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Caius Marius
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Our Young Folks' Plutarch |
by Rosalie Kaufman |
Fifty retellings from Plutarch's Lives skillfully adapted for children. Includes the conquests of Alexander the Great, how Demosthenes became an orator, the conspiracy against Caesar, the life of Lycurgus the law-giver of Sparta, the exploits of Pyrrhus and others. Ages 10-14 | 627 pages |
$19.95 |
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CAIUS MARIUS
CAIUS MARIUS was born of poor but worthy parents, who
earned their living by daily labor. They spent their
days in an obscure country town, where their son was
brought up in a quiet, humble manner.
Nevertheless his nature was warlike, and all through
his early years nothing interested him so much as the
exploits of warriors, whom he longed to imitate. He
first served in the army when Scipio Africanus besieged
Numantia, and fought so bravely that he was honored
with an invitation to dine at the general's table.
[344] In course of conversation one evening Scipio was asked,
"Where shall we Romans find another brave general when
you are gone?" "Here, perhaps," replied Scipio, placing
his hand on the shoulder of Marius, who sat next to
him. The young man was so flattered that he decided
then and there upon a political life, and it was not
very long before he obtained the office of tribune of
the people.
His first act after his election was to propose a
change in the system of voting, which lessened the
authority of the Patricians. This made him popular with
the Plebeians; but when, on the other hand, he opposed
certain laws regarding the distribution of corn that
favored the people, he lost their good will, but gained
favor with the Patricians. So he was honored by both
parties as a man who worked only for the public good,
and not for the interest of any particular party.
When his tribuneship came to an end, Marius stood
candidate for the office of chief ædile; that is, the
one called curules, on account of the chair with
crooked feet in which those officers sat while
attending to business. The other was inferior, and was
known as the plebeian ædile. Marius did not get the
higher office, but he lost no time in applying for the
lower one; failing to get that also, he waited a short
time and stood for the prætorship. Then his
perseverance was crowned with success, though it was
said that he managed it by bribery. However, he was
tried and acquitted, so probably the accusation was
false.
While he was prætor he did nothing to distinguish
himself, but when his term of office expired he was
sent to Spain in command of an army, and did excellent
service there in clearing the country of robbers. At
that period the Spaniards were so uncivilized that
robbery was not considered dishonorable, and so their
country was filled with brigands, until Marius drove
them out. On his return to Rome he was anxious to take
part in the government, but he had neither wealth nor
eloquence to recommend him. However, he increased his
popularity among the common people by his industry,
high spirit, and plain manner of living to such a
degree that he gained offices which gave him power.
Thus he was enabled to make a very lofty marriage with
no less a person than Julia, a member of the
illustrious Cæsar family. She was
[345] aunt to the celebrated Julius Cæsar, whose story is
told in a later chapter.
Marius showed much fortitude in enduring pain when
undergoing a surgical operation. Both his legs were
covered with tumors, and he determined to have them cut
out; so, refusing to be bound, he held out one limb and
submitted to the painful operation without flinching;
but when the surgeon was about to begin on the other he
refused, saying, "I see the cure is not worth the
pain."
When Metellus was made general in the war against
Jugurtha, in Africa, he chose Marius for his
lieutenant. That was a most difficult war, and gave
Marius opportunities not only to distinguish himself by
deeds of bravery, but to win the love of the soldiers
by sharing their labors, their privations, and their
dangers. Before long both Africa and Rome were sounding
his praises, and many of the soldiers went so far as to
write home that the war would never be brought to a
close until Caius Marius was chosen consul. It is
needless to say that Metellus became jealous of a man
who was in such high favor, and when Marius announced
that he was going home to stand for consul, the general
said, "You ought to be content to wait for the
consulship until this son of mine gets it too." But
Marius thought otherwise, particularly as the son of
Metellus was then but a boy, and went to Rome in time
for the election.
He was received with open arms, and when he told the
people that if he were made consul he would promise
either to kill Jugurtha or to take him alive, they all
voted for him. But he made himself disagreeable to the
Patricians by enlisting in his army slaves and poor
people, which Roman generals had never done, and by
boasting of his own powers and speaking with contempt
of the nobles. This pleased the populace, who
considered him a very bold, high-spirited man, and
encouraged him in his abuse of people who had won fame
in the state, and excited their envy in consequence.
Now, when Marius went back to Africa it made Metellus
angry to think that after he had almost brought the war
to an end, and nothing remained but to take the person
of Jugurtha, another should come to deprive him of that
glory; so he retired, and left one of his officers to
deliver up the Roman forces to Marius. It was not
Marius, however, but Lucius Sylla who had the honor of
[346] receiving Jugurtha, an account of which is given in the
life of Sylla. Marius could bear no rival in glory, and
when his enemies declared that it was Metellus who
began and carried on the war, and Sylla who gave it the
finishing stroke, they sowed the first seeds of a
violent quarrel which almost ruined the Roman empire.
The public attention was soon attracted towards another
channel, however, for an army of more than three
hundred thousand warriors, with their wives and
children, came like a devouring flame from the shores
of the North Sea, treading down, and driving before
them like a drove of wild beasts, all that came in
their way. Many generals and armies employed by the
Romans to guard the northern part of Italy were
shamefully routed, and this encouraged the advancing
barbarians to push on towards Rome and possess
themselves of the whole of Italy.
The reports that came to Rome from all sides were so
alarming that Marius was ordered home to undertake the
war. Though the law did not permit an absent man, or
one that had not waited a given time after his first
consulship, to be re-elected, the people would have no
one but Marius; he was accordingly made consul a second
time.
On his return, Marius was honored with a triumphal
procession, in which Jugurtha in chains was led before
the car of the conqueror. So great was the agony of
the African captive that he lost his senses, and when,
after the triumph, his ornaments and robes were dragged
off of him and he was cast into a dark, damp dungeon,
where he was starved to death, he exclaimed, with an
idiotic smile, "O Hercules! how cold is this bath of
yours!"
While marching, Marius trained his men to hardships by
accustoming them to long, tiresome tramps, compelling
every man to carry his own baggage and provide his
victuals: so that afterwards "Marius's Mules" was a
term applied to all hard workers who were patient and
ready. Marius was fortunate in this: for some unknown
reason the enemy changed their course and went first to
Spain, which gave him ample time to exercise his
soldiers, and to prove to them what he himself was. By
his fierce manners when commanding, his stentorian
voice and stern expression, they learned to obey, and
their confidence in him increased to such an extent
that they believed him to be the general of all others
to
[347] inspire terror in the enemy. But what they put most
faith in was his sense of justice, of which he gave
several remarkable proofs. So well pleased were the
Roman people with Marius that they elected him consul a
third time, and as the year closed before the expected
enemy came on, he was again re-elected, and Lutatius
Catulus, a man highly esteemed both by nobles and
commons, became his colleague.
Shortly after, the approach of the enemy was announced,
and Marius passed the Alps and pitched his camp by the
river Rhone. He took good care to station his army
where they could be amply supplied with food and water,
but remained perfectly quiet as long as possible. His
reason was this: The enemy's soldiers were
fierce-looking men, whose arms and mode of fighting
were different from any the Romans had ever seen, and,
like a prudent general, he wanted his men to become
familiar with them, in order that they might not be
awed merely because of their strangeness. When
complaints of inaction reached his ears, Marius always
replied that he was guided as to the time and place for
fighting entirely by the oracles. And, in fact, he used
to carry about in a litter a Syrian woman, named
Martha, supposed to be a prophetess, who directed him
with regard to sacrifices. This woman had given so many
proofs of her skill that Marius's wife had sent her to
be with the army, thinking that her prophecies would be
of service. Whenever she went to sacrifice, Martha wore
a purple robe, and carried in her hand a little spear
trimmed with ribbons and garlands. Some people doubted
whether Marius really believed Martha to be a
prophetess, or only pretended to do so, in order to
impress his soldiers, but she was certainly regarded
with veneration by the entire army.
When the enemy ventured to attack Marius, they were
received with a shower of darts and lost several of
their men. Then they determined to march forward to the
other side of the Alps, and so enormous was their
number that they were six whole days in passing by the
Roman fortifications. Whenever they were close enough
to be heard, they would tauntingly ask whether Marius's
men had any messages to send to Rome, because they
expected to be there in a few days. As soon as they had
passed, Marius began to follow, always encamping at
some distance, and choosing safe, strong
[348] positions. The first serious battle took place at
Sextilius's Waters, and after many hours of hard
fighting the Romans gained a splendid victory. They
killed or took prisoners a hundred thousand men, and
got possession of their tents, wagons, and baggage.
Many of these were voted a present to their general,
who had shown extraordinary skill and courage.
But Marius chose such arms and other spoils as would
make the greatest show in his triumph; the rest he piled
up for a splendid sacrifice. The army stood about in
festive attire with garlands on their heads, and
Marius, in a purple-bordered robe, had just taken a
lighted torch and raised both arms towards heaven, when
a party was seen approaching on horseback with great
speed. Every one was silent and expectant. The men, who
proved to be Romans, jumped from their horses, walked
towards Marius, saluted him respectfully, and then
announced that they brought news of his fifth
consulship. The soldiers clashed their arms and
shouted, the officers crowned Marius again with a
laurel-wreath, and then he set fire to the pile and
finished the sacrifice.
The rejoicings of the Romans were considerably dampened
within a few days, however, when bad news came from
Catulus. He was, as we know, consul at the same time
with Marius, and though the latter had had no easy task
in overcoming the barbarians, Catulus's had been a far
more difficult one. He had crossed the Alps and posted
his part of the army in Italy, placing the Adige River
between him and the enemy, part of whose forces had
continued on their way, though leaving quite enough in
Gaul to oppose Marius. Catulus blocked up the river on
both sides with strong fortifications, built a bridge,
and put everything in readiness that he might not be
taken by surprise.
But he soon found that all his efforts had been in
vain, for the barbarians, who had come from a cold
region, were so hardy and so strong that they felt a
contempt for the Romans, and exposed themselves naked
in a snow-storm just to make a display of their
courage. It seemed easy for them to push their way
through ice and snow to the very tops of the mountains,
and then, using their broad shields for sleds, they
slid down the slippery sides. They next set to work,
like a body of giants, to fill up the channel of the
river, pulling up trees by the roots and throwing them
in, adding besides huge rocks
[349] and piles of earth. These with other bulky objects were
forced by the current against the bridge that the
Romans had built, and dashed upon the timbers with such
violence as to shake their foundation. The Roman
soldiers watched these proceedings with perfect
astonishment, and when they saw their bridge going to
pieces before their eyes, many of them were so
discouraged that they left their camp and drew back.
Catulus tried to persuade them to keep their post, but,
finding it impossible to make them listen to him, he
determined to do his utmost to save the honor of his
country. It should never be said that a Roman army had
fled if he could help it; so, ordering his standard to
be pulled up, he ran to the front of the retreating
soldiers and commanded them to follow him. He
preferred to disgrace himself by deserting his camp
rather than have his soldiers appear like cowards.
The enemy crossed the river, took all the spoils in the
Roman camp, and spread themselves over the country,
doing great damage wherever they went. Then Marius was
recalled to Rome, and, instead of waiting for his
triumph, he made all haste to get his army in order and
join Catulus near the river Po, to prevent the enemy
from advancing to the very centre of Italy.
Now, the part of the northern army that had so
frightened the soldiers of Catulus were called the
Cimbri, and the part that Marius had defeated were
called the Teutones. The Cimbri either had not heard of
the fate of the Teutones, or pretended ignorance, for
they sent ambassadors to Marius to ask for lands and
cities enough to accommodate them and their brethren,
whom they were daily expecting to join them.
"Who are your brethren?" asked Marius of the
ambassadors.
"The Teutones," was the reply.
"Oh, do not trouble yourselves about your brethren,"
replied Marius, with a taunting laugh; "we have already
given them land enough, which they may keep forever."
"The Cimbri will punish you immediately, and so will
the Teutones when they join us," returned the
ambassadors, angrily.
"But they are not far off," said Marius; "surely you
would not be so unkind as to go away without saluting
your brethren." As he spoke he gave a signal, and the
Teutone commanders were led forth in chains.
[350] No sooner did the Cimbri hear what had happened than
they marched against Marius, and their king rode with a
small party to the Roman camp, with a challenge to the
general to decide by arms to whom Italy should belong.
"The Romans never consult their enemies when to fight,"
said Marius; "however, the Cimbri shall be indulged on
that point, and we will name the third day from this
and the plain of Vercelli."
On the appointed day the forces were drawn up, and
presented a magnificent array. Catulus had twenty
thousand men, and Marius had thirty-two thousand. The
Cimbrian infantry marched out of their trenches
noiselessly, and spread themselves over a square mile,
then the cavalry, to the number of fifteen thousand,
came forth in great splendor. Their helmets represented
the heads and open jaws of strange and frightful wild
beasts, and these were surmounted by high plumes,
making the men appear taller than they really were.
Their breastplates were of polished steel, and their
shields were white and glittering. Each man carried
two-edged darts, to be used at a distance, and a broad,
heavy sword for hand-to-hand fighting.
Just before going into battle, Marius lifted his hands
to heaven and vowed a hecatomb, which meant a hundred
oxen, to the gods; Catulus vowed to consecrate a temple
to the fortune of the day. Then the sacrifice was
offered. As soon as Marius beheld the entrails of the
animal he shouted, "The victory is mine!" and made the
charge. It so happened that the chief part of the
conflict fell to the legions of Catulus, which was a
great disappointment to Marius. The battle took place
in the summer, and the Cimbri, who had been bred in
cold countries, could not stand the heat. The sun
annoyed them dreadfully, they could scarcely breathe
the hot air, and were forced to hold up their shields
to shade their faces. The perspiration poured from
them, and they were almost suffocated, while the Romans
suffered scarcely any inconvenience. Then, too, the
dust was so thick that the Romans could not
distinguish the vast multitude of the enemy, and so
were not appalled by it. In short, everything favored
them that day, and at the very first charge the enemy's
troops were cut to pieces.
Those that fled were followed by the Romans to their
camp, where a shocking scene was enacted. The Cimbrian
women met
[351] their husbands, fathers, and brothers, and murdered
them as they ran in. That done, they strangled their
little ones with their own hands, threw them under the
horses' feet, and then killed themselves. A number of
the men who were not killed by the women tied
themselves by the neck to the horns or legs of the
oxen, then goaded them on so that they were either
strangled or torn to pieces. Nevertheless, about sixty
thousand were taken prisoners.
Although it was clearly proved that Catulus had left
more of the enemy dead upon the field than Marius had,
by the larger number of shafts having his name
inscribed on them, yet the honor of the day was given
to Marius, because of his former victory, and the
applause he got at home was so great that he was called
the third founder of Rome. He had indeed rescued his
country from as great a danger as that which threatened
her at the invasion of the Gauls, and the women and
children drank to him and to the gods at the same time.
The honor of the two triumphs would have been accorded
to him, but either generosity or fear of opposition
from Catulus's soldiers prompted him to share one with
their general.
The war with the Cimbri brought Marius's fifth
consulship to a close; then he was anxious to be
elected again; but he was not an able statesman in time
of peace: he was not popular with the nobility;
besides, he preferred to be great rather than good, and
showed plainly that, unless he held an office which
gave him dignity, he would do nothing for his
country's cause. He was not a true patriot, but he
would make any sacrifice for position, and worked as
hard for his sixth consulship as any man had ever done
for his first one. He did not care how low he stooped
if only he could gain favor with the people; that meant
to him votes, for which he even resorted to bribery.
And so he was elected, with Valerius Flaccus as his
colleague.
But it would have been better if he had rested on his
laurels, for by his conduct in his sixth consulship he
excited the hatred of all parties. He had made an enemy
of Metellus by his ungenerous behavior towards him in
the African war against Jugurtha, and by means of
bribery had kept him from being elected consul. Then he
accepted a couple of lawless fellows named Glaucia and
Satur- [352] ninus for his friends, and with their aid
committed many misdemeanors, the very worst of which
was during the tribuneship of the latter. Saturninus
proposed a law for the division of lands, and added a
clause requiring the senate to swear to agree to any
vote the people should carry, and never to oppose them.
Marius had really been instrumental in the wording of
this law, but pretended in the senate to oppose it, and
said that no wise man could take such an oath. Metellus
was the last senator to vote, and as he was a
thoroughly honest man, and knew that such a law would
lead to the ruin of the Roman constitution, he declared
that he would not swear to support it. This was exactly
what Marius wanted, because he knew it would make
Metellus unpopular. A few days later, when Saturninus
took the votes of the senators on his law, Marius
stepped out and hypocritically declared that he was not
so conceited as to believe that he could not make a
mistake, so if the law met with favor he would
willingly submit to it. This was the step he had
intended to take from the start, but he wanted to
produce a theatrical effect. The people clapped and
applauded him, but the nobility were much displeased.
However, fear of the populace led each senator to take
the oath until it came to Metellus's turn. His friends
begged him to do likewise; but, to a man who esteemed
truth the first principle of heroic virtue, that was
impossible. He left the Forum, saying to those who
stood near him, "To do an ill action is base; to do a
good one in which there is no danger is nothing more
than common; but it is the duty of a good man to do
great and good things, though he risk much by it."
Metellus knew that he would be banished, and so he was;
but he preferred banishment to dishonor.
After a time Saturninus was guilty of such outrages
that the principal men of Rome met at the house of
Marius to see whether they could not find some means of
punishing him. Then Marius was guilty of a mean,
dishonest action, for he hid Saturninus and his friends
behind a curtain, so that they might hear what was
said, and, pretending to be ill, passed in and out from
one party to the other, creating all the mischief he
could between them. At last the senators became so
violent that Saturninus and his set fled to the Capitol
for protection. Soldiers were called out, and by order
of the infuriated senators, who had discovered the
trick, the friends
[353] of Marius, who were shut up in the Capitol, were
besieged. The water pipes were cut, and, as no food
had been provided, the prisoners could not hold out
long. They called on Marius to save them, and he
promised to do so if he could, whereupon the besieged
men came down into the Forum, where, as they appeared,
the people stoned and clubbed them to death. The
consequence of all this was that Marius was thoroughly
despised both by the nobles and commons, so much so
that when the time came for the election of censors he
dared not offer himself. So he built a house close to
the Forum, and lived quietly for a long time, praying
for war to break out, so that he might not remain
entirely neglected and forgotten.
Sylla was now one of the consuls, and Marius hated him
because he was popular with the nobles. The time came
when the affairs of Rome were in such a state of
disorder that Sulpicius, a bad man, who imitated
Saturninus in his lawless deeds, formed a guard of six
hundred, whom he called anti-senators, and set upon the
consuls. This happened when the most warlike people of
Italy had united to fight against Rome. Then Marius,
who was sixty-five years old, wanted to command the
army, but Sylla had been placed in his stead. Sulpicius
drove out the consuls and gave the command to Marius,
who immediately began his preparations by sending two
tribunes to relieve Sylla of his command.
Thereupon, with thirty-five thousand armed men, Sylla
marched towards Rome, slew the tribunes Marius had
sent, and made an assault, which forced Marius from the
field. He made his escape from the city with a small
party, and embarked on board a ship that happened to
sail along just in the nick of time. A dreadful storm
came up, and the party left the ship and wandered about
on shore until they met a few poor shepherds, who
relieved their hunger, but told Marius that a troop of
horsemen were searching for him. That night was passed
in the woods, and when day dawned Marius proceeded on
foot, urging his companions not to desert him. Towards
noon he approached a city on the sea-coast of Italy
just as a cavalry company came in sight. He knew that
they were searching for him, but fortunately there were
two ships under sail in the harbor, so the whole party
plunged into the sea and swam towards them. They were
reached with little difficulty
[354] by all except poor Marius, who with age had become fat
and unwieldy. However, two of his men kept his head
above water until he got to one of the ships, the rest
of the party having been taken on board the other.
By that time the soldiers arrived at the sea-shore, and
called out to the seamen either to bring Marius back or
throw him overboard; but he entreated them, with tears
in his eyes, not to obey; and, after consulting among
themselves, they decided that it would be cruel to
place the old man in the hands of his enemies. So the
soldiers rode off in a rage. A few hours later the
seamen changed their minds; they did not intend to
deliver Marius over to those that pursued him, neither
did they feel safe in protecting him, so they solved
the difficulty by steering for land and casting anchor
at the mouth of the river Liris. They then advised him
to go on shore and refresh himself, and rest until the
wind was fairer, which, they said, would be the case at
about sunset. Marius landed, and walked to a field near
by, where he lay down and soon fell asleep. When he
awoke, the ship was nowhere to be seen.
Alone, and deserted by all the world, the poor old
general felt stupefied for some time. At last he
collected himself, and on looking about discovered a
hut in the distance. He raised himself with difficulty,
for his limbs were stiff and sore, and waded through
bog, ditch, and mud until he reached the hut, where an
old man lived who worked in the fens. Falling on his
knees, Marius implored him to protect one who, if he
escaped his present danger, would reward him beyond
anything he dreamed of. "If you want only to rest,"
said the man, who probably recognized his visitor, "my
cottage will answer; but if you are flying from
anybody's search, I can hide you in a more retired
place." Marius desired him to do so by all means, so he
led him to a little cave in the fen near the
river-side, where he covered him with reeds.
Meanwhile, orders had been sent throughout Italy for a
public search to be made for Marius, and whoever found
him was to kill him. He had not been long in his
hiding-place when he heard a tumult in the old man's
hut, and, knowing that he must be the cause of it, he
plunged into a puddle of thick, muddy water. But
instead of escaping he only put himself in the way of
his pursuers, who dragged him out all covered with
dirt, and led him naked
[355] to the magistrates of Minturnæ, the nearest town. A
Cimbrian horseman was selected to put the prisoner to
death, and for that purpose he entered his chamber
sword in hand. A dim light made the corner where Marius
lay on the couch appear dark, but the Cimbrian saw the
prisoner's eyes flash as a terrible voice that had no
human sound exclaimed, "Fellow, darest thou kill Caius
Marius?" The barbarian dropped his sword and fled,
crying, as he rushed into the street, "I cannot kill
Caius Marius!"
Suddenly, as if by magic, everybody's anger was turned
to pity and remorse. "How can we be so ungrateful
towards the preserver of Italy? ought we not rather to
assist and protect him?" they asked. "Let him go where
he pleases to banishment, while we entreat the gods to
pardon us for thrusting Marius, distressed and
deserted, out of our city." So they went in a body to
his room and conducted him to the sea-side, where lay a
ship that had been provided for him. He set sail for
Africa, where he hoped for a friendly reception; but he
made a mistake, for the governor of Carthage was a
Roman, who sent him this message: "Sextilius, the
governor, forbids you, Marius, to set foot in Africa;
if you do, you will be treated as a public enemy." On
hearing this the exile was struck with grief and
disappointment, but after a few days he sailed for the
island of Cercina, there to await changes in public
affairs at Rome.
When he was a child he lived in the country, and one
day he caught in the skirt of his garment an eagle's
nest as it was falling. It contained seven young
eagles, and this was considered so remarkable that the
augurs were consulted, and they said that not only
should Marius become one of the greatest men in the
world, but that he should be seven times in a place of
high power. He never forgot this prophecy, and when his
fate looked dark and gloomy he was buoyed up by the
recollection that he had been consul only six times;
so, with perfect faith in the augurs, he waited
patiently at Cercina for his recall to Rome.
News came to him at last that Cinna, the consul, had
been driven out of the city by Octavius and his party
because he had ruled too despotically, and that
Cornelius Merula had been elected consul instead; also
that Cinna had raised forces in other parts of Italy to
oppose them. Nothing could have pleased Marius
bet- [356] ter. Not a moment was to be lost; he gathered about
him a thousand Africans and Italian refugees, and with
these set sail for his native land. He went ashore at
Etruria, where so many of his countrymen flocked to
greet him that, persuading the youngest and strongest
to join him, he got together enough to fill forty
ships, and then sent a messenger to Cinna to say that
he was at his service.
Cinna was so delighted that he named Marius proconsul
and sent him the fasces and insignia of office.
"Grandeur does not become my present position," said
Marius, whose role it was just then to appear humble.
So, in the plainest of attire, and with an air of
dejection that excited pity, he went to Cinna, saluted
him and the soldiers, and prepared for action.
The first thing he did was to seize the
provision-ships, take the seaport towns one after
another, pillaging them, and slaying the inhabitants by
thousands; then he blocked up the river so that no
supplies could come by sea, marched with his army
towards Rome, and posted himself on the hill called
Janiculum.
Now, Octavius was one of the most upright Romans that
ever lived, but he was so strict in his observance of
the ancient laws and customs that the soldiers did not
like him; so when Marius came on the scene they went to
join him, and just before he entered the city Octavius
was dragged from the rostrum and murdered.
Then the senate assembled and despatched a messenger to
request Cinna and Marius to enter peacefully and spare
the citizens. The former complied, but on arriving at
the gate Marius stood still and declared that he would
go no farther until his sentence of banishment was
recalled. That was forthwith done, and he went into the
city surrounded by a guard of Illyrian slaves, who had
made their escape from the pens in Etruria and fled to
him.
Without even the form of an election Cinna declared
himself and Marius consuls, and then for five days
there was nothing but massacre and bloodshed in the
streets of Rome. At a word, or merely a nod of his
head, the slaves of Marius would draw their swords and
kill whoever failed to show him deference, so that even
his friends approached him in fear and trembling. The
most distinguished men of the state were butchered,
and every town and
[357] road was filled with the soldiers, who hunted down
those that fled or hid themselves. One betrayed another
in order to shield himself; all friendship and
confidence was destroyed; still Marius required fresh
victims every day, and revelled in the scenes of blood.
The servants of a prominent citizen named Cornutus
showed their affection for him at this trying time
thus: hearing that he was to become a victim to the
consul's fury, they concealed him in his own house,
then took the body of a man about his size, cut off the
head, put a ring that belonged to Cornutus on the
finger, showed the body to Marius's guards, and then
buried it with all the ceremonies they would have
observed had it really been that of their master. The
trick was successful, and Cornutus escaped in disguise
to Gaul.
Mark Antony, the great orator, found a faithful friend
in a plebeian, who would have protected him if he
could have done so. The man was so pleased to have one
of the most famous of Romans as his guest that he often
sent to a neighboring tavern for some of the best wine
kept there. One day the tavern-keeper asked the servant
why he had suddenly become so particular about the wine
he bought as to select the dearest. "Because we have
Mark Antony at our house," answered the servant,
innocently. No sooner was he gone than the
tavern-keeper ran to Marius, who was then at supper,
and told him where the orator was concealed. Marius
clapped his hands with joy, and immediately sent an
officer named Annius with some soldiers to bring him
the head of the noble Roman without delay.
Arriving at the house, Annius stationed himself at the
door while his soldiers went up a ladder and climbed
into Mark Antony's chamber. He pleaded with them for
his life, and exerted his powers of eloquence to such
an extent that they were spell-bound and forgot their
errand. Annius began to wonder at the delay after a few
moments, and ascended the ladder himself. On looking
in at the window he found his soldiers in tears, and
the orator still addressing them. He jumped in, taunted
them with their weakness, and, raising his sword,
struck off the head of Mark Antony with one blow.
Catulus, who had fought with Marius against the Cimbri,
tried
[358] very hard to stop the butchery that was going on in
Rome, but, finding himself unable to gain any
influence, he shut himself up in a small room and
suffocated himself with the fumes of a charcoal fire.
The horrible deeds committed by Marius's guard grew
worse and more numerous, until Cinna's party, being
struck with horror, killed every man of them in their
camp.
Then news came that Sylla was advancing with a great
army, and Marius was chosen consul the seventh time, in
order that he might manage the war that must inevitably
result. But he was getting old, and he feared Sylla so
much, that the very idea of being obliged to fight him
filled him with anxiety. He was wretched by day, and
would start up from horrible dreams at night that would
keep him awake for hours after. Like many a man before
and since, he sought relief in drink, which only made
his condition worse; for he was seized with a
delirious fever, and died on the seventeenth day of his
seventh consulship, despised by all. Rome was thus
relieved of a cruel tyrant, who, though he was past
seventy, was the first man who had been consul seven
times, and had wealth enough to support the dignity of
more than one king, complained of the ill fortune that
caused him to die before he had got all that he had
worked for.
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