Ab urbe condita

He formed a project which, though natural to an ignorant rustic and no precedent for an ordinary citizen to follow, still afforded a laudable example of filial affection. Arming himself with a knife, he went off early in the morning, without any one's knowledge, to the City, and once inside the gates proceeded straight to the house of M. Pomponius. He informed the porter that it was necessary for him to see his master at once, and announced himself as T. Manlius, the son of Lucius. Pomponius imagined that he was either bringing some matter for a fresh charge, to revenge himself on his father, or was going to offer some advice as to the management of the prosecution.

After mutual salutations, he informed Pomponius that he wished the business in hand to be transacted in the absence of witnesses. After all present had been ordered to withdraw, he grasped his knife and standing over the tribune's bed and pointing the weapon towards him, threatened to plunge it into him at once unless he took the oath which he was going to dictate to him, “That he would never hold an Assembly of the plebs for the prosecution of his father.” The tribune was terrified, for he saw the steel glittering before his eyes, while he was alone and defenceless, in the presence of a youth of exceptional strength, and what was worse, prepared to use that strength with savage ferocity. He took the required oath and publicly announced that, yielding to violence, he had abandoned his original purpose.

The plebs would certainly have been glad of the opportunity of passing sentence on such an insolent and cruel offender, but they were not displeased at the son's daring deed in defence of his parent, which was all the more meritorious because it showed that his father's brutality had not in any way weakened his natural affection and sense of duty. Not only was the prosecution of the father dropped, but the incident proved the means of distinction for the son. That year, for the first time, the military tribunes were elected by the popular vote; previously they had been nominated by the commander-in-chief, as is the case now with those who are called Rufuli. This youth obtained the second out of six places, though he had done nothing at home or in the field to make him popular, having passed his youth in the country far from city life.

In[*](Marcus Curtius.) this year, owing either to an earthquake or the action of some other force, the middle of the Forum fell in to an immense depth, presenting the appearance of an enormous cavern.

Though all worked their hardest at throwing earth in, they were unable to fill up the

gulf, until at the bidding of the gods inquiry was made as to what that was in which the strength of Rome lay.

For this, the seers declared, must be sacrificed on that spot if men wished the Roman republic to be eternal. The story goes on that M. Curtius, a youth distinguished in war, indignantly asked those who were in doubt what

answer to give, whether anything that Rome possessed was more precious than the arms and valour of her sons.

As those around stood silent, he looked up to the Capitol and to the temples of the immortal gods which looked down on the Forum, and stretching out his hands first towards heaven and then to the yawning chasm beneath, devoted himself to the gods below.

Then mounting his horse, which had been caparisoned as magnificently as possible, he leaped in full armour into the cavern. Gifts and offerings of fruits of the earth were flung in after him by crowds of men and women.

It was from this incident that the designation “The Curtian Gulf” originated, and not from that old-world soldier of Titius Tatius, Curtius Mettius.

If any path would lead an inquirer to the truth, we should not shrink from the labour of investigation; as it is, on a matter where antiquity makes certainty impossible we must adhere to the legend which supplies the more famous derivation of the name.