University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
THE MEASURES.

Marino Faliero.

The hours of darkness had already well nigh passed;
and but for the thick storm-clouds and the drizzling rain,
some streaks of early dawn might have been seen on the
horizon, when at the door of Marcus Læca, in the low
grovelling street of the Scythemakers—strange quarter
for the residence of a patrician, one of the princely Porcii—the
arch-conspirator stood still, and glared around
with keen suspicious eyes, after his hurried walk.

It was, however, yet as black as midnight; nor in that
wretched and base suburb, tenanted only by poor laborious
artizans, was there a single artificial light to relieve
the gloom of nature.

The house of Læca! How little would the passer-by
who looked in those days on its walls, decayed and moss-grown
even then, and mouldering—how little would he
have imagined that its fame would go down to the latest
ages, imperishable through its owner's infamy.

The house of Læca! The days had been, while Rome
was yet but young, when it stood far aloof in the gay
green fields, the suburban villa of the proud Porcian
house. Time passed, and fashions changed. Low streets
and squalid tenements supplanted the rich fields and
fruitful orchards, which had once rendered it so pleasant
an abode. Its haughty lords abandoned it for a more
stately palace nigh the forum, and for long years it had

remained tenantless, voiceless, desolate. But dice, and
wine, and women, mad luxury and boundless riot, had
brought its owner down to indigence, and infamy and sin.

The palace passed away from its inheritor. The ruin
welcomed its last lord.

And here, meet scene for orgies such as it beheld,
Rome's parricides were wont to hold their murderous assemblies.

With a slow stealthy tread, that woke no echo, Cataline
advanced to the door. There was no lamp in the
cell of the atriensis; no sign of wakefulness in any of the
casements; yet at the first slight tap upon the stout oaken
pannel, although it was scarce louder than the plash of
the big raindrops from the eaves, another tap responded
to it from within, so faint that it appeared an echo of the
other. The rebel counted, as fast as possible, fifteen; and
then tapped thrice as he had done before, meeting the
same reply, a repetition of his own signal. After a moment's
interval, a little wicket opened in the door, and a
low voice asked “Who?” In the same guarded tone
the answer was returned, “Cornelius.” Again the voice
asked, “Which?” and instantly, as Cataline replied,
“the third,” the door flew open, and he entered.

The Atrium, or wide hall in which he stood, was all in
utter darkness; there was no light on the altar of the
Penates, which was placed by the impluvium—a large
shallow tank of water occupying the centre of the hall in
all Roman houses—nor any gleam from the tablinum, or
closed gallery beyond, parted by heavy curtains from the
audience chamber.

There were no stars to glimmer through the opening
in the roof above the central tank, yet the quick eye of
the conspirator perceived, upon the instant, that two
strong men with naked swords, their points within a
hand's breadth of his bosom, stood on each side the door-way.

The gate was closed as silently as it had given him entrance;
was barred and bolted; and till then no word
was interchanged. When all, however, was secure, a
deep rich voice, suppressed into a whisper, exclaimed,
“Sergius?” “Ay!” answered Cataline. “Come on!”
and without farther parley they stole into the most secret

chambers of the house, fearful as it appeared of the sounds
of their own footsteps, much more of their own voices.

Thus with extreme precaution, when they had traversed
several chambers, among which were an indoor triclinium,
or dining parlor, and a vast picture gallery, groping
their way along in utter darkness, they reached a small
square court, surrounded by a peristyle or colonnade,
containing a dilapidated fountain. Passing through this,
they reached a second dining room, where on the central
table they found a small lamp burning, and by the aid of
this, though still observing the most scrupulous silence,
quickly attained their destination—a low and vaulted chamber
entirely below the surface of the ground, accessible
only by a stair defended by two doors of unusual thickness.

That was a fitting place for deeds of darkness, councils
of desperation, such as they held, who met within its
gloomy precincts. The moisture, which dripped constantly
from its groined roof of stone, had formed stalactites
of dingy spar, whence the large gouts plashed heavily
on the damp pavement; the walls were covered with
green slimy mould; the atmosphere was close and fœtid,
and so heavy that the huge waxen torches, four of which
stood in rusty iron candelabra, on a large slab of granite,
burned dim and blue, casting a faint and ghastly light on
lineaments so grim and truculent, or so unnaturally excited
by the dominion of all hellish passions, that they had little
need of anything extraneous to render them most hideous
and appalling. There were some twenty-five men present,
variously clad indeed, and of all ages, but evidently
—though many had endeavoured to disguise the fact by
poor and sordid garments—all of the higher ranks.

Six or eight were among them, who feared not, nor
were ashamed to appear there in the full splendor of their
distinctive garb as Senators, prominent among whom was
the most rash and furious of them all, Cethegus.

He, at the moment when the arch-conspirator, accompanied
by Læca and the rest of those who had admitted
him, entered the vault, was speaking with much energy
and even fierceness of manner to three or four who stood
apart a little from the rest with their backs to the door,
listening with knitted brows, clenched hands, and lips

compressed and bloodless, to his tremendous imprecations
launched at the heads of all who were for any, even the
least, delay in the accomplishment of their dread scheme
of slaughter.

One among them was a large stately looking personage,
somewhat inclined to corpulence, but showing many a sign
of giant strength, and vigor unimpaired by years or habit.
His head was large but well shaped, with a broad
and massive forehead, and an eye keen as the eagle's
when soaring in his pride of place. His nose was prominent,
but rather aquiline than Roman. His mouth, wide
and thick-lipped, with square and fleshy jaws, was the
worst featnre in his face, and indicative of indulged sensuality
and fierceness, if not of cruelty combined with the
excess of pride.

This man wore the plain toga and white tunic of a private
citizen; but never did plebeian eye and lip flash with
such concentrated haughtiness, curl with so fell a sneer,
as those of that fallen consular, of that degraded senator,
the haughtiest and most ambitious of a race never deficient
in those qualities, he who, drunk with despairing
pride, and deceived to his ruin by the double-tongued
Sibylline prophecies, aspired to be that third Cornelius,
who should be master of the world's mistress, Rome.

The others were much younger men, for Lentulus was
at that period already past his prime, and these—two
more especially who looked mere boys—had scarcely
reached youth's threshold; though their pale withered
faces, and brows seared deeply by the scorching brand of
evil passions, showed that in vice at least, if not in years,
they had lived long already.

Those two were senators in their full garniture, the sons
of Servius Sylla, both beautiful almost as women, with
soft and feminine features, and long curled hair, and lips
of coral, from which in flippant and affected accents fell
words, and breathed desires, that would have made the
blood stop and turn stagnant at the heart of any one, not
utterly polluted and devoid of every humane feeling.

This little knot seemed fierce for action, fiery and panting
with that wolfish thirst, to quench which blood must
flow. But all the rest seemed dumb, and tongue-tied, and
crest-fallen. The sullenness of fear brooded on every other

face. The torpor of despairing crime, already in its own
fancy baffled and detected, had fallen on every other heart.
For, at the farther end of the room, whispering to his
trembling hearers dubious and dark suspicions, with terror
on his tongue, stood Cassius, exaggerating the adventures
of the night.

Such was the scene, when Cataline stalked into that
bad conclave. The fires of hell itself could send forth no
more blasting glare, than shot from his dark eyes, as he beheld,
and read at half a glance their consternation. Bitter
and blighting was the sneer upon his lip, as he stood
motionless, gazing upon them for a little space. Then
flinging his arm on high and striding to the table he dashed
his hand upon it, that it rang and quivered to the blow.

“What are ye?” he said slowly, in tones that thrilled
to every heart, so piercing was their emphasis. “Men?—
No, by the Gods! men rush on death for glory!—Women?
They risk it, for their own, their children's, or their lover's
safety!—Slaves?—Nay! even these things welcome it for
freedom, or meet it with revenge! Less then, than men!
than women, slaves, or beasts!—Perish like cattle, if ye
will, unbound but unresisting, all armed but unavenged!
—And ye—great Gods! I laugh to see your terror-blanched,
blank visages. I laugh, but loathe in laughing!
The destined dauntless sacrificers, who would imbue your
knives in senatorial, consular gore! kindle your altars on
the downfallen Capitol! and build your temples on the
wreck of Empire! Ha! do you start? and does some
touch of shame redden the sallow cheeks that courage had
left bloodless? and do ye grasp your daggers, and rear
your drooping heads? are ye men, once again? Why
should ye not? what do ye see, what hear, whereat to falter?
What oracle, what portent? Now, by the Gods!
methought they spoke of victory and glory. Once more,
what do ye fear, or wish? What, in the name of Hecate
and Hades! What do ye wait for?”

“A leader!” answered the rash Cethegus, excited now
even beyond the bounds of ordinary rashness. “A day,
a place, a signal!”

“Have them, then, all,” replied the other, still half
scornfully. “Lo! I am here to lead; the field of Mars
will give a place; the consular elections an occasion; the
blood of Cicero a signal!”

“Be it so!” instantly replied Cethegus; “be it so!
thou hast spoken, as the times warrant, boldly; and upon
my head be it, that our deeds shall respond to thy daring
words, with equal daring!”

And a loud hum of general assent succeeded to his stirring
accents; and a quick fluttering sound ran through the
whole assemblage, as every man, released from the constraint
of deep and silent expectation, altered his posture
somewhat, and drew a long breath at the close. But the
conspirator paused not. He saw immediately the effect
which had been made upon the minds of all, by what had
passed. He perceived the absolute necessity of following
that impulse up to action, before, by a revulsion no less
sudden than the late change from despondency to fierceness,
their minds should again subside into the lethargy of
doubt and dismay.

“But say thou, Sergius,” he continued, “how shall it
be, and who shall strike the blow that is to seal Rome's
liberty, our vengeance?”

“First swear we!” answered Cataline. “Læca, the
eagle, and the bowl!”

“Lo! they are here, my Sergius,” answered the master
of the house, drawing aside a piece of crimson drapery,
which covered a small niche or recess in the wall, and displaying
by the movement a silver eagle, its pinions wide
extended, and its talons grasping a thunderbolt, placed on
a pedestal, under a small but exquisitely sculptured
shrine of Parian marble. Before the image there stood
a votive lamp, fed by the richest oils, a mighty bowl of
silver half filled with the red Massic wine, and many pateræ,
or sacrificial vessels of a yet richer metal.

“Hear, bird of Mars, and of Quirinus”—cried Cataline,
without a pause, stretching his hands toward the glittering
effigy—“Hear thou, and be propitious! Thou, who
didst all-triumphant guide a yet greater than Quirinus to
deeds of might and glory; thou, who wert worshipped
by the charging shout of Marius, and consecrated by the
gore of Cimbric myriads; thou, who wert erst enshrined
on the Capitoline, what time the proud patricians veiled
their haughty crests before the conquering plebeian; thou,
who shalt sit again sublime upon those ramparts, meet
aery for thine unvanquished pinion; shalt drink again libations,

boundless libations of rich Roman life-blood, hot
from patrician hearts, smoking from every kennel! Hear
and receive our oaths—listen and be propitious!”

He spoke, and seizing from the pedestal a sacrificial
knife, which lay beside the bowl, opened a small vein in
his arm, and suffered the warm stream to gush into the
wine. While the red current was yet flowing, he gave
the weapon to Cethegus, and he did likewise, passing it
in his turn to the conspirator who stood beside him, and
he in like manner to the next, till each one in his turn
had shed his blood into the bowl, which now mantled
to the brim with a foul and sacrilegious mixture, the richest
vintage of the Massic hills, curdled with human gore.

Then filling out a golden goblet for himself, “Hear, God
of war,” cried Cataline, “unto whose minister and omen
we offer daily worship; hear, mighty Mars, the homicide
and the avenger; and thou, most ancient goddess, hear,
Nemesis! and Hecate, and Hades! and all ye powers of
darkness, Furies and Fates, hear ye! For unto ye we
swear, never to quench the torch; never to sheath the
brand; till all our foes be prostrate, till not one drop
shall run in living veins of Rome's patricians; till not one
hearth shall warm; one roof shall shelter; till Rome shall
be like Carthage, and we, like mighty Marius, lords and
spectators of her desolation! We swear! we taste the
consecrated cup! and thus may his blood flow, who shall,
for pity or for fear, forgive or fail or falter—his own blood,
and his wife's, and that of all his race forever! May vultures
tear their eyes, yet fluttering with quick vision; may
wolves tug at their heart-strings, yet strong with vigorous
life; may infamy be their inheritance, and Tartarus
receive their spirits!”

And while he spoke, he sipped the cup of horror with
unreluctant lips, and dashed the goblet with the residue
over the pedestal and shrine. And there was not one
there who shrank from that foul draught. With ashy
cheeks indeed, but knitted brows, and their lips reeking
red with the abomination, but fearless and unfaltering,
they pledged in clear and solemn tones, each after each,
that awful imprecation, and cast their goblets down, that
the floor swam in blood; and grasped each others' hands,
sworn comrades from that hour even to the gates of hell.

A long and impressive silence followed. For every
heart there, even of the boldest, recoiled as it were for a
moment on itself, not altogether in regret or fear, much
less in anything approaching to compunction or remorse;
but in a sort of secret horror, that they were now involved
beyond all hope of extrication, beyond all possibility
of turning back or halting! And Cataline, endowed
with almost superhuman shrewdness, and himself quite
immovable of purpose, perceived the feelings that actuated
all the others—which he felt not, nor cared for—and
called on Læca to bring wine.

“Wine, comrades,” he exclaimed, “pure, generous, noble
wine, to wash away the rank drops from our lips, that
are more suited to our blades! to make our veins leap
cheerily to the blythe inspiration of the God! and last, not
least, to guard us from the damps of this sweet chamber,
which alone of his bounteous hospitality our Porcius has
vouchsafed to us!” And on the instant, the master—for
they dared trust no slaves—bore in two earthen vases, one
of strong Chian from the Greek Isle of the Egean, the other
of Falernian, the fruitiest and richest of the Italian
wines, not much unlike the modern sherry, but having still
more body, and many cyathi, or drinking cups; but he
brought in no water, wherewith the more temperate ancients
were wont to mix their heady wines, even in so
great a ratio as nine to one of the generous liquor.

“Fill now! fill all!” cried Cataline, and with the word
he drained a brimming cup. “Rare liquor this, my Marcus,”
he continued; “whence had'st thou this Falernian?
'tis of thine inmost brand, I doubt not. In whose consulship
did it imbibe the smoke?”

“The first of Caius Marius.”

“Forty-four years, a ripe age,” said Cethegus, “but
twill be better forty years hence. Strange, by the Gods!
that of the two best things on earth, women and wine;
the nature should so differ. The wine is crude still, when
the girl is mellow; but it is ripe, long after she is —”

“Rotten, by Venus!”—interposed Cæparius, swearing
the harlot's oath; “Rotten, and in the lap of Lamia!”

“But heard ye not,” asked Cataline, “or hearing, did
ye not accept the omen!—in whose first Consulship this
same Falernian jar was sealed?”

“Marius! By Hercules! an omen! oh, may it turn out
well!” exclaimed the superstitious Lentulus.

“Sayest thou, my Sura? well! drink we to the omen,
and may we to the valour and the principles of Marius
unite the fortunes of his rival—of all-triumphant Sylla!”

A burst of acclamations replied to the happy hit, and
seeing now his aim entirely accomplished, Cataline checked
the revel; their blood was up; no fear of chilling
counsels!

“Now then,” he said, “before we drink like boon companions,
let us consult like men; there is need now of
counsel; that once finished”—

“Fulvia awaits me,” interrupted Cassius, “Fulvia,
worth fifty revels!”

“And me Semperonia,” lisped the younger and more
beautiful of the twin Sylla.

“Meanwhile,” exclaimed Autronius, “let us comprehend,
so shall we need no farther meetings—each of which
risks the awakening of suspicion, and it may well be of discovery.
Let us now comprehend, that, when the time
comes, we may all perform our duty. Speak to us, therefore,
Sergius.”

No farther exhortation was required; for coolly the
conspirator arose to set before his desperate companions,
the plans which he had laid so deeply, that it seemed
scarcely possible that they should fail; and not a breath or
whisper interrupted him as he proceeded.

“Were I not certain of the men,” he said, “to whom I
speak, I could say many things that should arouse you, so
that you should catch with fiery eagerness at aught that
promised a more tolerable position. I could recount the
luxuries of wealth which you once knew; the agonies of
poverty beneath which, to no purpose, you lie groaning.
I could point out your actual inability to live, however
basely—deprived of character and credit—devoid of any
relics of your fortunes! weighed to the very earth by
debts, the interest alone of which has swallowed up your
patrimonies, and gapes even yet for more! fettered by
bail-bonds, to fly which is infamy, and to abide them ruin!
shunned, scorned, despised, and hated, if not feared by all
men. I could paint, to your very eyes, ourselves in rags
or fetters! our enemies in robes of office, seated on curule

chairs, swaying the fate of nations, dispensing by a nod the
wealth of plundered provinces! I could reverse the picture.
But, as it is, your present miseries and your past
deeds dissuade me. Your hopelessness and daring, your
wrongs and valor, your injuries and thirst of vengeance,
warn me, alike, that words are weak, and exhortation
needless. Now understand with me, how matters stand.
The stake for which we play, is fair before your eyes:—
learn how our throw for it is certain. The consular elections,
as you all well know, will be held, as proclaimed
already, on the fifteenth day before the calends of November.
My rivals are Sulpicius, Muræna, and Silanus. Antonius
and Cicero will preside—the first, my friend! a
bold and noble Roman! He waits but an occasion to declare
for us. Now, mark me. Caius Manlius—you do
know the man, an old and practised soldier, a scar-seamed
veteran of Sylla,—will on that very day display yon eagle
to twenty thousand men, well armed, and brave, and desperate
as ourselves, at Fiesolè. Septimius of Camerinum
writes from the Picene district, that thirty thousand slaves
will rise there at his bidding; while Caius Julius, sent to
that end into Apulia, has given out arms and nominated
leaders to twice five thousand there. Ere this, they have
received my mandate to collect their forces, and to march
on that same day toward Rome. Three several armies,
to meet which there is not one legion on this side of Cisalpine
Gaul! What, then, even if all were peace in Rome,
what then could stand against us? But there shall be that
done here, here in the very seat and heart, as I may say,
of Empire, that shall dismay and paralyse all who would
else oppose us. Cethegus, when the centuries are all assembled
in the field of Mars, with fifteen hundred gladiators
well armed and exercised even now, sets on the guard
in the Janiculum, and beats their standard down. Then,
while all is confusion, Statilius and Gabinius with their
households,—whom, his work done, Cethegus will join
straightway—will fire the city in twelve several places,
break open the prison doors, and crying “Liberty to
slaves!” and “Abolition of all debts!”—rush diverse
throughout the streets, still gathering numbers as they go.
Meanwhile, with Lentulus and Cassius, the clients of your
houses being armed beneath their togas with swords and
breast-plates, and casques ready to be donned, I will make
sure of Cicero and the rest. Havoc, and slaughter, and
flames every where will make the city ours. Then ye,
who have no duty set, hear, and mark this: always to kill
is to do something! the more, and nobler, so much the
better deed! Remembering this, that sons have ready
access to their sires, who for the most part are their bitterest
foes! and that to spare none we are sworn—how,
and how deeply, it needs not to remind you. More words
are bootless, since to all here it must be evident that these
things, planned thus far with deep and prudent council,
once executed with that dauntless daring, which alone
stands for armor, and for weapons, and, by the Gods! for
bulwarks of defence, must win us liberty and glory, more
over wealth, and luxury, and power, in which names is
embraced the sum of all felicity. Therefore, now, I exhort
you not; for if the woes which you would shun, the prizes
which you shall attain, exhort you not, all words of man,
all portents of the Gods, are dumb, and voiceless, and in
vain! Mark the day only, and remember, that if not ye,
at least your sires were Romans and were men!”

“Bravely, my Sergius, hast thou spoken, and well
done!” cried at once several voices of the more prominent
partisans.

“By the Gods! what a leader!” whispered Longinus
Cassius to his neighbor.

“Fabius in council,” cried Cethegus, “Marcellus in the
field!”

“Moreover, fellow-soldiers,” exclaimed Lentulus, “hear
this: although he join not with us now, through policy,
Antonius, the Consul, is in heart ours, and waits but for
the first success to declare himself for the cause in arms.
Crassus, the rich—Cæsar, the people's idol—have heard
our counsels, and approve them. The first blow struck,
their influence, their names, their riches, and their popularity,
strike with us—trustier friends, by Pollux! and
more potent, than fifty thousand swordsmen!”

A louder and more general burst of acclamation and
applause than that which had succeeded Cataline's address,
burst from the lips of all, as those great names dropped
from the tongue of Lentulus; and one voice cried
aloud—it was the voice of Curius, intoxicated as it were
with present triumph—

“By all the Gods! Rome is our own! our own, even
now, to portion out among our friends, our mistresses, our
slaves!”

“Not Rome—but Rome's inheritance, the world!” exclaimed
another. “If we win, all the universe is ours—
and see how small the stake; when, if we fail”—

“By Hades, we'll not fail!” Cataline interrupted him,
in his deep penetrating tones. “We cannot, and we will
not! and now, for I wax somewhat weary, we will break
up this conclave. We meet at the comitia!”

“And the Slave?” whispered Cethegus, with an inquiring
accent, in his ear—“the Slave, my Sergius?”

“Will tell no tales of us,” replied the other, with a
hoarse laugh, “unless it be to Lamia.”

Thus they spoke as they left the house; and ere the day
had yet begun to glimmer with the first morning twilight
—so darkly did the clouds still muster over the mighty
city—went on their different ways toward their several
homes, unseen, and, as they fondly fancied, unsuspected.