University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV
THE CONSUL.

Coriolanus.

The morning was yet young, when Paullus Arvina,
leaving his mansion on the Cælian hill by a postern door,
so to avoid the crowd of clients who even at that early
hour awaited his forth-coming in the hall, descended the
gentle hill toward the splendid street called Carinæ, from
some fanciful resemblance in its shape, lying in a curved
hollow between the bases of the Esquiline, Cælian, and
Palatine mounts, to the keel of a galley.

This quarter of the city was at that time unquestionably
the most beautiful in Rome, although it still fell far short
of the magnificence it afterward attained, when the favourite
Mecænas had built his splendid palace, and laid out his
unrivalled gardens, on the now woody Esquiline; and it
would have been difficult indeed to conceive a view more
sublime, than that which lay before the eyes of the young patrician,
as he paused for a moment on the highest terrace of
the hill, to inhale the breath of the pure autumnal morning.

The sun already risen, though not yet high in the east,
was pouring a flood of mellow golden light, through the
soft medium of the half misty atmosphere, over the varied
surface of the great city, broken and diversified by many
hills and hollows; and bringing out the innumerable columns,
arches, and aqueducts, that adorned almost every
street and square, in beautiful relief.

The point at which the young man stood, looking directly
northward, was one which could not be excelled, if it

indeed could be equalled for the view it commanded, embracing
nearly the whole of Rome, which from its commanding
height, inferior only to the capitol, and the
Quirinal hill, it was enabled to overlook.

Before him, in the hollow at his feet, on which the
morning rays dwelt lovingly, streaming in through the
deep valley to the right over the city walls, lay the long
street of the Carinæ, the noblest and most sumptuous of
Rome, adorned with many residences of the patrician order,
and among others, those of Pompey, Cæsar, and the great
Latin orator. This broad and noble thoroughfare, from its
great width, and the long rows of marble columns, which
decked its palaces, all glittering in the misty sunbeams,
shewed like a waving line of light among the crowded
buildings of the narrower ways, that ran parallel to it along
the valley and up the easy slope of the Cælian mount, with
the Minervium, in which Arvina stood, leading directly
downward to its centre. Beyond this sparkling line, rose the
twin summits Oppius and Cispius, of the Esquiline hill, still
decked with the dark foliage of the ancestral groves of
oak and sweet-chesnut, said to derive their origin from
Servius Tullius, the sixth king of Rome, and green with
the long grass and towering cypresses of the plebeian cemetery,
across which the young man had come home, from
the villa of his lady-love, but a few hours before.

Beyond the double hill-tops, a heavy purple shadow indicated
the deep basin through which ran the ill-famed
Suburra, and the “Wicked-Street”, so named from the tradition,
that therein Tullia compelled her trembling charioteer
to lash his reluctant steeds over the yet warm body
of her murdered father. And beyond this again the lofty
ridge of the Quirinal mount stood out in fair relief with all
its gorgeous load of palaces and columns; and the great
temple of the city's founder, the god Romulus Quirinus; and
the stupendous range of walls and turrets, along its northern
verge, flashing out splendidly to the new-risen sun.

So lofty was the post from which Paullus gazed, as he
overlooked the mighty town, that his eye reached even
beyond the city-walls on the Quirinal, and passing over the
broad valley at its northern base, all glimmering with uncertain
lights and misty shadows, rested upon the Collis
Hortulorum, or mount of gardens, now called Monte Pincio,

which was at that time covered, as its name indicates, with
rich and fertile shrubberies. The glowing hues of these
could be distinctly made out, even at this great distance, by
the naked eye. For it must be remembered that there was in
those days no sea-coal to send up its murky smoke-wreaths,
blurring the bright skies with its inky pall; no factories
with tall chimnies, vomiting forth, like mimic Etnas, their
pestilential breath, fatal to vegetable life. Not a cloud
hung over the great city; and the charcoal, sparingly used
for cookery, sent forth no visible fumes to shroud the daylight.
So that, as the thin purplish haze was dispersed by
the growing influence of the sunbeams, every line of the
far architecture, even to the carved friezes of the thousand
temples, and the rich foliage of the marble capitals could be
observed, distinct and sharp as in a painted picture.

Nor was this all the charm of the delicious atmosphere;
for so pure was it, that the odours of that flowery hill,
wafted upon the wings of the light northern breeze, blent
with the coolness which they caught from the hundreds of
clear fountains, plashing and glittering in every public
place, came to the brow of the young noble, more like the
breath of some enchanted garden in the far-famed Hesperides,
than the steam from the abodes of above a million
of busy mortals.

Before him still, though inclining a little to the left hand,
lay a broader hollow, presenting the long vista of the sacred
way, leading directly to the capitol, and thence to the
Campus Martius, the green expanse of which, bedecked
with many a marble monument and brazen column, and
already studded with quick moving groups, hurling the
disc and javelin, or reining the fierce war-horse with strong
Gaulish curbs, lay soft and level for half a league in length,
till it was bounded far away by a gleaming reach of the
blue Tiber.

Still to the left of this, uprose the Palatine, the earliest
settled of the hills of Rome, with the old walls of Romulus,
and the low straw-built shed, wherein that mighty son of
Mars dwelt when he governed his wild robber-clan; and
the bidental marking the spot where lightning from the
monarch of Olympus, called on by undue rites, consumed
Hostilius and his house; were still preserved with reverential
worship, and on its eastern peak, the time-honoured
shrine of Stator Jove.

The ragged crest of this antique elevation concealed, it
is true, from sight the immortal space below, once occupied
by the marsh of the Velabrum, but now filled by the
grand basilicæ and halls of Justice surrounding the great
Roman forum, with all their pomp of golden shields, and
monuments of mighty deeds performed in the earliest ages;
but it was far too low to intercept the view of the grand
Capitol, and the Tarpeian Rock.

The gilded gates of bronze and the gold-plated roof of
the vast national temple—gold-plated at the enormous
cost of twenty-one thousand talents, the rich spoil of Carthage—the
shrine of Jupiter Capitoline, and Juno, and
Minerva, sent back the sun-beams in lines too dazzing to
be borne by any human eye; and all the pomp of statues
grouped on the marble terraces, and guarding the ascent
of the celebrated hundred steps, glittered like forms of
indurated snow.

Such was the wondrous spectacle, more like a fairy show
than a real scene of earthly splendour, to look on which
Arvina paused for one moment with exulting gladness,
before descending toward the mansion of the consul. Nor
was that mighty panorama wanting in moving crowds, and
figures suitable to the romantic glory of its scenery.

Here, through the larger streets, vast herds of cattle were
driven in by mounted herdsmen, lowing and trampling toward
the forum; here a concourse of men, clad in the
graceful toga, the clients of some noble house, were hastening
along to salute their patron at his morning levee;
there again, danced and sang, with saffron colored veils
and flowery garlands, a band of virgins passing in sacred
pomp toward some favourite shrine; there in sad order
swept along, with mourners and musicians, with womon
wildly shrieking and tearing their long hair, and players and
buffoons, and liberated slaves wearing the cap of freedom,
a funeral procession, bearing the body of some young victim,
as indicated by the morning hour, to the funereal pile
beyond the city walls; and far off, filing in, with the spear
heads and eagles of a cohort glittering above the dust
wreaths, by the Flaminian way, the train of some ambassador
or envoy, sent by submissive monarchs or dependent
states, to sue the favour and protection of the great Roman
people.

The blended sounds swept up, in a confused sonorous
murmur, like the sea; the shrill cry of the water-carriers,
and the wild chant of the choral songs, and the keen clangour
of the distant trumpets ringing above the din, until the
ears of the youth, as well as his eyes, were filled with present
proofs of his native city's grandeur; and his whole
soul was lapped in the proud conscious joy, arising from
the thought that he too was entitled to that boastful name,
higher than any monarch's style, of Roman citizen.

“Fairest and noblest city of the universe,” cried the enthusiastic
boy, spreading his arms abroad over the glorious
view, which, kindling all the powers of his imaginative
mind, had awakened something of awe and veneration,
“long may the everliving gods watch over thee; long may
they guard thy liberties intact, thy hosts unconquered!
long may thy name throughout the world be synonimous
with all that is great, and good, and glorious! Long may
the Roman fortune and the Roman virtue tread, side by
side, upon the neck of tyrants; and the whole universe
stand mute and daunted before the presence of the sovereign
people.”

“The sovereign slaves!” said a deep voice, with a
strangely sneering accent, in his ear; and as he started in
amazement, for he had not imagined that any one was
near him, Cataline stood at his elbow.

Under the mingled influence of surprise, and bashfulness
at being overheard, and something not very far removed
from alarm at the unexpected presence of one so famed
for evil deeds as the man beside him, Arvina recoiled a
pace or two, and thrust his hand into the bosom of his
toga, disarranging its folds for a moment, and suffering the
eye of the conspirator to dwell on the hilt of a weapon,
which he recognized instantly as the stiletto he had lost
in the struggle with the miserable slave on the Esquiline.

No gleam in the eye of the wily plotter betrayed his
intelligence; no show of emotion was discoverable in his
dark paleness; but a grim smile played over his lips for a
moment, as he noted, not altogether without a sort of secret
satisfaction, the dismay caused by his unexpected
presence.

“How now,” he said jeeringly, before the smile had yet
vanished from his ill-omened face—“what aileth the bold

Paullus, that he should start, like an unruly colt scared by
a shadow, from the approach of a friend?”

“A friend,” answered the young man in a half doubtful
tone, but instantly recovering himself, “Ha! Cataline, I
was surprised, and scarce saw who it was. Thou art abroad
betimes this morning. Whither so early? but what
saidst thou about slaves?”

“I thought thou didst not know me,” replied the other,
“and for the rest, I am abroad no earlier than thou,
and am perhaps bound to the same place with thee!”

“By Hercules! I fancy not,” said Paullus.

“Wherefore, I pray thee, not?” Who knoweth? Perchance
I go to pay my vows to Jupiter upon the capitol!
perchance,” he added with a deep sneer, “to salute our
most eloquent and noble consul!”

A crimson flush shot instantly across the face and temples
of Arvina, perceiving that he was tampered with, and
sounded only; yet he replied calmly and with dignity,
“Thither indeed, go I; but I knew not that thou wert in
so much a friend of Cicero, as to go visit him.”

“Men sometimes visit those who be not their friends,”
answered the other. “I never said he was a friend to
me, or I to him. By the gods, no! I had lied else.”

“But what was that,” asked the youth, moved, by an
inexplicable curiosity and excitement, to learn something
more of the singular being with whom chance had brought
him into contact, “which thou didst say but now concerning
slaves?”

“That all these whom we see before us, and around us,
and beneath us, are but a herd of slaves; gulled and vainglorious
slaves!”

“The Roman people?” exclaimed Paullus, every tone
of his voice, every feature of his fine countenance, expressing
his unmitigated horror and astonishment. “The
great, unconquered Roman people; the lords of earth
and sea, from frosty Caucasus to the twin rocks of Hercules;
the tramplers on the necks of kings; the arbiters
of the whole world! The Roman people, slaves?”

“Most abject and most wretched!”

“To whom then?” cried the young man, much excited,
“to whom am I, art thou, a slave? For we are also of
the Roman people?”

“The Roman people, and thou, as one of them, and I,
Paullus Cæcilius, are slaves one and all; abject and base
and spirit-fallen slaves, lacking the courage even to spurn
against our fetters, to the proud tyrannous rich aristocracy.”

“By the Gods! we are of it.”

“But not the less, for that, slaves to it!” answered Cataline!
See! from the lowest to the highest, each petty
pelting officer lords it above the next below him; and if
the tribunes for a while, at rare and singular moments, uplift
a warning cry against the corrupt insolence of the patrician
houses, gold buys them back into vile treasonable
silence! Patricians be we, and not slaves, sayest thou?
Come tell me then, did the patrician blood of the grand
Gracchi preserve them from a shameful doom, because
they dared to speak, as free-born men, aloud and freely?
Did his patrician blood save Fulvius Flaccus? Were
Publius Antonius, and Cornelius Sylla, the less ejected
from their offices, that they were of the highest blood in
Rome; the lawful consuls by the suffrage of the people?
Was I, the heir of Sergius Silo's glory, the less forbidden
even to canvass for the consulship, that my great grandsire's
blood was poured out, like water, upon those fields
that witnessed Rome's extremest peril, Trebia, and the
Ticinus, and Thrasymene and Cannæ? Was Lentulus, the
noblest of the noble, patrician of the eldest houses, a consular
himself, expelled the less and stricken from the rolls
of the degenerate senate, for the mere whining of a mawkish
wench, because his name is Cornelius? Tush, Tush!
these be but dreams of poets, or imaginings of children!—
the commons be but slaves to the nobles; the nobles to
the senate; the senate to their creditors, their purchasers,
their consuls; the last at once their tools, and their tyrants!
Go, young man, go. Salute, cringe, fawn upon
your consul! Nathless, for thou hast mind enough to
mark and note the truth of what I tell thee; thou wilt
think upon this, and perchance one day, when the time
shall have come, wilt speak, act, strike, for freedom!”

And as he finished speaking, he turned aside with a
haughty gesture of farewell; and wrapping his toga closely
about his tall person, stalked away slowly in the direction
neither of the capitol nor of the consul's house; turning

his head neither to the right hand nor to the left; and
taking no more notice of the person to whom he had been
speaking, than if he had not known him to be there, and
gazing toward him half-bewildered in anxiety and wonder!

“Wonderful! by the Gods!” he said at last. “Truly
he is a wonderful man, and wise withal! I fain would
know if all that be true, which they say of him—his bitterness,
his impiety, his blood-thirstiness! By Hercules!
he speaks well! and it is true likewise. Yea! true it is,
that we, patricians, and free, as we style ourselves, may
not speak any thing, or act, against our order; no! nor
indulge our private pleasures, for fear of the proud censors!
Is this, then, freedom? True, we are lords abroad;
our fleets, our hosts, everywhere victorious; and not one
land, wherein the eagle has unfurled her pinion, but bows
before the majesty of Rome—but yet—is it, is it, indeed,
true, that we are but slaves, sovereign slaves, at home?”

The whole tenor of the young man's thoughts was altered
by the few words, let fall for that very purpose by
the arch traitor. Ever espying whom he might attach to
his party by operating on his passions, his prejudices, his
weakness, or his pride; a most sagacious judge of human
nature, reading the character of every man as it were in
a written book, Cataline had long before remarked young
Arvina. He had noted several points of his mental
constitution, which he considered liable to receive such
impressions as he would—his proneness to defer to the
thoughts of others, his want of energetic resolution, and
not least his generous indignation against every thing that
savored of cruelty or oppression. He had resolved to operate
on these, whenever he might find occasion; and
should he meet success in his first efforts, to stimulate his
passions, minister to his voluptuous pleasures, corrupt his
heart, and make him in the end, body and soul, his own.

Such were the intentions of the conspirator, when he
first addressed Paullus. His desire to increase the strength
of his party, to whom the accession of any member however
humble of the great house of Cæcilii could not
fail to be useful, alone prompting him in the first instance.
But, when he saw by the young man's startled
aspect that he was prepossessed against him, and had
listened probably to the damning rumors which were

rife everywhere concerning him, a second motive was
added, in his pride of seduction and sophistry, by which
he was wont to boast, that he could bewilder the strongest
minds, and work them to his will. When by the accidental
disarrangement of Arvina's gown, and the discovery
of his own dagger, he perceived that the intended
victim of his specious arts was probably cognizant in
some degree of his last night's crime, a third and stronger
cause was added, in the instinct of self-preservation. And
as soon as he found out that Paullus was bound for the
house of Cicero, he considered his life, in some sort,
staked upon the issue of his attempt on Arvina's principles.

No part could have been played with more skill, or
with greater knowledge of his character whom he addressed.
He said just enough to set him thinking, and
to give a bias and a colour to his thoughts, without giving
him reason to suspect that he had any interest in the
matter; and he had withdrawn himself in that careless
and half contemptuous manner, which naturally led the
young man to wish for a renewal of the subject.

And in fact Paul, while walking down the hill, toward
the house of the Consul, was busied in wondering why
Cataline had left so much unsaid, departing so abruptly;
and in debating with himself upon the strange doctrines
which he had then for the first time heard broached.

It was about the second hour of the Roman day, corresponding
nearly to eight o'clock before noon—as the
winter solstice was now passed—when Arvina reached
the magnificent dwelling of the Consul in the Carinæ at
the angle of the Cærolian place, hard by the foot of the
Sacred Way.

This splendid building occupied a whole insula, as it
was called, or space between four streets, intersecting
each other at right angles; and was three stories in
height, the two upper supported by columns of marble,
with a long range of glass windows, at that period an
unusual and expensive luxury. The doors stood wide
open; and on either hand the vestibule were arranged the
lictors leaning upon their fasces, while the whole space of
the great Corinthian hall within, lighted from above, and
adorned with vast black pillars of Lucullean marble, was

crowded with the white robes of the consul's plebeian
clients tendering their morning salutations; not unmixed
with the crimson fringes and broad crimson facings of
senatorial visitors.

Many were there with gifts of all kinds; countrymen
from his Sabine farm and his Tusculan retreat, some
pringing lambs; some cages full of doves; cheeses, and
bowls of fragrant honey; and robes of fine white linen,
the produce of their daughters' looms; for whom perchance
they were seeking dowers at the munificence of
their noble patron; artizans of the city, with toys or
pieces of furniture, lamps, writing cases, cups or vases of
rich workmanship; courtiers with manuscripts rarely illuminated,
the work of their most valuable slaves; travellers
with gems, and bronzes, offerings known to be esteemed
beyond all others by the high-minded lover of the arts,
and unrivalled scholar, to whom they were presented.

These presents, after being duly exhibited to the patron
himself, who was seated at the farther end of the hall,
concealed from the eyes of Paullus by the intervening
crowd, were consigned to the care of the various slaves, or
freedmen, who stood round their master, and borne away
according to their nature, to the storerooms and offices, or
to the library and gallery of the consul; while kind
words and a courteous greeting, and a consideration most
ample and attentive even of the smallest matters brought
before him, awaited all who approached the orator;
whether he came empty handed, or full of gifts, to require
an audience.

After a little while, Arvina penetrated far enough
through the crowd to command a view of the consul's
seat; and for a time he amused himself by watching his
movements and manner toward each of his visitors,
perhaps not altogether without reference to the conversation
he had recently held with Catiline; and certainly not
without a desire to observe if the tales he had heard of
shameless bribery and corruption, as practiced by many
of the great officers of the republic, had any confirmation
in the conduct of Cicero.

But he soon saw that the courtesies of that great and
virtuous man were regulated neither by the value of the
gifts offered, nor by the rank of the visitors; and that his

personal predilections even were not allowed to interfere
with the division of his time among all worthy of his notice.

Thus he remarked that a young noble, famed for his
dissoluteness and evil courses, although he brought an exquisite
sculpture of Praxiteles, was received with the
most marked and formal coldness, and his gift, which could
not be declined, consigned almost without eliciting a glance
of approbation, to the hand of a freedman; while, the
next moment, as an old white-headed countryman, plainly
and almost meanly clad, although with scrupulous cleanliness,
approached his presence, the consul rose to meet
him; and advancing a step or two took him affectionately
by the hand, and asked after his family by name, and listened
with profound consideration to the garrulous narrative
of the good farmer, who, involved in some petty litigation,
had come to seek the advice of his patron; until
he sent him away happy and satisfied with the promise of
his protection.

By and by his own turn arrived; and, although he was
personally unknown to the orator, and the assistance of
the nomenclator, who stood behind the curule chair, was
required before he was addressed by name, he was received
with the utmost attention; the noble house to
which the young man belonged being as famous for its
devotion to the common weal, as for the ability and virtue
of its sons.

After a few words of ordinary compliment, Paullus
proceeded to intimate to his attentive hearer that his object
in waiting at his levee that morning was to communicate
momentous information. The thoughtful eye of the great
orator brightened, and a keen animated expression came
over the features, which had before worn an air almost of
lassitude; and he asked eagerly—

“Momentous to the Republic—to Rome, my good
friend?”—for all his mind was bent on discovering the
plots, which he suspected even now to be in process
against the state.

“Momentous to yourself, Consul,” answered Arvina.

“Then will it wait,” returned the other, with a slight
look of disappointment, “and I will pray you to remain,
until I have spoken with all my friends here. It will not

be very long, for I have seen nearly all the known faces.
If you are, in the mean time, addicted to the humane arts,
Davus here will conduct you to my library, where you
shall find food for the mind; or if you have not breakfasted,
my Syrian will shew you where some of my youthful
friends are even now partaking a slight meal.”

Accepting the first offer, partly perhaps from a sort of
pardonable hypocrisy, desiring to make a favourable impression
on the great man, with whom he had for the
first time spoken, Arvina followed the intelligent and civil
freedman to the library, which was indeed the favourite
apartment of the studious magistrate. And, if he half repented,
as he went by the chamber wherein several youths
of patrician birth, one or two of whom nodded to him as
he passed, were assembled, conversing merrily and jesting
around a well spread board, he ceased immediately to
regret the choice he had made, when the door was thrown
open, and he was ushered into the shrine of Cicero's literary
leisure.

The library was a small square apartment; for it must
be remembered that books at this time being multiplied
by manual labor only, and the art being comparatively
rare and very costly, the vast collections of modern times
were utterly beyond the reach of individuals; and a few
scores of volumes were more esteemed than would be as
many thousands now, in these days of multiplying presses
and steam power. But although inconsiderable in size,
not being above sixteen feet square, the decorations of the
apartment were not to be surpassed or indeed equalled by
anything of modern splendor; for the walls,[1] divided into
compartments by mouldings, exquisitely carved and over-laid
with burnished gilding, were set with panels of thick
plate glass glowing in all the richest hues of purple,
ruby, emerald, and azure, through several squares of which
the light stole in, gorgeously tinted, from the peristyle,
there being no distinction except in this between the windows
and the other compartments of the wainscot, if it

may be so styled; and of the ceiling, which was finished in
like manner with slabs of stained glass, between the intersecting
beams of gilded scroll work.

The floor was of beautiful mosaic, partially covered by
a foot-cloth woven from the finest wool, and dyed purple
with the juice of the cuttle-fish; and all the furniture corresponded,
both in taste and magnificence, to the other decorations
of the room. A circular table of cedar wood,
inlaid with ivory and brass, so that its value could not have
fallen far short of ten thousand sesterces[2] , stood in the
centre of the floor-cloth; with a bisellium, or double settle,
wrought in bronze, and two beautiful chairs of the same
material not much dissimilar in form to those now used.
And, to conclude, a bookcase of polished maple wood, one
of the doors of which stood open, displayed a rare collection
of about three hundred volumes, each in its circular
case of purple parchment, having the name inscribed in
letters of gold, silver, or vermilion.

A noble bust in bronze of the Phidian Jupiter, with the
sublime expanse of brow, the ambrosian curls and the
beard loosely waving, as when he shook Olympus by his
nod, and the earth trembled and the depth of Tartarus,
stood on a marble pedestal facing the bookcase; and on
the table, beside writing materials, leaves of parchment, an
ornamental letter-case, a double inkstand and several reed
pens, were scattered many gems and trinkets; signets and
rings engraved in a style far surpassing any effort of the
modern graver, vases of onyx and cut glass, and above all,
the statue of a beautiful boy, holding a lamp of bronze suspended
by a chain from his left hand, and in his right the
needle used to refresh the wick.

Nurtured as he had been from his youth upward among
the magnates of the land, accustomed to magnificence and
luxury till he had almost fancied that the world had nothing
left of beautiful or new that he had not witnessed,
Paul stood awhile, after the freedman had departed, gazing
with mute admiration on the richness and taste displayed
in all the details of this the scholar's sanctum. The very
atmosphere of the chamber, filled with the perfume of the

cedar wood employed as a specific against the ravages of
the moth and bookworm, seemed to the young man redolent
of midnight learning; and the superb front of the presiding
god, calm in the grandeur of its ineffable benignity,
who appeared to his excited fancy to smile serene protection
on the pursuits of the blameless consul, inspired him
with a sense of awful veneration, that did not easily or
quickly pass away.

For some moments, as he gradually recovered the elasticity
of his spirits, he amused himself by examining the
exquisitely wrought gems on the table; but after a little
while, when Cicero came not, he crossed the room quietly
to the bookshelves, and selecting a volume of Homer, drew
it forth from its richly embossed case, and seating himself
on the bronze settle with his back toward the door, had
soon forgotten where he was, and the grave business which
brought him thither, in the sublime simplicity of the blind
rhapsodist.

An hour or more elapsed thus; yet Paul took no note
of time, nor moved at all except to unroll with his right
hand the lower margin of the parchment as he read, while
with the left he rolled up the top; so that nearly the same
space of the manuscript remained constantly before his
eyes, although the reader was continually advancing in the
poem.

At length the door opened noiselessly, and with a silent
foot, shod in the light slippers which the Romans always
wore when in the house, Cicero entered the apartment.

The consul was at this time in the very prime of intellectual
manhood, it having been decreed[3] about a century
before, that no person should be elected to that highest
office of the state, who should not have attained his forty-third
year. He was a tall and elegantly formed man, with
nothing especially worthy of remark in his figure, if it
were not that his neck was unusually long and slender,
though not so much so as to constitute any drawback to
his personal appearance, which, without being what would
exactly be termed handsome, was both elegant and graceful.

His features were not, indeed, very bold or striking;
but intellect was strongly and singularly marked in every
line of the face; and the expression,—calm, thoughtful,
and serene,—though it had not the quick and restless play
of ever-varying lights and shadows which belongs to the
quicker and more imaginative temperaments among men
of the highest genius,—could not fail to impress any one
with the conviction, that the mind which informed it must
be of eminent capacity, and depth, and power.

He entered, as I have said, silently; and although there
was nothing of stealthiness in his gait, which being very
light and slow was yet both firm and springy, nor any of
that cunning in his manner which is so often coupled to a
prowling footstep, he yet advanced so noiselessly over the
soft floor-cloth, that he stood at Arvina's elbow, and over-looked
the page in which he was reading, before the young
man was aware of his vicinity.

“Ha!” he exclaimed, after standing a moment, and observing
with a soft pleasant smile the abstraction of his
visitor, “so thou readest Greek, and art thyself a poet.”

“A little of the first, my consul,” replied Arvina, arising
quickly to his feet, with the ingenuous blood rushing
to his brow at the detection. “But wherefore shouldst
thou believe me the second?”

“We statesmen,” answered the consul, “are wont to
study other men's characters, as other men are wont to
study books; and I have learned by practice to draw quick
conculsions from small signs. But in this instance, the light
in your eye, the curl of your expanded nostril, the half
frown on your brow, and the flush on your cheek, told me
beyond a doubt that you are a poet. And you are so,
young man. I care not whether you have penned as yet
an elegy, or no—nevertheless, you are in soul, in temperament,
in fantasy, a poet. Do you love Homer?”

“Beyond all other writers I have ever met, in my small
course of reading. There is a majesty, a truth, an everburning
fire, lustrous, yet natural and most beneficent,
like the sun's glory on a summer day, in his immortal
words, that kindles and irradiates, yet consumes not the
soul; a grand simplicity, that never strains for effect; a
sweet pathos, that elicits tears without evoking them; a
melody that flows on, like the harmony of the eternal sea,

or, if we may call fancy to our aid, the music of the spheres,
telling us that like these the blind bard sang, because song
was his nature—was within, and must out—not bound by
laws, or measured by pedantic rules, but free, unfettered,
and spontaneous as the billows, which in its wild and
many-cadenced sweep it most resembles.”

“Ah! said I not,” replied Cicero, “that you were a
poet? And you have been discoursing me most eloquent
poetry; though not attuned to metre, rythmical withal, and
full of fancy. Ay! and you judge aright. He is the
greatest, as the first of poets; and surpassed all his followers
as much in the knowledge of the human heart with its
ten thousands of conflicting passions, as in the structure of
the kingly verse, wherein he delineated character as never
man did, saving only he. But hold, Arvina. Though I
could willingly spend hours with thee in converse on this
topic, the state has calls on me, which must be obeyed.
Tell me, therefore, I pray you, as shortly as may be, what
is the matter you would have me know. Shortly, I pray
you, for my time is short, and my duties onerous and manifold.”

Laying aside the roll, which he had still held open during
that brief conversation, and laying aside with it his
enthusiastic and passionate manner, the young man now
stated, simply and briefly, the events of the past night, the
discovery of the murdered slave, and the accident by
which he had learned that he was the consul's property;
and in conclusion, laid the magnificently ornamented dag
ger which he had found, on the board before Cicero; observing,
that the weapon might give a clue to poor Medon's
death.

Cicero was moved deeply—moved, not simply, as Arvina
fancied, by sorrow for the dead, but by something approaching
nearly to remorse. He started up from the
chair, which he had taken when the youth began his tale,
and clasping his hands together violently, strode rapidly
to and fro the small apartment.

“Alas, and wo is me, poor Medon! Faithful wert thou,
and true, and very pleasant to mine eyes! Alas! that
thou art gone, and gone too so wretchedly! And wo is
me, that I listened not to my own apprehensions, rather
than to thy trusty boldness. Alas! that I suffered thee to

go, for they have murdered thee! ay, thine own zeal betrayed
thee; but by the Gods that govern in Olympus,
they shall rue it!”

After this burst of passion he became more cool, and,
resuming his seat, asked Paullus a few shrewd and pertinent
questions concerning the nature of the ground whereon
he had found the corpse, the traces left by the mortal
struggle, the hour at which the discovery was made, and
many other minute points of the same nature; the answers
to which he noted carefully on his waxed tablets. When
he had made all the inquiries that occurred to him, he read
aloud the answers as he had set them down, and asked if
he would be willing at any moment to attest the truth of
those things.

“At any moment, and most willingly, my consul,” the
youth replied. “I would do much myself to find out the
murderers and bring them to justice, were it only for my
poor freedman Thrasea's sake, who is his cousin-german.”

“Fear not, young man, they shall be brought to justice,”
answered Cicero. “In the meantime do thou keep silence,
nor say one word touching this to any one that lives.
Carry the dagger with thee; wear it as ostentatiously as
may be—perchance it shall turn out that some one may
claim or recognise it. Whatever happeneth, let me know
privately. Thus far hast thou done well, and very wisely:
go on as thou hast commenced, and, hap what hap, count
Cicero thy friend. But above all, doubt not—I say, doubt
not one moment,—that as there is One eye that seeth all
things in all places, that slumbereth not by day nor sleepeth
in the watches of night, that never waxeth weak at any
time or weary—as there is One hand against which no
panoply can arm the guilty, from which no distance can
protect, nor space of time secure him, so surely shall they
perish miserable who did this miserable murder, and their
souls rue it everlastingly beyond the portals of the grave,
which are but the portals of eternal life, and admit all men
to wo or bliss, for ever and for ever!”

He spoke solemnly and sadly; and on his earnest face
there was a deep and almost awful expression, that held
Arvina mute and abashed, he knew not wherefore; and
when the great man had ceased from speaking, he made a
silent gesture of salutation and withdrew, thus gravely

warned, scarce conscious if the statesman noted his departure;
for he had fallen into a deep reverie, and was perhaps
musing on the mysteries yet unrevealed of the immortal
soul, so totally careless did he now appear of all
sublunary matters.