“I hope not, sir,” replied the newcomer with a courteous inclination of his head. “In fact, I may say that I expect that it will be speedily settled.”
The stranger was a Greek who numbered between fifty and sixty years, evidently a gentleman, and if one might judge from his face and general bearing, a man of intelligence, refinement and culture. He was a native of Corinth, a member of what was beyond question the most distinguished family in the city, that of Archias, the founder of Syracuse. Archias was the name that he himself bore, and he claimed to be twenty-second in direct descent from the first of the race. This took back his pedigree over nearly eight hundred years; but the family was really much older than this. His ancestor was the first of his race in the sense that he brought into it the glory of having led with success the most distinguished colony that ever went forth from Corinth to make a new home for itself. But he was then a long descended man. He traced up his line to Hercules, and through Hercules to the Olympian Zeus [44] himself. Practically, however, the distinction of the Archias family depended on the Syracusan episode. Even when the glories of the great Sicilian city had long since passed away, the representative of the house held, both there and in the mother city of Corinth, rank with which no one could claim equality. And Archias the twenty-second, of whom, however, I shall henceforth speak without this cumbrous appendage to his name, was not unworthy of his place.
He now began to explain the business which had brought him to Rome and to the house of Aquila.
“I have the honour,” he said, “to be the chief magistrate, or archon, as we are accustomed to call it, of the city of Corinth. In that capacity I have to negotiate for a loan, and I have been recommended to you as a person who might be able and not unwilling to advance the money. Your name was mentioned, I may say, by our right honourable Governor, Lucius Junius Gallio. Let me explain the circumstances under which the loan is called for. It is our habit to renew every fifty years the various belongings of the Isthmian games which the city of Corinth has the honour of conducting. It is needless to go through the items at present. They are all duly stated on a document that I have [45] with me, and which will be produced at the proper time, if the negotiations are carried to a successful issue. It is arranged that the loan shall be paid off by annual instalments of a fiftieth part, together with the interest on so much as remains still due. We thus distribute, as far as may be, the burden between this and succeeding generations. It is secured, I may say, on the customs and harbour dues of the port, or I should rather say the ports, for we derive considerable revenue from both seas. This security is, I can assure you, amply sufficient. One year’s income, were it all devoted to this purpose, would suffice for the whole expenditure; but, as I have said, we feel that what is to be enjoyed by the future as well as the present inhabitants of Corinth ought to be apportioned among all.”
“This all seems reasonable enough,” remarked Aquila. “If the sum you want is not beyond my means, the investment is just what I should like. I should tell you that the money with which I am dealing belongs to my wife.”
There is no need to report the conversation any further. Archias produced his paper of particulars, as also, by way of credentials, a letter of introduction from Gallio. When the matter had been fully gone into, it was arranged that Aquila should either come to Corinth himself, or [46] should send a confidential agent, and so satisfy himself by inquiries on the spot and personal inspection that all the circumstances were as the Corinthian magistrate had described them.
A BREAD RIOT
[47] IT is not to be supposed that so important an event as a rise in the price of wheat would long remain unknown in Rome, a city of which one might fairly say that it contained more paupers than any other place in the world ever had or probably ever will have. The private bakers, who naturally took early care to guard themselves against loss, had already been charging their customers more for the loaf. Other provisions, too, were becoming dearer. The question which agitated the multitude of people who depended more or less on the State for their daily bread was not whether wheat was dearer, but whether the public distribution of it would be in any way affected. This was the topic that was freely debated by the crowd that was assembled round the steps of the public bread depots one morning some three weeks after the incidents described in my first chapter. Public opinion was, as may [48] be supposed, fairly unanimous against any diminution in the quantity distributed.
“What is the good of telling us that Rome is the capital of the world,” cried a speaker who was evidently a favourite, “if we are not to get any advantage from the dignity? Of course the capital must be the last place to suffer. Rome is the mistress of the world, and it would be a poorly managed household where the mistress should be hungry and the servants well fed. If there is any shortage in the supply, let the country folk suffer first. There are plenty of ways in which they can make it up to themselves. They have got their gardens and their fields; they can hunt and fish; whereas we poor citizens have our bread and nothing else.”
This oration was received with shouts of applause, and an imprudently candid bystander who ventured to observe that a common calamity would have to be put up with by all was hustled and kicked and generally given to understand that his opinions were highly unpatriotic.
The system in use for managing the distribution of bread without disturbance or delay was that every tribethe tribes numbered a few over thirtyresorted to a depot of its own. Each man or woman entitled to share in the public bounty was provided with a ticket, and a tribe, [49] which in earlier times had been an important political body, was now practically nothing more than a corporation of such ticket-holders. These corporations again had an informal arrangement of their own by which the distribution was made easier. As each must have numbered several thousand persons, there might easily have been no little discomfort and even danger in obtaining the allowance. To guard against this a certain order was established. The older ticket-holders had precedence; and it was a practice for one man to act for others. He would go attended by two or three porters, and would so be able to carry away the allowances of a considerable number of ticket-holders. On the whole the matter was managed in a quiet and orderly manner; at the same time there were no small possibilities of disturbance. In a time of excitement voluntary arrangements of this kind are likely to become ineffective.
The time of distribution was at hand. At a signal given by the sound of a bugle, the doors of the depot were thrown open, and the business began. It should be explained that the doors were approached by a flight of broad steps, up which each ticket-holder had to pass. As a matter of fact there were many buttery hatches, at which a considerable number of ticket-holders [50] could be served at once. Passages were made by which those who had received their allowance could retire without interfering with fresh applicants. Not many minutes had elapsed before the first corners had been served and had made their way back to their fellows; a few minutes more and the whole multitude was in a state of excitement, which became greater when one of the loaves distributed was raised on the top of a long pole, and so made visible far and wide. No one who saw it could doubt for a moment that the size had been materially reduced. This was not all. It soon became generally known that the quality of the article had been reduced as well as the quantity. The colour and smell of the bread showed clearly enough that a good deal of grain other than wheat had been used in making it. The worst fears of the crowd were realized. It was evident enough that the authorities had the intention of putting off the pensioners of the public bakeries with a smaller quantity than they had been accustomed to receive, and that the diminished ration was also of a less palatable quality. A Southerner, in whose diet bread is an even more important thing than it is to a dweller in the north, is particularly sensitive as to its quality.