No More Learning

But there was a class of compositions in which the great families
were by no means so courteously treated. No parts of early Roman
history are richer with poetical coloring than those which relate
to the long contest between the privileged houses and the
commonality. The population of Rome was, from a very early
period, divided into hereditary castes, which, indeed, readily
united to repel foreign enemies, but which regarded each other,
during many years, with bitter animosity. Between those castes
there was a barrier hardly less strong than that which, at
Venice, parted the members of the Great Council from their
countrymen. In some respects, indeed, the line which separated an
Icilius or a Duilius from a Posthumius or a Fabius was even more
deeply marked than that which separated the rower of gondola from
a Contarini or a Morosini. At Venice the distinction was merely
civil. At Rome it was both civil and religious. Among the
grievances under which the Plebeians suffered, three were felt as
peculiarly severe. They were excluded from the highest
magistracies; they were excluded from all share in the public
lands; and they were ground down to the dust by partial and
barbarous legislation touching pecuniary contracts. The ruling
class in Rome was a moneyed class; and it made and administered
the laws with a view solely to its own interest. Thus the
relation between lender and borrower was mixed up with the
relation between sovereign and subject. The great men held a
large portion of the community in dependence by means of advances
at enormous usury. The law of debt, framed by creditors, and for
the protection of creditors, was the host horrible that has ever
been known among men. The liberty and even the life of the
insolvent were at the mercy of the Patrician money-lenders.
Children often became slaves in consequence of the misfortunes of
their parents.
The debtor was imprisoned, not in a public jail
under the care of impartial public functionaries, but in a
private workhouse belonging to the creditor. Frightful stories
were told respecting these dungeons. It was said that torture and
brutal violation were common; that tight stocks, heavy chains,
scanty measures of food, were used to punish wretches guilty of
nothing but poverty; and that brave soldiers, whose breasts were
covered with honorable scars, were often marked still more deeply
on the back by the scourges of high-born usurers.

The Plebeians were, however, not wholly without constitutional
rights. From an early period they had been admitted to some share
of political power. They were enrolled each in his century, and
were allowed a share, considerable though not proportioned to
their numerical strength, in the disposal of those high dignities
from which they were themselves excluded. Thus their position
bore some resemblance to that of the Irish Catholics during the
interval between the year 1792 and the year 1829. The Plebeians
had also the privilege of annually appointing officers, named
Tribunes, who had no active share in the government of the
commonwealth, but who, by degree, acquired a power formidable
even to the ablest and most resolute Consuls and Dictators. The
person of the Tribune was inviolable; and, though he could
directly effect little, he could obstruct everything.

During more than a century after the institution of the
Tribuneship, the Commons struggled manfully for the removal of
the grievances under which they labored; and, in spite of many
checks and reverses, succeeded in wringing concession after
concession from the stubborn aristocracy. At length in the year
of the city 378, both parties mustered their whole strength for
their last and most desperate conflict. The popular and active
Tribune, Caius Licinius, proposed the three memorable laws which
are called by his name, and which were intended to redress the
three great evils of which the Plebeians complained. He was
supported, with eminent ability and firmness, by his colleague,
Lucius Sextius. The struggle appears to have been the fiercest
that every in any community terminated without an appeal to arms.
If such a contest had raged in any Greek city, the streets would
have run with blood. But, even in the paroxysms of faction, the
Roman retained his gravity, his respect for law, and his
tenderness for the lives of his fellow citizens.