."
Such was the fate of Julia. No one could tell her aught of her Arvina;
until at a late hour of the night, remembering her solitary situation and
high birth, and taking a deep interest in her sorrows, Petreius himself
visited her, not to instil false hope, but to console if possible her
wounded spirit by praises of her lost lover’s conduct.
"He fought beside my right hand, Julia, through the whole of that deadly
struggle; and none with more valor, or more glory. He led the last bloody
onset, and was the first who cut his way through the rebel centre. Julia,
you must not weep for him, you must not envy him such glory. Julia, he was
a hero."
"_Was_!" replied the poor girl, with clasped hands and streaming
eyes—"then he _is_ no longer?"
"I do not know, but fear it," said the stout soldier; "He had vowed
himself to slay Catiline with his own hands. Such vows are not easy,
Julia, nor safe of performance."
"And Catiline?" asked Julia,—"the parricide—the monster?"
"Has not survived the strife. None of the traitors have survived it,"
replied Petreius. "But how he fell, or where, as yet we know not."
"Paullus hath slain him! my own, my noble Paullus."
"I think so, Julia," answered the general.
"I know it," she said slowly—"but what availeth that to me—to me who had
rather hear one accent of his noble voice, meet one glance of his glorious
eye—alas! alas! my Paullus! my Lord! my Life! But I will not survive him!"
"Hold, Julia, hold! I would not nurse you to false hopes, but he may yet
be living; many are wounded doubtless, who shall be saved to-morrow—"
"To-morrow?" she exclaimed, a gleam of hope bursting upon her soul, like
the dayspring. "Why not to-night?—Petreius, I say, why not to-night?"
"It is impossible. The men are all worn out with wounds and weariness, and
must have daylight to the task. Dear girl, it is impossible."
"I will go forth myself, alone, unaided, I will save him."
"You must not, Julia."
"Who shall prevent me? Who dare to part a betrothed maiden from her true
lover,—true, alas! in death! in death!"
"I will," replied Petreius firmly. "You know not the perils of such a
night as this. The gaunt wolves from the Appennines; the foul and carrion
vultures; the plundering disbanded soldiers; the horrid unsexed women, who
roam the field of blood more cruel than the famished wolf, more sordid
than the loathsome vulture. I will prevent you, Julia. But with the
earliest dawn to-morrow I will myself go with you. Fare you well, try to
sleep, and hope, hope for the best, poor Julia."
And with a deep sigh at the futility of his consolation, the noble Roman
left the tent, giving strict orders to the peasant girls who had been
pressed into her service, and to Arvina’s freedmen who were devoted to
her, on no account to suffer her to leave the camp that night, and even,
if need were, to use force to prevent her.
Meanwhile the frost wind had risen cold and cutting over the field of
blood. Its chilly freshness, checking the flow of blood and fanning the
brow of many a maimed and gory wretch, awoke him to so much at least of
life, as to be conscious of his tortures; and loud groans, and piercing
shrieks, and agonizing cries for water might beheard now on all sides,
where, before the wind rose, there had been but feeble wailings and
half-unconscious lamentations.
Then came a long wild howl from the mountain side, another, and another,
and then the snarling fiendish cry of the fell wolf-pack.
Gods! what a scream of horrid terror rose from each helpless sufferer,
unanimous, as that accursed sound fell on their palsied ears, and tortured
them back into life.
But cries were of no avail, nor prayers, nor struggles, nor even the
shouts, and trumpet blasts, and torches of the legionaries from the camp,
who hoped thus to scare the bloodthirsty brutes from their living prey, of
friend and foe, real comrade and false traitor.
It was all vain, and ere long to the long-drawn howls and fierce snarls of
the hungry wolves, battening upon their horrid meal, were added the
flapping wings and croaking cries of innumerable night birds flocking to
the carnage; and these were blended still with the sharp outcries, and
faint murmurs, that told how keener than the mortal sword were the beak
and talon, the fang and claw, of the wild beast and the carrion fowl.
Such, conquerors, such a thing is glory!
That frost wind, among others awakened Paullus to new life, and new
horrors. Though gashed and weak from loss of blood, none of his wounds
were mortal, and yet he felt that, unaided, he must die there, past doubt,
even if spared by the rending beak, and lacerating talon.
As he raised himself slowly to a sitting posture, and was feeling about
for his sword, which had fallen from his grasp as he fainted, he heard his
name called feebly by some one near him.
"Who calls Arvina?" he replied faintly. "I am here."
"I, Caius Pansa," answered the voice; it was that of the old legionary
horseman, who had predicted so confidently the fall of Catiline by the
hand of Paullus. "I feared thou wert dead."
"We shall both be dead soon, Caius Pansa," replied the young man. "Hark!
to those wolves! It makes my very flesh creep on my bones! They are
sweeping this way, too."
"No! no! cheer up, brave heart," replied the veteran. "We will not die
this bout. By Hercules! only crawl to me, thou. My thigh is broken, and I
cannot stir. I have wine here; a warming draught, in a good leather
bottle. Trust to old Caius for campaigning! I have life enough in me to
beat off these howling furies. Come, Paullus; come, brave youth. We will
share the wine! You shall not die this time. I saw you kill that dog—I
knew that you would kill him. Courage, I say, crawl hitherward."
Cheered by the friendly voice, the wounded youth crept feebly and with
sore anguish to the old trooper’s side, and shared his generously
proffered cup; and, animated by the draught, and deriving fresh courage
from his praises, endured the horrors of that awful night, until the day
breaking in the east scared the foul beasts and night birds to their
obscene haunts in the mountain peaks and caverns.
Many times the gory wings had flapped nigh to them, and the fierce
wolf-howls had come within ten feet of where they sat, half recumbent,
propped on a pile of dead, but still their united voices and the defensive
show which they assumed drove off the savages, and now daylight and new
hopes dawned together, and rescue was at hand and certain.
Already the Roman trumpets were heard sounding, and the shouts of the
soldiers, as they discerned some friend living, or some leader of the
rebels dead or dying, came swelling to their ears, laden with rapture, on
the fresh morning air.
At this moment, some groans broke out, so terribly acute and bitter, from
a heap of gory carcasses hard by Arvina and the old trooper, that after
calling several times in vain to enquire who was there, the veteran said,
"It were pity, Paullus, that after living out such a meleè as this, and
such a night as the last, any poor fellow should die now. Cannot you crawl
to him with the flask, and moisten his lips; try, my Paullus."
"I will try, Caius, but I am stiffer than I was, and my hurts shoot
terribly, but I will try."
And with the word, holding the leathern bottle in his teeth, he crawled
painfully and wearily toward the spot whence the sounds proceeded; but ere
he reached it, creeping over the dead, he came suddenly on what seemed a
corpse so hideous, and so truculently savage, so horribly distorted in the
death pang, that involuntarily he paused to gaze upon it.
It was Catiline, although at first he recognised him not, so frightfully
was his face altered, his nether lip literally gnawed half-through, by his
own teeth in the death agony, and his other features lacerated by the beak
and talons of some half-gorged vulture.
But, while he gazed, the heavy lids rose, and the glazed eyes stared upon
him in ghastly recognition; Paullus knew him at the same moment, and
started back a little, drawing a deep breath through his set teeth, and
murmuring, "Ah! Catiline!"
The dying traitor’s lips were convulsed by a fearful sardonic grin, and he
strove hard to speak, but the words rattled in his throat inarticulate,
and a sharp ruckling groan was the only sound that he uttered.
But with a mighty effort he writhed himself up from the ground, and drove
his sword, which he still clasped in his convulsed fingers, by a last
desperate exertion through Paullus’ massive corslet, and deep into his
bosom.
With a sharp cry the youth fell prone, and after two or three struggles to
arise, lay on his face motionless, and senseless.
Catiline dropped back with a fiendish grin, and eyes rolling in a strange
mixed expression of agony and triumph; while old Pansa, after crying,
twice or thrice, "Paullus, ho! noble Paullus!" exclaimed mournfully,
"Alas! He is dead! He is dead! And I it is who have slain him."
Within half an hour, Petreius and his guards with several mounted
officers, and a lady upon a white palfrey, came riding slowly toward the
fatal spot, pausing from time to time to examine every pile of carcasses,
and after causing his men to dismount and turn over the bodies, in the
hope of finding him they sought.
Their search had hitherto been fruitless, and unrewarded even by the
discovery of any wounded friends or comrades, for this was the place in
which the battle had been most desperately contested, and few had fallen
here but to die almost on the instant.
But now a weak voice was heard calling to the general.
"Petreius, he is here! here! He is here, noble Petreius!"
"The immortal Gods be praised!" cried Julia, interpreting the casual words
at once to signify Arvina, and giving her palfrey the rein, she gallopped
to the spot, followed by Petreius shaking his head gloomily; for he was
not so deceived.
"Who? who is here?" exclaimed the general. "Ha! my stout Pansa, right glad
am I to find you living. See to him, quickly, Postumus, and Capito. But
whom do you mean? Who is here?"
"Catiline! Paullus Arvina slew him!"—
"By all the Gods!" exclaimed Petreius, leaping down from his horse and
gazing at the hideous mutilated carcase, still breathing a little, and
retaining in its face that ferocity of soul which had distinguished it
while living!
But swifter yet than he, Julia sprang from her saddle, and rushed heedless
and unconscious, through pools of blood, ancle deep, treading on human
corpses, in her wild haste, and cast herself down on the well known armor,
the casque crested and the cloak embroidered by her own delicate hands,
which could alone be distinguished of her lover’s prostrate form.
"Aye! me! aye me! dead! dead! my own Arvina!"
"Alas! alas!"—cried Petreius, "Raise her up; raise them both, this is most
lamentable!"—
"Never heed me!" said the veteran Pansa, eagerly, to the officers who were
busy raising him from the ground. "Help the poor girl! Help the brave
youth! He may be living yet, though I fear me not. It is my fault, alas!
that he is not living now!"
"Thy fault, old Pansa, how can that be, my friend?—who slew him?"
Once more the rigid features of Catiline relaxed into a horrid smile, the
glaring eyes again opened, and starting half upright he shook his hand
aloft, and with a frightful effort, half laugh, half groan, half words
articulate, sneered fiendishly—"I! I. Ha! ha! I did. Ha! ha! ha! ha!"—
But at the same instant there was a joyous cry from the officers who had
lifted Paullus, and a rapturous shriek from Julia.
"He is not dead!"
"His hurts are not mortal, lady, it is but loss of blood,"
"He lives! he lives!"—
"Curses! cur—cur—ha! ha!—this—this is—Hades!"
The fierce sneer died from the lips, a look of horror glared from the
savage eyes, the jaw gibbered and fell, a quick spasm shook the strong
frame, and in a paroxysm of frustrated spite, and disappointed fury, the
dark spirit, which had never spared or pitied, went to its everlasting
home.
It was the dead of winter, when the flame of rebellion was thus quenched
in rebel blood; Cicero still was consul. But it was blithesome springtide,
and the great orator had long since sworn THAT HE HAD SAVED HIS COUNTRY,
among the acclamations of a people for once grateful; had long since
retired into the calm serenity of private life and literary leisure, when
Paullus was sufficiently recovered from his wounds to receive the thanks
of his friend and benefactor; to receive in the presence of the good and
great Consular his best reward in the hand of his sweet Julia. It was
balmy Italian June, and all in Rome was peace and prosperity, most
suitable to the delicious season, when on the sacred day of Venus,(16)
clad in her snowwhite bridal robe, with its purple ribands and fringes,
her blushing face concealed by the saffron-colored nuptial veil, the
lovely girl was borne, a willing bride, over the threshold of her noble
husband’s mansion, amid the merry blaze of waxen torches, and the soft
swell of hymeneal music, and the congratulations of such a train of
consuls, consulars, senators and patricians, as rarely had been seen
collected at any private festival. In a clear voice, though soft and
gentle, she addressed Paullus with the solemn formula—
"Where thou art Caius, I am Caia."
Thenceforth their trials ceased; their happiness began; and thenceforth,
they two were one for ever. And, for years afterward, when Roman maidens
called blessings down upon a kindred bride, they had no fairer fate to
wish her than to be happy as Arvina’s Julia.
And how should any man be blessed, in this transitory life, if not by the
love of such a girl as Julia, the friendship of such a man as Cicero, the
fame of such a deed, as the death of THE ROMAN TRAITOR.
THE END
NOTES TO THE ROMAN TRAITOR.
It is perhaps hardly necessary to state, that the oration of Cicero in the
37th page of the second volume, those of Cæsar and Cato in the 137th and
142d pages, and that of Catiline in the 217th page of the same, are all
literal translations from the actual speeches delivered on those
occasions, and recorded by Cicero and Sallust.
It was absolutely necessary for the truth and spirit of the romance, that
these speeches should be inserted; and the author considered that it would
be equally vain and absurd to attempt fictitious orations, when these
master-pieces of ancient eloquence were extant.
This brief explanation made, no farther notes will, I believe, be found
necessary; as the few Latin words which occur in the body of the work are
explained therein; and the costumes and customs are described so much in
detail, that they will be readily comprehended even by the unclassical
reader.
A table is appended, containing the Roman and English Calendars of the
three months during which all the events of the conspiracy occurred,
illustrating the complicated and awkward mode of Roman computation; and
this, I believe, is all that is needful in the way of simplifying or
elucidating the narrative.
TABLE OF THE
ROMAN CALENDAR
FOR THE MONTHS OF
OCTOBER, NOVEMBER, AND DECEMBER,
B. C. 63.
OCTOBER, B. C. 63.
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Modern | |
Reckoning. | Roman Reckoning. | Events.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 |CALENDS OF OCTOBER. |
2 |VI ) |
3 |V ) Days before the |
4 |IV ) Nones. |
5 |III ) |
6 |_Day before the Nones._ |
7 |NONES OF OCTOBER. |
8 |VIII ) |
9 |VII ) |
10 |VI ) Days before |
11 |V ) the Ides |
12 |IV ) of October. |
13 |III ) |
14 |_Day before the Ides._ |
15 |IDES OF OCTOBER. |
16 |XVII ) |(A) On this day the Consular
17 |XVI ) |elections should have been
18(A) |XV ) |held, but were postponed by
19 |XIV ) Days before |the Senate at the request of
20 |XIII ) |the consul, Cicero.
21(B) |XII ) the |(B) Cicero delivered a speech,
22(C) |XI ) |(not one of the orations) against
23 |X ) Calends |Catiline, disclosing the plan of
24 |IX ) |the conspiracy.
25 |VIII ) of |(C) The Consular Elections were
26 |VII ) |held, and Decius Junius Silanus
27 |VI ) November. |and Lucius Licinius Muræna
28(D) |V ) |elected Consuls for the year
29 |IV ) |ensuing.
30 |III ) |(D) Day originally appointed
31 |_Day before the Calends |by Catiline for the murder of
| of November._ |Cicero.
NOVEMBER, B. C. 63.
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Modern | |
Reckoning. | Roman Reckoning. | Events.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
1(A) |CALENDS OF NOVEMBER. |(A) Day appointed by Catiline
2 |IV ) Days before the |for the seizure of the citadel
3 |III ) Nones. |of Præneste--now Palestrina.
4 |_Day before the Nones._ |
5 |NONES OF NOVEMBER. |
6(B) |VIII ) |(B) Second meeting of the
7(C) |VII ) Days before |Conspirators at the house of
8(D) |VI ) the Ides |Marcus Portius Læca.
9 |V ) of November. |(C) Cicero’s murder attempted.
10 |IV ) |
11 |III ) |(D) Cicero delivered his first
12 |_Day before the Ides._ |Oration in the Senate against
13 |IDES OF NOVEMBER. |Catiline; and on the same
14 |XVIII ) |night Catiline fled to the camp
15 |XVII ) |of Caius Manlius, at Fæsulæ,
16 |XVI ) |now Fiesole, near Florence.
17 |XV ) Days before |On the following day Cicero
18 |XIV ) |delivered the second oration,
19 |XIII ) the |justifying his conduct to the
20 |XII ) |whole people in the Forum.
21 |XI ) Calends |
22 |X ) |
23 |IX ) of |
24 |VIII ) |
25 |VII ) December. |
26 |VI ) |
27 |V ) |
28 |IV ) |
29 |III ) |
30 |_Day before the Calends |
| of December._ |
DECEMBER, B. C. 63.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Modern | |
Reckoning. | Roman Reckoning. | Events.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
1 |CALENDS OF DECEMBER. |
2 |IV ) Days before the |
3(A) |III ) Nones. |(A) The conspirators arrested.
4 |_Day before the Nones._ |
5(B) |NONES OF DECEMBER. |(B) Cicero delivers his third
6(C) |VIII ) |oration before the Senate, and
7 |VII ) Days before |his fourth before the people.
8 |VI ) the Ides |(C) Execution of Lentulus,
9 |V ) of December. |Cethegus, Gabinius, Statilius,
10 |IV ) |and Cæparius.
11 |III ) |
12 |_Day before the Ides._ |
13 |IDES OF DECEMBER. |
14 |XVIII ) |
15 |XVII ) |
16 |XVI ) |
17 |XV ) Days before |
18 |XIV ) |(D) It is a matter of some
19 |XIII ) the |question, whether the battle
20 |XII ) |of Pistoria was fought, and
21 |XI ) Calends |Catiline slain, during the
22 |X ) |remainder of this month, or early
23 |IX ) of |in the following January.--The
24 |VIII ) |question being doubtful,
25 |VII ) January. |for the sake of unity, I have
26(D) |VI ) |assumed that it was fought on
27 |V ) |or about the 26th day of the
28 |IV ) |month.
29 |III ) |(E) Cicero abdicated the
30(E) |_Day before the Calends |Consulship, and swore that he
| of January._ |had saved his country.
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FOOTNOTES
1 The 21st of October.
2 The 27th of October.
3 The 28th of October.
4 The first of November.
5 The 6th of November. This oration was delivered on the 8th.
6 The 13th of November.
7 The 31st of December.
8 Let those who doubt this, think of Couthon and Carrier. Fouchè and
Marat, and Barere!
9 The latin _Sextarius_ contained about 99-100 parts of an English
Pint.
10 Quid illo cive tulisset
Natura in terris quid Roma beatius unquam,
Si circumducto captivoum agmine, et omni
Belloram pompâ, animam exhalasset opimam,
Quum de Teutonico vellet descendere Curru.
11 The fifth day of November.
12 Sallust.
13 The second of December.
14 The eighth of December.
15 Sallust.
16 Friday.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
The author’s footnotes have been moved to the end of the volume.
The table of contents is duplicated from volume I.
The spelling "Cataline" in the title of the book was retained, as were
several other peculiarities in spelling and punctuation.
The following typographical errors were corrected:
page 6, quote removed (before _But the transient gleam_)
page 16, "trnmpet" changed to "trumpet" (_There goes the second
trumpet_)
page 33, "refain" changed to "refrain" (_to refrain from taunting
him_)
page 46, "meditaing" changed to "meditating" (_as meditating nothing
but her parricide_)
page 57, "pubicly" changed to "publicly" (_I publicly have
undertaken_)
page 87, "to" changed "too" (_nature being too weak_)
page 97, "Volturcuis" changed to "Volturcius" (_Caius Volturcius
boasted as they rode along_)
page 108, quote added (_if thou wouldst speak him."_)
page 125, "be" changed to "he" (_he enjoyed_)
page 127, quote added (_He shall die by my hand!"_)
page 133, "o" changed to "to" (_bow thee to the block!_)
page 151, "lighly" changed to "lightly" (_and jested lightly_)
page 179, "atttempt" changed to "attempt" (_in her to attempt it_)
page 187, "y" changed to "by" (_by side with Sergius Catiline_)
page 190, "o" changed to "on" (_on the breast of her own corrupter_)
page 200, quote added (_"There writhe, and howl_)
page 201, quote added (_"Be your past errors_)
page 238, "leal" changed to "real" (_real comrade and false
traitor_)
page 251, comma changed to period (_Price One Dollar._)