of dignified and even-handed justice.[2] It was the hasty instinct of self-preservation, the act of a weak government uncertain of its very friends, under the influence of terror—­a terror for which, no doubt, there were abundant grounds.  When Cicero stood on the prison steps, where he had waited to receive the report of those who were making sure work with the prisoners within, and announced their fate to the assembled crowd below in the single word “Vixerunt” (a euphemism which we can only weakly translate into “They have lived their life"), no doubt he felt that he and the republic held theirs from that moment by a firmer tenure; no doubt very many of those who heard him felt that they could breathe again, now that the grasp of Catiline’s assassins was, for the moment at all events, off their throats; and the crowd who followed the consul home were sincere enough when they hailed such a vigorous avenger as the ’Father of his Country’.  But none the less it was that which politicians have called worse than a crime—­it was a political blunder; and Cicero came to find it so in after years; though—­partly from his immense self-appreciation, and partly from an honest determination to stand by his act and deed in all its consequences—­he never suffered the shadow of such a confession to appear in his most intimate correspondence.  He claimed for himself ever afterwards the sole glory of having saved the state by such prompt and decided action; and in this he was fully borne out by the facts:  justifiable or unjustifiable, the act was his; and there were burning hearts at Rome which dared not speak out against the popular consul, but set it down to his sole account against the day of retribution.

[Footnote 1:  A state dungeon, said to have been built in the reign of Servius Tullius.  It was twelve feet under ground.  Executions often took place there, and the bodies of the criminals were afterwards thrown down the Gemonian steps (which were close at hand) into the Forum, for the people to see.]

[Footnote 2:  Life of Cicero, p. 119.]

For the present, however, all went successfully.  The boldness of the consul’s measures cowed the disaffected, and confirmed the timid and wavering.  His colleague Antonius—­himself by no means to be depended on at this crisis, having but lately formed a coalition with Catiline as against Cicero in the election for consuls—­had, by judicious management, been got away from Rome to take the command against the rebel army in Etruria.  He did not, indeed, engage in the campaign actively in person, having just now a fit of the gout, either real or pretended; but his lieutenant-general was an old soldier who cared chiefly for his duty, and Catiline’s band—­reckless and desperate men who had gathered to his camp from all motives and from all quarters—­were at length brought to bay, and died fighting hard to the last.  Scarcely a man of them, except the slaves and robbers who had swelled their ranks, either escaped or was made prisoner.  Catiline’s body—­easily recognised by his remarkable height—­was found, still breathing, lying far in advance of his followers, surrounded by the dead bodies of the Roman legionaries—­for the loss on the side of the Republic had been very severe.  The last that remained to him of the many noble qualities which had marked his earlier years was a desperate personal courage.