Roma.The novel of ancient Rome - Saylor Steven - Страница 102
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“Indeed I have! If you think you dote on Menenia, you should see me with Cornelia.”
Kaeso nodded. “Curious, that your daughter and my granddaughter should be almost exactly the same age.”
“Perhaps they can grow up to be friends, as you and I have been friends, Kaeso.”
“I should like that,” Kaeso said. “I should like that very much.” He gazed steadily at Scipio. His chestnut hair, kept short, was now mixed with silver. In his rugged features, all trace of the boy was gone, except in his eyes, which sometimes glowed with youthful exuberance when he laughed. This was one of the reasons Kaeso had invited Scipio to sit beside him in the theater that day, because it would give him such pleasure to see Scipio laugh.
They were distracted by the sound of applause and a flurry of movement. Many in the audience spontaneously rose from their seats. Plautus had just entered the theater and was making his way to the empty seat next to Kaeso. At the age of sixty-three, the Umbrian playwright was the grand old man of the Roman stage. The audience knew him by sight and gave him a standing ovation.
The galli alone failed to recognize him. They looked at one another in puzzlement, then stood and joined uncertainly in the applause.
Plautus embraced Kaeso, then exchanged greetings with Scipio. The three of them sat, and the applause gradually dwindled.
“So, my flatfooted friend, what’s the play today?” said Scipio.
Plautus shrugged. “Oh, a trifle I’ve titled after the main character, a wisecracking slave. It’s called Pseudolus.”
“A trifle? Your masterpiece!” declared Kaeso.
“Spoken with all the conviction one would expect from the owner of the company!” Plautus laughed. “Oh, the dialogue sparkles in places, I must admit; but not nearly so brightly as words may sparkle in real life. I refer, Scipio, to the dialogue you exchanged with your old enemy Hannibal when the two of you met face to face on your recent mission to the East-if one can believe the gossips. Can one believe the gossips?”
Scipio had already told the anecdote to Kaeso, when they met outside the theater, but he obligingly related it again. “It’s true. While I was in Ephesus, I learned that Hannibal happened to be there as well, and I arranged to meet him. Our spies say he’s been wandering the East for years, offering his services to any king willing to challenge Roma. It’s because of that accursed vow he made to his father; he can never stop plotting our downfall as long as there’s a breath in his body. So far, he’s had no takers. He’s become a bit of a joke, actually.”
“What did you two talk about?” said Plautus.
“This and that. At one point, I asked him which general, in his opinion, was the greatest of all time.”
“A leading question!” said Plautus. “What was his reply?”
“‘Alexander,’ Hannibal answered. And what commander would he place second? ‘Pyrrhus,’ he said. And third? ‘Myself!’ declared Hannibal. Well, I had to burst out laughing. I said, ‘And where would you rank if you had defeated me?’ Hannibal looked me in the eye and replied, ‘In that case, I would put myself before Pyrrhus and even before Alexander-in fact, before all other generals who ever lived!’”
Plautus slapped his knee. “Outrageous! Really, I could never invent a line like that, or a character like Hannibal.”
“It’s Carthaginian flattery, don’t you see?” said Scipio. “Devious and indirect. But…I was flattered nonetheless.” He sighed. “Someday, I have no doubt, Hannibal will be assassinated, or else driven to suicide. Not by me, of course, but by those who come after me.”
Kaeso shook his head. “There’ll never be another man big enough to take your place.”
Scipio laughed, a little sadly and a little bitterly. “Sweet words, my friend, but alas, I grow smaller every day, and the space I occupy becomes easier to fill. I feel my influence waning. The world has grown tired of me, just as the world has grown tired of Hannibal. When people hear his name, they no longer tremble. They smirk. They hear my name, and they shrug. My political enemies circle me like wolves, waiting for the chance to bring me down on some trumped-up charge. The same small-minded men who will murder Hannibal will sooner or later drive me into exile, if they can.”
Kaeso was distressed. “No! I don’t believe you. Surely you’re at the peak of your power. You were chosen to accept the black stone of Cybele. A magnificent arch is being built in your honor, to serve as the gateway to the Capitoline Hill. The Arch of Scipio Africanus will stand forever as a monument to your glory.”
“Perhaps. Monuments last. Men don’t. As for glory…” Scipio shook his head. “When we met for the first time, before the battle of Zama, Hannibal said something I’ve never forgotten: ‘The greater a man’s success, the less it may be trusted to endure.’ We shall both be swept aside, Hannibal and I, swallowed by the rush of time. Do you want to see the future? Look there.”
He pointed to a senator in the audience, a man in his forties, perhaps a little younger than Scipio. His slender face, seen in profile, was dominated by a beaklike nose. He was leaning forward with a tense posture and scanning the crowd with a predatory, birdlike gaze.
“My nemesis: Marcus Porcius Cato,” said Scipio. “A so-called New Man, first of his family to hold elected office,” he added, with some disdain. “But his neophyte status doesn’t stop him from slandering me at every opportunity, and muttering behind my back about ‘finishing’ the war with Carthage-as if we had any reason to attack a crippled seaport that’s been stripped of her champion, her navy, and her colonies. He says my handling of the settlement after Zama was ‘lackluster, bordering on incompetent’; says I accomplished nothing in the long run because I failed to have Hannibal beheaded and burn Carthage to the ground. He slanders me on personal grounds as well; says I’ve ‘gone Greek’ because I happen to like the baths and the theater. Given Cato’s loathing for all things not Roman, I’m rather surprised to see him in the audience today. What in Hades is he doing here?”
As if on cue, Cato rose from his seat. “Citizens! Citizens! Listen to me!” he cried, in such a powerful, strident voice that in short order he had the attention of everyone in the audience.
“Citizens, you know me well. I am Marcus Porcius Cato. I began my service to Roma when I enlisted at the age of seventeen, back when that scoundrel Hannibal was having his run of luck, setting Italy on fire. Since that time, I have devoted my entire life to the salvation of this city and the preservation of the Roman way of life. Four years ago, you honored me by electing me consul and sending me to Spain; subsequently I received a triumph for pacifying the revolt there. If further unrest broke out again after my departure, I think we can safely say that was the fault of my successor.”
Under his breath, Scipio muttered an obscenity. It was Scipio who had taken control of Spain after Cato.
“In terms of holding high office, some call me a ‘New Man,’” said Cato. “But in terms of the bravery and prowess of my ancestors, I assure you that I am as old as any man here! So, I hope you will lend me your ears for a few moments, and consider what I have to say.
“Citizens! What are you doing here today? What is this decadent spectacle in which you have chosen to take part? Think of it: Here you are, gathered to watch a play based on a Greek original, performed in honor of an Asiatic goddess imported from a land ruled by a king, all to make a group of foreign eunuchs feel welcomed! To all of this, I say: no, no, no!
“How can such an abomination have come about? I’ll tell you how. Wealth and all the vices that spring from wealth-greed, love of luxury, crass opportunism-are leading you astray from the upright virtues of your forefathers. I look about me, and everywhere I see loose morals, loose living, and loose thinking. Now it comes to this: We are deliberately polluting the purity of our religious worship, diluting and demeaning our reverence for the ancient gods who have preserved us for centuries!
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