What I have just set forth is no opinion of my own. Believe that I am reciting to you a leaf of the sibyl, that can not lie. If your retinue are men of spotless life, if no favorite youth[442] barters your judgments for gold, if your wife[443] is clear from all stain of guilt, and does not prepare to go through the district courts,[444] and all the towns of your province, ready, like a Celæno[445] with her crooked talons, to swoop upon the gold—then you may, if you please, reckon your descent from Picus; and if high-sounding names are your fancy, place the whole army of Titans among your ancestors, or even Prometheus[446] himself. Adopt a founder of your line from any book you please. But if ambition and lust hurry you away headlong, if you break your rods[447] on the bloody backs of the allies, if your delight is in axes blunted by the victor worn out with using them—then the nobility of your sires themselves begins to rise[448] in judgment against you, and hold forth a torch to blaze upon your shameful deeds.[449] Every act of moral turpitude incurs more glaring reprobation in exact proportion to the rank of him that commits it. Why vaunt your pedigree to me? you, that are wont to put your name to forged deeds in the very temples[450] which your grandsire built, before your very fathers' triumphal statues! or, an adulterer that dares not face the day, you veil your brows concealed beneath a Santon[451] cowl. The bloated Damasippus is whirled in his rapid car past the ashes and bones of his ancestors—and with his own hands, yes! though consul! with his own hands locks his wheel with the frequent drag-chain.[452] It is, indeed, at night. But still the moon sees him! The stars strain on him their attesting eyes.[453] When the period of his magistracy is closed, Damasippus[454] will take whip in hand in the broad glare of day, and never dread meeting his friend now grown old, and will be the first to give him the coachman's salute, and untie the trusses and pour the barley[455] before his weary steeds himself. Meantime, even while according to Numa's ancient rites he sacrifices the woolly victim and the stalwart bull before Jove's altar, he swears by Epona[456] alone, and the faces daubed over the stinking stalls. But when he is pleased to repeat his visits to the taverns open all night long, the Syrophœnician, reeking with his assiduous perfume,[457] runs to meet him (the Syrophœnician that dwells at the Idumæan[458] gate), with all the studied courtesy of a host, he salutes him as "lord"[459] and "king;" and Cyane, with gown tucked up, with her bottle for sale. One who wishes to palliate his crimes will say to me, "Well; we did so too when we were young!" Granted. But surely you left off, and did not indulge in your folly beyond that period. Let what you basely dare be ever brief! There are some faults that should be shorn away with our first beard. Make all reasonable allowance for boys. But Damasippus frequents those debauches of the bagnios, and the painted signs,[460] when of ripe age for war, for guarding Armenia[461] and Syria's rivers, and the Rhine or Danube. His time of life qualifies him to guard the emperor's person. Send then to Ostia![462] Cæsar—send! But look for your general in some great tavern. You will find him reclining with some common cut-throat; in a medley of sailors, and thieves, and runaway slaves; among executioners and cheap coffin-makers,[463] and the now silent drums of the priest of Cybele, lying drunk on his back.[464] There there is equal liberty for all—cups in common—nor different couch for any, or table set aloof from the herd. What would you do, Ponticus, were it your lot to have a slave of such a character? Why surely you would dispatch him to the Lucanian or Tuscan bridewells.[465] But you, ye Trojugenæ! find excuses for yourselves, and what would disgrace a cobbler[466] will be becoming in a Volesus or Brutus!
What if we never produce examples so foul and shameful, that worse do not yet remain behind! When all your wealth was squandered, Damasippus, you let your voice for hire[467] to the stage,[468] to act the noisy Phasma[469] of Catullus. Velox Lentulas acted Laureolus, and creditably too. In my judgment he deserved crucifying in earnest. Nor yet can you acquit the people themselves from blame. The brows of the people are too hardened that sit[470] spectators of the buffooneries of the patricians, listen to the Fabii with naked feet, and laugh at the slaps on the faces of the Mamerci. What matters it at what price they sell their lives: they sell them at no tyrant's compulsion,[471] [nor hesitate[472] to do it even at the games of the prætor seated on high.] Yet imagine the gladiator's sword[473] on one side, the stage on the other. Which is the better alternative? Has any one so slavish a dread of death as to become the jealous lover of Thymele,[474] the colleague of the heavy Corinthus? Yet it is nothing to be wondered at, if the emperor turn harper, that the nobleman should turn actor. To crown all this, what is left but the amphitheatre?[475] And this disgrace of the city you have as well—Gracchus[476] not fighting equipped as a Mirmillo, with buckler or falchion (for he condemns—yes, condemns and hates such an equipment). Nor does he conceal his face beneath a helmet. See! he wields a trident. When he has cast without effect the nets suspended from his poised right hand, he boldly lifts his uncovered face to the spectators, and, easily to be recognized, flees across the whole arena. We can not mistake the tunic,[477] since the ribbon of gold reaches from his neck, and flutters in the breeze from his high-peaked cap. Therefore the disgrace, which the Secutor had to submit to, in being forced to fight with Gracchus, was worse than any wound. Were the people allowed the uncontrolled exercise of their votes, who could be found so abandoned as to hesitate to prefer Seneca[478] to Nero? For whose punishment there should have been prepared not a single ape[479] only, or one snake or sack.[480] "His crime is matched by that of Orestes!"[481] But it is the motive cause that gives the quality to the act. Since he, at the instigation of the gods themselves, was the avenger of his father butchered in his cups. But he neither imbrued his hands in Electra's blood, or that of his Spartan wife; he mixed no aconite for his relations. Orestes never sang on the stage; he never wrote "Troïcs." What, blacker crime was there for Virginius'[482] arms to avenge, or Galba leagued with Vindex? In all his tyranny, cruel and bloody as it was, what exploit did Nero[483] achieve? These are the works, these the accomplishments of a high-born prince—delighting to prostitute[484] his rank by disgraceful dancing on a foreign stage, and earn the parsley of the Grecian crown. Array the statues of your ancestors in the trophies of your voice. At Domitius'[485] feet lay the long train of Thyestes, or Antigone, or Menalippe's mask, and hang your harp[486] on the colossus of marble.
What could any one find more noble than thy birth, Catiline, or thine, Cethegus! Yet ye prepared arms to be used by night, and flames for our houses and temples, as though ye had been the sons of the Braccati,[487] or descendants of the Senones. Attempting what one would be justified in punishing by the pitched shirt.[488] But the consul is on the watch[489] and restrains your bands. He whom you sneer at as a novus[490] homo from Arpinum, of humble birth, and but lately made a municipal knight at Rome, disposes every where his armed guards to protect the terrified people, and exerts himself in every quarter. Therefore the peaceful toga, within the walls, bestowed on him such honors and renown as not even Octavius bore away from Leucas[491] or the plains of Thessaly, with sword reeking with unintermitted slaughter. But Rome owned him for a parent. Rome, when unfettered,[492] hailed Cicero as father of his father-land.
Another native of Arpinum was wont to ask for his wages when wearied with another's plow on the Volscian hills. After that, he had the knotted vine-stick[493] broken about his head, if he lazily fortified the camp with sluggard axe. Yet he braved the Cimbri, and the greatest perils of the state, and alone protected the city in her alarm. And therefore when the ravens, that had never lighted on bigger carcasses,[494] flocked to the slaughtered heaps of Cimbrians slain, his nobly-born colleague is honored with a laurel inferior to his.[495]
The souls of the Decii were plebeian, their very names plebeian. Yet these are deemed by the infernal deities and mother Earth a fair equivalent for the whole legions, and all the forces of the allies, and all the flower of Latium. For the Decii[496] were more highly valued by them than all they died to save!
It was one born from a slave[497] that won the robe and diadem and fasces of Quirinus, that last of good kings! They that were for loosening the bolts of the gates betrayed to the exiled tyrants, were the sons of the consul himself! men from whom we might have looked for some glorious achievement in behalf of liberty when in peril; some act that Mucius' self, or Cocles, might admire; and the maiden that swam across[498] the Tiber, then the limit of our empire. He that divulged to the fathers the secret treachery was a slave,[499] afterward to be mourned for by all the Roman matrons: while they suffer the well-earned punishment of the scourge, and the axe,[500] then first used by Rome since she became republican.
I had rather that Thersites[501] were your sire, provided you resembled Æacides and could wield the arms of Vulcan, than that Achilles should beget you to be a match to Thersites.
And yet, however far you go back, however far you trace your name, you do but derive your descent from the infamous sanctuary.[502] That first of your ancestors, whoever he was, was either a shepherd, or else—what I would rather not mention!