University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.
TIDINGS FROM ROME.

Shakspeare.

“At last, I have thee, Julia!”

Mighty indeed was the effort of the mind, which enabled
that fair slight girl to bear up with an undaunted lip and
serene eye against the presence of that atrocious villain;
and hope, never-dying hope, was the spirit which nerved
her to that effort.

It was strange, knowing as she did the character of that
atrocious and bloodthirsty tyrant, that she should not have
given way entirely to feminine despair and terror, or
sought by tears and prayers to disarm his purpose.

But her high blood cried out from every vein and artery
of her body; and she stood calm and sustained by conscious
virtue, even in that extremity of peril; neither
tempting assault by any display of coward weakness, nor
provoking it by any show of defiance.

There is nothing, perhaps, so difficult to any one who is
not a butcher or an executioner by trade, with sensibilities
blunted by the force of habit, as to attack or injure any
thing, which neither flies, nor resists, neither braves, nor
trembles.

And Catiline himself, savage and brutal as he was, full
of ungoverned impulse and unbridled passion, felt, though
he knew not wherefore, this difficulty at this moment.

Had she fallen at his feet, trembling, and tearful, and

implored his mercy, he would have gloated on her terrors,
laughed tears and prayers to scorn, yea! torn her from an
altar's foot, to pour out upon her the vials of agony and
foul pollution.

Had she defied, or braved his violence, his fury would
have trampled her to the earth in an instant, and murder
would have followed in the footsteps of worse violence.

But as she stood there, firm, cold, erect, and motionless
as a statue of rare marble, with scarcely a pulse throbbing
in her veins, and her clear azure eyes fixed on him with a
cold and steady gaze, as if she would have fascinated him
by their serene chaste influence, he likewise stood and
gazed upon her with a strange mixture of impressions,
wherein something akin to love and admiration were blent
with what, in minds of better mould, should have been
reverence and awe.

He felt, in short, that he lacked `a spur to prick the
sides of his intent,' a provocation to insult and aggression
yet stronger than the passion and hot thirst of vengeance,
which had been well nigh chilled by her severe and icy
fortitude.

and here a fiercer and more dangerous savage stood powerless
and daunted for the moment, by the same holy influence
of virtue, which, it is said, has potency to tame the
pinched king of the desert.

It was not, however, in the nature of that man to yield
himself up long to any influence, save that of his own passions,
and after standing mute for perhaps a minute, during
which the flush on his sallow cheek, and the glare of his
fiery eye, were blanched and dimmed somewhat, he advanced
a step or two toward her, repeating the words,

“I have thee; thou art mine, Julia.”

“Thy prisoner, Catiline,” she replied quietly—“if you
make women prisoners.”

“My slave, minion.”

“I am free-born, and noble. A patrician of a house as
ancient as thine own. My ancestors, I have heard say,
fought side by side with Sergius Silo.”

“The more cause, that their daughter should sleep side

by side with Sergius Catiline!” he replied with bitter irony;
but there was less of actual passion in his tones, than
of a desire to lash himself into fury.

“The less cause that a free-born lady should be disgraced
by the grandson of his comrade in arms, who gave her father
being.”

Thus far her replies had been conducted in the spirit
most likely to control, if any thing could control, the demon
that possessed him; but seeing that her words had
produced more effect on him than she had deemed possible,
she made an effort to improve her advantage, and added,
looking him firmly in the eye,

“I have heard tell that thou art proud, Catiline, as they
art nobly born. Let, then, thine own pride”—

“Proud! Proud! Ha! minion! What have your nobles
left me that I should glory in—what of which I may
still be proud? A name of the grandest, blasted by their
base lies, and infamous! Service converted into shame,
valor warped into crime! At home poverty, degradation
ruin! Abroad, debt, mockery, disgrace! Proud! proud!
By Nemesis! fond girl. I am proud—to be the thing that
they have made me, a terror, and a curse to all who call
themselves patrician. For daring, remorseless! for brave,
cruel! for voluptuous, sensual! for fearless, ruthless! for
enterprising, reckless! for ambitious, desperate! for a
man, a monster! for a philosopher, an atheist! Ha! ha!
ha! ha! I am proud, minion, proud to be that I am—
that which thou, Julia, shalt soon find me!”

She perceived, when it was too late, the error which
she had made, and fearful of incensing him farther, answered
nothing. But he was not so to be set at naught, for he
had succeeded now in lashing himself into a fit of fury,
and advancing upon her, with a face full of all hideous
passions, a face that denoted his fell purpose, as plainly as
any words could declare them.

“Dost hear me, girl, I say? Thou art mine, Julia.”

“Thy prisoner, Catiline,” she again repeated in the
same steady tone as at first; but the charm had now failed
of its effect, and it was fortunate for the sweet girl, that
the fell wretch before whom she stood defenceless, had so
much of the cat-like, tiger-like spirit in his nature, so much
that prompted him to tantalize and torment before striking,

to teaze and harass and break down the mind, before doing
violence to the body of his subject enemies, or of those
whom he chose to deem such.

Had he suspected at this moment that any chance of
succor was at hand, however remote, he lacked neither
the will nor the occasion to destroy her. He fancied that
she was completely at his mercy; and perceiving that, in
despite of her assumed coolness, she writhed beneath the
terrors of his tongue, he revelled in the fiendish pleasure
of triumphing in words over her spirit, before wreaking
his vengeance on her person.

“My slave! Julia. My slave, soul and body! my
slave, here and for ever! Slave to my passions, and my
pleasures! Wilt yield, or resist, fair girl? Resist, I do
beseech thee! Let some fire animate those lovely eyes,
even if it be the fire of fury—some light kindle those pallid
cheeks, even if it be the light of hatred! I am aweary
of tame conquests.”

“Then wherefore conquer; or conquering, wherefore
not spare?”—she answered.

“I conquer, to slake my thirst of vengeance. I spare
not, for the wise man's word to the fallen, is still, V æ Victis.
Wilt yield, or resist, Julia? wilt be the sharer, or the victim
of my pleasures? speak, I say, speak!” he shouted
savagely, perceiving that she sought to evade a direct
answer. “Speak and reply, directly, or I will do to thee
forth with what most thou dreadest! and then wipe out
thy shame by agonies of death, to which the tortures of
old Regulus were luxury.”

“If I must choose, the victim!” she replied steadily.
“But I believe you will not so disgrace your manhood.”

“Ha! you believe so, you shall feel soon and know.
One question more, wilt thou yield or resist?”—

“Resist,” she answered, “to the last, and when dishonored,
die, and by death, like Lucretia, win back greater
honor! Lucretia's death had witnesses, and her tale
found men's ears.”

“Thy death shall be silent, thy shame loud. I will
proclaim the first my deed, the last thy voluntary —.”

“Proclaim it!”—she interrupted him, with her eyes
flashing bright indignation, and her lip curling with ineffable
disdain; as she forgot all prudence in the scorn called

forth by his injurious words—“Proclaim it to the world!
who will believe it?”—

“The world. Frailty's name is woman!”—

“And Falsehood's—Catiline!”—

“By Hades!”—and he sprang upon her with a bound
like that of a tiger, and twined his arms about her waist,
clasping her to his breast with brutal violence, and striving
to press his foul lips on her innocent mouth; but she, endowed
with momentary strength, infinitely unwonted and
unnatural, the strength of despair and frenzy, caught his
bare throat with both her hands, and writhing herself back
to the full length of her arms, uttered a volume of shrieks,
so awfully shrill and piercing, that they struck terror into
the souls of the brutal rebels without, and harrowed up
the spirits of her friends, who lay concealed within earshot,
waiting, now almost in despair, an opportunity to aid her.

So strong was the clutch which her small hands had
fixed upon his throat, that ere he could release himself,
sufficiently to draw a full breath, he was compelled to let
her go; and ere he fully recovered himself, she had made
a spring back toward the window, with the evident purpose
of throwing herself out into the yawning gulf below it.

But something caught her eye which apparently deterred
her, and turning her back upon it quickly, she faced
her persecutor once again.

At this moment, there was a loud and angry bustle in
the outer court, immediately followed by a violent knocking
at the door; but so terrible was the excitement of
both these human beings, her's the excitement of innocence
in trial, his of atrocity triumphant, that neither
heard it, though it was sudden and strong enough to have
startled any sleepers, save those of the grave.

“Ha! but this charms me! I knew not that you had so
much of the Tigress to fit you for the Tiger's mate. But
what a fool you are to waste your breath in yells and your
strength in struggles, like to those, when there are none
to hear, or to witness them.”

“Witnesses are found to all crimes right early and aven
gers!” she exclaimed with the high mien of a prophetess;
and still that vehement knocking continued, unheeded as
the earthquake which reeled unnoticed beneath the feet
of the combatants at Thrasymene.

“To this at least there are no witnesses! there shall be
no avengers!”

“The Gods are my witnesses! shall be my avengers!”

“Tush! there are no Gods, Julia!”

And again he rushed on her and caught her in his arms

But as he spoke those impious words, sprang to do that
atrocious deed, a witness was found, and it might be an
avenger.

Unnoticed by the traitor in the fierce whirlwind of ms
passion, that hunter boy stood forth on the further brink;
revealed, a boy no longer; for the Phrygian bonnet had fallen
off, and the redundant raven tresses of a girl flowed
back on the wind. Her attitude and air were those of
Diana as she bent her good bow against the ravisher
Orion. Her right foot dvanced firmly, her right hand
drawn back to the ear, her fine eye glaring upon the arrow
which bore with unerring aim full on the breast of her own
corrupter, her own father, Catiline.

Who had more wrongs to avenge than Lucia?

Another second, and the shaft would have quivered in
the heart of the arch villain, sped by the hand from which
he deserved it the most dearly. The room within was
brighter than day from the red torch light which filled it,
falling full on the gaunt form and grim visage of the monster.
Her hand was firm, her eye steady, her heart pitiless.
But in the better course of her changed life, heaven
spared her the dread crime of parricide.

Just as the chord was at the tightest, just as the feathers
quivered, and the barb thrilled, about to leap from the tense
string, the tall form of the soldier sprang up into the clear
moonlight from the underwood, and crying “Hold! hold!”
mastered her bowhand, with the speed of light, and dragged
her down into the covert.

Well was it that he did so. For just as Catiline seized
Julia the second time in his resistless grasp, and ere his lips
had contaminated her sweet mouth, the giant Crispus, who
had so long been knocking unheeded, rushed into the room,
and seized his leader by the shoulder unseen, until he literally
touched him.

“Another time for this;” he said, “Catiline. There are
tidings from Rome; which—”

“To Tartarus with thy tidings! Let them tarry!”

“They will not tarry, Catiline,” replied the smith, who
was as pale as a ghost and almost trembling—“least of all
for such painted woman's flesh as this is!”

“Get thee away! It were better, wiser, safer to stand
between the Lion and his prey, than between Catiline and
Julia.”

“Then have it!” shouted the smith. “All is discovered!
all undone! Lentulus and Cethegus, Gabinius and Statilius,
and Cæparius all dead by the hangman's noose in the
Tullianum!”

“The idiots! is that all? thy precious tidings! See!
how I will avenge them.” And he struggled to shake
himself free from the grasp of Crispus.

But the smith held him firmly, and replied, “It is not all,
Catiline. Metellus Celer is within ten leagues of the camp,
at the foot of the mountains. We have no retreat left into
Gaul. Come! come! speak to the soldiers! You can deal
with this harlotry hereafter.”

Catiline glared upon him, as if he would have stabbed
him to the heart; but seeing the absolute necessity of enquiring
into the truth of this report, he turned to leave the
room.

“The Gods be praised! the Gods have spoken loud!
The Gods have saved me!” cried Julia falling on her knees.
“Are there no Gods now, O Catiline?”

“To Hades! with thy Gods!” and, striking the unhappy
girl a coward blow, which felled her to the ground senseless,
he rushed from the room with his confederate in
crime, barring the outer door behind him.