“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....”