FRAGMENTS OF A ROMAN TALE
(Knight’s Quarterly Magazine, June 1823.)
I
t was an hour after noon. Ligarius was returning from the Campus Martins. He strolled through one of the streets which led to the forum, settling his gown, and calculating the odds on the gladiators who were to fence at the approaching Saturnalia. While thus occupied, he overtook Flaminius, who, with a heavy-step and a melancholy face, was sauntering in the same direction. The light-hearted young man plucked him by the sleeve.
“Good day, Flaminius. Are you to be of Catiline’s party this evening?”
“Not I.”
“Why so? Your little Tarentine girl will break her heart.”
“No matter. Catiline has the best cooks and the finest wine in Rome. There are charming women at his parties. But the twelve-line board and the dice-box pay for all. The Gods confound me if I did not lose two millions of sesterces last night. My villa at Tibur, and all the statues that my father the prætor brought from Ephesus, must go to the auctioneer. That is a high price, you will acknowledge, even for Phonicopters, Chian, and Callinice.”
“High indeed, by Pollux.”
“And that is not the worst. I saw several of the leading senators this morning. Strange things are whispered in the higher political circles.”
“The Gods confound the political circles. I have hated the name of politician ever since Sylla’s proscription, when I was within a moment of having my throat cut by a politician, who took me for another politician. While there is a cask of Falernian in Campania, or a girl in the Suburra, I shall be too well employed to think on the subject.”
“You will do well,” said Flaminius gravely, “to bestow some little consideration upon it at present. Otherwise, I fear, you will soon renew your acquaintance with politicians, in a manner quite as unpleasant as that to which you allude.”