for five days.  They were splendid:  no man denies it.  But what man of culture can feel any pleasure when some poor fellow is torn in pieces by some powerful animal, or when some noble animal is run through with a hunting spear.  If these things are worth seeing, you have seen them before.  And I, who was actually present, saw nothing new.  The last day was given up to the elephants.  Great was the astonishment of the crowd at the sight; but of pleasure there was nothing.  Nay, there was some feeling of compassion, some sense that this animal has a certain kinship with man.”  The elder Pliny tells us that two hundred lions were killed on this occasion, and that the pity felt for the elephants rose to the height of absolute rage.  So lamentable was the spectacle of their despair, so pitifully did they implore the mercy of the audience, “that the whole multitude rose in tears and called down upon Pompey the curses which soon descended on him.”

And then Pompey’s young wife, Julia, Caesar’s daughter, died.  She had been a bond of union between the two men, and the hope of peace was sensibly lessened by her loss.  Perhaps the first rupture would have come any how; when it did come it found Pompey quite unprepared for the conflict.  He seemed indeed to be a match for his rival, but his strength collapsed almost at a touch.  “I have but to stamp with my foot,” he said on one occasion, “and soldiers will spring up;” yet when Caesar declared war by crossing the Rubicon, he fled without a struggle.  In little more than a year and a half all was over.  The battle of Pharsalia was fought on the 9th of August, and on September the 29th the man who had triumphed over three continents lay a naked, headless corpse on the shore of Egypt.

CHAPTER X.

EXILE.

The suppression of the “Great Conspiracy” was certainly the most glorious achievement of Cicero’s life.  Honors such as had never before been bestowed on a citizen of Rome were heaped upon him.  Men of the highest rank spoke of him both in the Senate and before the people as the “Father of his fatherland.”  A public thanksgiving, such as was ordered when great victories had been won, was offered in his name.  Italy was even more enthusiastic than the capital.  The chief towns voted him such honors as they could bestow; Capua in particular erected to him a gilded statue, and gave him the title of Patron of the city.

Still there were signs of trouble in the future.  It was the duty of the consul on quitting office to swear that he had discharged his duty with fidelity, and it was usual for him at the same time to make a speech in which he narrated the events of his consulship.  Cicero was preparing to speak when one of the new tribunes intervened.  “A man,” he cried, “who has put citizens to death without hearing them in their defense is not worthy to speak.  He must do nothing more than take the oath.”  Cicero was ready with his answer.  Raising his voice he said, “I swear that I, and I alone, have saved this commonwealth and this city.”  The assembly shouted their approval; and when the ceremony was concluded the whole multitude escorted the ex-consul to his house.  The time was not come for his enemies to attack him; but that he had enemies was manifest.