Misc Writings and Speeches, vol 1 | Page 9

whole Odyssey of
strange adventures."
"I believe so; an Odyssey, of which Pompey will be the Polyphemus,
and Cicero the Siren. I would have the state imitate Ulysses: show no
mercy to the former; but contrive, if it can be done, to listen to the
enchanting voice of the other, without being seduced by it to

destruction."
"But whom can your party produce as rivals to these two famous
leaders?"
"Time will show. I would hope that there may arise a man, whose
genius to conquer, to conciliate, and to govern, may unite in one cause
an oppressed and divided people;--may do all that Sylla should have
done, and exhibit the magnificent spectacle of a great nation directed
by a great mind."
"And where is such a man to be found?"
"Perhaps where you would least expect to find him. Perhaps he may be
one whose powers have hitherto been concealed in domestic or literary
retirement. Perhaps he may be one, who, while waiting for some
adequate excitement, for some worthy opportunity, squanders on trifles
a genius before which may yet be humbled the sword of Pompey and
the gown of Cicero. Perhaps he may now be disputing with a sophist;
perhaps prattling with a mistress; perhaps" and, as he spoke, he turned
away, and resumed his lounge, "strolling in the Forum."
...
It was almost midnight. The party had separated. Catiline and Cethegus
were still conferring in the supper-room, which was, as usual, the
highest apartment of the house. It formed a cupola, from which
windows opened on the flat roof that surrounded it. To this terrace Zoe
had retired. With eyes dimmed with fond and melancholy tears, she
leaned over the balustrade, to catch the last glimpse of the departing
form of Caesar, as it grew more and more indistinct in the moonlight.
Had he any thought of her? Any love for her? He, the favourite of the
high-born beauties of Rome, the most splendid, the most graceful, the
most eloquent of its nobles? It could not be. His voice had, indeed,
been touchingly soft whenever he addressed her. There had been a
fascinating tenderness even in the vivacity of his look and conversation.
But such were always the manners of Caesar towards women. He had
wreathed a sprig of myrtle in her hair as she was singing. She took it
from her dark ringlets, and kissed it, and wept over it, and thought of
the sweet legends of her own dear Greece,--of youths and girls, who,
pining away in hopeless love, had been transformed into flowers by the
compassion of the Gods; and she wished to become a flower, which
Caesar might sometimes touch, though he should touch it only to

weave a crown for some prouder and happier mistress.
She was roused from her musings by the loud step and voice of
Cethegus, who was pacing furiously up and down the supper-room.
"May all the Gods confound me, if Caesar be not the deepest traitor, or
the most miserable idiot, that ever intermeddled with a plot!"
Zoe shuddered. She drew nearer to the window. She stood concealed
from observation by the curtain of fine network which hung over the
aperture, to exclude the annoying insects of the climate.
"And you too!" continued Cethegus, turning fiercely on his accomplice;
"you to take his part against me!--you, who proposed the scheme
yourself!"
"My dear Caius Cethegus, you will not understand me. I proposed the
scheme; and I will join in executing it. But policy is as necessary to our
plans as boldness. I did not wish to startle Caesar--to lose his
co-operation--perhaps to send him off with an information against us to
Cicero and Catulus. He was so indignant at your suggestion that all my
dissimulation was scarcely sufficient to prevent a total rupture."
"Indignant! The Gods confound him!--He prated about humanity, and
generosity, and moderation. By Hercules, I have not heard such a
lecture since I was with Xenochares at Rhodes."
"Caesar is made up of inconsistencies. He has boundless ambition,
unquestioned courage, admirable sagacity. Yet I have frequently
observed in him a womanish weakness at the sight of pain. I remember
that once one of his slaves was taken ill while carrying his litter. He
alighted, put the fellow in his place and walked home in a fall of snow.
I wonder that you could be so ill-advised as to talk to him of massacre,
and pillage, and conflagration. You might have foreseen that such
propositions would disgust a man of his temper."
"I do not know. I have not your self-command, Lucius. I hate such
conspirators. What is the use of them? We must have blood --blood,--
hacking and tearing work--bloody work!"
"Do not grind your teeth, my dear Caius; and lay down the
carving-knife. By Hercules,