syllable; but Macaulay, who quotes four verses from different writers in
favour of his orthography, writes the word Porsena, with the penultimate
short.
[14]
"Camerium knows how deeply
The sword of Aulus bites,
And all our city calls him
The man of seventy fights."
MACAULAY's _Lay of the Battle of the Lake Regillus_.
CHAPTER THE SIXTH.
FROM THE BATTLE OF THE LAKE REGILLUS TO THE CLOSE OF THE WAR WITH THE
VOLSCIANS.
[Illustration]
The resources of Rome had hitherto been derived from the plunder taken
in war, but the field of battle is always far less fertile than the
field of industry. In the former case, the crop once gathered is
rendered for ever unproductive, and to beat the same enemy twice over,
is like the useless operation of thrashing straw; for if, in either
case, the first thrashing has been complete, there is nothing to be got
by a second. The plebeians had been so long withdrawn from the
cultivation of the land, that they found it extremely awkward to
cultivate a second time an acquaintance once dropped; and the earth
having been hitherto regarded as _infra dig._, was not likely to yield
much to those who had despised until they wanted it. The plebeians could
only reap what they had sown, and as they had sown nothing of any value,
they had fallen into a state of extreme seediness. Begging and borrowing
were the only alternatives of those who could no longer steal, and the
patrician body became a sort of loan society to the plebeians, who
pledged themselves not only morally, but physically, for the return of
the money that had been advanced to them. The law of debtor and creditor
was extremely stringent in ancient Rome; and indeed its stringency
amounted almost to a rope round the debtor's neck; for if he could not
pay within a certain time, he was tied down as the slave of his
creditor. In this position the assailant was called an _addictus_, for
he was regularly sold, without even the equity of redemption being
allowed to him. If the borrower had only pledged himself without an
actual sale, he was simply a _nexus_, with the power of paying off his
debt by either money or work; but if he could do neither, he became an
_addictus_[15] forthwith, when he was thrown into chains, and wore
nothing but the stripes, which were the ordinary livery of that
disgraceful state of servitude.
Appius Claudius had been chosen Consul, with P. Servilius as a
colleague, in the year of the City 258, when a miserable old insolvent,
with his hair like a mat, giving evidence of the severe rubs that had
fallen on his head, rushed into the forum. His face had the paleness of
ashes, and many tried to sift his countenance, in which the marks of his
having been ground down to the dust were plainly visible. His back bore
traces of recent scores, every one of which he declared should be
accounted as a score to be paid off upon his oppressors. His farm had
been burned down, and its contents burned up; his cattle had been driven
he knew not where, while he himself had been driven to distraction. The
tax-gatherer had, nevertheless, been as punctual as ever in his calls,
and having soundly rated the ruined agriculturist for not being ready
with his rates, the latter had been compelled to run into debt; for the
Romans had not made insurance against fire any feature of their policy.
Having been unable to pay his debts, the impoverished farmer became the
slave of his creditor; and the shoulders of the former bore
unmistakeable marks of the latter having got the whip-hand of him. The
excitement in the forum was intense; for all were seized with
indignation, who might possibly be seized for debt; and every one who
owed anything to anybody began to feel that he owed a great deal more to
common humanity. A popular outbreak seemed to be close at hand, and the
two Consuls consulted together on the crisis. Appius Claudius gave it as
his opinion, that as the people were put up, the best way was to put
them down; but his colleague, Servilius, was an advocate for a milder
regimen. At this juncture, news arrived of the Volscian army having set
out for Rome; and the plebeians being called upon to enlist, declared
that they would not enlist themselves at the bidding of those who would
do nothing to enlist their sympathies. In this difficult dilemma, P.
Servilius promised that if they would come out and fight, they should be
released from prison during the war; and guaranteed that if they would
present a bold front to the enemy's sword, their backs should be safe
from the scourge of domestic tyranny. There was an immediate rush of
insolvents into the ranks, which were soon filled almost to overflowing;
for as a great majority of the population happened to be hopelessly in
debt, a summons to the field was the only sort of summons their
appearance to which might have been reasonably relied upon.
They fought with the energy of desperation, for each rank had sworn an
oath, and there was an affidavit, therefore, on every file, to do
execution on the Volscians. Never were bankrupts more determined to
avoid a surrender than the band of defaulters who went forth to meet the
foe with a confidence, which would, probably, have disappeared had they
recognised at the meeting a single one of their creditors. The success
of the Romans was complete, and those who had fought upon the
understanding that every blow they struck was to wipe out a debt,
returned home in the expectation that every old liability had been
rubbed off, and that they would be free to rub on as they best could for
the future. They were, however, doomed to bitter disappointment, for
Appius Claudius declared that no faith ought to be kept with those who
had kept no faith with their creditors; and all the debtors who were not
prepared to pay upon the nail had the screw cruelly applied to them. The
debtors were sent back to their prisons, and many an unfortunate
insolvent, as he thought of the imposition that had been practised upon
him, could only cast his eyes upon the walls of his dungeon, and murmur
at the dreadful cell of which he had become the victim. The bolts and
bars of oppression would have brought liberty to a dead lock, had it not
been for the people outside the gaols, who threatened to rise for the
purpose of falling upon the tyrants. At this critical period Rome was
menaced by the Sabines, when the plebeians were called upon to enlist;
but they declared they would be recruits of the very rawest description
if they allowed themselves to be again done as they had been already.
Public meetings were held on the Esquiline and Aventine hills, where
liberal sentiments, which have now become as old as the hills
themselves, fell upon the popular ear with all the charm and force of
novelty. The patricians were divided as to the best means of dealing
with the difficulty their own misconduct had created, and it was obvious
that the fatal error having been committed of refusing to accede to a
just demand, the scarcely less dangerous mistake of yielding to violence
and clamour was the only course that could now be followed. The
patricians would have stood by their order; but the difficulty was to
know how public order, as well as their own order, could be preserved;
and it was at length agreed that a dictator should be appointed. The
choice fell upon M. Valerius, a moderate man, whom the plebeians could
trust, for he came of a good stock, his father being no other than that
great gun of the popular party, the famous Publicola. A large army was
soon ready to take the field, or to take anything else that came in the
ordinary course of battle. Valerius marched against the Sabines, who
fled, or, more literally speaking, decamped; for they left behind them
their camp, which was taken by the enemy.
On his return to Rome in triumph, the dictator asked for an inquiry into
the people's wrongs, with a view to giving them their rights; but the
patrician party in the senate refusing him his committee, Valerius sent
in his resignation, which was accepted by the senate. He apologised to
the plebeians for not having been able to carry his measures of reform;
and the patricians, pleased by his moderation in resigning his seat,
gave him a curule chair--a sort of portable stall, or reserved seat,
which, at the Circensian games he was privileged to occupy.
The Curule Chair, or Sella Curulis, invites us to pause for a moment,
and hold a short sitting upon it, for the purpose of inquiring into its
origin. Comfort seems to have been supplied most charily in the
construction of this official chair; but there was a fine touch of
morality in giving uneasiness to the seat of unlimited power. The legs
of the Sella Curulis folded like those of a camp-stool; a device which
may have been emblematical of the fact, that the dictatorial office was
liable to a speedy shutting up, for the appointment was never more than
of six months' duration. The material of which the chair was formed was
the smoothest and most highly-polished ivory; so that the fatal facility
of a fall must have been frequently suggested to the occupant of the
seat by its exceedingly slippery surface.[16]
The Consuls, fearing an outbreak if the army was disbanded, ordered the
soldiers to remain on duty in the capacity of special constables over
each other--the staff being held responsible for the conduct of the main
body. To be continued thus as a standing army, was more than the troops
felt disposed to stand; and, determining to take high ground, they
withdrew to the top of the Mons Sacer or Sacred Mount, in the
neighbourhood of Crustumenium. Electing L. Sicinius as their leader,
they accommodated themselves as well as they could, until matters should
be accommodated with the senate.
The patricians began to be greatly alarmed at the secession of the
plebeians; for though the former had been accustomed to trample the
latter under foot, all the foundations of society seemed to be withdrawn
in the absence of that part which, though it may be called the base, is
essential to the existence of the capital. Rome, in fact, was beginning
to find out that an aristocracy cut off from all connection with the
people at large, is little better than a flower separated from the tree,
and doomed to fall speedily into bad odour. The patrician order happily
recognised the important truth, that the most delicate tendrils owe all
their vitality to the sap, carried up to the top of the tree from those
portions that are in the closest connection with the soil; and steps
were therefore taken to prevent the final severing of the sturdy trunk
from the higher branches. An embassy, consisting of ten patricians, was
sent to negotiate; but as the patricians were no orators, and their
stupidity spoke for itself, Menenius Agrippa, who had once been a
plebeian, was sent as their head, which of course included their
mouth-piece.
Menenius, using his authority as spokesman for the common weal, cited
the fable of the Belly and the Members, to the bellicose _plebs_, who
seemed struck by his relation of it to them, and its own relation to
their existing position. He told them that, once upon a time, all the
members of the human body resolved on aiming a blow at the stomach,
which was accused of leading a life of idleness. The hands struck with
no particular aim; the legs, moved to rebellion, refused to stir; the
eye shut down its lid; the mouth went into open hostility, and the nose
joining in the general blow, there seemed every prospect that the proud
stomach would be glad to eat humble pie in the absence of all other
provisions. It was, however, soon found that, in nourishing their
animosity, the members were keeping all nourishment from themselves, and
that they and their revenge were about equally wasted.
The plebeians, understanding the moral of the story, were disposed to
treat, on the understanding that they should henceforth be better
treated. An agreement was entered into, by which the sponge was to be
applied to all old debts; and all who had lost their liberty by being
the slaves of bad circumstances were restored to freedom. The new
compact provided also for the institution of two officers, named
Tribunes, who were invested with authority over the concerns of the
plebeians; and it was certainly one of the best investments ever made
for the profit of the Roman people. The person of the Tribune was so
sacred, that a common assault upon this officer, when in the execution
of his duty, rendered the assailant liable not merely to be taken up,
but to be knocked down and killed in the streets by any one having a
mania for manslaughter.
The Tribune was allowed such an unlimited liberty of speech, that it was
punishable to interrupt him; and in default of bail, it was death to
cough him down while addressing the people. Even to yawn during one of
his discourses, was to open an abyss into which the yawner might be
plunged before he was aware of it; and the involuntary action of his
distended jaws would often render them the jaws of his own destruction.
The house of the Tribune was open day and night; so that it was as easy
to find one of these officers as it is in these days to find a
policeman, and sometimes rather easier. The Tribunes had power to bring
parties before them, or, in other words, to issue summonses, as well as
to enforce fines, which, if not paid, involved the forfeiture of
property, or, in simpler terms, were recoverable by distress warrant
upon the defaulter's goods and chattels. One of the greatest privileges
of the Tribunes was the right of exercising a veto on any decree of the
senate. Though they had no seats in the assembly, they were permitted to
look in at the door; and if any act was passing that they disapproved,
they had the privilege of exercising, by a shout of "No," a sort of
negative authority. This power of prevention left fewer evils to be
cured; and the plebeians, having at last obtained an organ of their own,
may be said to have found the key to their liberties.
The Tribunes seem to have had power to add to their number, for they
selected three colleagues, soon after they themselves had been chosen;
and, from this time forth, a struggle ensued between plebeian energy,
seeking its fair share of right, and patrician tenacity, holding on with
obstinate determination to exclusive advantages.
Contemporaneously with the institution of the Tribunes, some new
officers were appointed, under the name of Ædiles, who were something
like our Commissioners of Woods and Forests, of Sewers, and of Paving
combined; for they had the care of public buildings, roads, and drains,
as well as of baths and washhouses. They sometimes decided small
disputes, and acted as Inspectors of Markets, examining weights,
settling quarrels, and holding the scales of justice as well as of
merchandise. They kept an eye to unwholesome provisions, and a nose to
stale fish; their ears took cognisance of bad language; in their hands
they carried a staff; and they were, in fact, a curious compound of the
beadle, the commissioner, the policeman, and the magistrate.
While the plebeians had been sulking on the Mons Sacer, a treaty between
the Latins and the Romans had been brought about by Spurius Cassius, a
Consul, who, though his name sounds like counterfeit coin, seems to have
possessed a good deal of the true metal. By the treaty, both nations
were to be almost entirely equal in every respect; and, even with regard
to booty, they were to be on the same footing.
By another clause in the act, those insolvent debtors who had been
converted into "alarming sacrifices!" and were reduced to slavery,
because their creditors "must have cash," or its equivalent, were
restored to freedom. The ceremony of manumission was curious, and
comprised so many indignities done to the slave, that, although free, he
could not have been very easy under the process. He was first taken
before the Consul by his master, who gave him a blow on the cheek, which
was rather a back-handed mode of making an independent man of him. The
Consul then laid his wand about the insolvent's back, at the same time
declaring him perfectly free, and telling him to go about his
business--if he happened to have any. The beating having been gone
through, there was still more lathering to be endured; for the head of
the freedman was closely shaved, as a precaution, perhaps, against his
going mad on the attainment of his liberty. His release from his chains
was not complete until he had been deprived of his locks; and to crown
all, he was invested with that emblem of butchery in a political, as
well as a social point of view, the red cap of liberty.
During the internal quarrels of Rome, agriculture had been so thoroughly
neglected, that the harvest had completely fallen to the ground, or,
rather, had never come out of it. The husbandman had husbanded nothing,
either for himself or others; and as nothing had been sown but civil
dissension, there was nothing to reap but the fruit of it. The Romans,
who, until lately, had been thirsting for power, were now hungry for
food; and, to prevent the people from dying at home, envoys were sent to
scour the surrounding countries,--a process which involved many a brush
with the inhabitants. It is stated, by some historians, that, during the
famine, an order was forwarded to Gelo, of Syracuse, for corn, which
that individual was quite ready to supply, but for which he was so
thoroughly unbusiness-like as to refuse the money. The incident, though
utterly without commercial interest, would have been pleasing in a
different point of view, were it not for the stern realities of
chronology, which prove that Gelo could not have acted as a gratuitous
corn-dealer at the time specified, for he was not alive at the period.
While Rome was suffering from want of corn, it was wasting the very
flower of its population in a war with the Volscians. Among the most
distinguished warriors on the side of the Romans was Caius Marcius, a
young patrician, who led all his own clients into an action in which the
defendants--the unfortunate Volscians--were subjected to enormous
damages. He subsequently proceeded against Corioli, which made an
obstinate defence; but was ultimately beaten, and compelled to pay the
whole of the costs of the conflict. From this affair he took the name of
Coriolanus, by which he is better known than by his original appellation
of C. Marcius, for mankind will too often award the largest measure of
fame to the most extensive perpetrator of mischief; and he who would
carve himself a name, may carve it much more deeply and durably with the
sword than with any other instrument.
When the corn arrived from Sicily, the popular party proposed a
gratuitous distribution of the boon; but the patricians, headed by
Coriolanus, who was a tyrant in grain, recommended that the plebeians
should pay for what they required. Complaint is never so open-mouthed as
when it has nothing to eat; and the people became desperate when they
found Coriolanus advising, without a scruple, that not a grain should be
given, nor an ear lent to their sufferings. He proposed the abolition of
the Tribunes as the condition of food being supplied to the people; but
they, becoming every day more crusty from the want of bread, insisted on
his being tried for treason. Coriolanus saw the people waxing resolute
to seal his doom, and he accordingly made his escape, so that when the
time came for him to be tried, he was found wanting. Judgment went
against him by default; his name was struck out of the list of
patricians--a sort of peerage of the period. He was sentenced, moreover,
to _aquæ et ignis interdictio_--prohibition from fire and water; a
punishment which, looking at the fiery nature of all spirituous liquors,
may be fancifully supposed to have involved especially a stoppage of
grog, as it certainly prevented everybody from entertaining him. This
sentence amounted, in fact, to banishment; and, indeed, it was designed
to do so; for the interdiction of fire and water left the culprit
nothing on earth but air, which of course it was quite impossible to
live upon.
[Illustration: Coriolanus parting from his Wife and Family.]
Stung with what he called the ingratitude of his countrymen, though they
had really not much to thank him for, Coriolanus, in a spirit not very
magnanimous, proceeded to offer his services to the enemy. Taking leave
of his wife Volumnia, a voluminous woman, who had had greatness thrust
upon her by nature to an awkward extent, he departed for the country of
the Volscians, and arrived at Antium about supper time. His name was
taken up at once to Attius Tullius, who, though sitting at his meal with
the usual accompaniment of _manus unctæ_, or greasy hands, determined
not to allow the illustrious stranger to slip through his fingers.
Coriolanus was hospitably entertained, and induced to take the command
of the Volscian army against the Roman colonists. He drove them from
place to place until he had got them up against the Cluilian ditch, and
into it many were thrown; a sad proof of his animosity having been
carried to a pitch that must always leave a black stain on his memory.
Here also he pitched his tent within almost a stone's throw of Rome; and
as the plebeians were unwilling to fight, ambassadors were sent to
entreat Coriolanus to lay down his sword; but, contemptuously folding
his arms, he returned no answer. The priests next tried their powers of
persuasion, but though they did all they could to convert Coriolanus to
the cause of Rome, it was not until female influence was brought into
requisition, that the attempt proved successful. His mother Veturia,
accompanied by his considerably better half, Volumnia, and a party of
Roman ladies made up for the occasion, visited him at his camp, when the
clamour of the strong-minded, the sighs and sobs of the weaker, the
sneers of some, the tears of others, and the importunity of all, proved
irresistible. He had been resolute for some time; but when his wife,
with a heavy heart added to her natural weight, fell upon his neck, he
seemed to be sinking under that which he could no longer stand up
against.
His mother, Veturia, following up the advantage that had been gained,
tried the power of the female tongue, to which time seems to go on
adding all the force of which it deprives the rest of the body. The old
lady raved and shouted with a degree of anile energy that struck
Coriolanus with dismay; and when she threw herself on the ground,
declaring he should walk over her body if he attempted to march upon
Rome, he felt that he could not take another step without trampling on
the tenderest relations of humanity. With Volumnia hanging to his neck,
and Veturia clinging to his heels,--with a wife pouring the loudest
lamentations into his ear,--with a mother cursing everything in general,
but his own birthday in particular,--with a bevy of Roman ladies
shrieking and sobbing in the background,--Coriolanus could no longer
resist, but ordered his camp to be broken up, and led his legions back
again. Tradition differs as to the date of the death of Coriolanus, who,
according to some accounts, sunk under the attack made upon him by the
weaker sex; while others assert that he lived to a good old age, which
is likely to have been the case, if the scene we have described was not
immediately the death of him--for the constitution that could have
survived so severe a trial must have been of a strength truly wonderful.
Coriolanus has been held up as a model of disinterestedness, but we
cannot help setting him down as a selfish upstart, who turned traitor to
his country, because it did not form the highest estimate of his
personal merits. His deserts are overbalanced by the fact of his being a
deserter; and it was, assuredly, the reverse of magnanimity to evince
his spite against the nation to which he belonged, merely because his
own value had not been put upon his own services. Such is our view of
Coriolanus without the masquerade dress in which he has been often made
to appear; for truth compels us to take off the gilt in which he has
hitherto shone, and to substitute the guilt that really belongs to him.