impossibility of permanently helping those who could not help themselves
was strikingly exemplified. The rate of interest had been reduced; and
advances were to be made by the State to those who could give security;
but those who could give none were to have no assistance whatever. To
those who could pay no interest at all, it mattered little whether the
interest was moderate or high; and an extension of time for discharging
a debt, in the case of a man who could pay nothing, was only like
lengthening the rope with which he was to hang himself.
In the year of the City 390, a plague broke out in Rome, and the
calamity, which swallowed up thousands, being ascribed to the gods,
repasts were prepared for them, under the title of _lectisternia_, in
order to draw off their appetites from the people. The richest luxuries
were laid out upon tables, to which the gods were invited; but these
tables caused no diminution in the tables of mortality. As the guests
did not accept in person the invitations addressed to them, they were
represented by images; but this imaginary attendance at a real feast fed
nothing but the superstition of the people. A statue of Jupiter was
laid, at full length, upon a couch of ivory, covered with the softest
cushions; but it was found impossible to produce the sort of impression
that was so earnestly desired. Chairs were also set round for the
goddesses, but none came forward to take the chair at this unfortunate
banquet. An effort was then made to divert the attention of the gods, by
getting up stage plays, or histriones:[27] but the gods did not
patronise the drama in those days, more than in our own; and whether the
Olympian dinner-hour interfered, or whether no interest was felt in an
entertainment translated from Etruria, as the English drama is from
France, the result was the same in both cases, for the plays, during
their short-lived career, were dead failures. To add to the misery of
the whole affair, while the stage performances were unattended, there
was an inconvenient "succession of overflows" of the Tiber's banks,
which damped the spirits and deluged the houses of the inhabitants.
Seizing hold of every piece of superstition, instead of taking the
pestilence fairly in hand, the Romans, hearing that a plague had once
been stopped by knocking a nail into the wall of a temple, resolved on
going on that absurd tack; and, for this purpose, a hammer was put by
the ninny-hammers into the hands of Manlius. As the pestilence had by
this time begun to wear itself out, the people were foolish enough to
suppose that the plague had been driven in with the nail; and Manlius
having fulfilled the task, which any carpenter might have performed,
resigned the dictatorship.
It is always the fate of a real or supposed benefactor of the public to
have plenty of private foes; and, indeed, an elevated position is
usually an inviting mark for the arrows of malevolence. Manlius became a
target forthwith; and, had the very bull's eye been aimed at, the apple
of his eye could not have been more effectually hit, than by a wound
sought to be inflicted on him, through his son Titus. The youth had, it
seems, an unfortunate hesitation in his speech, which irritated his
hasty parent; and as the boy could scarcely stammer out a word, a few
words with his father became a very frequent consequence. As he laboured
so much in his speech, the unhappy lad was sent to labour with his hands
among the slaves; and Pomponius, the plebeian tribune, having a spite
against the father, began to regard the son with the most enlarged
benevolence.
Pomponius, by way of prosecuting his vindictive plans, resolved on
prosecuting Manlius, for cruelty to his son; but the boy, in a powerful
fit of filial piety, though he had a considerable hesitation in his own
delivery, had no hesitation whatever about the delivery of his father
from the hands of his enemies. Proceeding to the house of Pomponius,
under the cloak of friendship, and with a dagger under his cloak, he
desired to speak with the Tribune, who was still in bed, and not being
up to the designs of Titus, ordered his admission to the chamber. The
young man had been received in a spirit of friendly confidence by
Pomponius, who only discovered that young Manlius was at daggers-drawn,
when he was seen to brandish a glittering weapon. He demanded an
unconditional withdrawal of the charge against his father; when the
terrified Tribune, finding it impossible to bolster up his courage,
muttered a promise to stay all proceedings; and Titus, who had formerly
irritated his father by stammering, was received with open arms, for
having spoken out so boldly in his favour.
[Illustration: Titus threatening Pomponius.]
No sooner were the divisions of the people healed, than the city itself
began to be torn to pieces in a most extraordinary manner. Rome was
convulsed to its centre: the earth began to quake, and the citizens to
tremble. A tremendous chasm appeared at length in the Forum; and as the
abyss yawned more and more, it was thought unsafe for the people to go
to sleep over it. Some thought it was a freak of Nature, who, as if in
enjoyment of the cruel sport she occasioned, had gone into convulsions,
and split her sides. Others formed different conjectures; but the chasm
still remained,--a formidable open question. Some of the people tried to
fill it up with dry rubbish, but they only filled up their own time,
without producing the least effect upon the cavity. In vain did the
largest contractors undertake the job, for it was impossible to contract
the aperture, that, instead of being small by degrees and beautifully
less, grew every day large by fits and starts, and horribly greater.
At length the augurs were consulted, who, taking a view of the hole,
announced their conviction that the perforation of the earth would
continue, and that, in fact, it would become in time a frightful bore,
if the most precious thing in Rome were not speedily thrown into it.
Upon this, a young guardsman, named Marcus Curtius, fancying there could
be nothing more precious than his precious self, arrayed himself in a
full suit of armour, and went forth, fully determined to show his metal.
Notice was given that at an appointed time a rapid act of horsemanship
would be performed by M. Curtius; and as there is always great
attraction in a feat which puts life in jeopardy, the attendance, at a
performance where death for the man and the courser was a matter of
course, was what we should call numerous and respectable. All the rank
and fashion of Rome occupied the front seats, at a spectacle throwing
every thing else into the shade, and the performer himself into the very
centre of the earth, which was to prove to him a centre of so much
gravity. Having cantered once or twice round the ring, he prepared for
the bold plunge; but his horse having looked before he leaped, began to
plunge in a different direction. Taking another circuit, M. Curtius,
spurred on by ambition, put his spurs into the animal's side, and the
poor brute was hurried into the abyss, though, had there been any way of
backing out, he would have eagerly jumped at it. The equestrian
performance was no sooner over, than the theatre of the exploit was
immediately closed, and a lake arose on the spot, as if to mark the
scene as one that might command a continued overflow. The place got the
name of the Lacus Curtius, in honour of the hero, if such he may be
called; and his fate certainly involved the sacrifice of one of the most
precious articles in Rome, for it would have been impossible to find in
the whole city such a precious simpleton.
Rome continued at war with the Gauls, who made frequent inroads; and on
one occasion, during the dictatorship of T. Quinctius Pennus, came
within a short distance from the city. The two armies were divided by
the Anio, when the Gauls, who had a giant in their van, sent him on to
the bridge, with an offer to fight any one of the enemy. The Gaul being
at least twenty stone, was far above the ordinary pitch; but Titus
Manlius, a tight-built light-weight--the plebeian pet, who had already
proved himself too much for the Tribune, Pomponius--came forward to
accept the polite offer of the giant. The fight was one of extreme
interest, and both parties came up to the encounter with surly
confidence. The plebeian pet wore a suit of plain bronze; but the giant
was painted in various colours, presenting a formidable picture. The
giant aimed the first blow with his right, but the young one having got
away cleverly, commenced jobbing his opponent with such effect, that the
latter, finding it a bad job, fell heavily. The giant was unable to
continue the contest, and young Manlius, taking the collar, or torques,
from his victim's neck, got the title of Torquatus, which, from its
connection with his neckcloth, descended to his domestic ties, and
became a stock name in his family.
[Illustration: _The Gallant Curtius leaping into the gulf._]
[Illustration: Terrific Combat between Titus Manlius and a Gaul of
gigantic stature.]
The Gauls retreated for a while, but having subsequently joined the
Volscii, they got into the Pontine Marshes, and resolved to go through
thick and thin for the purpose of attacking the Romans. Again a giant
appeared in the Gallic ranks, where, it would seem, a giant was always
to be found,--an appendage indicating less of the brave than of the fair
in the composition of the Gallic army. Again a young Roman was ready to
meet an opponent twice his size; and Marcus Valerius declared that if
the giant meant fighting, he, Marcus Valerius, was to be heard of at a
place agreed upon. The terms were concluded, and the giant came up,
with the appearance of contemplating mischief, when a crow, settling on
the Gaul's helmet, by way of crest, soon enabled the Roman to crow over
his crest-fallen antagonist. The bird, flapping his wings whenever the
giant attempted to hit out, put so many feathers in his face as to
render his position ticklish; and as he could not see with a bundle of
crow-quills in his eye, his look-out became rather desperate. Valerius,
in the mean time, laid about him with such vigour and effect, that the
giant, who was doubly blinded with rage and feathers, knew not where to
have him. The contest soon terminated in favour of the Roman youth, who
took the name of Corvus, or the Crow, from the cause already mentioned.
The Gauls were vanquished, and Valerius was awarded no less than ten
prize oxen; so that he obtained in solid beef, rather than in empty
praise, an acknowledgment of his services. At his triumph, 4000
Volscians were drawn up on each side of him in chains; but there is
something in the idea of his passing through this Fetter Lane which is
repugnant to our more civilised notions of true glory.
FOOTNOTES:
[26] Livy, vi., 42.
[27] The word "Histriones" is said to be derived from the Etruscan
_hister_, a dancer. The earliest performers introduced into Rome were
dancers--in fact, a ballet company--from Etruria. Those sensitive
admirers of the purely classical in the entertainments of the stage, who
clamour against opera and ballet, will, perhaps, be surprised to learn
that the most truly classical performances are those which they most
energetically protest against.
CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH.
FROM THE FIRST WAR AGAINST THE SAMNITES TO THE PASSING OF THE LAWS OF
PUBLILIUS.
[Illustration]
The Romans were now about to encounter a truly formidable foe, in the
Samnites,--a warlike people, who had been extending their territory, by
going to great lengths, and allowing themselves extraordinary latitude.
Coming down upon Campania, they overlooked Capua, or rather they did not
overlook it; for, having an eye to its wealth, they resolved to do their
utmost to become possessed of it. Under these circumstances, the
Campanians, being unable to find the means of a successful campaign,
applied to Rome for assistance.
Two consular armies were equipped; one under M. Valerius Corvus, or the
Crow, who was really ravenous for glory, and the other under A.
Cornelius Cossus; this A. Cossus being in fact THE Cossus already spoken
of.[28]
Corvus was an enormous favourite with the soldiers; less, however, on
the strength of his moral qualities, than on the strength of his arms
and legs; for he was an athlete of remarkable power. He could leap so
high as to be able to jump over the heads of others of his own standing;
and the rapidity of his promotion is therefore not astonishing. He was
no less light with his tongue than with his legs; for he could run on
almost as pleasantly with the former as he could with the latter. He
was, in fact, an agreeable rattle, who could make and take a joke with
equal ease,--a quality common in more modern times; for those who
profess to make jokes of their own are very much in the habit of taking
those of other people. He loved a glass of wine, and could drink it
without professing his connoisseurship, after the manner of those
learned wine-bibbers of the present day who are addicted to talking so
much unmeaning buzz on the subject of bees-wing. His relish for the
grape allured him to Mount Gaurus, then clad with vines, where he could
take his observations among the raisins, and make in his mind's eye a
sort of _catalogue raisonnée_ of the enemy.
On this spot a battle ensued, which was fought with such fierceness on
the side of the Romans, that the Samnites afterwards declared they had
seen fire in their opponents' eyes; but the Samnites must have been
light-headed themselves, to have made so absurd a statement. Valerius
having been thus far successful, advanced into the Apennines, where,
what are called the mountain fastnesses, are rendered dangerous by those
occasional loosenesses of the earth that give rise to, or cause the fall
of, an avalanche. Though nothing of this sort fell upon him, he was
expecting the descent of the foe, which suddenly appeared on the topmost
heights, and came down with such a run, that the escape of the Romans
seemed impossible. In this difficult dilemma, a subordinate officer
proved to be the safeguard of the whole Roman army; and as the noble
lion, when netted to the profit of a bold hunter, was delivered by a
mouse, so was the noble-hearted Valerius indebted to P. Decius Mus for
the safety of himself and his followers. P. Decius laid, in fact, a
snare for the Samnites, who were caught in this trap of Mus, or military
mouse-trap. He climbed, with a little band, a height so narrow, that
large numbers could not reach it to dislodge him, though it was
necessary to keep an eye upon him; and, while the Mus attracted the
cat-like vigilance of the whole Samnite army, Valerius and his followers
were allowed to steal away unperceived to their own quarters.
When the enemy, tired with watching, had fallen asleep, Mus crept out,
as quietly as his name would imply, and reached his camp in safety. He
received immediately from the Consul an ox, with gilded horns, through
which he might trumpet his fame; and the soldiers presented him with a
_corona obsidionalis_--a crown made of blades of grass--in commemoration
of their having been gallantly rescued from the blades of the enemy. The
materials for a crown of this description were plucked on the spot, in
memory of the pluck shown on the spot by the gallant recipient. Such a
crown conveyed a finer lesson of morality than anything that the cold
brilliance of gold or jewels could suggest; for the wreath of grass,
converted, by the very sunshine in which it basked, into the dry and
lifeless hayband, told, in a few hours, the perishable nature of glory.
Aided by the manœuvre of the Mus, the success of Valerius was complete:
the Samnites fled in such consternation that they left behind them
40,000 shields and 170 standards; so that the Romans must have found the
way literally paved with the flags of the vanquished. A triumph was
decreed to both the Consuls, and foreign nations sent to congratulate
the Romans on their success; the Carthaginians forwarding a crown of
gold, twenty-five pounds in weight, the mere cartage of which from
Carthage must have been costly and difficult. Compliments poured in upon
the conquerors from every side; for good fortune increases the number of
addresses to a state, just as the success of an individual causes a
sensible, or rather a senseless, addition to the contents of his
card-basket. Rome was inundated with calls upon her--many of which were
for assistance from feeble countries, whose weak states seemed to be
threatened with speedy dissolution.
[Illustration: A Scare-crow.]
It was about this time (B.C. 342) that the garrison at Capua broke out
into revolt, arising, it is said, from the fact that Capua was extremely
rich, and the soldiers very poor; that the latter were hopeless debtors,
and forgot what they owed their country in the vast sums they owed to
their creditors. The story goes on to say, that a corps of heavy
insolvents first originated the idea of sacking the city and bagging its
wealth, by placing it among their own baggage. The Consul, C. Martius
Rutilius, was sent to take the command, and he attempted the soothing
system; but the soldiers were goaded with the fetters of debt, and
refused to be smoothed over, or to submit to remain under irons. Being
in want of a leader, they seized on T. Quinctius, an aged veteran, whose
head was so completely bowed down, that he could not do otherwise than
bow when asked if he would lead them as their general. The nod of palsy
was interpreted into the nod of assent, and T. Quinctius was selected to
oppose Corvus, or the Crow, though the only chance for the veteran was,
that in the capacity of a scare-crow he might succeed in frightening his
antagonist. The armies at length met, when the insurgents, led by a
shivering veteran, began to follow their leader, and to shake with fear,
which induced Valerius to offer them terms, and the quaking Quinctius
was the first to recommend his troops to accept an amnesty. Thus ended
an insurrection, of which the motive appears vague, and the management
thoroughly contemptible. The best opinion of its origin seems to be,
that the army abounded in debtors, who were afraid to go home, and who
preferred the chances of a mutiny to the certainty of having to meet
their creditors. The only concession they asked was the cancelling of
all their debts; a proposition that savours rather of the swindler than
the patriot. It is, however, an almost universal fact, that the
insolvent classes of a community are to be found in opposition to the
constituted authorities; and, indeed, the strength or weakness of such
an opposition is no bad test, after all, of the merits of an
administration; for if the majority of the people are well-to-do, the
inference must be favourable to the government.
Peace was concluded with the Samnites, but Rome was now on the brink of
a war with the Latins, who sent ambassadors, proposing that the two
people should henceforth be considered as one, in order to establish
their unity. The Senate was to be half Latin and half Roman; but the
latter declared they would not recognise this sort of half and half in
any of their measures. The Consul, T. Manlius, when he heard the terms,
went off into a series of clap-traps, in which he knew he was perfectly
safe; for the contingency in which he might have been called upon to
keep his word, was not at all likely to happen. He exclaimed, that if
the Senate should be half Latin, he would enter the assembly with his
drawn sword, and cause vacancies in half the seats of the house by
slaying all the Latin occupants. This species of paulo-post-future
patriotism is equally common and convenient, for it pledges the
professor to do nothing until after the doing of something else, which,
in all probability, may never happen. T. Manlius was not put to the
test, though he certainly proved himself, in some respects, ready for
the Latins, had they come on in earnest; for poor Annius, their
spokesman, having tumbled down stairs from top to bottom, the consul
brutally chuckled over the weak legs of the unhappy legate. "Ha! ha!"
roared Manlius, with savage mirth, "thus will I prostrate all the
Latins;" and he proceeded to kick at the ambassador, who, being a man of
several stone, was completely stunned by his too facile descent from the
upper landing to the basement of the Temple of Jupiter.
[Illustration: Metius aggravating Titus Manlius.]
The two Consuls went forth to fight, and both commenced their campaign
by going to sleep, which led naturally to the inquiry, what they could
both have been dreaming about. So thoroughly sympathetic were they in
their drowsiness, that they had dreamed precisely the same dream, in
which each had seen a ghost, who had addressed both in the same spirit.
The spectre, who was decidedly on the shady side of existence, professed
through his lantern jaws to throw a light upon Rome's future destiny. He
told the Consuls that the general on one side was doomed; but, as this
was merely dealing with generalities, he went on to add, that the whole
army on one side was to be buried in the earth; a suggestion neither
side would be very anxious to fall in with. The spectre, who was rather
more communicative than spectres usually are, and who was not so
monosyllabic as a fair average ghost, proceeded to further explanations,
in the course of which he remarked, that "the general who first devoted
himself to the infernal gods, would, by that act of devotion, consign
the whole of the opposing army to" a most unpleasant neighbourhood. Both
agreed that the one whose army was the first to back out, should be the
first to rush into danger. The hostile armies accordingly began to
recede as far as they could, and the only contest was to ascertain who
could be the cleverest and quickest in walking in one direction, whilst
looking in another. It was an understood thing that nobody was to fight
unless first attacked, and the general aim was to avoid aiming at
anything. Foraging parties went out daily to try and provoke each other
to an onslaught, and the prevailing sentiment on both sides was a hope,
that "somebody would only just do so and so." Titus Manlius, the son of
Torquatus, approached the Latin camp, when Metius, of Tusculum,
attempted by all sorts of provoking signals to induce the raw youth to
commence a combat; but the boy for some time combated nothing but his
own inclination, which would have set him on to an onset. At length he
became so irritated that he could restrain himself no longer, but
hurling his javelin with all his might, it stuck in the mane of the
horse of Metius. The poor brute, looking for sympathy to his master,
fell back upon him for protection; but this act of affectionate
confidence was fatal to Metius, who, being brought to the ground, was
saddled with the whole weight of the unfortunate quadruped. Titus,
taking advantage of the position of Metius, stabbed him with his sword,
and the latter, feeling himself pierced, could only set up a piercing
cry, by way of retaliation upon his antagonist. Having stripped off the
armour of his victim, young Titus bore it in triumph to his father,
Torquatus Manlius, who proceeded to imitate Brutus; but, like most
imitations, the appearance of T. Manlius in the part of the "heavy
father" was by no means successful.
Collecting the troops by the sound of trumpet, so that the audience
might be sufficiently large, he threw himself into an imposing attitude;
but the imposition was seen through, and the reception he met with was
far from flattering. He next called forward his son, and denouncing him
as an officer who had disobeyed his governor in a double sense--his
father and his consul--the lictors were ordered to proceed, by the
execution of the son, to the execution of their duty. Manlius, having
witnessed the ceremony, buried his face in his toga, expecting at least
three rounds of applause; but the performance fell as dead as his
unhappy offspring. On his return to Rome he was universally cut by the
young men, who were peculiarly alive to a penalty that might be the
death of any one of them. The remains of young Manlius were collected
into a dreary pile, and the trophies he had illegally won were added as
the materials for a bonfire. His obsequies were the first of the same
kind among the Romans that we have been able to meet with, after a truly
industrious analysis of every hole in which the dust of ages might be
found, and a careful sifting of the ashes of antiquity.