hesitating and scrupulous man attacked on so many sides at once, by the
incitements of public opinion, by memories of the past, by the
traditions of his family and the very name he bore, by those secret
reproaches placed under his hands and scattered on his path, which came
every moment to strike his inattentive eyes, to murmur in his heedless
ear, and then finding at home the same memories and the same reproaches
under the form of legitimate sorrows and touching regrets. Must he not
at last give way to this daily assault? Nevertheless it is probable that
he resisted before giving in, that he had violent struggles during those
sleepless nights that Plutarch speaks of; but as these private struggles
could have no confidants they have left no trace in the historians.
All that we can do if we wish to know them is, to try and find their
faint impression in the letters that Brutus wrote later, and that are
preserved. We see, for instance, that he returns at two different times
to this same thought: “Our ancestors thought that we ought not to endure
a tyrant even if he were our own father.[351]... To have more authority
than the laws and the senate is a right that I would not grant to my
father himself.”[352] Is not this the answer which he made every time he
felt himself moved by the memory of Caesar’s paternal affection, when he
reflected that this man against whom he was about to take arms called
him his child? As to the favours that he had received or that he might
expect from him, they might have been able to disarm another, but he
hardened and stiffened himself against them. “No slavery is advantageous
enough to make me abandon the resolution to be free.”[353] It was with
such considerations that he defended himself against the friends of the
dictator, perhaps against his mother, when in order to dazzle him she
pointed out to him that, if he would acquiesce in the kingship of Caesar
he might hope to share it. He would never have consented to pay with his
liberty the right to domineer over others; the bargain would have been
too disadvantageous. “It is better to command no one than to be a
slave,” he wrote. “A man can live without commanding, but life as a
slave is worthless.”[354]
In the midst of all these anxieties of which no one could know, an event
happened which very much surprised the public, and which Cicero’s
letters relate without explanation. When it was known that Caesar was
returning to Rome after his victory over Pompey, Brutus went to meet him
with an alacrity that everybody remarked, and that many people blamed.
What was his intention? A few words of Cicero, to which sufficient
attention has not been paid, allow us to guess. Before taking a definite
resolution, Brutus wished to make a last appeal to Caesar, and to try
once more to draw him towards the republic. He made a point of
commending to him the men of the vanquished party, and especially
Cicero, in the hope that they might be recalled to public office. Caesar
listened kindly to these praises, welcomed Brutus, and did not
discourage him too much. The latter, with too easy confidence, hastened
to return to Rome, and announce to every one that Caesar was coming back
to the party of honest men. He went so far as to advise Cicero to
address a political letter to the dictator, which should contain some
good advice and make some advances; but Cicero did not share in his
friend’s hopes, and after a little hesitation, refused to write. In
truth, Brutus’ illusions did not last long. Antony had anticipated him
with Caesar. Antony, who by his follies had disturbed the tranquillity
of Rome, had much to be pardoned for; but he well knew the means of
succeeding in this. While Brutus was trying to bring Caesar and the
republicans together, and thought he had succeeded, Antony, in order to
soften his master, flattered his most cherished wishes, and no doubt
made that crown which he so anxiously desired, glitter before his eyes.
The scene of the Lupercalia showed clearly that Antony had carried the
day and it was no longer possible for Brutus to doubt Caesar’s
intentions. Antony’s plan, indeed, did not succeed this time: the cries
of the multitude, and the opposition of the two tribunes, forced Caesar
to refuse the diadem that was offered him; but it was well known that
this check had not discouraged him. The occasion was only deferred, and
was about to present itself again. With regard to the Parthian war, an
old Sybilline oracle which said that the Parthians would only be
conquered by a king was to be brought before the senate, and this title
was to be demanded for Caesar. Now there were too many foreigners and
too many cowards in the senate to admit of the answer being doubtful.
This was the moment that Cassius chose to reveal to Brutus the plot that
was being hatched, and to ask him to be its head.
Cassius, whose name becomes from this moment inseparable from that of
Brutus, formed a complete contrast to him. He had gained a great
military reputation by saving the remains of Crassus’ army and driving
the Parthians from Syria; but at the same time he was charged with being
fond of pleasure, an epicurean in doctrine and conduct, eager for power,
and not very scrupulous about the means of gaining it. He had pillaged
the province he governed, like almost all the proconsuls; it was said
that Syria had found little advantage in being saved by him, and would
almost as soon have passed into the hands of the Parthians. Cassius was
bitter in raillery, uneven in temper, hasty, sometimes cruel,[355] and
we can well understand that he would not have shrunk from an
assassination; but whence came the idea of killing Caesar? Plutarch says
that it was through spite at not having obtained the urban praetorship
which the dictator’s favour had accorded to Brutus, and indeed, nothing
prevents us thinking that personal resentment had embittered that
impetuous spirit. Yet if Cassius had only this insult to avenge it is
not probable that he would have acted in concert with the man who had
been a party to it and had profited by it. He had quite other motives
for hating Caesar. An aristocrat by birth and temper, his heart was full
of the hatred felt by the vanquished aristocracy; he must have a bloody
revenge for the defeat of his party, and Caesar’s pardon had not
extinguished the anger that the sight of his oppressed caste aroused in
him. Thus, while Brutus sought to be the man of a principle, Cassius was
openly the man of a party. It seems that he early had the idea of
avenging Pharsalia by an assassination. At least, Cicero says that, a
very few months after he had obtained his pardon, he waited for Caesar
on one bank of the Cydnus to kill him, and that Caesar was saved only by
the accident that made him land on the other bank. He resumed his
purpose at Rome, notwithstanding the favours of which he had been the
object. It was he who got up the conspiracy, sought out the malcontents,
and brought them together in secret meetings; and as he saw that they
all demanded Brutus for leader, he took upon himself to speak to him.
They were still at variance in consequence of their rivalry for the
urban praetorship. Cassius put his resentment aside and visited his
brother-in-law. “He took him by the hand,” as Appian relates, and said:
“‘What shall we do if Caesar’s flatterers propose to make him king?’
Brutus answered that he purposed not to go to the senate. ‘What?’
replied Cassius. ‘If we are summoned in our capacity as praetors, what
must we do then?’ ‘I will defend the republic,’ said the other, ‘to the
last.’ ‘Will you not then,’ replied Cassius, embracing him, ‘take some
of the senators, as parties to your designs? Do you think it is
worthless and mercenary people, or the chief citizens of Rome who place
on your tribunal the writings you find there? They expect games, races
or hunting spectacles from the other praetors; what they demand of you
is that you should restore liberty to Rome, as your ancestors
did.’”[356] These words completely gained over a mind that so many
private and public solicitations had unsettled for so long. Still
hesitating, but already almost gained, it only waited to find itself
face to face with a firm resolution in order to yield.
At last the conspiracy had a leader, and there was no longer any reason
to hesitate or to wait. To avoid indiscretions or weaknesses it was
necessary to act quickly. Cassius had revealed everything to Brutus a
short time after the feast of the Lupercalia, which was kept on February
15, and less than a month after, on March 15, Caesar was struck down in
the curia of Pompey.
IV.
Brutus was in reality the head of the conspiracy, although he had not
formed the first idea of it. Cassius alone, who had formed it, could
dispute the right of conducting it with him, and perhaps he had for an
instant the intention of doing so. We see that at first he proposed a
plan in which all the violence of his character is shown. He wished
that, with Caesar, they should kill his chief friends, and especially
Antony. Brutus refused, and the other conspirators were of his mind.
Cassius himself yielded at last, for it must be remarked that, although
imperious and haughty, he submitted to the ascendency of Brutus. He
tried several times to escape from it; but after many threats and fits
of anger, he felt himself overcome by the cold reasoning of his friend,
and it was Brutus who really conducted the whole enterprise.
This is clearly seen, and in the manner in which it was conceived and
executed we find his character and turn of mind. We have not an ordinary
conspiracy before us, we have not to do with professional conspirators,
with men of violence and adventures. They are not vulgarly ambitious men
who covet the fortune or honours of others, nor even madmen whom
political hatred misleads even to frenzy. No doubt these sentiments were
found in the hearts of many of the conspirators; historians say so, but
Brutus forced them to lie hid. He made a point of accomplishing his
action with a sort of quiet dignity. It was the system alone that he
aimed at; he was animated by no hatred against the man. After having
struck him he does not insult him; he permits, in spite of many
objections, his funeral to be celebrated, and his will to be read to the
people. What occupies his thoughts most of all is that he should not
appear to work for himself or his friends, and to avoid all suspicion of
personal ambition or party interest. Such was this conspiracy in which
men of very different characters took part, but which bears the imprint
of Brutus’ own mind. His influence is not less perceptible on the events
that followed it. He did not act at random, although Cicero accused him
of doing so, and everybody repeats it; he had formed in advance a rule
of conduct for the future, he had a well-defined plan. Unfortunately it
was found that this plan, conceived in solitary reflection, far from the
intercourse and acquaintance of men, could not be followed out. It was
the work of a logician who reasons, who purposes to conduct himself in
the midst of a revolution as in ordinary times, and wishes to introduce
the narrow respect for legality even into a work of violence. He
acknowledged that he was mistaken, and he had to give up successively
all his scruples; but, as he had not the pliability of the politician
who knows how to submit to necessity he gave way too late, with a bad
grace, and always looked back with regret to the fine projects he had
been forced to abandon. Thence came his hesitation and incoherence. It
has been said that he failed through not having had an exact plan in
advance; I think, on the contrary, that he did not succeed through
wishing to be too faithful to the chimerical plan he had conceived,
notwithstanding the lessons given by events. A rapid recital of the
facts will suffice to show that it was this which caused the loss of
himself and his party, and made the blood that was shed useless.
After the death of Caesar, the conspirators came out of the senate
house, brandishing their swords, and calling on the people. The people
listened to them with surprise, without much anger, but without any
sympathy. Seeing themselves alone, they went up to the Capitol, where
they could defend themselves, and shut themselves in under the guard of
some gladiators. They were joined only by some doubtful friends who
always join parties when they are successful. If there had been little
eagerness to follow them there was still less desire to attack them.
Caesar’s partisans were scared. Antony had thrown off his consul’s robe
and hidden himself. Dolabella affected to appear joyful, and let it be
understood that he also was one of the conspirators. Many left Rome in
haste, and fled into the country; yet, when they saw that all remained
quiet, and that the conspirators were contented with making speeches in
the Capitol, courage returned to the most timid. The fear that this bold
action had caused gave place to surprise at such strange inaction. The
next day Antony had resumed his consular robes, reassembled his friends,
and recovered his audacity, and it was necessary to reckon with him.
“They have acted,” said Cicero, “with manly courage, but childish
judgment; _animo virili, consilio puerili_.”[357] It is certain that
they seemed to have prepared nothing, and to have foreseen nothing. On
the evening of the Ides of March they were awaiting events without
having done anything to guide them. Was it, as has been said,
improvidence and levity? No, it was system and deliberate intention.
Brutus had only joined the others to deliver the republic from the man
who prevented the free play of the institutions. He being dead, the
people regained their rights, and became free again to use them. The
conspirators would have appeared to be working for themselves in keeping
even for a day that authority that they had torn from Caesar. Now, to
prepare decrees or laws in advance, to arrange about regulating the
future, to consider the means of giving affairs the direction they
wished, was not this to take upon themselves in some sort the duty of
the entire republic? And what more had Caesar done? Thus, on pain of
appearing to imitate him, and to have acted only through the rivalry of
ambition, once the great blow struck, the conspirators had to abdicate.
This is how I think their conduct must be explained. It was by a strange
prejudice of disinterestedness and of legality that they remained
voluntarily disarmed. They thought it glorious to act in concert only so
far as to kill Caesar. That act accomplished, they were to restore to
the people the direction of their affairs, and the choice of their
government, leaving them free to express their gratitude to those who
had delivered them, or if they so willed it, to repay them by
forgetfulness.
There the illusion commenced: they thought there was only Caesar between
the people and liberty, and that when Caesar no longer existed liberty
would naturally reappear; but on the day that they called on the
citizens to resume their rights, no one answered, and no one could
answer, for there were no longer any citizens. “For a very long time,”
says Appian on this occasion, “the Roman people was only a mixture of
all the nations. The freedmen were confounded with the citizens, the
slave had no longer anything to distinguish him from his master. In sum,
the distributions of corn that were made at Rome gathered the beggars,
the idle, and the scoundrels from all Italy.”[358] This cosmopolitan
population, without a past and without traditions, was not the Roman
people. The evil was old, and clear-sighted minds must have perceived it
for a long time. Cicero seems to suspect it sometimes, especially when
he sees with what facility they traffic in votes at the elections.
Nevertheless everything continued with apparent regularity, and things
went on from the impulse they had received. In such a condition of
affairs, and when a state only moves through habit, all is lost if this
movement is arrested for a single day. Now, with Caesar, the old
machinery ceased to act. The interruption was not long, but the machine
was so dilapidated that in stopping it fell to pieces entirely. Thus the
conspirators could not restore what was existing before the civil war,
and this last shadow of the republic, imperfect as it was, disappeared
for ever.
This is why no one either listened to or followed them. Courage must
have failed more than one of them in that Capitol where they were left
alone, at the sight of the indifference of the populace. Cicero
especially was distressed at seeing that they did nothing but make fine
speeches. He wished them to act, to profit by the occasion, to die if
need were: “Would not death be glorious for such a great cause?” This
old man, usually irresolute, had then more resolution than all those
young men who had just struck so bold a stroke. And yet, what did he
suggest after all? “You must rouse the people again,” he said. We have
just seen that the people would not respond. “You must convoke the
senate, and take advantage of its fears, to extort some favourable
decrees.”[359] Assuredly the senate would have voted whatever they
wished: but when the decrees had been made, how were they to be
executed? All these schemes were insufficient, and it was hardly
possible to propose anything more practical to men who were determined
not to overstep the law. The only possible chance was boldly to seize
the government, to hold it by violence and illegality, not even
flinching from proscription, and to replace by an aristocratic
dictatorship that popular tyranny they had just destroyed; in a word, to
recommence the history of Sulla. Cassius perhaps would have done this,
but Brutus had a horror of violence. Tyranny, from whatever side it
might come, seemed to him a crime; he would rather have perished with
the republic than save it by these means.
The few succeeding days passed in strange alternations. There was a sort
of interregnum during which the parties contended with varying success.
The people, who had not followed the conspirators, did not support their
enemies either. As they did not know on what to rely men acted on both
sides at random, and frequently in a contradictory and surprising
manner. One day an amnesty was proclaimed, and Brutus went to dine with
Lepidus; the next, the conspirators’ houses were set on fire. After
having abolished the dictatorship they ratified the acts of the
dictator. The friends of Caesar erected a column and an altar to him on
the Forum; another friend of Caesar had them thrown down. It was in the
midst of this confusion, while the two parties were wavering, undecided
and hesitating, without daring to strike, while each was looking around
it to see where the real forces were, that those who henceforth were to
be the masters appeared.
For a long time a secret revolution had been in operation at Rome, which
had been scarcely perceived because its progress was slow and
continuous, but which, when it was complete, changed the character of
the state. Campaigns had been short while they had only been fought in
the neighbourhood of Rome and in Italy. The citizens had not had time to
lose the traditions of civil life in the camp; there had not been a
family either soldiers by trade, or generals by profession. But in
proportion as wars were more distant, and lasted longer, the men who
carried them on became accustomed to living at a distance from Rome.
They lost sight of the Forum for so long a time that they forgot its
controversies and customs. At the same time, as the right of citizenship
was extended, the legion was thrown open to men of all races. This
medley completed the destruction of the ties that bound the soldier to
the city; he acquired the habit of isolating himself from it, of having
separate interests, and of looking on the camp as his country. After the
great Gallic war, which lasted ten years, Caesar’s veterans no longer
remembered that they were citizens, and their recollections did not go
back beyond Ariovistus and Vercingetorix. When it had become necessary
to reward them, Caesar, who was not ungrateful, distributed the finest
lands of Italy among them; and this partition was made under new
conditions. Up to that time the soldiers, after the war, returned into
the mass of the people: when they were sent to a colony, they were lost,
and, as it were, absorbed among the other citizens; but now they passed
without transition from their camp to the domains that had been given
them, and thus the military spirit was preserved among them. As they
were not far removed from one another, and could communicate with each
other, they did not altogether lose the taste for a life of adventure.
“They compared,” says Appian, “the toilsome labour of agriculture with
the brilliant and lucrative chances of battles.”[360] They formed then
in the heart of Italy a population of soldiers, listening for rumours of
war, and ready to answer the first call.
Precisely at that time there were many in Rome, whom Caesar had called
there while they were waiting for him to grant them lands. Others were
close at hand, in Campania, busied in settling themselves down, and
perhaps disgusted with these preliminary toils of their settlement. Some
among them had returned to Rome on the rumour of the events that were
taking place, the rest were waiting to be well paid before deciding, and
put themselves up to auction. Now, there was no want of buyers. The
heritage of the great dictator tempted every one’s cupidity. Thanks to
those soldiers who were ready to sell their services, each of the
competitors had his partisans and his chances. Antony was predominant
over all by the lustre of his consular authority, and the memory of
Caesar’s friendship; but near him was the debauchee Dolabella, who had
held out hopes to all parties, and the young Octavius, who came from
Epirus to receive the inheritance of his uncle. There was no one, even
to the incapable Lepidus, who had not got several legions in his
interest, and who did not make some figure among these ambitious men.
And all, surrounded by soldiers whom they had bought, masters of
important provinces, watched each other mistrustfully while waiting to
fight.
What was Brutus doing in the meantime? The opportunity of the Ides of
March having failed, he might still have taken advantage of the quarrels
of the Caesarians to throw himself upon them and crush them. The
resolute men of his party advised him to try this, and to call to arms
all those young men who, in Italy and the provinces, had applauded the
death of Caesar; but Brutus hated civil war and could not resolve to
give the signal anew. As he had fancied that the people would hasten to
accept the liberty that was given back to them, he had thought that the
restoration of the republic could be made without violence. One illusion
led him to another, and that stab which began a frightful war of twelve
years seemed to him bound to assure public tranquillity for ever. It was
in this belief that, on coming out of the curia of Pompey where he had
just killed Caesar, he ran through the streets crying, “Peace! peace!”
And this word was henceforth his motto. When his friends, on learning
the dangers he was running, came from the neighbouring municipia to
defend him, he sent them back. He preferred to remain shut up in his
house rather than give any pretext for the commencement of violence.
Forced to leave Rome, he remained hidden in the gardens of the
neighbourhood, disturbed by the soldiers, only going out at night, but
always expecting that great popular movement that he persisted in hoping
for. No one moved. He removed still further and took refuge in his
villas of Lanuvium and Antium. There he heard the rumours of war with
which Italy resounded, and saw all parties preparing to fight. He alone
always resisted. He passed six entire months shrinking from this
terrible necessity that became more clearly inevitable every day. He
could not resolve to accept it, and asked advice of everybody.