3.

He heard it, but he heeded not: his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away:
He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother; he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday:
All this rushed with his blood. Shall he expire,
And unavenged? Arise, ye Goths, and glut your ire.

LESSON XXII.—THE REVOLT OF SPARTACUS, 72 B.C. 1. AFTER the death of both of the partisan leaders, Marius and Sylla, a powerful Marian faction still existed in the Roman province of Spain; and although the youthful Pompey, afterward surnamed the Great, and other noted generals, were sent to suppress it, it was several years before the rebellion was quelled. It was during the continuance of this war in Spain that a formidable revolt of the slaves, headed by Spartacus, a celebrated gladiator of Capua, broke out in Italy.

2. At first Spartacus and his companions formed a desperate band of robbers and murderers, but their numbers eventually increased to a hundred and twenty thousand men; and three prætorian and two consular armies were completely defeated by them. The war lasted more than two years, and at one time Rome itself was in danger; but the rebels, divided among themselves, were finally overcome, and nearly exterminated by the Prætor Crassus, the growing rival of Pompey. The circumstances of the revolt of Spartacus have been thus described:

3. "It had been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentulus, returning with victorious eagles, had amused the populace with the sports of the amphitheatre to an extent hitherto unknown even in that luxurious city. The shouts of revelry had died away; the roar of the lion had ceased; the last loiterer had retired from the banquet, and the lights in the palace of the victor were extinguished. The moon, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dew-drops on the corselet of the Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of the Vulturnus with a wavy, tremulous light. No sound was heard save the last sob of some retiring wave, telling its story to the smooth pebbles of the beach; and then all was still as the breast when the spirit has departed. In the deep recesses of the amphitheatre a band of gladiators were assembled,

their muscles still knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam upon their lips, the scowl of battle yet lingering on their brows, when Spartacus, starting forth from amid the throng, thus addressed them:

SPEECH OF SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS.

4. "Ye call me chief; and ye do well to call him chief who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never yet lowered his arm. If there be one among you who can say that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth and say it. If there be three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. And yet I was not always thus—a hired butcher, a savage chief of still more savage men! My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of Syrasella. My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported; and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime.

5. "We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our rustic meal. One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Marathon and Leuctra; and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had withstood a whole army. I did not then know what war was; but my cheeks burned, I knew not why, and I clasped the knees of that venerable man, until my mother, parting the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, and bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. That very night the Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the hoof of the war-horse; the bleeding body of my father flung amid the blazing rafters of our dwelling!

6. "To-day I killed a man in the arena; and when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold, he was my friend. He knew me, smiled faintly, gasped, and died; the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled the lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph. I told the prætor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and brave, and I begged that I might bear away the body, to burn it on a funeral

pile, and mourn over its ashes. Ay, upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the holy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at sight of that piece of bleeding clay! And the prætor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly said, "Let the carrion rot; there are no noble men but Romans!" And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. Oh Rome! Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. Ay, thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd-lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flutenote, muscles of iron and a heart of flint; taught him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe; to gaze into the glaring eyeballs of the fierce Numidian lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl. And he shall pay thee back, until the yellow Tiber is red as frothing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled!

7. "Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are. The strength of brass is in your toughened sinews; but to-morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his ses'terces upon your blood. Hark! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den? Tis three days since he tasted flesh; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours, and a dainty meal for him ye will be. If ye are beasts, then stand here like fat oxen, waiting for the butcher's knife! If ye are men, follow me! Strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at oll Thermopyla! Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a belabored hound beneath his master's lash? Oh, comrades! warriors! Thracians! if we must fight, let us fight for ourselves! If we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors! If we must die, let it be under the clear sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle." "-E. KELLOGG.

LESSON XXIII.-THE CONSPIRACY OF CATILINE. SCARCELY had the revolt of Spartacus been quelled, when the Roman republic was brought to the brink of destruction by a conspiracy headed by the infamous Catiline, a monster

1

of wickedness, who had acted a distinguished part in the bloody scenes of Scylla's tyranny. At this time Cæsar and Crassus, who, next to Pompey, were the most distinguished of the Roman generals, were so engaged, in their aspirations for power, in courting the favor of the people, that they not only spared Catiline, but perhaps secretly encouraged him, while the only two eminent Romans who boldly determined to uphold their falling country were Cato the younger and the orator Cicero. Even in the very senate-house Catiline boldly confronted Cicero, who there pronounced against him that famous oration which caused the banishment of the traitor and saved the city. We give the following picture of the scene which is supposed to have transpired in the senate on this occasion.

Cicero. Our long dispute must close. Take one proof more

Of this rebellion. Lucius Catiline

Has been commanded to attend the senate.

He dares not come. I now demand your votes.

Is he condemned to exile?

[Enter Catiline hastily. As he seats himself on one side, all the senators go over to the other.

Cic. (Turning to Catiline.) Here I repeat the charge, to gods and men, Of treasons manifold-that, but this day,

He has received dispatches from the rebels;
That he has leagued with deputies from Gaul
To seize the province; nay, he has levied troops,
And raised his rebel standard; that, but now,
A meeting of conspirators was held

Under his roof, with mystic rites and oaths,
Pledged round the body of a murdered slave.
To these he has no answer.

Catiline.

Conscript fathers,

I do not rise to waste the night in words:

Let that plebeian talk; 'tis not my trade;

But here I stand for right !-Let him show proofs !

For Roman right; though none, it seems, dare stand
To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there!

Cling to your master, judges, Romans, slaves!

His charge is false. I dare him to his proofs.

You have my answer: let my actions speak.

Cic. (Interrupting.) Deeds shall convince you. Has the traitor done?
Cat. But this I will avow, that I have scorned,

And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong.

Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword,

Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back,

Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts
The gates of honor on me, turning out

The Roman from his birthright, and for what'?
To fling your offices to every slave;

Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb;

Ꮓ

[Looking around.

And, having wound their loathsome track to the top
Of this huge, mouldering monument of Rome,

Hang hissing at the nobler men below.

Cic. This is his answer. Must I bring more proofs ? Fathers, you know there lives not one of us,

But lives in peril of his midnight sword.

Lists of proscription have been handed round,

In which your properties are made

Your murderer's hire.

[A cry without, "More prisoners!" Enter an officer with letters for Cicero, who, after looking at them, sends them round the senate.

Cic. Fathers of Rome, if men can be convinced

By proof as clear as daylight, here it is.

The time

Look on these letters. Here's a deep-laid plot
To wreck the provinces; a solemn league,
Made with all form and circumstance.
Is desperate-all the slaves are up-Rome shakes!
The heavens alone can tell how near our graves
We stand even here! The name of Catiline
Is foremost in the league. He was their king.
Tried and convicted traitor, go from Rome!

Cat. (Rising haughtily.) Come, consecrated lictors, from your thrones.

Fling down your sceptres; take the rod and axe,
And make the murder, as you make the law.

[To the senators.

Cic. (To an officer.) Give up the record of his banishment.

[The officer gives it to the consul. Cat. (With indignation.) Banished from Rome'? What's banished, but set free

From daily contact of the things I loathe'?

"Tried and convicted traitor'!" Who says this'?
Who'll prove it, at his peril, on my head'?

Banished'? I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain.
I held some slack allegiance till this hour,
But now my sword's my own.

Smile on, my lords.

I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes,
Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs,
I have within my heart's hot cells shut up,

To leave you in your lazy dignities.

But here I stand and scoff you: here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face.

Your consul's merciful. For this, all thanks.

He dares not touch a hair of Catiline.

Consul. (Reads.) "Lucius Sergius Catiline, by the decree of the senate, you are declared an enemy and alien to the state, and banished from the territory of the commonwealth."

[Turning to the lictors.

This trial!

Lictors, drive the traitor from the temple.
Cat. "Traitor!" I go-but I return.
Here I devote your senate.
I've had wrongs

To stir a fever in the blood of age,

And make the infant's sinews strong as steel.

This day's the birth of sorrows. This hour's work

Will breed proscriptions. Look to your hearths, my lords!

For there henceforth shall sit, for household gods,