THE ROME OF FABIUS THE DELAYER
When the sun's first rays reddened the walls of the Capitol the life of
Rome had been astir for more than an hour.
The Romans arose from their couches by the light of the morning stars.
Carts from the Campagna rolled in the darkness through the tortuous
streets, slaves awakened by the crowing of the cock trudged along
carrying baskets and farm utensils, and by the hour of dawn all the
houses had their doors thrown open, and the citizens not employed in the
fields gathered in the Forum, that centre of traffic and of public
business, that had begun to be adorned with the earlier temples, but
still retained broad barren spaces upon which in later centuries were to
rise the architectural glories of Rome, mistress of the world.
Actæon had been in the great city for two days, lodged in an extramural
inn established by a Greek. He never ceased to marvel at this austere
Republic, existing almost in poverty, a hardy nation of farmers and
soldiers who filled the world with their fame while they endured greater
privation than any hamlet on the outskirts of Athens.
Actæon expected to appear before the Senate that very day. The majority
of the Fathers of the Republic lived in the country, in rustic villas
with walls of unseasoned adobe roofed with branches, overseeing the work
of their slaves, guiding the plow like Cincinnatus and Camillus; when
affairs of state called them to the Senate they came into Rome in their
carts, drawn by oxen, riding among baskets of vegetables and sacks of
grain, and with their toil-calloused hands they arrayed themselves in
the toga before entering the Forum, transfigured by the majesty lent by
their flowing vestments.
The Greek arrived at the Forum by sunrise, encountering the customary
crowd--venerable Romans wrapped in their togas discoursing before the
young men and their clients on the art of prudently placing money upon
good security, the chief attainment of every citizen; and hungry Greek
pedagogues scheming ever, in search of a situation among that sombre
people more apt in war than in culture; old legionaries, their gray
military cloaks covered with patches, their thoughts yearning back to
the by-gone wars against Pyrrhus and Carthage, persecuted by debts and
threatened with slavery by their creditors, in spite of the cicatrices
all over their bodies; and the plebe, with no other clothing than the
_lacerna_--a short cape of coarse cloth finished with the _cucullus_ or
pointed hood--the multitudinous Roman plebe, exploited and oppressed by
the patricians, ever dreaming, as a remedy for their ills, of new
divisions of the public lands which, by means of usury, gradually fell
into the hands of the rich.
On the steps of the Comitium the members of a tribe were gathered to
probate the will of one of their people who had just died. Near the
military tribune veteran centurions wearing greaves and helmets of
bronze stood leaning on staves of vine-wood, the badge of their
military rank, discussing the siege of Saguntum and the audacity of
Hannibal, eager to march immediately against the Carthaginian.
On the huge blocks of blue stone which paved the Forum the vendors of
hot drinks established their great craters, beating on them with ladles
to attract the people, and at the foot of the steps of the temple of
Concord some Etruscan buffoons, wearing hideous masks, began their
grotesque pantomime, attracting the children and the idle from all sides
of the quadrangle.
It was cold; a damp and icy wind was blowing off the Pontine marshes;
the sky was gray; and from the crowd stirring about the Forum rose a
continuous and melancholy buzzing. Actæon compared this square with the
bright Agora of Athens, and even with the Forum of Saguntum in its days
of peace. The Grecian joyousness was lacking in Rome, the sweet and
gladsome lightness of an artistic people, careless of riches, and if
engaging in commerce doing so only that it may live more expansively.
This was a people cold and sad, devoted to lucre and to the laying up of
money, disdainful of ideals, with no other industry than agriculture and
war, squeezing the last grain of wheat from their lands, and robbing the
enemy; methodical, lacking initiative and youthfulness.
"This people," said the Athenian to himself, "seems never to have been
as young as twenty. Even the children seem to be born old."
Actæon with his Grecian sagacity thought over what he had seen within
the two days; the cruel discipline of the family, of the religion, and
of the State, which held the citizens in subjection; their absolute
ignorance of poetry and art; that stern training, sad, based only on
duty, which obliged every Roman to a long and painful obedience so that
he might some day be able to command.
The father, who in Greece was a friend, in Rome was a tyrant. For the
Latin city there existed no other member of the family than the father;
the wife, the children, the clients, were almost on the level of slaves;
they were instruments of toil, without rights and without name. The gods
heard only him; in his house he was priest and judge; he could kill his
wife, sell the children three times over, and his authority over the
offspring persisted down the years; the conquering consul, the
omnipotent senator, trembled when in his father's presence; and in this
gloomy and despotic organization, more stern even than that of Sparta,
Actæon divined a latent force cradled in mystery which some day should
burst its bonds, clasping the world as in an embrace of iron. The Greek
detested this gloomy nation, but it held his admiration.
Its stamina, the tough and bellicose spirit of the race, were revealed
in the Forum. The Capitol on the summit of the sacred mount was a
veritable fortress, with naked and gloomy walls, destitute of such
decorations as made the citadel of Athens glow with an eternal smile.
The temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, with its low roof and its row of
flattened, tower-like columns, barely rose above the city ramparts.
Below, in the Forum, prevailed a similar grave and gloomy ugliness. The
buildings were low and heavy; they seemed rather constructions of war
than temples of the gods and public buildings. The great network of
highroads starting from the Forum was the only embellishment in which
Rome interested herself, and that because of their usefulness in
transporting her legions and in the hauling of farm products. From the
Forum the Appian Way could be seen stretching in a straight line, paved
with blue stone, with its two rows of tombs which loomed up in the
suburbs of the city, fading in the distance through the Campagna in the
direction of Capua; and at the opposite extreme led off the Flaminian
Way, which ran by the coast, extending into Cisalpine Gaul. Upon the
immense Campagna rose like fluttering red banners the first aqueducts
constructed during the reign of Appius Claudius to supply the city with
fresh water from the mountains, combating thus the malaria of the
Pontine marshes.
But aside from these crude monuments, the extensive, gigantic city,
which of itself could arm over a hundred and fifty thousand men,
presented a savage and wretched aspect, almost like that of those tribes
which Actæon had seen on his trip through Celtiberia.
There were few houses of more than a single story; the majority were
great cabins of round walls of stone or clay, and conical roofs of
boards and logs. After the Gauls burned Rome the city had been
reconstructed in a year, haphazard, with precipitate celerity. In some
wards the houses were huddled so closely together that they barely gave
room for a man to pass between them, while in others they stood apart as
if they were country villas surrounded by small fields inside the city
walls. Streets did not exist; they were but tortuous prolongations of
the roads which led to Rome; arteries formed at random, twisting hither
and thither, following the sinuosities of a disorderly construction, and
suddenly broadening into wide, untilled lands where the refuse of the
houses was accumulating in piles, and where crows croaked by night,
pecking at the carrion of dead dogs and asses.
The crude simplicity of this city of farmers, money lenders, and
soldiers, was reflected in the appearance of its inhabitants. Patrician
matrons spun wool and hemp at the doors of their houses, clad only in
tunics of coarse weave, and wearing bronze ornaments on their breasts
and in their ears. The first coinage of silver had taken place
subsequent to the war with the Samnites; the clumsy and heavy copper as
was the current money, and the rich Grecian objects of virtu brought by
the legions after the war with Sicily almost received adoration in the
homes of the patricians, but were viewed askance by many as amulets
which might corrupt the old sturdy Roman customs. Senators who owned
extensive territories and hundreds of slaves, paraded their togas
covered with patches in civic pride through the Forum. In all Rome there
existed but a single table-service of silver, the property of the
Republic, which passed from the house of one patrician to that of
another when an envoy arrived from Greece, an ambassador from Sicily, or
an opulent merchant from Carthage, habituated to Asiatic refinements and
in whose honor banquets had to be given.
Actæon, accustomed to philosophic arguments in the Athenian Agora, to
dialogues on poetry or on the mysteries of the soul wherever two
unoccupied Greeks chanced to meet, strolled through the Forum listening
to the conversations carried on in that rude and inflexible Latin which
wounded an Athenian's ears. In one group they were discussing the
health of the flocks and the price of wool; in another they were closing
the sale of an ox in the presence of five adult citizens who served as
witnesses. The purchaser placed the bronze, the value of the purchase,
in a balance, and touching the ox with his hand he said in solemn
accent, as if reciting an oration:
"This is mine, according to the law of the Quirites. I have paid for it
with this metal duly weighed."
Farther on, a legionary with hungry face was adjusting a loan with an
old man, offering as security his helmet and his greaves, and
pronouncing the formulas of the law in such a case:
"_Dari spondes?_" (Do you promise to give?) the soldier asked.
"_Spondeo_" (I promise), replied the lender.
The bargain was closed with these sober words, the alteration of a
single syllable in which was sufficient to annul the operation, for the
Romans professed a superstitious respect for the letter and formula of
their laws.
In another group they were discussing the points which a slave must have
in order to be useful to his master and to be maintained by him; and
throughout the entire Forum this grave people, austere, and without
ideals, talked only of possessions, and of the manner of increasing
them.
The attention of the Greek was attracted by a youth who, although barely
twenty years of age, displayed the gravity of an old man. His hair was
red and close-cropped; his steady gaze gave him an expression of
intelligence and penetration. He was walking slowly beside a boy who
was listening to him attentively, as to his master.
"Although your father is consul," said the red-headed man, "you must not
forget, Scipio, that in order to be a good citizen and to serve the
Republic, it is necessary not only to know how to use the lance and to
manage a horse, but to know how to till the soil, and to be familiar
with the secrets of cultivation. Some day you may command our armies,
and you will not only have to conquer lands for Rome, but cultivate
them, so that they will produce abundantly. Do you realize that?"
"Yes, Cato," said the youth.
"Every day you should learn a month of the calendar which our
forefathers made. With that well fixed in your memory it will be easier
for you to command your slaves promptly and well in their work in the
fields. Yesterday I taught you the month of May; repeat it, Scipio."
"Month of May," recited the boy wrinkling his brows in order to better
concentrate his mind. "Thirty-one days. The nones fall on the seventh
day. The day has fourteen and a half hours; the night nine hours and a
half. The sun is in the sign of Taurus; the month is under the
protection of Apollo. Wheat should be weeded. Sheep should be shorn. The
wool should be washed. Young steers should be put under the yoke. The
vetch should be mown in the meadows. The lustration of the crops should
be performed. Sacrifices to Mercury and to Flora."
"You remember it well, Scipio. Our ancestors neither had nor desired any
other science; they were satisfied with knowing what they should do in
each month throughout the year, and with this, and with valor and
audacity to hold their fields, and to take possession of the lands of
their neighbors, they founded our city, which grows and will grow until
it becomes the greatest in the world. We are not charlatans like the
Greeks, who kneel in admiration before marble puppets and argue like
buffoons about what comes after death. We are not madly ambitious like
the Carthaginians, who base their life on commerce and risk all their
wealth upon the sea. Our life is spent on the land; we are ruder but
more solid than other people; we advance more slowly, but we shall go
farther. On the soil which we tread for the first time we do not set up
a tent as do others; we plunge in the plow, and that is why what Rome
takes none wrests from her. Do not forget that, Scipio!"
The Athenian followed not far behind. The words of that man, old at
twenty years, taught him more than his observations. Rome seemed to
speak through his mouth in that lesson given to the son of one of her
consuls.
"You should know also," continued Cato, "the domestic rules of every
good citizen. When our fathers wished to eulogize a worthy man they
called him 'a good husbandman.' This was the highest praise. At that
time they lived on the land itself, in rustic tribes, the most honorable
of all, and they only saw Rome on market days and on days of _comitia_.
There are still good citizens who lead the sane life of Cincinnatus and
Camillus, and only come when the Senate gathers; but war, with its
expeditions to new countries, has corrupted many, who wish only to live
in the city, and they have substituted for the old Roman home, with its
roof of boards and its simple penates, houses crowded with columns as
if they were temples, and adorned with gods and goddesses which they
order from Greece."
The austere gesture of Cato displayed immense scorn for the imported
refinements which had begun to break down the sturdiness of his native
land.
"In the country the good citizen should not lose a day. If the weather
prevent his going out he should entertain himself cleaning the stables
and barnyards, fixing up the old utensils, and seeing that the women
mend the clothing. Even on feast days something can be done; irrigate
the young vineyards, wash the sheep, go to the city to sell oil or
fruit. No time should be lost in consulting haruspices and augurs, nor
in devotion to cults which oblige the citizen to abandon his house. The
gods of the household or of the nearest cross-road are sufficient. The
lares, the manes, and the silvani are sufficient to protect a good
citizen. Our fathers had no others, but nevertheless they were great."
The youthful Scipio listened attentively, but his eyes were fixed on two
young men from the Campagna, who with the _cucullus_ fallen over their
shoulders, were having a boxing match close to a vendor of mulled wine.
The young man's cheeks flushed with emotion seeing the blows exchanged
by the athletes with quivering muscles.
"If the citizen dwell in Rome," continued Cato, without noticing this
incident which failed to disturb the gravity of the Forum, "he should
open the door of his house at dawn of day to explain the law to his
clients, and to place his money prudently, teaching the young men the
art of increasing their savings and how to avoid ruinous follies. The
father of the family should turn everything into money and waste
nothing. If he give new garments to his slaves, he should recover the
old ones for other uses. He should sell the oil and the wine and the
wheat which are left over at the close of the year. Let him also sell
the old oxen, the calves, lambs, the wool, the hides, the unserviceable
carts, the rusty iron, the old, infirm, and sick slaves. Let him be ever
selling. The father of the family should be the seller, not the buyer.
Note that well, Scipio!"
But Scipio was restless and scarcely heard him.
The rustics had ceased boxing, and the youth, eager to be off, glanced
far away toward the river.
"Cato, this is the time for athletics. I must go to the bank of the
Tiber to train myself in running and in pugilism, and to take an hour
for swimming afterward."
"Go when you will, and heed my advice. After the lesson, athletics and
the cold bath, which harden the body, are excellent. The citizen who
wishes to serve his country must not only be prudent but strong."
The boy walked away, and Cato retracing his steps met the Greek who was
following him. Actæon's appearance attracted him, and he approached.
"Greek," he said, "what do you think of our city?"
"It is a gloomy town, but a great one. I have been in Rome only three
days."
"Are you, perchance, the messenger from Saguntum, who will appear before
the Senate to-day?"
Actæon replied in the affirmative, and the Roman leaned on his arm with
grave familiarity, as if he were an old friend.
"You will accomplish very little," he said. "The Senate is suffering
with a sickness just now--an excess of prudence! I detest mad deeds; I
do not believe that Hannibal is a great captain, since I see him commit
such an audacity as the siege of Saguntum; but I cannot tolerate in
silence the faint-heartedness with which Rome proceeds in her affairs.
She wishes to avail herself of all means to keep the peace. She fears
war, while war with Carthage is inevitable. She and our city will not
fit in the same sack. The world is too small for the two. I am always
saying, 'Let us destroy Carthage!' and they laugh at me. Some years ago,
when the war of the mercenaries broke out, we could have crushed her
with ease. By sending to Africa a brace of legions the revolted
Numidians and the mercenaries would have finished with Carthage; but we
were afraid; after her victory Rome occupied herself only in healing her
wounds. We feared the uprising of the soldiery of all countries, so we
saved Carthage, helping her to destroy her revolted mercenaries."
"It is different now," said Actæon, with energy. "Saguntum is an ally,
and if Hannibal makes war upon her it is on account of the love which
the city professes for Rome."
"Yes; that is why we Romans are interested in her fate; but do not hope
for much from the Senate. It is more anxious about the pirates of the
Adriatic who harrow our coasts, that rebellion of Demetrius of Pharos in
Illyria, against whom we are about to send an army under command of the
consul Lucius Æmilius."
"But what of Saguntum? If you abandon her how will you resist the
audacious Hannibal, who leads the most warlike tribes of Iberia? What
will those unfortunates say of the seriousness with which Rome observes
her alliances?"
"Try to convince the Senate with your arguments. I am convinced; I see
in Carthage the sole enemy of Rome. Would that they were all of my mind!
They would then accept the audacious challenge of the son of Hamilcar
and would declare war against Carthage, going to meet her in her own
territory! Happen what may, we are invincible. Italy is a compact mass,
and as advance sentinels of our camp, we have in the Orient Illyria, on
the side which looks into Africa we have Sicily, and in the Occident is
Sardinia, while the lands which Carthage dominates form an extensive
belt of nine hundred leagues which runs along a great part of the coasts
of Africa and all those of Iberia; but so narrow, and peopled by so many
different races, that it can easily be broken. Though Rome might lose a
hundred battles, she will always be Rome, but one defeat for Carthage is
enough to dissolve the nation."
"If only they all thought as you do, Cato!"
"If the Senate thought as I do it would scorn Demetrius of Pharos, and
its legions would have been in Saguntum days ago. Perhaps by such means
a danger would be avoided, because who knows where that young African
will go, and what he may not dare if he succeed in conquering without
hindrance a city allied to Rome! That is why I, a free citizen, give
lessons as a pedagogue, as you have just witnessed. That boy is the son
of the consul Publius Cornelius Scipio, and all the virtues of his
family are revived in him. Perhaps he may be the one destined to bar
Hannibal's way, to destroy the insolent power of that Carthage against
whom we are ever clashing."
They continued strolling through the Forum discussing the customs of
Rome, and arguing warmly as they contrasted them with those of Athens.
Then the austere Roman, having to hold conference with various
patricians in regard to private affairs, to which he attended with great
scrupulousness, said farewell to the Greek.
On being left alone Actæon realized that he was hungry. It would be some
time before the Senate would assemble, and wearied of the noisy stir in
the Forum he passed on, walking around the base of the Capitoline,
following a street broader than the others, lined with stone buildings,
which displayed through their open doors the relative abundance of
patrician families.
He entered a bakery and rapped on the stone of the deserted counter with
an _as_. A plaintive voice answered from a kind of cavern. The Greek
peered into the gloomy grotto and saw a mill for grinding wheat, and
yoked to it a man, who was turning it with great effort.
The slave came out almost naked, wiping off the sweat which was
streaming down his forehead, and taking the money offered by the Greek
handed him a round loaf. Then he stood looking Actæon over with
curiosity.
"Do you own the bakery?" Actæon asked.
"I am nothing but a slave," he replied sadly. "My master had to go to
the Forum to see the dealers in wheat. You are a Greek, are you not?"
Before Actæon deigned to answer, he hastened to add with melancholy
pride:
"I have not always been a slave. I have been in this condition but a
short time, and before I lost my freedom my fervent desire was to visit
your country. O Athens! The city where poets are gods!"
He recited in Greek some verses from the Prometheus of Æschylus,
astonishing Actæon by the purity of his accent and by the expression
which he communicated to his words.
"Can it be that here in Rome your masters dedicate you to poesy?" asked
the Athenian, laughing.
"I was a poet before I became a slave. My name is Plautus."
Glancing around as if fearing to be surprised by some member of his
master's family he continued talking, happy at being able to free
himself from the torment of the mill.
"I have written comedies. I tried to establish the theatre in Rome,
which is almost a cult among your people. The Romans have little
sensibility to poetry. They love farces; a tragedy that would move the
Hellenes to tears, leaves them cold; one of Aristophanes' comedies would
put them to sleep. They, Athenian, enjoy only the Etruscan buffoons,
those grotesque comedians of the farces which they call Atellanæ, and
the hideous maskers with sharp teeth and deformed heads who stalk in the
triumphal processions growling their obscenities. They would stone the
heroes of your tragedies, while on the other hand, they howl with
enthusiasm at the entry of a victorious consul when the soldiers pass
disguised in rams' skins, wearing tufts of bristling horsehair, and they
laugh at seeing them avenge themselves for their humble condition by
insulting the conqueror behind his triumphal car. I wrote comedies for
these people, and I write them still in moments when my master ceases
beating me to make me turn the mill. The patricians, the free citizens,
do not enjoy seeing themselves personated in the scene. Here they would
rend Aristophanes to pieces, he who represented upon the stage the most
prominent men of Athens. My heroes are slaves, foreigners, and
mercenaries, and they make the audience laugh. I have finished a comedy
there within that den, ridiculing the fanfare of the warriors. I would
recite it if I did not fear that my master might return at any moment."
"But how have you fallen into such a wretched situation after having
been the entertainer of your people?"
"I committed the madness of founding the first theatre in Rome, in
imitation of those in Greece. It was a wooden enclosure on the outskirts
of the city. I borrowed money; I contracted debts; the populace came to
laugh, but they gave little. I was ruined, and the wise laws of Rome
condemn him who cannot pay to become the slave of his creditor. This
baker who used to laugh at my comedies, and who gladly loaned me sacks
of copper, is now getting even for his former show of admiration by
making me turn his mill, because I cost less than an ass. Every peal of
laughter in the past is transformed into a blow with a stick dealt
across my back. The fate of poets! You Greeks also thanked Æschylus for
his verses by pelting him with stones, yet he was ever a freeman."
Plautus became silent, but after a melancholy smile he added:
"I trust in the future. I shall not always have to be a slave; perhaps I
shall find someone who will give me back my liberty. The Romans who make
war and see new countries return with milder customs and with a love of
art. I shall be free, I will found a new theatre, and
then,----then----"
Hope shone in his glance, as if he saw the realization of the dreams
with which he embellished his gloomy den, while, panting like a beast,
he turned the enormous cone of stone.
A noise was heard from within the house, and before his master's
children could see him Plautus ran to yoke himself again to the
mill-spindle, while the Greek left the place, astounded by this episode.
What a people this, which converted its debtors into slaves and turned
its poets into beasts of burden!
The Greek sauntered back through the Forum munching his loaf of bread.
He was waiting for the Senate to assemble, and to pass away the time he
climbed to the crest of the Palatine Hill, the sacred ground which was
the cradle of Rome. He visited the Lupercal Grotto where Romulus and
Remus had been suckled by the she-wolf. At the entrance to the narrow
cave, denuded by the winter, the Ruminal fig tree extended its naked
branches, the famous tree in the shade of which the twin founders of the
city had frolicked. Near it on a granite pedestal stood the wolf, in
dark and lustrous bronze, the work of an Etruscan artist, with the
hideous half-open fauces, and her belly bristling with a double row of
gleaming teats to which two naked children clung, sprawling on the
ground.
From this height Actæon looked down upon the broad city, a wave of roofs
between the seven hills, invading the heights and dispersing through the
deep valleys. Almost at the side of the Palatine rose the Capitolium,
the great fortress of Rome, on the naked crags of the Tarpeian rock, and
the Greek passed from the summit of one to that of the other to examine
the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, more famous than beautiful.
He turned his back on the rude temple of Mars, which occupied the
highest point of the Palatine, and following a path between abrupt rocks
he crossed to the Capitoline. On his way he met the priests of Jupiter,
walking with sacerdotal rigidity as if ever offering sacrifices to their
god. He saw the vestals wrapped in their flowing white veils, marching
with a sturdy tread. Some _milites_ were climbing up to the temple of
Mars, their broad breasts encased in overlapping bands of copper, their
bare thighs covered by strips of wool hanging from the waist; one hand
resting on the pommel of their short swords while they talked with
enthusiasm of the coming Illyrian campaign, without thought of the
situation of their allies in Iberia.
Actæon entered the sacred precincts of the Capitoline, surrounded by
frowning ramparts. It was the ancient mount Tarpeius, with its two
summits united by an extensive flat. The higher part which lay toward
the north was occupied by the Arx or citadel of Rome; on the south was
the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, surrounded by massive columns.
The Greek entered the citadel, famous for its resistance during the
invasion of the Gauls. On the margin of a pool before the temples
huddled within the strong enclosure he saw the sacred birds--the geese
which with their cackling in the silence of the night had protected Rome
from the surprise of the invaders. Then he crossed the depression which
divides the hill into two parts, and approached the great fane of Rome.
A stairway of a hundred steps led to the temple, constructed in the
time of the last Tarquin in honor of the three divinities of
Rome--Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva. The building consisted of three
_cellæ_ or parallel sanctuaries, with three doors opening beneath the
same pediment. The one in the centre was sacred to Jupiter, and the
smaller ones on either side to the two goddesses. A triple row of
columns sustained the pediment, which was decorated with prancing horses
coarsely sculptured. Two rows of columns ran down the sides of the
temple forming a portico, in the shade of which the eldest Roman
citizens strolled, discussing the affairs of the city.
The temple had been built by artists called from Etruria, and under the
colonnade were statues acquired by the expeditions to Sicily and as a
result of the many wars carried on by Rome. This rude nation was
incapable of producing artists, but it had soldiers to supply it with
art by means of war and loot.
The Athenian entered the sanctuary in the centre dedicated to Jupiter,
and he saw the image of the god in terra cotta, holding a golden lance
in his right hand. Before him continually smoked the Altar of
Sacrifices. On leaving the temple he glanced at the gnomon or sundial,
which at that height marked the time for all Rome.
It was now the hour to go to the Senaculum, the ancient building at the
foot of the Tarpeian peak between the Capitolium and the Forum, which
many years later was converted into the temple of Concord. On the steps
which gave access to the temple Actæon met the two legates sent by
Saguntum before the siege began; two old farmers who had gone away from
home for the first time, and who seemed to be dazed by their long
months of waiting in Rome, with their audiences which never terminated,
and with their interviews and resultless supplications. The two
perturbed Saguntines, impotent before a city which never responded
definitely to their words, followed like automata the self-confident
Greek who went everywhere as if he were in his own house, and who spoke
many languages as if the entire world were his country.
The senators began to arrive. Some came from their business in the city
and presented themselves garbed in the white toga with purple border,
followed by their clients who turned their gaze in all directions as if
to attract public attention to their majestic protector. Others came
from the country, drawing up their carts before the steps of the
Senaculum, and, handing the reins to a slave, ascended to the temple
with their togas flung over their arms, dressed in the short cloak of
coarse wool worn by farmers, and emitting the odors of their stables and
crops. They were mature men who displayed in the firmness of their
strong muscles the activity of their life of continued struggle with the
soil and with enemies; old men with long beards and wizened faces,
tremulous with age, who still revealed in their unflinching eyes
reliance on their departing strength. The crowd from the Forum, surging
toward the steps of the Senaculum, watched them with admiration and
respect. They were the fathers of the Republic, the heads of Rome.
The two legates from Saguntum walked up the temple steps. Under the
columns which sustained the pediment were numberless piles of loot from
the last wars, deposited by the conquerors as they paraded through the
Forum before the multitude, which had hailed them, waving branches of
laurel. Actæon saw shields pierced by iron swords, rusted by blood;
war-chariots with broken tongues, the gilded wheels bespattered with the
mud of battles. They were spoils from the war with the Samnites. Farther
on, standing along the wall, a row of hideous wooden dwarfs, dyed red
and blue, stripped from the prows of Carthaginian ships after the great
victory at the Ægates Islands; iron bars which had closed the gates of
many cities conquered by the Romans; the golden standards decorated with
fantastic animals which led the troops of Pyrrhus; the enormous tusks of
the elephants which this descendent of Achilles had marched against the
legions of Rome; the horned or eagle-winged helmet of the Ligurians; the
darts of Alpine tribes, and, beside the door, as a trophy of honor, the
armor of the glorious Camillus, paraded in triumph by the city after
this great Roman had driven the Gauls from the Capitol. Along the walls,
as a strange decoration, hung a long dark tissue, crisp as parchment. It
was the skin of the great serpent which for a whole day held back the
army of Atilius Regulus, when on his expedition to Africa he was
marching to the conquest of Carthage. The horrible monster, insensible
to arrows, devoured many soldiers before it succumbed beneath a shower
of stones, and Regulus sent the reptile's skin to Rome as a testimony of
the adventure.
The envoys from Saguntum had a tedious wait before a centurion ushered
them into the Senaculum.
The Greek, sweeping his glance over the semicircle, was perturbed by the
majesty of the assemblage. He recalled the entrance of the Gauls into
Rome; the stupefaction of the barbarians in the presence of those
Elders, firm in their marble chairs, wrapped like phantoms in their
snowy garments which left uncovered only their silvery beards; their
ivory staves held with a divine majesty, revealed again in the gleam
from their steady eyes. None but barbarians intoxicated with blood-lust
would dare to assault men of such patriarchal dignity.
They numbered more than two hundred. Between them were vacant seats of
senators unable to attend, and over the concentric rows of marble chairs
the white togas spread out like newly fallen snow upon a crust of ice.
Behind them stood a row of columns in a semicircle, sustaining the
cupola through which filtered a crepuscular light which seemed to favor
meditation and concentration of the mind. A low stone balustrade
surrounded the semicircle, and beyond it were grouped important citizens
who had not the investiture of senators. In the centre the barrier was
broken by a square pedestal sustaining the bronze she-wolf with the
twins hanging to her dugs, and on the base in great letters, the device
of supreme authority in Rome: "S.P.Q.R." A tripod sustained a brazier
before the pedestal, and over the embers floated a blue cloud of
incense.
The three legates seated themselves in marble chairs near the image of
the wolf, before the triple row of white and motionless men.
Some rested their chins in their hands as if to hear better.
They might speak; the Senate would hear them; and Actæon, moved by the
supplicating glances of his two companions, arose. In his mind
impressions did not linger long; he had recovered from the emotion
produced at first by the majesty of the assemblage.
He spoke deliberately, taking care, after the manner of a true Greek, to
avoid lapses of style in expressing himself in that rude tongue,
endeavoring to give to his words the emotion which he wished to inspire
in the representatives of Rome. He described the desperate resistance of
Saguntum, and her confidence in the support of the Republic, that blind
faith which had inspired her people to hurl themselves outside the walls
and repulse the enemy at the mere announcement that the Roman fleet had
appeared upon the horizon. When he left the city it still had supplies
for subsistence and courage to defend itself. But much time had elapsed
since then--nearly two whole months. The ambassador had been compelled
to make his way amidst adventures and perils, sometimes by sea, taking
advantage of the routes of the merchant ships, again on foot along the
coasts, and at this moment the situation of the city must be desperate.
Saguntum would fall if they did not go to her succor, and what a
responsibility for Rome if she abandoned her protégé after the latter
had drawn Hannibal's enmity upon her for wishing to be Roman! How could
other nations rely on the friendship of Rome when they knew the sad end
of Saguntum!
The Greek ceased speaking, and the painful silence which fell over the
Senate revealed the profound impression his words had made.
Then Lentulus, an aged senator, arose to speak. The sharp voice of the
old man penetrated the silence as he told of the origin of Saguntum,
which if it were Grecian on account of the merchants of Zacynthus having
established their factories there, was also Italian on account of the
Rutulians from Ardea who had gone thither in remote times to found a
colony. Moreover Saguntum was the friend of Rome. To be more faithful to
her she had beheaded some of her citizens who had worked in the cause of
Carthage. What audacity for that young man, a son of Hamilcar, to ignore
the treaties of Rome with Hasdrubal, and to dare to raise his sword
against a city friendly to the Romans! If Rome looked with indifference
upon this offense Hamilcar's lion-cub would grow in temerity, for youth
knows no bridle when it sees its imprudence crowned by success.
Moreover, the great city could not tolerate such daring. Outside, at the
door of the Senaculum were the glorious trophies of war as a
demonstration that he who revolted against Rome should fall conquered at
her feet. They must be inexorable with the enemy and faithful to the
ally; they must carry the war into Iberia and destroy the reckless one
who defied Rome.
All the choler of the gloomy city, warlike and severe, spoke through the
mouth of the aged man, who extended his rigid arm above his companions'
heads, threatening the invisible enemy. The soldierly vigor of the
veteran of ancient wars against the Samnites and against Pyrrhus, was
aroused for a moment in the weak old man, and thrilled his muscles and
caused his eyes to flash.
Actæon's two companions, who did not understand the Latin tongue,
nevertheless divined Lentulus' words, and they were filled with emotion
by the eulogy of the self-abnegation of their city. Tears streamed from
their eyes, they rent the dark mantles in which they were clad as solemn
messengers, and throwing themselves to the floor to express the
vehemence of their grief after the custom of the ancients, they shouted,
sobbing:
"Save us! Save us!"
The desperation of the two old men, and the dignified attitude of the
Greek, who, frowning and silent, seemed the personification of Saguntum
awaiting the fulfillment of pledges, moved the Senate and the multitude
that surged outside the balustrade of the she-wolf. All were agitated
and were exchanging words of indignation. Beneath the cupola of the
Senaculum resounded a disorderly buzzing, the echo of a thousand mingled
voices. They clamored for the Senate to declare instant war against
Carthage, to call out the legions, to make ready the ships, to embark an
expedition in the port of Ostia, and to hurl Rome against the camp of
Hannibal.
A senator called for silence that he might speak. It was Fabius, one of
the most famous patricians of Rome, the descendent of those three
hundred heroes of that famous gens destroyed in a single day fighting
for Rome on the banks of the Cremera. Prudence spoke through his mouth;
his counsels were ever followed as being wisest; on this account the
Senate recovered its calmness as soon as it saw that he had arisen to
his feet.
With reposeful language, after lamenting the situation of the allied
city, he said that it was not known whether it were Carthage that had
broken into hostilities against Saguntum, or whether Hannibal had done
so on his own account. A war in Iberia would be a grave matter for Rome,
now that she was going to begin a nearer struggle with the rebel
Demetrius of Pharos. It would be advisable to send an embassy to
Hannibal in his camp, and if the African refused to raise the siege, let
it go to Carthage to ask if its rulers approved the chieftain's conduct,
and to demand that the latter be turned over to Rome in punishment for
his audacity.
This solution seemed to please the Senate. Those who a few moments
before had shown themselves warlike and uncompromising bowed their heads
as if approving the words of Fabius. The thought of the insurrection in
Illyria counseled prudence to the most violent. They remembered the
enemy who was rising almost at their doors across the Adriatic, and who,
with their fleets given over to piracy, might attempt an invasion of
Roman territory. Egoism caused them to look upon this enterprise as more
important than any oath, and in order to deceive themselves and to hide
their own weakness, they exaggerated the importance of the embassy to
Hannibal's camp declaring that the African would raise the siege and ask
pardon of Rome as soon as he saw the Senatorial legates arrive.
Actæon received this change on the part of the assemblage with visible
signs of impatience.
"I know Hannibal well," he shouted. "He will not obey you; he will scoff
at you! If you do not send an army the journey of your legates will be
useless!"
But the senators, eager to conceal the weakness to which their egoism
drove them, protested loudly against the words of Actæon. Who spoke of
scoffing at the Republic of Rome? Who imagined that Hannibal would
scorn the envoys of the Senate? Let the stranger maintain silence--he
who was not even a son of the city in whose name he spoke.
Actæon bowed his head. Then, turning to his aged companions, who did not
understand the resolution of the Senate, he murmured: "Our city is lost!
Rome fears to declare war against Hannibal and delays the clash of arms.
When they become ready to help us Saguntum will no longer exist!"
The three Saguntine legates received an order to retire. The senators
were about to appoint two patricians who should go as envoys of Rome.
As they left the Senaculum the eldest of the senators addressed Actæon:
"Tell your companions to prepare for the journey. To-morrow at sunset
you will embark with the legates of the Senate in the port of Ostia."