CHAPTER XI.

The meal was ended; Cocceius Nerva had proposed the health of Cornelia

as the heroine of the day. After offering a libation, according to

the ancient custom, he invoked the favor and mercy of the Immortals

on the young girl; then he rose and left the triclinium. The whole

company followed him, to listen to the sweet tones of soft music in the

fresher air of the peristyle, and to walk up and down on the inlaid

marble floor, chatting in low tones. Bronze lamps shed their light

from between the Corinthian pillars, and the stars shone down from the

cloudless skies; in the court itself a confidential twilight prevailed.

“Now, my sweet Claudia, tell me, how do you like Trajan?”[237]

whispered Lucilia in her sister’s ear as she stood meditatively by the

fountain.

“I have only seen him to-day for the third time--how can I judge?”

“To me he is quite too delightful. What a pity that he is already

married.--To be sure, even then he would be too old....”

“Do you think so?” said Claudia absently.

“Why, you seem to have forgotten that he was consul a long time ago.”

“Was he?”

“Yes, of course, with Glabrio. How often your father has spoken of him.”

“I do not happen to remember it.”

“To be sure, we were still in the nursery, and stories of Cupid and

Psyche[238] interested us more than the virtues of a statesman.”

Claudia sighed: “Happy childhood!” she said sadly.

“Nerva even--old Nerva--thinks great things of him,” Lucilia went on,

without observing this diversion. “He calls him his son, and is always

ready to listen to his counsels--and in fact it is well worth while

to listen to what Trajan has to say. You cannot think how cleverly,

how wisely and judiciously he can talk. And at the same time he is so

honest, so simple, so unpretentious! No one would imagine from his

appearance, that he once was the commander-in-chief of all the forces

in Germany, with unlimited authority, and won a glorious victory.”

“Where in the world did you acquire all this information as to his

merits?--Whenever I looked across at you, you were chatting with Caius

Afranius.”

“Cneius, not Caius.”

“I thought it was Caius. Considering it was your first meeting, your

conversation with this Afranius was somewhat eager.”

“Oh! I had met him before--a week or more ago; do you not remember? The

day you had a headache. He is intimate with Cornelius. He has been in

Rome since the beginning of March, and is already beginning to play an

important part in the Forum.”[239]

“Is he a jurist?” asked Claudia.

“A defender of the oppressed and accuser of the criminal!” answered

Lucilia warmly. “He has even gained a cause, quite lately, against

Clodianus, Caesar’s adjutant. His eloquence and powerful argument

won him the victory, in spite of all his adversary’s art, and the

impression he made was so tremendous, that for the moment every one

forgot how dangerous it is to have Clodianus for an enemy. The whole

Basilica[240] shook with the applause.”

“Did he himself tell you this?”

“Certainly not! I heard it from Ulpius Trajanus.”

“And that no doubt is what makes you think Trajan so amiable?”

“Silly child! Do you suppose...? You know, my dear, that when folks are

in love, they see the whole world from one point of view.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean that you would say with Theognis[241] of Megara, that

amiable poet:

‘Temper the pangs of love and assuage the torments, O Goddess,

That gnaw my heart! Oh! restore my joy and contentment.’”

“You are incorrigible!” said Claudia.

But Lucilia, with a merry twinkle in her eye, laid her hand on her

companion’s shoulder, saying softly: “Ah! fluttering heart, it is vain

to try concealment! Your Lucilia’s experience and knowledge of mankind

can see through every disguise. ‘Restore my joy, bring Aurelius to my

side.’ It is the wolf in the fable--he comes softly down on his prey

with a tender, elegiac grace! Sigh again--with Sappho this time--:

‘Woe is me! my tremulous heart beats faintly--

Thou art near! My faltering voice refuses utterance even!’”

And she glided off, while Claudia stood gazing fixedly at the sparkling

water in the basin. In her somewhat hasty retreat, Lucilia ran up

against the broad back of Herodianus, who was clinging convulsively to

the back of a chair with both hands, and leaning over it gazed up, as

if spellbound, in silent contemplation at the star-spangled sky.

“I beg your pardon, old sinner!”[242] said the girl saucily, as she

passed on; but a deep sigh from the freedman made her pause.

“What is the matter, oh! boon companion from the North? Are you

suffering from apoplexy? or do you wish to become a mathematician?[243]

Why are you staring so dolefully up at the Pleiades?”

“Ah! sweet mistress--what is it the Greek sage says? ‘All things flow

away!’[244] I too am flowing away. I do not know how I feel.”

“The wine-cup could answer that perhaps,” suggested Lucilia.

“No indeed--my feeble constitution to be sure--and that Caecubum was

excellent. Perhaps it has flowed through all my limbs--but with all

respect be it said, I am used to that.--And a sense of propriety--but

you see, mistress, I cannot stir from the spot, and at the same

time--oh no! it is not the wine, for I feel full of lofty ideas; my

head is clear--uplifted, I might say, to Olympian heights--like Pelion

piled on Ossa. Oh fair lady! you who are kindness itself, allow me to

ask you one question...!”

“Speak, you shameless toper; but first sit down, for I foresee the

moment when, if you do not, the chair will slide away on the polished

pavement and you will fall on the top of it.”

“You are right, mistress--and it is all in my knees! my miserable

legs--you are very right, the pavement is slippery. Why are pavements

so polished, I wonder? Very well, then I will sit down. Excuse me if I

seem to have some difficulty in doing so.--The gods have doomed the

fat to labor and sweat.--There, now I am seated.”

“By Lyaeus,[245] but you are a scandal! Here, even here, in the house

of Cinna, where temperance reigns supreme....”

“Temperance is good--I knew that long ago, fair Lucilia.--But now,

lend me your ear. Who--who--was that magnificent creature--that

splendidly-developed woman who sat at the end, quite at the bottom of

the table, not far from your worthy--your--what is her name--Baucis.

She wore a brown dress--an elegant bracelet clasped her arm....”

“Who can you mean?” asked Lucilia, looking round her; Herodianus also

looked about.

“There, there she is,” he whispered rapturously: “She is talking to

Ulpius Trajanus. Ye gods! what a form! what grace and dignity!”

Lucilia made a desperate effort and swallowed her laughter.

“That?” she said, irresistibly tempted to carry on the jest: “That

short, stout woman by the pillar?”

“Just going into the hall.”

“That is Chloe, who brought up our sweet friend Cornelia. She is a

native of Antium, the daughter of a freedman, six and thirty years of

age, unmarried, and possessor of a little fortune--what more can heart

desire? In truth, Herodianus, I admire your distinguished taste: that

round face, that short fat throat, that wide mouth--wider even than

mine--are these not heaven-sent gifts from Cypris herself?”

“To me she is divine. Past the first bud of youth, mature in body

and mind; Chloe stirs my soul to feelings, which till this hour I

had never appreciated. Fifty years old--and even now unblest with

the joys of family life! Oh Chloe! Chloe! If only you had crossed

my path earlier!... I ... I might not have drunk so much Caecubum

and Falernian! When Hymen opens his bosom to receive us, the rock of

offence fades away.... Alas mistress, if the spring-tide of life could

but blossom for me once more! If I could again rest my head on the

bosom of a loving woman...! Trajectum, city of my heart, home of my

youth! I remember to this day how my mother--for the last time--cut my

hair. It was up in the little corner room. How long, long ago! Oh! if

only I were away, far away from here! What have I left to live for in

this world? A cup of wine! Oh! woe is me!”

And he began to cry copiously, but noiselessly.

Lucilia thought it advisable to leave the man’s strange mood to run its

course. “Is it in earnest or a mere craze?” she thought, as she shook

her head. Then she danced off to join Cornelia, who was sitting under

the arcade, listening with half indifferent attention to the muttered

counsels of Baucis.

“What Pythian wisdom are you uttering now, O blue-robed Baucis?” asked

Lucilia, patting the slave-woman lightly on the shoulder.

“Wisdom that you would do well to profit by,” retorted Baucis. “A new

veil or an amusing book is, I know, dearer to you far than the most

sacred oracles.”

“Indeed? Who told you that? Chatter away in all confidence!--on the

contrary--if what you told me the other day about Barbillus,[246] the

priest of Isis, is true....”

“I was just speaking of that very thing. Our noble Cornelia is

astounded at the extraordinary miracle. Exactly at the very moment,

that Barbillus had foretold, I fell in a swoon, as he had said, and saw

the mysterious vision. I saw the goddess floating above me in shining

white. O, ye immortals! I knew of course that it was not she herself,

only her image in a dream; for how should Isis, the all powerful,

condescend to come down to me, a humble slave, and to speak with

me--and in Greek too! Still, I could almost have sworn that it was she,

I saw her so plainly--the folds of her silvery robe, and her noble and

gentle face, so lovely, oh, so lovely! as beautiful as you are, noble

Cornelia. No, I maintain it; I will never apply to any other priest

than Barbillus, the favorite of the gods. He will reveal my whole

future life to me--only think, noble Cornelia, for the ridiculously

small price of two hundred sesterces--but I did not happen to have so

much about me just then. Besides--what can I expect should happen to me

at my time of life? My dear Quintus has his sweet Cornelia; our darling

Claudia sooner or later--well, well, I meant nothing--and you, bright

Lucilia--I cannot be anxious about you. You bear your own happiness

in yourself. Well, so I said very humbly: ‘Oh! my lord,’ said I, ‘no

future lies before me. But I will tell the fair Cornelia, betrothed to

our Quintus, that you are a true prophet--our Cornelia, who is so full

of melancholy fancies, and who prays so fervently and humbly to the

beneficent goddess.’ Then Barbillus gave me this precious amulet.--It

is only made of horn, but the power that resides in it makes it

precious.”

Cornelia had listened to her in silence, and her face was as pale as

death.

“Listen,” she began after a pause: “You are advanced in age and rich

in experience, and for many a year you have had to do with the chosen

servants of the goddess. What do you advise me? Last night I had a

dream[247]--a mysterious dream. I was standing alone on a vast untilled

plain; everything was deserted and silent. There was not a tree, not a

shrub, not a herb--rotting bones and nothing else lay hideous on the

ground, but far away on the horizon shone the walls and towers of a

splendid town.”

“That is full of meaning,” observed Baucis.

“Listen to the end. As I gazed at the distant and radiant city, I

felt my heart swell with fervent and unspeakable longing. I struggled

breathlessly to get forwards, but my feet seemed rooted to the ground.

I was seized with terror, and trembling with fear I looked upwards;

there I saw Quintus, high above me, but coming across the waste like

Helios in the sun-chariot, and beckoning to me lovingly. I struggled, I

groaned, I screamed. In vain! I held up my hands and cried out with the

fervor of anguish: ‘Isis, mother of the universe! Isis, save me!’--But

the goddess was deaf. At last, after a long agony, I heard Chloe’s

voice; the good soul was standing by my bed. I awoke groaning....”

“A hideous dream,” said Baucis.

“And when I question my heart, it seems to me that it bodes evil.”

“Folly!” laughed Lucilia. “I have dreamed worse things than that a

hundred times, and no great event has ever happened to me. What does it

mean? Why, that you were lying uncomfortably, or had read something the

day before....”

Cornelia rose gravely.

“My dearest, you are not cross with me?” cried Lucilia following her.

“Not at all,” said Cornelia with a polite smile. “No, indeed, certainly

not,” she added less coldly, as her eyes met Lucilia’s affectionate

glance. “Come, let us be moving. Such discourse ill-beseems a festival,

and to-day is to be a festival, my birthday.”

Meanwhile Caius Aurelius had found a pretext--in agreement with his

promise to Cinna--for taking Quintus Claudius into his host’s study,

and a minute later Cinna himself came in, accompanied by Marcus

Cocceius Nerva.

“At last!” cried Cinna when all were seated. “It has been sticking in

my throat like a mouthful of poison. Quintus, you too must hear what I

have to say. The facts are perhaps known to you, for the house of Titus

Claudius is intimately allied with the palace....”

“I know nothing, I can assure you,” interrupted Quintus, somewhat

coldly.

“Well then, hear them now. I know you to be a young man of proved

courage and of excellent understanding.--Until now you have taken the

darkness for light and bitter for sweet, as not discerning them; your

father’s strong spirit has influenced you, and his errors of judgment

have descended to you. But now, my friend, use your own judgment, and

ask yourself on your honor: Is Rome still Rome?”

“You really excite my curiosity,” said the young man, with more reserve

than ever.

Cornelius Cinna shut the doors; then he went on in a mysterious and

trembling voice:

“It was last night. Happily for you, Nerva, your ailing health had

taken you into the country, and so saved you from the worst. I was

lying in bed, but I could not sleep; I was tormented by a ceaseless

whirl of confused thoughts, and was on the point of calling to

Charicles, that he might read to me. Suddenly I heard heavy blows

on the house door.... ‘Porter, wake up, make haste, a message from

Caesar!’”

Cocceius Nerva leaned forward eagerly in his chair; his breath came

quicker and deeper as he listened. Cornelius Cinna went on.

“My bedroom door was opened, so I heard every word. I heard the porter

refuse admittance. ‘Caesar requires your master’s presence at the

palace,’ said a voice outside. I sprang up and ordered him to open the

door. I had hardly time to throw on my toga, when Caesar’s messengers

came into the atrium--men at arms belonging to the praetorian guard.

‘Our god and master Domitian[248] requires you to attend immediately,’

said the officer. ‘Is the state in danger?’ I asked angrily. The

soldier shrugged his shoulders; ‘I do not know,’ he said; ‘our orders

are to fetch you; no reasons were given. Do not delay, noble Cinna, the

litter is at the door.’”

“Unheard-of!--” murmured Nerva, passing his fingers through his grey

hair.

“I wanted to refuse; my own chair and bearers were ready--‘That

will not do,’ said the soldier: ‘You are to come alone, with no

followers.’ Cinna without followers! I considered a moment, but

only for a moment--then I had decided.--The situation was serious,

I looked on the whole thing as a plot. ‘Caesar,’ said I to myself,

‘counts on your defying him, and hopes thus to find a pretext for your

destruction--long since determined on. He will avail himself of that.

He shrinks from dealing you an arbitrary blow for no reason at all, for

he knows that the Romans love you, and he dreads the public resentment.

Hence, if you refuse to obey, you will supply him with an excuse...!’

Well--I obeyed.... Cornelius Cinna obeyed! And after all it might

concern the weal or woe of the state.--As a precaution, however, I hid

a phial of poison in my dress and then I told the men at arms that I

was ready.”

“You acted very wisely,” said Cocceius Nerva.

“It was the wisdom of necessity. Now, listen to what seems incredible.

When I reached the palace, I was received by slaves dressed all in

black; they led me into a hall hung with black, where I found all the

leading men of the senate and of the knightly order assembled and

waiting in agonized expectation. They all, like me, had been abruptly

fetched from their beds and brought thither in litters sent by Caesar.

Presently we were desired to sit down, and a black column was placed

in front of each man, with his name engraved upon it. Two sepulchral

lamps were then lighted and youths, dressed in black, performed a

solemn dance, and a funeral banquet,[249] served on black dishes,

closed the hideous farce. Caesar himself, calm and haughty, took the

head of the table. Every one seemed paralyzed; each one expected to

meet his death the next instant. Sextus, who sat by my side, was

sobbing like a woman. I whispered to him to be calm--that the whole

thing was a mere brutal jest, but he was not to be convinced and broke

into tears.”

“He is but a coward--I know him well!” said Nerva.

“A stammering child! As for me, I really do not know myself, what gave

me a conviction from the very first, that we were in no danger. Caesar

would talk of nothing but things which referred to death and murder

and yet, in spite of that, my confidence grew each moment. But I was

burning with rage, with revengeful fury, that I could scarcely control

or conceal.”

“I wonder indeed that you could bear it,” cried Nerva, drawing a deep

breath. “Knowing you as I do, it is nothing less than a miracle.”

“A miracle indeed! But the Fates would not have it that Cornelius

Cinna should fall into so stupid a trap.--I mastered myself. At last

Caesar rose from the table and dismissed us, and the guard escorted us

home again.--I was choking with shame and wrath. What am I, my friend

Nerva, that I am to submit to such treatment? Am I a Roman or no? Am

I Cornelius Cinna--or a slave, a dog? Was such base buffoonery ever

heard of even under a Nero, or Caligula? Nay, my endurance is at an

end! Sooner would I be a street porter in the meanest suburb,[250] than

remain senator under the burden of this intolerable yoke!”

He sank back in his chair with a groan, and covered his face. There was

a long pause, which Quintus was the first to break.

“What!” he said with a scowl. “Did Caesar dare to do such things? I

have long known, that he was liable to fits of extravagant whims and

fancies, but--as I understood--only in his treatment of the foes of the

throne. I believed in the wisdom of my venerable and learned father,

when he assured me that some injustice, both apparent and real, was

inevitable in the conduct of so vast an empire; that the good of the

commonwealth was paramount over the fate of individuals.--But now, by

the gods, Cinna! but if your indignation has not painted the picture

too darkly....”

“Too darkly!” exclaimed Cinna starting up. “To be sure, you are the son

of Titus Claudius. But hear me to the end. Hardly had Charicles once

more put out the lamp, when I again heard a knocking at the door. Would

you believe it? another message from Caesar. His gracious majesty this

time sent me the fellow who had led the dance in black as a present,

and begged to know how I had liked the midnight supper. By the great

name of Brutus! A tipsy reveller never spurned a beggar with more utter

contempt;[251] in the first burst of anger I could have flung the boy

on the ground. But I recollected myself. Cornelius Cinna will never let

the weapon atone for the arm that wields it....”

Nerva rose and clasped his excited and angry friend in his arms.

“Be calm,” he said in a deep voice. Then, going up to Quintus he said

loftily:

“And you, noble youth, give me your right hand in pledge of silence!

Not that Cornelius Cinna has said anything that need shun the light of

day--but you know the danger to which freedom of speech is exposed. His

indignation and bitter feeling must remain a secret....”

“A secret? and why? To-morrow I propose seeing Caesar at his great

reception. I will hear from his own lips the meaning of this mysterious

midnight banquet. I will insist on satisfaction for Cinna....”

“Madman, what are you thinking of?” cried Nerva horrified.

“Of my duty--rely on my discretion. Caesar owes something to me....”

“Domitian owes you something!” laughed Cinna scornfully. “Do you not

know, that he hates those most who have rendered him a service? Do not

I know it by my own experience?”

“It is worth trying, at any rate,” said Quintus. “But now allow me to

breathe the fresh air; I am suffocating in here.” And as he spoke he

unbarred the door and quitted the room.

“You must dissuade him!” said Nerva, as the door closed upon him.

“He is mad,” said Cinna. Then, turning to Aurelius, he went on:

“You, my friend, go now and mingle with the guests. Amuse yourself,

refresh and rest yourself. You are young, and youth claims its dues.

To-morrow--you know--at the house of Afranius....”

“Yes, I know,” answered Aurelius, drawing a deep breath, “and I thank

you, noble friends, for honoring me by admitting me to your society and

confidence.”

He went slowly out into the atrium, where the darkness was but dimly

broken by a few lamps hanging under the colonnade. A cold chill fell

on his heart, for, from the peristyle, he heard a girl’s voice singing

a graceful melody to the chords of a cithara. It was the same air that

had charmed his heart before now, at Baiae--the Spring song of Ibycus;

it was the same voice--the voice of his beautiful, adored and peerless

Claudia. These few weeks had wrought an entire change in him. He had

been unresistingly drawn into the vortex of two engulfing passions.

On one hand was the noble girl whom he worshipped and perhaps might

never win, on the other were the proud nobles--men inspired with the

most fervid patriotism, who had taken him spellbound as by some sacred

magic; the champions of liberty, of manly dignity, of proud Roman

virtue, among a degenerate rabble of slaves. What a storm and whirl of

feeling in the present, and what a struggle to be fought in the future!

He stood still to listen; a faint murmur coming up through the peaceful

night, was all that could be heard of the tumult of the busy city that

surrounded them, and the sweet girlish voice rose clear and strong--as

pure and holy as though in all the earth there was no such thing as

sorrow, as remorse and crime. The song, as it soared up fresh and

strong from the innocent soul, seemed to rise to heaven in atonement

for the infinite wickedness of the two million souls in the city, and

for the foul and bloody deeds of its tyrants. Aurelius quivered in

every nerve, and tears sprang to his eyes; but he instantly struck his

breast resolutely and defiantly, and dashing his hand across his wet

lashes, went through the corridor into the peristyle.

FOOTNOTES:

[237] M. ULPIUS TRAJANUS, born September 18th, A.D. 53, at Italica

in Spain, obtained the consulship in the year 91.

[238] CUPID AND PSYCHE. The story of Cupid and Psyche was the

primeval prototype of Cinderella and a thousand other gems of

primitive poetry, and was familiar in nurseries of every rank

long before Appuleius cast it into shape, availing himself no

doubt of several traditional versions. “Once upon a time there

were a king and queen, who had three beautiful daughters,”

(_Erant in quadam civitate rex et regina; hi tres numero

filias forma conspicuas habuere_,) was no doubt as favorite a

legend with the children of that age as with ours.

[239] IN THE FORUM, that is in the basilica situated in the forum.

[240] BASILICA, (βασιλική _scil. domus_ or _porticus_--royal house)

a magnificent public building, used for holding courts of law,

or transacting commercial business, and thus at the same time

a court-house and exchange. Above were seats for the spectators.

The basilicas consisted of a central nave and two side ones,

divided from the former by columns. After Constantine the Great

had transformed numerous basilicas into churches, the name and

style of architecture became associated with the latter.

[241] THEOGNIS. An elegiac poet from Attic Megara, who lived B.C.

520. The lines here quoted by Lucilia may be found _Eleg._

1323, and in the original text run:

Κυπρογένη, παῦσόν με πόνων, σκέδασον δὲ μερίμνας

Θυμοβόρους, στρέφου δ’ἁυθις ἐς εὐφροσύνας.

[242] OLD SINNER! Lucilia here speaks in the tone of the old Latin

comedies (_Plautus_, _Terence_).

[243] MATHEMATICIAN. The usual name of the (principally Chaldean)

astrologers.

[244] ALL THINGS FLOW AWAY! (πάντα ῥεῖ) asserted the philosopher

Heraclitus of Ephesus, (460 B.C.) called on account of his

obscurity, “the dark.”

[245] LYAEUS (Λυαῖο), the deliverer, the care-dispeller, a name

given Bacchus.

[246] BARBILLUS. An astrologer of this name is mentioned. Dio Cass,

LXVI, 9.

[247] LAST NIGHT I HAD A DREAM. Faith in the prophetic character

of dreams was universal in Rome; their interpretation was a

regular profession. A surprising example of the seriousness

with which the representatives of this “profession” regarded

their calling, is furnished in the dream-book of the

(undoubtedly sincere) Artemidorus, (Daldianus.) If Lucilia

laughs at Cornelia’s fears, it is a piece of free-thinking

which did not often happen, and springs rather from a merry,

saucy mood, than the deeper source of a philosophical

conviction.

[248] OUR GOD AND MASTER DOMITIAN. The emperor Domitian ordered

himself to be called, “God and Master.” Suet, _Dom._ 13.

[249] FUNERAL BANQUET. The story of the nocturnal summons to the

senators and knights is related by Dio Cassius (LXVII, 9.)

[250] THE MEANEST SUBURB. Butuntum, a little city in Apulia, now

Bitonto, is used by Martial (_Ep._ II, 48 and IV, 55) as a

synonym for “quiet provincial town,” as the inhabitants of

Berlin say: “Treuenbrietzen” or “Perleberg.”

[251] UTTER CONTEMPT. One of the principal amusements of gay young

men was to play pranks in the streets at night, usually on

the proletarii. A special favorite was the _Sagatio_, which

consisted in putting some unfortunate wight in a cloak, and

tossing him up and down like Sancho Panza.