23 Explōrātiō Quinta (V) Adventure Five
Cicero, First Catilinarian
Third Declension Nouns: Nominative, Genitive, Accusative Singular Prepositional Phrases
Initial Sum
Conjunctions
Campus Martius, Rōma Mēnsis November
M. Tulliō Cicerōne C. Antoniō Hybridā cōnsulibus
“B
Campus Martius, Rome November, 63 B.C.E.
efore we travel today,” Latinitas said to me, “we will have to dress up. Or at least I will; you can continue to wear that old purple bathrobe of yours, since it lets you pass for a child of royalty visiting from a foreign land. But we are going to a meeting of
the Senātus today, amidst a national emergency, and in that environment a grown woman is going to attract too much notice if she can’t pass for a Roman matron or Vestal Virgin.” As she spoke, she covered her hair with a golden hairnet; when she was satisfied that it was in place, she threw a woolen mantle with an intricate floral pattern over her head and wrapped it across her shoulders.
“Also,” she added, “you should enter your vocabulary into your book now, in case we have to make a sudden escape from the urbs, the city. Put these words in your list. I will explain their forms later:”
Third Declension Nouns
lībertās, lībertāt-isf.freedom
mors, mort-isf.death
urbs, urb-isf.city
lēx, lēg-isf.law
vōx, vōc-isf.voice; word
rēx, rēg-ism.king
mōs, mōr-ism.custom (singular); behavior (plural)
furor, furōr-ism.madness labor, labōr-ism.struggle, effort timor, timōr-ism.fear
cōnsul, cōnsul-ism.consul (the two highest elected officials at Rome)
Prepositions
ad + accusativeto, towards
in + acc.into (a place); against (a person); for (some purpose)
per + acc.through
Verb
fittakes place, happens; becomes (verb, present 3rd person singular) “The verb fit means ‘takes place’ with a subject, or ‘becomes’ with a subject and a predicate:”
Fit mors.Death/a death takes place. Cōnsul fit Cicerō.Cicero becomes a consul.
Conjunctions
atque OR acand
-queand
A sip of liquid transported us again. We were standing in the back room of a large temple; it was night, and by the light of torches and oil lamps I could clearly make out the head of a statue. It represented Iuppiter, Jupiter, king of the gods. According to Latinitas it was supposed to be Iuppiter Stātor, The Jupiter Who Stops. It was dedicated by Romulus, the founder and first rēx of Rome, after a battle in which Jupiter supposedly halted the advance of the enemy Sabines. (Latinitas claims she was present at the battle and saw Jupiter in action; I have no reason to doubt her.)
The main area of the temple was crowded with Roman senators standing in small groups; they were discussing something with great earnestness, and many looked upset. The entrance of another party of men caused them all to turn and take notice. A band of stout-looking bodyguards parted to let a less muscular but more charismatic middle-aged man pass through the crowd. “Ecce, ille Cicerō, behold, the famous Cicero!” she whispered to me. A few senators tried to get Cicero’s attention but he ignored them, walking with his head down and his eyes almost closed, as if he was in a trance. He stopped next to a very fine-looking chair with ivory inlay – the
consul’s chair – and raised his head, shooting a piercing glance at one senator who stood apart from the rest. Senators turned to him to listen. The orator took a deep breath through his nose and raised both manūs into the air; then, with a clear and powerful vōx, he unleashed a furious barrage of rhetorical questions directed at the isolated senator:
“For how long will you keep abusing our patience, Catiline? How long will that madness of yours, furor iste tuus, make fun of us? To what end will your unhinged audacity throw itself around? Has the security on the Palatine done nothing, the watchmen of the city done nothing, the fear of the people done nothing, the gathering of all good men done nothing, this heavily fortified place for a Senate meeting done nothing, the faces and expressions of these men done nothing to move you? Do you not sense that your plans are laid open, do you not now see that your conspiracy is already hemmed in and held in by the knowledge of all these men? What you did last night, what you did the night before, where you were, who you invited, what plans you made – do you think any of us are ignorant of this? O what times, what behavior! Ō tempora, ō mōrēs! The Senate understands this. The consul sees it, cōnsul videt. Nevertheless, this man lives. Lives? As a matter of fact, he even comes into the Senate, takes part in public deliberation, marks out and designates each one of us for slaughter with his eyes. Meanwhile we, who are brave men, think we have done enough for the republic if should we happen to avoid this man’s madness and spears. To death, Catiline, you should have been led a long time ago, on the consul’s order, and the destruction which you have for so long been plotting against all of us should have been directed at you.”
Quō usque tandem abūtere, Catilīna, patientiā nostrā? Quam diū etiam furor iste tuus nōs ēlūdet? Quem ad fīnem sēsē effrēnāta iactābit audācia? Nihilne tē nocturnum praesidium Palātī, nihil urbis vigiliae, nihil timor populī, nihil concursus bonōrum omnium, nihil hic mūnītissimus habendī senātūs locus, nihil hōrum ōra vultūsque mōvērunt? Patēre tua cōnsilia nōn sentīs, cōnstrictam iam hōrum omnium scientiā tenērī coniūrātiōnem tuam nōn vidēs? Quid proximā, quid superiōre nocte ēgeris, ubi fueris, quōs convocāveris, quid cōnsiliī cēperis, quem nostrum ignōrāre arbitrāris? Ō tempora, ō mōrēs! Senātus haec intellegit. Cōnsul videt; hic tamen vīvit. Vīvit? Immō vērō etiam in senātum venit, fit pūblicī cōnsiliī particeps, notat et dēsignat oculīs ad caedem ūnum quemque nostrum. Nōs autem fortēs virī satis facere reī pūblicae vidēmur, sī istīus furōrem ac tēla vītēmus. Ad mortem tē, Catilīna, dūcī iussū cōnsulis iam prīdem oportēbat, in tē cōnferrī pestem, quam tū in nōs omnēs iam diū māchināris.
The vōx of Cicero was still echoing through the interior of the temple when we slipped out, taking care to avoid the eyes of the security patrol. Latinitas commented on what I had just heard.
“You have just witnessed that rarest of things in politics, someone of great ambition confronting an overwhelming crisis and rising fully to the occasion. In a way he spent his entire career
preparing for this moment. Unlike most Roman statesmen and politicians, Marcus Tullius Cicero did not come from an old aristocratic family or achieve fame after rising through the ranks in the army. He was brought up in a tiny town in the mountains of Italy called Arpinum; his father gave him the best education he could afford, and Cicero used it to hone to perfection a great natural talent for public speaking. After starting out as a defense lawyer and winning many difficult cases, he went into politics, where his skills as a speaker and constant hustle eventually put him in the consul’s chair.”
“Over the decades he has faced many personal risks and acquired many opponents and rivals. Yet he has never been in more danger than now, during this his consulship. Lucius Sergius Catilina, the senator we saw him attacking, has gathered together a large and diverse band of people who are willing to join a conspiracy to massacre the leadership of Rome and overthrow the state.
Cicero recognizes his enemy’s strengths – Catiline is charming, daring, and smart. He knows that Catiline’s supporters include desperate people who nourish legitimate grievances against the powers that be. He understands and will take into account all these factors in the speech he is giving now and those he will give in the next few days, which will mark the beginning of Catiline’s downfall.”
“Cicero is making one mistake, though. He believes that eliminating the leadership of the revolutionary movement will be enough to restore stability and peace to the Republic. He does not appreciate the fact that, if nothing is done to remedy the economic desperation that makes people willing to try revolution, the instability and violence will only continue. And so it shall.”
A makeshift tent stood on the grounds outside the temple, lit by a lamp from within. Inside a servant of Cicero’s sat reviewing a text: the text of his speech, which the orator had memorized. Latinitas asked if she could look at it. Without even glancing up at her he said, ‘Go home, old lady, and spin your wool; this is work for men.’
All at once a change came over Latinitas. She grew very tall again – just like the first night I met her, after she left – and her garments and skin took on a weird glow. Her eyes were fiery and her gaze was absolutely unbearable; I looked away. With a voice drawn from somewhere deep in the heart of the world she repeated her request for the text: Dā mihi, give it to me.
I heard Cicero’s secretary humble himself in terror and scamper away. When I looked up again, Latinitas was standing there examining the book as if nothing had happened, her old self again. I didn’t ask what had taken place; I knew what it meant, no doubt about it. It is heartening to have a dea as your Latin teacher, but it can also be, at times, very frightening.
“Look here!” she said, marveling at the text. “Such words! Audacia, furor, timor, boldness, madness, fear… Verbs are words for actions, but nouns, the names of persons and things, can be just as powerful.”
“If I teach you something important about nouns, do you think you can remember?” Was this a threat? I nodded yes.
“Excellent.”