283. Apparent Authority and Importance of the Senate.—Powerful is the army and powerful its Emperor, yet there is a body to which they both pay lip-service, and which still enjoys a prestige and moral authority that stamps itself upon the imagination of every man in the Roman Empire—the “venerable Senate.”

Theoretically the Senate shares the government with the Emperor, controls the state when there is a vacancy in the palace, selects the new ruler and bestows on him the “proconsular” and “tribunician power,”—the legal bases of his authority. It must be consulted by him in every important act, and when he dies it decides whether he is to be deified as a god, or suffer the awful “damnation of memory” (damnatio memoriæ) branding him for all time as a tyrant. It can also declare him suspended or deposed from office, set a price on his head and order the armies to refuse him obedience. Its formal decrees (senatus consulta) constitute, now that the old public assemblies have been abandoned, the most binding kind of law.

The Senate also governs directly all of those provinces (about half of the whole Empire) which do not require any army for defense or control. It has its own treasury, and it can strike copper money, although gold and silver are reserved to the Emperor, making a considerable profit on the seignorage. It acts as supreme court of appeal on all cases which rise in the provinces under its government. By the vote of its members are elected all those “old Republican” magistrates from consul down to quæstor (treasury supervisor) which carry along with the temporary glories of office the right to a life seat in the Senate itself—making the latter practically a self-perpetuating body. A good Emperor swears at the beginning of his reign, “I will never put any senator to death”—i.e. the Senate shall judge all capital charges against its members, even those involving treason.

Besides these prerogatives senators alone are eligible for the highest military commands and the governorships of all the larger imperial provinces. As already stated (see p. 156), the senators in addition constitute the highest aristocracy; they must each possess at least 1,000,000 sesterces ($40,000) taxable property, and they enjoy all the influence that comes to vested prestige and wealth in an age that cringes to titles and fortunes. On this showing, the 600 senators apparently constitute the most powerful organ in the government.

284. Actual Weakness of the Senate.—Unfortunately much of this brave showing is only a glittering mask. The Senate has not one swordsman in Rome or in any of its provinces to obey the summons, “Resist the Emperor and his Prætorians.” It ordinarily has to stand helpless while the army decides who is to be the next Cæsar in case of a contested succession.

After Caligula’s murder in 41 A.D. the Conscript Fathers debated earnestly: “Shall we restore the Republic? If not that, which aspiring nobleman can we elect as Emperor?” Meantime, the Prætorians, pillaging the palace, found the terrified and demoralized Claudius hiding in a closet; they dragged him forth and discovered a survivor of the Cæsars whose dynasty they greatly wished to perpetuate. “Ave Imperator!” rang their shout. Soon the senators were informed that their debates were unnecessary—Claudius was being proclaimed in the Prætorian Camp. The Fathers made haste to bestow on Claudius full imperial powers and to congratulate him on his succession. Nobody doubted after that where the real power lay.

Besides all this, without mentioning the army, the Emperor has every senator personally within his grasp. He can strike any member from the album (Senate List) by use of his irresponsible Censorial Power. Through that same power he can appoint any favorite to the order by his mere fiat. In the elections held within the Senate, he can control the choice for any office by announcing that he favors the aspirations of such and such a friend; the “Candidates of Cæsar” are always elected. In the debates it is a bold senator who dares to face the unpopularity of opposing the Emperor’s suggestions;[175] and once let the monarch indicate the slightest wish, a whole pack of servile favor-seekers will instantly champion the proposition with fervent loyalty. Finally by his “tribunician authority” the Emperor can veto any senatorial proposal which he dislikes. The power of the “venerable Senate” seems, therefore, to have vanished in thin air.

285. Amount of Power Left to the Senate.—This last is not quite true, however. The Cæsars do not, as yet, represent an unvarnished despotism; they need a cover for their autocracy,[176] and they have to leave to the Senate a certain show of power. No new Emperor’s throne furthermore is secure against pretenders until, after the army has proclaimed him, the Senate has confirmed him, and no Emperor likes to feel that his sole refuge is with the irresponsible swordsmen.

Besides all this, the moral prestige of the Senate is still so great that even a Nero or a Domitian hesitates to flout that famous body too openly. Finally, be it said, the task of governing the enormous Empire is a tremendous burden. A reasonable monarch is glad enough to throw upon the Senate a great many problems over which the “Fathers” can exhaust their eloquence and which they probably can settle quite as wisely as he. If they fail and the case is then dutifully referred back to “Cæsar,” his own importance becomes all the greater. If they succeed, he gains a reputation for moderation and liberality. The senators, on their part, have long since ceased to dream of restoring the old Republic. Since the accession of Nerva, 96 A.D., an era of good feeling and equilibrium on the whole has existed. The Senate therefore still vaunts itself as a coördinate branch of the Roman government.

286. Organization and Procedure of the Senate.—The Senate of the Empire exists in form and procedure very like its predecessor under the Republic. Its debates are the talk of the capital and are duly reported in the Acta Diurna; and at present, with Hadrian out of the city, its supreme presiding officers, the two consuls, affect to be the most powerful personages in Rome, although some of the great permanent ministers on the Palatine, and especially the Prætorian Præfect, have firm doubts on the subject.

When Publius Junius Calvus is compelled to attend sessions of the Senate, he has ordinarily been informed a couple of days in advance by a viator of one of the consuls bringing a personal notice to his home, although urgent meetings can be summoned on much shorter notice merely by sending forth a crier. There is no fixed quorum for the Senate; although there are 600 lawful members, many of these are high government officials absent in the provinces, others are retired, elderly dignitaries very loath to quit their luxurious ease in their Etruscan or Campanian villas. Since the post of senator is ordinarily for life, the body contains an undue proportion of superannuated, doddering old men who will only appear on great occasions.

Sessions can thus be held with only a very thin number, say fifty,[177] although if the gathering is disgracefully small, those attending can shout to the presiding officer, “Numera! Numera!” (“Take the number!”) and insist on adjournment until the consul’s tipstaffs and bailiffs have rounded up a respectable fraction. On this day in question, however, there is no danger of a slim attendance. Every member in Rome is sure to be present, including certain invalids who have to be helped out of their litters and led inside by their freedmen.

Sextus Annius Pedius, ex-proconsul of Asia has been impeached by Publius Calvus and a fellow senator, Titus Volusius Atilius, for gross extortion and malfeasance in his government. The case has been referred to the Senate by Hadrian as lying within its special competence. Pedius is of the highest aristocracy, but like most great men has made plenty of enemies. Every possible social influence has been mobilized for and against him. A great state trial, with an abundance of soaring oratory is consequently in prospect. Every senator is in his element.

287. The Curia (Senate House) and Its Arrangement of Benches.—On days when the Senate convenes, the clients can stream into the empty atria of their noble patrons, collect their money doles and depart—the patrons themselves have set off at first dawn for the council, accompanied very probably (if it is not summertime) by link-boys to guide them through the still darkened streets. They gather thus at prima luce in the rebuilt Curia at the Forum, although sessions can be held in almost any other duly consecrated spot, and Pompey built a special Curia near his own mansion in the Campus Martius for use when he wished to deliberate with the Fathers.[178]

The Curia Julia has a magnificent hall with tiers of comfortable and highly carved benches (subsellia) curving in a semi-circle not unlike the legislative chambers of other times. The six hundred senators sit fairly close together, so that the debates can be in easy voice. At the entrance the consuls’ viatores and lictors check off the Fathers entering to exclude interlopers, but there is no real secrecy. The doors are numerous and stand wide, and a curious crowd is permitted to linger around them; especially are the young sons of a good many senators seen there, eagerly following all the proceedings wherein they hope soon to have a part. (See p. 190.)

Facing the benches rises a low dais whereon is a line of curule chairs for the consuls and prætors, also a long solid settee whereon ten of the younger senators sit down solemnly together. These ten are the tribunes of the Plebs,—shorn now of nearly all their ancient authority, but still maintaining the “shadow of a great name,” a name surviving from the time when, as in the days of such personages as Gaius Gracchus, a tribune could be mightier than a consul.

288. The Gathering of the Senators.—The Fathers drop into their seats. No law adjusts their precedence, but etiquette gives the front row to the ex-consuls, the next banks to the ex-prætors, behind them the former ædiles, tribunes, and quæstors with the pedani[179] (senators who have never held elective office) modestly in the rear. The defendant Pedius attended by several distinguished senators, his relatives, all clad in the gray togas of distress and mourning, and also by his two advocates both in conventional white, take seats in the front benches. As they do this it is noted as of ominous significance that several ex-consuls, who had come in first, promptly shift to the other side of the hall.

At the center of the platform is observed a majestic, gilded statue of Victory, with expanded wings, flowing robes, standing upon a globe, and stretching forth a laurel crown.[180] Before it, upon a little altar, a few coals are smoking. Presently a door at the side of the platform opens, and a lictor signs with his fasces. The chatter across the now crowded hall ceases instantly; all the toga-clad figures rise together, while the presiding consul, Gaius Juventius Varus,[181] leads in the array of magistrates, each in the ornate toga prætexta.

289. Opening the Session: Taking the Auspices.—Gravely this official company seats itself in the curule chairs; gravely Varus casts a handful of incense upon the altar before the Victory, and a cloud of fragrance fills the hall. Then Varus, a tall and very majestic figure, signs to the senators; they also are seated, next his voice sounds clearly: “Bring forth the chickens!”

Not a lip twitches in all that sedate audience as two attendants appear upon the platform setting down a small coop containing a few barnyard fowls. The consul rises and stands beside them; next to him takes station an elderly senator also wearing the prætexta and holding a staff with a peculiarly shaped spiral head, a lituus—the badge of office of an augur, lawfully entitled to proclaim the will of the gods. In a dead hush the servitors pass a small dish of grain to the consul who carefully scatters the grain within easy reach of the chickens. The latter, carefully starved since yesterday, snap up the grains eagerly. They even devour so fast that the wheat drops from their bills, a most excellent sign. The augur bends forward intently, watching their action, then motions with his staff: “There is no evil sight nor sound!” he announces in solemn formula.

A mutter of relaxation passes around the Senate. The servitors carry out the chicken coop. The consul shakes his great draperies around him with studied dignity and turns to the waiting assembly. “Affairs divine” have been attended to; “affairs human” can now begin.

290. Presentation of Routine Business: Taking a Formal Vote.—Even under the Empire it is a glorious thing to be consul, with the twelve lictors, the temporary colleagueship with the Emperor, and the right to preside over the most magnificent council in the world. Varus carries himself with the dignity of a nobleman who has enjoyed a long career in the Senate and now is at the summit of his aspirations. Every tradition of the ancient body has been cherished; and the solemn forms still differ little from those in the great conclave that piloted the overthrow of Carthage.

The chief business of the day is the trial of Pedius, but a certain lesser matter demands prior disposition. The consul has received a dispatch from the proprætor of Sicily (a “senatorial” province) asking if he can be empowered to remit the taxes of certain peasants near Agrigentum, whose crops have suffered from the blight. Varus begins with the time-honored formula, “That it may be well and fortunate to the Roman people, the Quirites, we refer this thing to you, patres conscripti.” Then in well-chosen words he gives the substance of the governor’s request, and reads certain correspondence explaining the plight of the peasants; having thus finished his relatio—the “presentation of the problem”—he ends with another formula, “What is it your pleasure to do concerning this matter?”

If the business be contentious, now might begin a vigorous debate; but the governor’s request, based on wise policy, is not worth questioning and almost everybody wants to proceed to the trial. The consul, therefore, after a pause, demands, “Is it your will to grant this thing? Let then all the Conscript Fathers favoring pass to the right!”

One garrulous old senator anxious for a chance to speak, indeed begins shouting “Consule! Consule!” (“Take counsel!”—i.e. start a debate.) If many others join him, Varus can be forced to permit a long-winded discussion; but the troublemaker is without a second. The senators with one accord seem rising and passing to the right side of the Curia. Nobody ventures to go to the left. The motion thus carries unanimously. The company resume their seats; then all eyes are again upon the consul when with clear voice he commands: “Let the accusers of Sextus Annius Pedius stand forth.”

291. Presenting an Impeachment at a Senate Trial.—Publius Calvus rises from the front benches opposite the defendant, allows the many folds of his toga to fall magnificently around him, thrusting them back just enough to reveal the purple laticlave running down his tunic, and carefully adjusts a ring so its great emerald will give precisely the correct flash as he gestures. Directly behind him, inconspicuously garbed stands a favorite freedman, avowedly to pass him papyri and tablets which he will read, but really quite as much to whisper, “Drop your tones!” “Speak louder!” or “Not so shrill!” and like promptings as the oration progresses.[182]

The Senate, of course, cannot be expected to put in weary days listening to intricate and sordid testimony. All this has been taken before a special board of judges, and on their report there is no real doubt of Pedius’s guilt. He has taken a bribe of 300,000 sesterces ($12,000) to banish a Roman eques from his province and has put seven less-protected provincials, friends of this eques, to death; worse still, he has taken still another bribe of 700,000 sesterces ($28,000) for committing the unspeakable outrage of causing yet a second eques to be first beaten with rods, next hustled off to the mines, then actually strangled in prison. The prominent provincials from Asia have, therefore, presented an absolute case against their evil ex-governor. The lesser culprits have mostly confessed and received appropriate penalties—and the only question really before the Senate is fixing the punishment of Pedius.

He is a great noble with great connections. Ought a senator who has held the consulship be banished and ruined even if he has misgoverned his province, taken bribes and done to death an eques—one of those upstart half-nobles whom every true senator should scorn? Pedius does not lack friends who have told him to brazen it out, and that no severe penalty can befall him; and he glares defiantly across to Calvus as the latter begins his argument.

292. The Water Clocks; Methods of a Prosecutor; Applause in the Senate.—Just as the chief prosecutor commences, the servitors reappear and set close beside him a large glass vessel upon a wooden stand, perforated to empty slowly into a second vessel beneath, and when thus emptied the upper container is promptly refilled. Calvus has been informed he can have “only four water clocks” (about two hours)—an outrageously insufficient number in his opinion, when many an advocate can get twelve—but time must be given the other orators and after that the Senate must discuss and vote.

Speedily Calvus warms to his task, and in long periods of sonorous Latin his voice resounds through the Curia. He delights to expand upon the enormity of the crime of putting to death not a mere provincial, not a simple Roman plebeian, but a Roman eques. His speech abounds with elegant and apparently impromptu allusions, metaphors and similes—duly practiced half a month before. He goes out of his way to pay an extended and fulsome compliment to the benignity and liberality of the Emperor in condescending to let the Senate settle the issue. Words at length almost fail him when he calls on the Fathers in the name of Justice, Virtue, Heavenly Vengeance, and all the other guardian deities of the state to punish the hideous misdeeds of such a criminal as Pedius.

As he proceeds the Senate kindles at his eloquence. First his personal friends who are sitting directly behind him begin to shout “Euge!” and “Sophos!” Then the applause re-echoes from all over the hall. Presently the occupants of the curule chairs on the platform begin to clap, the consul half rises from his seat as if transported by the oratory, and even Pedius’s own advocates politely join in that applause which Calvus is professionally bound to return with interest as soon as they begin to speak in turn.

Soon, all too soon, for the orator, and for those senators who love “the good old times,” when an advocate could thunder all day long, the four water clocks are exhausted. Calvus subsides, to be immediately surrounded by his friends who compare his efforts to those of Cato, Hortensius, Cicero, and such later masters as Cornelius Tacitus; while the freedman immediately speeds off to inform Gratia of the “wonderful triumph” of her husband—a triumph of oratory, whatever be the actual verdict.

293. Speech for the Defendant: Methods of a Professional Advocate.—After order is restored a grave old senator—Quintus Saturius—arises to answer the prosecutor. He is a professional advocate of fame, but evil report has it that in his youth under Domitian he was a delator (professional accuser), and won a fortune by prosecuting the innocent victims of that bad Emperor’s disfavor. Since then he has never been squeamish in accepting doubtful causes. The law only allows him 10,000 sesterces ($400) as the fee from each legal client, but the latter has plenty of indirect means of showing his “gratitude,” and Saturius’s wealth now is enormous. This morning he has carefully smeared eye-salve above his left eye—a token that he is to speak for the defendant, not over the right as if for the plaintiff. His toga also floats in billowy folds, his hands flash with costly rings, and his powerful voice soon booms through the Curia.

Saturius does not waste time denying that many of Pedius’s misdeeds have been proved, but he praises at great length his client’s “glorious ancestry” and distinguished social connections. As for the accusations,—what if he did abuse his office? Was a member of the great house of the Annii to be held down to the sordid rules befitting mere plebeians and freedmen? What if an eques had been wrongfully done to death? Was not the fellow by birth a Phrygian who had gained first citizenship and then the “narrow-stripe” merely by the use of his wits? How could so great a man as the Proconsul of Asia be expected to live on a beggarly salary of 1,000,000 sesterces ($40,000)?

At this point Saturius’s voice begins in fact to tremble with pathos. How can the Conscript Fathers bring themselves to disgrace all the defendant’s distinguished relatives who just now are sitting behind him in the gray togas of public mourning? Think of his distressed wife whose father and all three uncles were at least prætors! Think of his brother who had been killed bravely fighting the Parthians! Think of his two sons whose public careers would be blighted by the disgrace of their father! Think finally of the Senate itself—what contempt upon the “Venerable Order” if one of its most prominent members should be ruined on the testimony of mere provincials and upstarts! etc., etc.

294. Concluding Speeches; Interrupting Shouts; Personal Invectives.—Saturius, ere concluding, works himself into a fine passion. He also gets sallies of applause—mostly from the self-same men who have just cheered Calvus. But at some of his assertions there are murmurs of dissent, and even open shouts such as “Drop that argument!” “Don’t insult our intelligence!” Finally, however, he sits down, having exhausted his four water clocks. More cheers, more congratulations, everybody swears to his neighbor the day is proving an intellectual feast.

The consul proclaims an interim; and the Conscript Fathers adjourn to stretch their limbs, snatch a hasty collation provided by their attendants and discuss the arguments. Then all resume when Marcus Petreius, Pedius’s junior advocate, continues for the defense. The hostile attitude of the Senate has impressed the defendant’s counsel, and Petreius enters into an elaborate appeal for mercy, with many fine invocations of the “Divine Clemency,” and reminders of how any senator might some day find himself in Pedius’s horrid predicament. Petreius is allowed “less water” than Saturius; he gets considerable applause, however, when he finishes, but knowing members shake their heads: “They cheer his oratory and not his cause.”

In fine mettle therefore Titus Atilius, Calvus’s associate, next sums up for the prosecution. Atilius is a relatively young man, as yet only an ex-quæstor; and to-day is his glorious opportunity. Carried away on a flood of invective, he allows himself, as is permitted by usage, to cover not merely Pedius but even Pedius’s advocate with a storm of bitter personalities. When he thunders against Saturius’s sycophantic career there are wild shouts of applause from all over the Curia; and more applause follows when he ridicules certain physical infirmities of the miserable defendant.[183] Pedius rises with supplicatory gestures and appeals loudly to the ten tribunes, “Oh, very noble tribunes protect me!”—but the ten sit stolid and silent upon their bench and he subsides with blenching cheeks. His advocates, exchanging knowing glances, are seen to be gathering up their tablets.

295. Taking the Opinion of the Senate.—At last Atilius’s “water” has likewise ended. Amid another whirlwind of applause and rush of congratulating friends he takes his seat. The consul Varus rises with extreme dignity, and beckons with his hand. Every senator instantly is tense and silent.

“We do now,” proclaims Varus, “take the opinions (sententiæ) of the Conscript Fathers concerning that which it befits should be done in the case of Sextus Annius Pedius this day arraigned and tried. You have heard his accusers and his advocates. I shall call the album of the Senate.” He holds up tablets whereon are listed the senators in order of official rank and precedence; then turns to the members seated directly before him, the magistrates-elect for the ensuing year, summoning first the senior consul designate, Appius Lupercus:

“Dic, Appie Luperce!”

Appius Lupercus, an elderly aristocrat, the head of an ancient family, rises amid a portentous hush. The “right to speak first,” possessed by the Emperor when present, is invaluable. All the orators for either side have really aimed their best arguments toward Lupercus, knowing his prerogative, but his “cold looks” toward Pedius have already fallen as ice upon the friends of the defendant. His voice now carries through the expectant Curia.

“Conscript Fathers:—It is true that Sextus Pedius is a man of exalted birth; the more shame, therefore, that he has disgraced the name of a clarissimus of the Venerable Senate. It is true his victims were either provincials or citizens of provincial origin:—the law is impartial, the Roman Empire has been established upon the inflexible rule of ‘piety’ giving alike to gods and to men that which is lawfully their due. If he has outraged provincials the case is clear; long ago the Emperor Tiberius expressed the ruling policy when he said, ‘A good shepherd shears his sheep but does not flay them.’ If Pedius has also outraged citizens, much more equites, wherein lies the boast ‘Civis Romanus sum!’, if these men, whatever their original birth, cannot demand lawful vengeance at our hands?

“My opinion, therefore, is this: let the defendant’s ill-gotten bribes be confiscated to the treasury, and let Pedius himself be banished from Rome, and Italy; let his lesser confederates be banished from Rome, from Italy, and also from the Province of Asia. Since also Publius Calvus and Titus Atilius have pleaded the cause of the provincials with diligence and fearlessness, let them receive the thanks of the Senate. Such is my opinion!”

A great murmur rises—applause with some shouts of dissent. “Hangman!” “Butcher!” rise from the little knot of Pedius’s relatives. Then Varus calls on the second consul designate, Atticus, who, rising stiffly, says with clear voice, “I agree with the most noble Lupercus,” and promptly takes his seat.

One by one the ex-consuls, each summoned by turn, announce that they also agree with Lupercus, until one cynical old aristocrat, the ex-consul Gavius, notorious for his own sensual life and the manner whereby he enriched himself in Africa, yet powerful through his vast wealth and influential connections, announces that he is confident the Senate should show mercy. “Let Pedius disgorge the money and forfeit the priesthood of Mars which he holds—that will be punishment enough. A good lesson has been taught and the unfortunate man has been disgraced enough already.”

296. An Uproar in the Senate: an “Altercation.”—Instantly the Senate is in an uproar. The shorthand reporters[184] can hardly take down all the interrupting shouts that are tossed back and forth: “How now, Marcus Æmilius Gavius, will you let such a scoundrel go?” “What are those provincials but scum anyway!” etc., etc. A violent “altercation” follows, several senators rising and demanding that Gavius explain himself. The old reprobate however cleverly stands his ground, and is vigorously cheered by many who will not actually support his proposal.

At last the house cools down. The taking of the opinion now proceeds among the prætors-designate and the ex-prætors. No senator can speak twice, but each man, when on his feet, has great liberty of action—several of the younger men half ironically support Gavius, and one senator earns unpopularity by insisting on his right of the floor and calling attention to the embezzlements reported in the African municipality of Utica—a matter quite beside the question. Two or three long and eloquent speeches are delivered in favor of Lupercus’s stern proposal. It is growing late and nobody wants to call on the ex-ædiles and other junior senators,[185] and cries are rising, “Divide! Divide!”

297. Taking a Vote of the Senate. A Sentence of Banishment.—Varus again rises, “Conscript Fathers: you have heard the opinions of these very noble men of consular and prætorian rank. Two propositions are before you. Those who favor the penalties for Sextus Pedius proposed by Appius Lupercus let them walk to the right! Those the lesser penalty proposed by Marcus Gavius to the left.”

The hundreds of togas rise together. Gavius is not without a certain minority of supporters who start with him to the left, but most of these, seeing how many ex-consuls of birth and character are following Lupercus, desert Gavius, who is left with only a trifling band around him. There is no need for Varus to count the result. Even while the Senate is dividing the luckless Pedius, with his kinsmen and advocates, is seen gliding through a side exit. It is the defendant’s right thus to anticipate sentence and to slip away with as little ignominy as possible into exile.

At a word from the consul the senators return to their seats. The long shadows of evening are stretching through the doors of the Curia, as Varus announces that Sextus Pedius having been convicted of high crimes is banished from Rome and from Italy. He must quit the city to-morrow. He must quit Italy in twenty days. Should he tarry or return he will be “cut off from fire and water,” and dealt with “after the ancient custom”—i.e. he will be scourged with his head in a forked stake, then sewed in a bag with a cock, a dog, and a viper, and flung into the sea.

Everybody is anxious to be gone. In the great mansions six hundred expensive cooks are fuming over the delay to six hundred expensive dinners. The terrible fate of Pedius will make talk for all Rome through ten days. Varus raises his hand and at length pronounces the sonorous ancient formula, “Nihil vos moramur, patres conscripti”—“We detain you no longer, Conscript Fathers.”

Publius Calvus and Titus Atilius are escorted homeward by groups of fellow senators as if they were triumphant generals. Their skill, eloquence, pathos, and legal learning are praised to the skies. Each is assured that “he has rendered himself and his friends immortal!” Each to-morrow will begin rewriting his speech, introducing many fine arguments which he has had no time to utter.[186] These will be embalmed in his published works which will be presumably carried some day, tied to poles, in a conspicuous place in his funeral procession.

So ends a typical meeting of the Senate under the Empire; noble forms, much dignity, a perfect river of eloquence, a judicial decision in this case conforming with justice, but handling no great issues of diplomacy, high finance, or peace or war. Already Pedius’s friends are consoling him, as he drearily prepares to retire to Macedonia: “In a few years at worst we can get your pardon from the Emperor.”