University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.
THE DOOM.

Hamlet.

The nones[1] of November were perilous indeed to
Rome.

The conspirators, arrested two days previously, and fully
convicted on the evidence of the Gaulish ambassadors, of
Titus Volturcius of Crotona, and of Lucius Tarquinius,—
convicted on the evidence of their own letters—and lastly
convicted by their own admissions, were yet uncondemned
and in free custody, as it was termed; under the charge of
certain senators and magistrates, whose zeal for the republic
was undoubted.

There was still in the city a considerable mass of men,
turbulent, disaffected, ripe for tumult—there was still in
the Senate a large party, not indeed favorable to the plot,
but far from being unfavorable to the plotters,—Catiline
was at the head of a power which had increased already to
nearly the force of two legions, and was in full march upon
Rome.

Should the least check of the armies sent against him
occur under such circumstances, there was but little doubt
that an eruption of the Gladiators, and a servile insurrection,
would liberate the traitors, and perhaps even crown
their frantic rashness with success.

Such was the state of things, on the morning of the
nones; and the brow of the great Consul was dark, and
his heart heavy, as he entered the Senate, convened on this
occasion in the temple of Jupiter Stator, in order to take
the voice of that body on the fate of Lentulus and the rest.

But scarcely had he taken his seat, before a messenger
was introduced, breathless and pale, the herald of present
insurrection.

The freedmen and clients of Lentulus were in arms;
the gladiators and the slaves of Cethegus were up already,
and hurrying through the streets toward the house of
Quintus Cornificius, wherein their master was confined.

Many slaves of other houses, and no small number of
disaffected citizens had joined them; and the watches
were well nigh overpowered.

Ere long the roar of the mob might be heard even within
those hallowed precincts, booming up from the narrow
streets about the Forum, like the distant sound of a heavy
surf.

Another, and another messenger followed the first in
quick succession—one manipule of soldiers had been over-powered,
and driven into some houses where they defended
themselves, though hard set, with their missiles—the
multitude was thundering at the gates of the City Prisons;
and, if not quelled immediately, would shortly swell their
numbers by the accession of all the desperate criminals,
convicted slaves, and reckless debtors, who were crowded
together in those abodes of guilt and wretchedness.

Then was it seen, when the howls of the rabble were
echoing through the arches of the sanctuary wherein they
sate; when massacre and conflagration were imminent,
and close at hand; then was it seen, how much of real
majesty and power resided still in the Roman Senate.

Firm, as when Hannibal was thundering at their gates,
solemn as when the Gaul was ravaging their city, they sat,
and debated, grave, fearless, and unmoved.

Orders were issued to concentrate forces upon the spot
where the tumult was raging; the knights, who were collected
under arms, in the whole force of their order, without
the gates of the Temple as a guard to the Senate, were
informed that the Fathers were sufficiently defended by

their own sanctity; and were requested to march down
upon the forum, and disperse the rioters.

The heavy tramp of their solid march instantly succeeded
the transmission of the order; and, in a short time after,
the deep swell of their charging shout rose high above
the discordant clamors of the mob, from the hollow of the
Velabrum.

Still, not a Senator left his seat, or changed countenance;
although it might be seen, by the fiery glances and clinched
hands of some among the younger nobles, that they would
have gladly joined the knights, in charging their hereditary
enemies, the Democratic rabble.

The question which was then debating was of more
weight, however, than any triumph over the mob; for by
the decision of that question it was to be determined whether
the traitors and the treason should be crushed simultaneously
and forever, or whether Rome itself should be
abandoned to the pleasure of the rebels.

That question was the life or death of Lentulus, Cethe
gus, Gabinius, Statilius, and Cæparius; all of whom were
in separate custody, the last having been brought in on
the previous evening, arrested on his way to the camp of
Catiline and Manlius.

Should the Senate decree their death, the commonwealth
might be deemed safe—should it absolve them, by that
weakness, the republic must be lost.

And on the turn of a die did that question seem to
hang.

Decius Junius Silanus, whose opinion was first asked,
spoke briefly, but strenuously and to the point, and as became
the Consul elect, soon to be the first magistrate of
that great empire. He declared for the capital punishment
of all those named above, and of four others, Lucius Cassius,
Publius Furius, Publius Umbrenus, and Quintus Annius,
if they should be thereafter apprehended.

Several others of the high Patrician family followed on
the same side; and no one had as yet ventured openly to
urge the impunity of the parricides, although Tiberius
Nero had recommended a delay in taking the question,
and the casting of the prisoners meanwhile into actual incarceration
under the safeguard of a military force.

But it had now come to the turn of Caius Julius Cæsar,

the great leader then of the Democratic faction, the great
captain that was to be in after days, and the first Emperor
of subjugated Rome.

An orator second, if second, to Cicero alone, ardent, impassioned,
yet bland, clement, easy; liberal both of hand
and council; averse to Cicero from personal pique, as well
as from party opposition; an eager candidate for popular
applause and favor, it was most natural that he should take
side with the conspirators.

Still, his name having been coupled obscurely with their
infamous designs, although Cicero had positively refused
to suffer his accusation or impeachment, it required so
much boldness, so much audacity indeed, to enable him to
stand forward as their open champion, that many men disbelieved
that he would venture on a step so hazardous.

The greatest possible anxiety was manifested, therefore,
in the house, when that distinguished Senator arose, and
began in low, deep, harmonious tones, and words which
rolled forth like a gentle river in an easy and silvery flow.

“It were well,” he said, “Conscript Fathers, that all
men who debate on dubious matters, should be unbiassed
in opinion by hate or friendship, clemency or anger. When
passions intervene, the mind can rarely perceive truth;
nor hath at one time any man obeyed his interests and his
pleasures. The intellect there prevails, where most it is
exerted. If passion governs it, passion hath the sole sway;
reason is powerless. It were an easy task for me, Conscript
Fathers, to quote instances in which kings and nations,
impelled by enmity or pity, have taken unadvised
and evil counsels; but I prefer to cite those, wherein our
ancestors, defying the influence of passion, have acted well
and wisely. During the Macedonian war which we waged
against King Perseus, the state of Rhodes, splendid then
and stately, which had been built up by the aid and opulence
of Rome, proved faithless to us, and a foe. Yet,
when, the war being ended, debate was had concerning
her, our fathers suffered her citizens to go unpunished, in
order that no men might infer that Rome had gone to war
for greed, and not for just resentment. Again, in all the
Punic wars, although the Carthaginians repeatedly committed
outrages against them, in violation both of truce
and treaties, never once did they follow that example, considering

rather what should seem worthy of themselves,
than what might be inflicted justly on their foes.

“This same consideration you should now take, Conscript
Fathers; having care that the crimes of Publius
Lentulus and his fellows weigh not upon your minds with
greater potency, than your own dignity and honor; and
that ye obey not rather the dictates of resentment, than the
teachings of your old renown. For if a punishment worthy
their crimes can be discovered, I approve of it, of how
new precedent soever; but if the enormity of their guilt
overtop the invention of all men, then, I shall vote that we
abide by the customs, prescribed by our laws and institutions.

“Many of those who have already spoken, have dilated
in glowing and set phrases on the perils which have menaced
the republic. They have descanted on the horrors
of warfare, on the woes which befall the vanquished. The
rape of virgins; the tearing of children from parental arms;
the ransacking of human homes and divine temples; the
subjecting of matrons to the brutal will of the conquerors;
havoc and conflagration, and all places filled with arms
and corpses, with massacre and misery—But, in the name
of the immortal Gods! to what do such orations tend?
Do they aim at inflaming your wrath against this conspiracy?
Vain, vain were such intent; for is it probable
that words will inflame the mind of any one, if such and
so atrocious facts have failed to inflame it? That is indeed
impossible! Nor hath any man, at any period, esteemed
his own injuries too lightly. Most persons, on the
contrary, hold them more heavy than they are. But consequences
fall not equally on all men, Conscript Fathers.
They who in lowly places pass their lives in obscurity,
escape the censure of the world, if they err on occasion
under the influences of passion. Their fortunes and their
fame are equal. They who, endowed with high commands,
live in exalted stations, perform every action of their lives
in the full gaze of all men. Thus to the greatest fortunes,
the smallest licence is conceded. The great man must in
no case consult his affections, or his anger. Least of all,
must he yield to passion. That which is styled wrath in
the lowly-born, becomes tyranny and cruel pride in the
high and noble.

“I indeed think, with those who have preceded me, that
every torture is too small for their atrocity and crime. But
it is human nature's trick to remember always that which
occurs the last in order. Forgetful of the criminal's guilt,
the world dwells ever on the horror of his punishment, if
it lean never so little to the side of severity. Well sure am
I, that the speech of Decius Silanus, a brave and energetic
man, was dictated by his love for the republic—that in a
cause so weighty he is moved neither by favor nor resentment.
Yet his vote to my eyes appears, I say not cruel
—for what could be cruel, inflicted on such men?—but
foreign to the sense of our institutions. Now it is clear,
Silanus, that either fear of future peril, or indignation at
past wrong, impelled you to vote for an unprecedented
penalty! Of fear it is needless to speak farther; when
through the active energy of that most eminent man, our
consul, such forces are assembled under arms! concerning
the punishment of these men we must speak, however, as
the circumstances of the case require. We must admit
that in agony and wo death is no penalty, but rather the
repose from sorrow. Death alone is the refuge from every
mortal suffering—in death alone there is no place for joy
or grief. But if this be not so, wherefore, in the name of
the Gods! have ye not added also to your sentence, that
they be scourged before their execution? Is it, that the Porcian
law forbids? That cannot be—since other laws as
strenuously prohibit the infliction of capital punishment on
condemned citizens, enjoining that they be suffered to go
into exile. Is it, then, that to be scourged is more severe
and cruel than to be slain? Not so—for what can be too
severe or too cruel for men convicted of such crime. If
on the other hand it be less severe, how is it fitting to obey
that law in the lesser, which you set at naught in the
greater article? But, you will ask me perchance, who
will find fault with any punishment inflicted upon the parricides
of the republic? Time—future days—fortune,
whose caprice governs nations! True, these men merit
all that can befall them; but do ye, Conscript Fathers,
pause on the precedent which you establish against others?
Never did bad example arise but from a good precedent
—only when the reins of empire have fallen from wise
hands into ignorant or wicked guidance, that good example

is perverted from grand and worthy to base and unworthy
ends. The men of Lacedemon, when they had
conquered Athens, set thirty tyrants at the helm who
should control the commonwealth. They at the first began
to take off the guiltiest individuals, wretches hated by all,
without form of trial. Thereat the people were rejoiced,
and cried out that their deaths were just and merited. Ere
long, when license had gained ground, they slew alike the
virtuous and the guilty, and governed all by terror. Thus
did that state, oppressed by slavery, rue bitterly its insane
mirth. Within our memory, when victorious Sylla commanded
Damasippus and his crew, who had grown up a
blight to the republic, to be put to the sword's edge, who
did not praise the deed? Who did not exclaim earnestly
that men, factious and infamous, who had torn the republic
by their tumults, were slain justly? And yet that deed
was the commencement of great havoc. For, when one
envied the city mansion or the country farm, nay, but the
plate or garment of another, he strove with all his energy
to have him on the lists of the proscription. Therefore,
they who exulted at the death of Damasippus were themselves,
ere long, dragged to execution; nor was there an
end put to the massacre, until Sylla had satiated all his
men with plunder. These things, indeed, I fear not under
Marcus Tullius, nor at this day; but in a mighty state there
are many and diverse dispositions. It may be at another
time, under another consul, who shall perhaps hold an
army at his back, that the wrong shall be taken for the
right. If it be so when—on this precedent, by this decree,
of this Senate—that consul shall have drawn the sword,
who will compel him to put it back into the scabbard, who
moderate his execution? Our ancestors, O Conscript Fathers,
never lacked either wisdom in design, or energy in action;
nor did their pride restrain them from copying those
institutions of their neighbors, which they deemed good
and wise. Their arms offensive and defensive they imitated
from the Samnites—most of the ensigns of their
magistracies they borrowed of the Tuscans. In a word,
whatsoever they observed good and fitting, among their
allies or their foes, they followed up with the greatest zeal
at home. They chose to imitate, rather than envy, what
was good. But in those days, after the fashion of the
Greeks, they punished citizens with stripes; they took the
lives of condemned criminals. As the republic grew in
size, and party strife arose among its multitudinous citizens,
innocent persons were taken off under the pretext of
the law, and many wrongful deeds were committed with
impunity. Then was the Porcian Law enacted, with
others of like tenor, permitting convicts to depart into exile.
This I esteem, O Conscript Fathers, the first great
cause wherefore this novel penalty be not established as a
precedent. The wisdom and the valor of our ancestors
who from a small beginning created this vast empire, were
greater far than we, who scarcely can retain what they won
so nobly. Would I have, therefore, you will ask, these
men suffered to go at large, and so to augment the hosts of
Catiline? Far from it. But I shall vote thus, that their
property be confiscated, and they themselves detained
in perpetual fetters, in those municipalities of Italy which
are the wealthiest and the strongest. That the Senate
never again consider their case, or bring their cause before
the people—and that whosoever shall speak for them, be
pronounced, of the Senate, an enemy to his country, and to
the common good of all men.”

This specious and artful oration, in which, while affecting
to condemn what he dared not defend openly, he had
more than insinuated a doubt of the legality of sentencing
the traitors, was listened to by all present, with deep attention;
and by the secret partizans of the conspiracy with
joy and exultation. So sure did they esteem it that, in the
teeth of this insidious argument, the Senate would not venture
to inflict capital punishment on their friends, that they
evinced their approbation by loud cheers; while many of
the patrician party were shaken in their previous convictions;
and many of those who perceived the fallacy of his
sophistical reasoning, and detected his latent determination
to screen the parricides of the state, felt the hazard
and difficulty of proceeding as the exigencies of the case
required.

Cicero's brow grew dark; as Silanus avowed openly
that he had altered his opinion, and should vote for the motion
of Tiberius Nero, to defer judgment.

Then Cicero himself arose, and in the noblest perhaps
of all his orations, exerted himself strenuously to controvert

the arguments and abolish the evil influence of the noble
demagogue.

He did not, indeed, openly urge the death of the traitors;
but he dwelt with tremendous force on the atrocious nature
of the crimes, and on the consequence of their success.
He showed the fallacy of Cæsar's insinuation, that
death was a less severe enactment than perpetual imprisonment.
He pointed out the impossibility and injustice of
compelling the municipalities to take charge of the prisoners—the
insecurity of those towns, as places of detention
—the almost entire certainty, that the men would ere long
be released, either by some popular tumult, or some party
measure; and he concluded with a forcible and earnest
peroration, appealing to the Senators, by their love of life,
of their families, of their country, to take counsel worthily
of themselves, and of their common mother; entreating
them to decree firmly, and promising that he would execute
their sentence, be it what it might, fearlessly.

As he sat down, the order was agitated like a sea in the
tumultuous calm, which succeeds to the wrath and riot created
by a succession of gales blowing from different quarters.
Murmurs of approbation and encouragement were
mixed with groans and loud evidences of displeasure.

The passions of the great concourse were aroused thoroughly,
and the debate waxed wild and stormy.

Senator arose after Senator, advocating some the death,
some the banishment, and some, emboldened by Cæsar's
remarks, even proposing the enlargement of the conspirators.

At length, when all arguments appeared to be exhausted,
and no hope left of anything like an unanimous decision
being adopted, Marcus Portius Cato arose from his seat,
stern, grave, composed, and awful from the severe integrity
of his grand character.

The turbulent assembly was calm in a moment. All
eyes were fixed on the harsh features of the stoic; all ears
hung rivetted in expectation, on his deep guttural intonations,
and short vigorous sentences. It was evident, almost
ere he began to speak, that his opinion would sway
the votes of the order.

“My mind is greatly different,” he said, “Conscript Fathers,
when I consider the perils of our case, and recall to

my memory the speeches of some whom I have heard today.
Those Senators, it seems to me, have descanted on
the punishment of the men who have levied war against
their country and their parents, against their hearths and
their altars. But the facts of the case require not punishment
of their crimes, but defence from their assaults.—
Other crimes you may punish after their commission—unless
you prevent this from being done, when it is done,
vainly shall ye ask for judgment. The city stormed, nothing
remains to the vanquished. Now, in the name of the
immortal Gods! I call upon you, you who have always set
more store on your mansions, your farms, your statues and
your pictures, than on the interests of the state, if you desire
to retain these things, be they what they may, to which
you cling so lovingly, if you desire to give yourselves
leisure for your luxuries, arouse yourselves, now or never,
and take up the commonwealth! It is no question now of
taxes! No question of plundering our allies! The lives,
the liberties of every one of us, are hanging on your doubt
ful decision. Oftentimes, Conscript Fathers, have I spoken
at length in this assembly. Oftentimes have I inveighed
against the luxury and avarice of our citizens, and, therefore,
have I many men my enemies. I, who have never
pardoned my own soul even for any trivial error, could not
readily excuse in others the lusts which result in open criminality.
But, although you neglected those crimes as matters
of small moment, still the republic, by its stability and
opulence, sustained the weight cast on it by your negli-gence.
Now, however, we ask not whether we shall live,
corrupt or virtuous; we ask not how we shall render Rome
most great, and most magnificent; we ask this—whether
we ourselves, and with ourselves all that we possess whatsoever,
shall be yielded up to the enemy? Who here will
speak to me of clemency and pity? Long, long ago have
we cast away the true names of things; for now to be
lavish of the goods of others is termed liberality; audacity
in guilt is denominated valor. Into such extremity
has the republic fallen. Let Senators, therefore, since
such are their habitudes and morals, be liberal of the fortunes
of our allies, be merciful to the pilferers of the treasury;
but let them not be lavish in bestowing our blood
upon them! Let them not, in pity for a few scoundrels,
send all good citizens to perdition. Caius Cæsar spoke a
while since, eloquently and in set terms, in this house, concerning
life and death; esteeming those things false, I
presume, which are believed by most men of a future
state that the wicked, I mean, journey on a different road
from the righteous, and inhabit places aloof from them,
dark horrid, waste, and fearful.

“He hath declared his intent, therefore, to vote for the
confiscation of their property; and the detention of themselves
in the borough towns in close custody. Fearing,
forsooth, that if they be kept in Rome, they may be rescued
forcibly, either by the confederates in their plot, or
by a hireling rabble. Just as if there were only rogues
and villains in this city, and none throughout all Italy.—
Just as if audacity cannot effect the greatest things there,
where the means of defence are the smallest. Wherefore
his plan is absurd, if he fear peril from these men. And if
he alone, in the midst of consternation so general, do not
fear, the more need is there that you and I do fear them.
Wherefore, when you vote on the fate of Publius Lentulus
and the rest, hold this assured, that you are voting also on
the fate of Catiline's army, on the fate of the whole conspiracy.
With the more energy you act, the more will
their courage fail them. If they shall see you falter but a
little, all at once they will fall on fiercely. Be far from believing
that our ancestors raised this republic from a small
state to a great empire, by dint of arms alone. Had it
been so, much greater should we have rendered it, who
have much greater force than they, of citizens and of allies,
of arms and of horses. But there were other things which
made them great, which we lack altogether. At home,
industry, abroad justice! A mind free to take counsel,
unbiassed by crime or passion. Instead of these things we
possess luxury and avarice. Public need, private opulence.
We praise wealth, and practice indolence. Between
righteous and guilty we make no distinction. Ambition
gains all the rewards of virtue. Nor is this strange,
when separately every one of you takes counsel for himself
alone. When at home, you are slaves to pleasure; here
in the Senate house, to bribery or favor. Thence it arises
that a general charge is made from all quarters against the
helpless commonwealth.

“But this I will pass over.

“The noblest of our citizens have conspired to put the
torch to the republic. They have called to their aid, in
open war, the Gallic nation most hostile to the name of
Roman. The chief of your enemy is thundering above
your very heads; and are you hesitating even now what
you shall do with enemies taken within your very walls?—
Oh! you had better pity them, I think—the poor young men
have only erred a little, misled by ambition—you had
better send them away in arms! I swear that, should they
once take those arms, that clemency and mercifulness of
yours will be changed into wo and wailing. Forsooth, it
is a desperate crisis; and yet you fear it not. Yea, by the
Gods! but you do fear it vehemently. Yet, in your indolence
and feebleness of mind, waiting the one upon the
other, you hesitate, relying, I presume, on the protection
of the Immortals, who have so many times preserved this
republic in its greatest dangers. The aid of the Gods is
not gained by prayers or womanish supplication. To those
who watch, who act, who take counsel, wisely, all things
turn out successful. Yield yourselves up to idleness and
sloth, and in vain you shall implore the Gods—they are
irate and hostile.

“In the time of our forefathers, Titus Manlius Torquatus
during the Gallic war commanded his own son to be
slain, because he had fought against orders; and that illustrious
youth suffered the penalty of his immoderate valor.
—Do ye know this, and delay what ye shall decide against
the cruellest parricides? Is it forsooth that the lives of
these men are in their character repugnant to this guilt.—
Oh! spare the dignity of Lentulus, if he have ever spared his
own modesty, his own good report; if he have ever spared
any man or any God! Oh! pardon the youth of Cethegus,
if this be not the second time that he has waged war on his
country. For wherefore should I speak of Gabinius, Statilius
or Cæparius?—who if they ever felt any care for the republic,
would never have taken these councils. To conclude,
Conscript Fathers, if there were any space for a mistake, I
would leave you right willingly, by Hercules, to be corrected
by facts, since you will not be warned by words! But
we are hemmed in on all sides. Catiline with his army is
at our very throats—others of our foes are within our walls

in the bosom of the state. Nothing can be prepared, nor
any counsel taken, so privately but they must know it.—
Wherefore I shall vote thus, seeing that the republic is
plunged into most fearful peril by the guilty plot of atrocious
citizens, seeing that these men are convicted on the
evidence of Titus Volturcius, and of the ambassadors of
the Allobroges, and seeing that they have confessed the intent
of murder, conflagration, and other foul and barbarous
crimes, against their fellow citizens and native country—I
shall vote, I say, that execution, according to the custom of
our ancestors, be done upon them having thus confessed,
as upon men manifestly convicted of capital treason.”

The stern voice ceased. The bitter irony, which had
stung so many souls to the quick, the cutting sarcasm,
which had demolished Cæsar's sophistry, the clear reasoning,
which had so manifestly found the heart of the mystery,
were silent. And, folding his narrow toga closely
about him, the severe patriot resumed his seat, he alone
unexcited and impassive.

But his words had done their work. The guilty were
smitten into silence; even the daring eloquence and high
heart of the ambitious Cæsar, were subdued and mute.—
The friends of their country were encouraged to shake off
their apathy.

With one voice, unanimous, the consulars of Rome cried
out for the question, applauding loudly the energy and
fearlessness of Cato, and accusing one another of timidity
and weakness.

A great majority of the Senate, likewise, exclaimed
aloud that they required no more words, but were prepared
to vote.

And convinced that the time had arrived for striking,
Cicero put it to the vote, according to the regular form, requiring
those who thought with Marcus Porcius Cato, to
pass over to the right of the curule chair.

The question was not in doubt a moment; for above
three-fourths of the whole body arose, as a single man,
and passed over to the right of the chair, and gathered
about the seat of Cato; while very few joined themselves
openly to Julius Cæsar, who sat, somewhat crest-fallen and
scarcely able to conceal his disappointment, immediately
on the left of the consul.

Rallying, however, before the vote of the Senate had
been taken, the factious noble sprang to his feet and loudly
called upon the tribunes in general, and upon Lucius Bestia,
in particular, a private friend of Catiline, and understood
by all to be one of the conspirators, to interpose their
Veto.

That was too much, however, even for tribunician daring.
No answer was made from the benches of the popular
magistrates, for once awed into patriotic silence.

But a low sneering laugh ran through the crowded ranks
of the Patricians, and the vote was taken, now nearly unanimous;
for many men disgusted by that last step, who had
believed the measure to be unconstitutional, passed across
openly from Cæsar's side to that of Cato.

A decree of the Senate was framed forthwith, and committed
to writing by the persons appointed, in presence of
Marcus Porcius Cato and Decius Julius Silanus, as authorities
or witnesses of the act, empowering the consul to
see execution done upon the guilty, where and when it
should to him seem fitting.

Thus was it that Cicero and Cato for a while saved the
commonwealth, and checked the future Dictator in his first
efforts to subvert the liberties of Rome, happy for him and
for his country if it had been his last.