Servius made a grimace, while the other Senators smiled at the young man’s presumption.
“The law concerning your client exists,” said Servius. “Therefore, according to what you have said you must respect this law also.”
“I respect just law,” said Marcus, and now his heart felt as if it were about to burst. “I respect the laws of Rome, which were founded on justice, patriotism, fearlessness of spirit, a proper regard for liberty, and charity and manhood. But I respect no evil law.”
Servius frowned. “Nevertheless, no matter your opinion, Cicero, this is law. It is truth. Truth is that which exists, and this law exists.”
He had a fondness for syllogisms. He added:
“Truth is that which exists.
This law exists,
Therefore, this law is truth.”
Again, he was sorry for Marcus. He considered the case concluded. He glanced at the Consul in his chair, waiting for the signal. Marcus held up his hand.
“Please, Lord, let me add one thing. You have made a valid syllogism. But validity is not always truth, as you know. Let me give you another, which is not only valid but true:
“A reality is that which exists.
Evil exists,
Therefore evil is a reality.”
“It is true that evil exists. It exists as objectively and as fully as does good. It is at least as powerful as virtue, and in many cases it is more powerful, for there are more evil men than there are virtuous.
“But who, if he is a man of probity, will hurry to embrace evil because, in philosophy and in fact, it exists, has reality and has its measure of truth?”
His fine voice, youthfully sonorous, soared through the chamber, and all were silent, even the crowds within and without the portals. Scaevola nudged Noë with his elbow and smiled slyly.
The attention of the Senators was fully caught. The venal ones glanced uneasily at the distant Scaevola and wondered how much he had told his pupil.
Marcus resumed, his large eyes flashing like pale gold: “Pestilence exists, therefore it has verity. Do we hasten, therefore, to throw ourselves into pestilential circumstances and contagion, because of the true existence of the terror? For again, there are evil truths, and there are excellent truths. We sedulously avoid the one, with regard for our very lives and our spirits, and we embrace the other which makes us fully men, and preserves us as a nation.
“We hasten to eliminate pestilence. Therefore, we should hasten to eliminate evil laws. The evil of this law, under which my client was seized, is an old one, more than half-forgotten, and found not very long ago in some dusty archives.”
“Do you wish to abolish taxes, on which our nation subsists and which cannot subsist without them?” demanded Curius with contempt, and in a rising voice of passion.
“No,” said Marcus, with a calm that contrasted with the other’s fury. “Permit me to recall to you why that law was promulgated in the very beginning. It was to prevent the people of the infant Republic from falling into loose and easy debt, and abandoning responsibility. It was to teach them thrift and sobriety, the sanctity of the given word. Without these an individual perishes. Governments also so perish.”
He paused, and looked slowly from one Senator’s interested face to the other. His stern eyes came to rest on Senator Curius.
“It was the intention of that law to offer a warning not only to profligate citizens but to profligate governments. For, is it not the foundation of Roman law that the government is not more than the people? If the government is guilty of criminal acts is it not the duty of a people to restrain it and punish it, as if it were a lawless individual? So it is written; so it is truth. A body of powerful men sitting in government are no less guilty than a single man of crimes common to them both, but in the case of government the crime is greater and more heinous, for it strikes down the walls of a city and lays it open to the enemy.”
“Gods!” groaned Scaevola.
“Romans,” said Marcus, and now his face was high and flushed with his own passion, “have always taxed themselves from the first days of the Republic, for good taxes are necessary for survival. But for what were these taxes invented? To pay for soldiers to protect us from enemies without our walls. To pay for the guards within the city. To establish courts of justice; to pay the stipends of the lawgivers, the Senate, the tribunes, the Consuls. To build convenient roads and temples. For the maintenance of sewers, the raising of aqueducts to bring us the blessing of pure water. To create a department of sanitation to guard the people’s health. To impose a tariff on nations who deal with us—and that tariff has served as well.” He smiled charmingly again.
Then suddenly his face changed and was full of high and heroic anger.
“But the law was not passed—and it fell into obscurity because Romans obeyed that law even while not knowing it was a written one—for the purpose of foreign adventures; not to extract a man’s industrious substance to support the deliberately idle, the worthless and the abandoned and those without responsibility toward neighbors and country! It was not passed to purchase a depraved rabble with free food, free shelter and free circuses. Not for their envious lust was this law passed! Not for the purpose of buying their votes was the law written! For when our fathers hewed a civilization out of rock and wilderness and forest and wild beasts and barbarians the market rabble did not exist, the cowardly were not yet born, the thieves were not clamoring at the treasury, the weak were not whining at the doors of Senators’ houses, the irresponsible did not sit idle on the streets and on the land.
“We had a law for such people. We put them forcibly to work for their bread. We gave them no solicitude because they were of low intelligence and base passions and craven spirits. We said to them, Work, or you shall not eat. And they worked, or perished. They had no voice in our government, and were despised by heroes, and our fathers were heroes.”
He had to pause to get his breath. He was panting. Sweat was pouring down his face and he did not heed it. He bent his head to facilitate the movement of his lungs. His hand gripped the rod of authority.
And there was silence in the chamber, silence on the steps and at the entrance. Scaevola was no longer glowering and rolling up his eyes.
Then Marcus raised his head again. He had long forgotten that he was addressing dangerous Senators who could destroy him. He spoke to the soul of Rome, as a Roman.
“We are taxed in our bread and our wine, in our incomes and our investments, on our land and on our property, not only for base creatures who do not deserve the name of men, but for foreign nations, for complaisant nations who will bow to us and accept our largesse and promise us to assist in the keeping of the peace—these mendicant nations who will destroy us when we show a moment of weakness or our treasury is bare, and surely it is becoming bare! We are taxed to maintain legions on their soil, in the name of law and order and the Pax Romana, a document which will fall into dust when it pleases our allies and our vassals. We keep them in precarious balance only with our gold. Is the heart-blood of our nation worth these? Shall one Italian be sacrificed for Britain, for Gaul, for Egypt, for India, even for Greece, and a score of other nations? Were they bound to us with ties of love, they would not ask our gold. They would ask only our laws. They take our very flesh, and they hate and despise us. And who shall say we are worthy of more?”*
“They will kill him,” said Scaevola. “For he has spoken truth and when shall a man be permitted to live when he speaks the truth?”
But the Senators of probity listened with pale and severe faces. The Senators who were venal sneered silently at each other.
Marcus went on in a voice that trembled yet was loud. “Then, for the base within our gates, and our potential enemies throughout the world, Rome is slowly but surely being destroyed. For votes. For a peace which is without honest foundation. Was ever a nation so dishonored and threatened from within and without before, as Rome is now threatened? Yes, Greece is only one. Egypt is only one. And those
before them. And they fell; they died. It is a law of nature. It is also a financial law. Debt and profligacy lead but to despair and bankruptcy. It was always so.
“This law, under which my client has been convicted, is an old law. Let us remember the intentions of those who wrote it, and let us beware of the dark intentions of those who use it today. For the first were heroes. Those who use it today are criminals.”
“He will not see the dawn,” said Scaevola.
“Treason,” muttered Senator Curius. “Let us throw him in chains.”
One of his friends whispered behind his hand, “Let him continue. Let Servius and his friends listen to this monstrous affront to the government and the people of Rome, and let them learn for all time what it means when such as this Cicero afflicts us. Let Servius and his fellows condemn him, themselves, then that Scaevola cannot blame us.”
Servius and his friends had listened with pale faces and gathered brows and in total silence. They waited for Marcus to continue.
His voice dropped eloquently. He held out his hands to the Senate, and the magnificent ring flashed on it like a myriad of colored stars.
“My lords, let us consider just law. Does it bring tranquillity, good order, piety, justice and liberty and prosperity to a people? Does it nourish patriotism and the way of a manly and upright life? Then it is a good law, and deserves our utter obedience.
“But if it brings pain, intolerable burdens, injustice, sleepless anxiety and fear and slavery to a people, then it is an evil law passed and upheld by evil men, who hate humanity and wish to subjugate and control it. If this be treason on my part, lords, accuse me then of it, and say why it is treason. Let those who listen, hear your accusations before them and before God.”*
He fell into silence. He clasped his hands tightly before him. His piteous clients huddled behind him and tried to touch his garments with their timid hands. Then he brought forward his client, Persus, and stood him before the Senate.
“Look upon this man, lords,” said Marcus. “His fathers fought with ours, for Rome. His fathers gave birth to the Republic, as ours did, also. His forefathers built our walls, and struggled with hardships and the wilderness, as did ours. He is bone of our bone, flesh of our flesh. But his spirit, though independent, is yet humble. It never sought for power. It loved the land, and a little peace, and the sun on a few acres. It asked little of life but the comfort of a wife and industrious children. If this man gave birth to no Senators, no Consuls, no tribunes, he yet gave birth to the ancient strength of Rome. He, more than many of us, is Rome, herself.
“What crime has our brother committed against neighbor and his country? Has he taken illicit bribes? Has he been guilty of treason? Has he run with the enemy one day and then pursued him the next, for money? Is he a murderer? Is he a thief or a pervert? Has he betrayed friendship or a trust? Has he practiced simony or subornation, or any other evil? Is he vile, detestable, an adulterer, a dangerous liar, a blasphemer of the gods?”
Marcus paused, and then he raised his fists and cried, “No! He is only not able to pay his taxes, which you say are just! For that shall he be defamed, punished, destroyed, starved, driven into the earth which is more merciful than we?
“Of what crime does he stand committed? He could not pay his taxes!
“Is a little money greater, then, to a government, of more importance, of more value, than a human life, a Roman life, and above all, human dignity? Is a Roman citizen less than his house and his cattle, his humble lares and penates, his small furniture?
“God gave this man his life, yet you would destroy it for a few pieces of gold. Do you believe, then, that you are wiser and more urgent than God, that gold is more valuable than a human soul? Then, my lords, you have uttered the most terrible blasphemy of them all!”
“Treason!” cried Curius, and started to his feet and glared with violent fury on the lawyer. “Dog! You have taunted us with your obscurities, your maudlin pleas, your lies, your insolence! Guard!”
Servius rose also. He turned to Curius and said, “You lie, yourself, Curius. He has spoken but truth. And may the gods defend him. Surely man will not.”
A great hubbub rose in the chamber and at the doors, and there were distant shouts of “Hero! Noble Marcus Tullius Cicero! Free the oppressed!” For a great mob had suddenly gathered at the doors and were now shaking raised fists and showing their turbulent faces.
“Sit down,” said Servius to the other Senator. “Do you want insurrection, while we are in the midst of war? You know how volatile and easily aroused is the Roman rabble. Take care! This man can destroy you with his tongue.”
Curius sat down, but he clenched his hands on his knees and regarded Marcus with hatred, and there was murder in his eyes.
Marcus waited. He put his arm tenderly about his client. He prayed inwardly. Then, suddenly, he was overcome, his heart swelled. He could not restrain his tears. His sobs were clearly heard. His whole body shook and quaked with his emotions. And the Senators watched, some with hard and bitter faces, and some with compassion and shame.
Then Marcus could speak again. He put his hand again on his client’s shoulder and displayed him to the Senate.
“Look upon a fellow Roman, lords. He is a victim of these gold-devouring wars. Just as you are victims. He had a young son, hardly more than a child, who died in the Social War, full of patriotism and the love of his country. Just as some of you have lost sons in the war.
“But—he lost all he had in this calamity! It was little—but he lost it. But you did not lose all you had. There was much you retained.
“Persus has nothing left but his wife and his remaining children. Shall you deprive him of that little? Shall you take from a Roman brother that which is dear to yourselves? Only the Fates prevented you from being born in his bed, and with his destiny. It was no worthiness on your part. It was a throw of the dice.”
Then Marcus flung out his arms and advanced a step or two toward the Senators. He did not hear the dull and roaring clamor near the doors, as more and more men crowded to hear him. He was not aware of the tension in the chamber, the unbearable passions, the quickly beating hearts of pity or rage.
“Do justice to my client. It is said that the gods love to see mercy in man, for mercy gives a godliness even to the most humble. Be magnanimous. Let the news of your charity and your kindness reach the gates of the city, and beyond. Are you not honorable men, Romans, revering your fathers? Is not virtue the most becoming toga a man can wear? What is more shining? What is more laudable? What arouses admiration most of all in the breast of all men but examples of goodness, mercy, and justice? What do men reverence more than power? Honor and nobility and right doing. For, no matter how base the man, he adores virtue.”
The majority of the Senators then remembered writings at midnight on the walls of the city. Their names had been vilified. They had read inscriptions in red: “Adulterer! Murderer! Traitor! Seducer! Libertine! Thief!”
Roman mobs were never truly friendly, not even to a hero. They had sly eyes and ears for the peculiarities of those in power. They were a lion, held precariously by the tail. What had the sybils written? That Rome would fall first from within, that Roman streets would run red with blood, that Rome would burn. Romans might fawn for corn and a purse, and might give their votes to a benefactor. But it was in the nature of men to dislike the powerful, whether out of envy or out of suspicion.
A thousand legions would not be able to restrain them if they revolted, nor a thousand prisons contain them.
The venal Senators pondered. They needed new adulation in these days, new clients, new followers, new voters. All these were now difficult to obtain. But, if their virtue were broadcast from this chamber, carried on the wind of many voices, then they could rest secure, at least for a little while.
And there was Scaevola near the door, watching them with mocking eyes, his thumb turned up, Scaevola who knew too much.
The Senators of integrity had been deeply and profound
ly moved by Marcus’ words. They wrinkled their brows over the law. They, too, thought of rumor from this chamber. Would others default on their taxes, hoping for mercy, if Persus were freed?
The Consul then rose, and all rose with him. He said, in an old man’s voice, but in a steady one: “You have heard. I recommend that this prisoner be set free, and his wife and children with him. As he has lost all, through our command, I order that that which we have taken be restored to him. Of what use are more beggars in the streets?”
He looked at Persus and his wife and children, who had fallen on their knees at these words and had lifted their hands in tearful adoration to him. His face was stern.
“You have been freed not because you were a victim of a law which does not exist. It exists. To your lawyer I say that this law cannot be removed, however his eloquence. To abrogate this law would be to destroy all our elaborate legal structure and its many ramifications, which certainly to many sober citizens would be most salubrious.” He paused to purse his mouth in a dry smile. “It is said that for the sake of Rome we are committed to the world, which needs the money of Roman taxpayers, no matter the desperate burden on our people. What matter if a Roman starve or despair or lose his faith in just government? Who is the modern Roman? He is a slave to countries who regard him only as a means of soft subsistence and protection and endless bounty. He is a slave to the ambitious in his own nation, who use his own money to buy personal power and maintain themselves in office.
“I have said this law cannot be removed. I will amend that by saying that it can only be removed when Romans, aware of their extreme peril, demand that it be removed. Alas, a people never awake to their danger until it is too late.”