[A curious paper, entitled _The Caesars_, will be found in
_Blackwood's Magazine_ for the present month. It is full of attractive
lore, and contains, to our thinking, a masterly estimate of the actual
character of Caesar. It displays very considerable learning, research,
and knowledge of life, or that treasure which we call world-knowledge.
It is not a cut-and-dry classical character "by way of abstract," but
such a whole-length portrait as we wish to see drawn of every great
man of antiquity, respecting whose merits mankind are, as it were,
still groping in comparative ignorance or misconception. We quote two
interesting passages--one embodying the personal portrait of
Caesar--the other the superstitious weakness commonly attributed to
him.]
In person, Caesar was tall, fair, and of limbs distinguished for their
elegant proportions and gracility. His eyes were black and piercing.
These circumstances continued to be long remembered, and no doubt were
constantly recalled to the eyes of all persons in the imperial
palaces, by pictures, busts, and statues; for we find the same
description of his personal appearance three centuries afterwards, in
a work of the Emperor Julian's. He was a most accomplished horseman,
and a master (_peritissimus_) in the use of arms. But, notwithstanding,
his skill in horsemanship, it seems that, when he accompanied his army
on marches, he walked oftener than he rode; no doubt, with a view to
the benefit of his example, and to express that sympathy with his
soldiers which gained him their hearts so entirely. On other
occasions, when travelling apart from his army, he seems more
frequently to have rode in a carriage than on horseback. His purpose
in making this preference must have been with a view to the transport
of luggage. The carriage which he generally used was a _rheda_, a sort
of gig, or rather curricle, for it was a four-wheeled carriage, and
adapted (as we find from the imperial regulations for the public
carriages, &c.,) to the conveyance of about half a ton. The mere
personal baggage which Caesar carried with him, was probably
considerable, for he was a man of the most elegant habits, and in all
parts of his life sedulously attentive to elegance of personal
appearance. The length of journeys which he accomplished within a
given time, appears even to us at this day, and might well therefore
appear to his contemporaries, truly astonishing. A distance of one
hundred miles was no extraordinary day's journey for him in a _rheda_,
such as we have described it. So elegant were his habits, and so
constant his demand for the luxurious accommodations of polished life,
as it then existed in Rome, that he is said to have carried with him,
as indispensable parts of his personal baggage, the little lozenges
and squares of ivory, and other costly materials, which were wanted
for the tesselated flooring of his tent. Habits such as these will
easily account for his travelling in a carriage rather than on
horseback.
The courtesy and obliging disposition of Caesar were notorious, and
both were illustrated in some anecdotes which survived for generations
in Rome. Dining on one occasion at a table where the servants had
inadvertently, for sallad-oil, furnished some sort of coarse lamp-oil,
Caesar would not allow the rest of the company to point out the
mistake to their host for fear of shocking him too much by exposing
the mistake. At another time, whilst halting at a little _cabaret_,
when one of his retinue was suddenly taken ill, Caesar resigned to his
use the sole bed which the house afforded. Incidents, as trifling as
these, express the urbanity of Caesar's nature; and hence one is the
more surprised to find the alienation of the Senate charged, in no
trifling degree, upon a failure in point of courtesy. Caesar neglected
to rise from his seat, on their approaching him in a body with an
address of congratulation. It is said, and we can believe it, that he
gave deeper offence by this one defect in a matter of ceremonial
observance, than by all his substantial attacks upon their privileges.
What we find it difficult to believe, however, is not that result from
the offence, but the possibility of the offence itself, from one so
little arrogant as Caesar, and so entirely a man of the world. He was
told of the disgust which he had given, and we are bound to believe
his apology, in which he charged it upon sickness, which would not at
the moment allow him to maintain a standing attitude. Certainly the
whole tenor of his life was not courteous only, but kind; and, to his
enemies, merciful in a degree which implied so much more magnanimity
than men in general could understand, that by many it was put down to
the account of weakness.
* * * * *
We find that though sincerely a despiser of superstition, and with a
frankness which must sometimes have been hazardous in his age, Caesar
was himself superstitious. No man could have been otherwise who lived
and conversed with that generation and people. But if superstitious,
he was so after a mode of his own. In his very infirmities Caesar
manifested his greatness; his very littlenesses were noble.
"Nec licuit populis parvum te, Nile, videre."
That he placed some confidence in dreams, for instance, is certain;
because, had he slighted them unreservedly, he would not have dwelt
upon them afterwards, or have troubled himself to recall their
circumstances. Here we trace his human weakness. Yet again we are
reminded that it was the weakness of Caesar; for the dreams were noble
in their imagery, and Caesarean (so to speak) in their tone of moral
feeling. Thus, for example, the night before he was assassinated, he
dreamt at intervals that he was soaring above the clouds on wings, and
that he placed his hand within the right hand of Jove. It would seem
that perhaps some obscure and half-formed image floated in his mind of
the eagle, as the king of birds; secondly, as the tutelary emblem
under which his conquering legions had so often obeyed his voice; and,
thirdly, as the bird of Jove. To this triple relation of the bird his
dream covertly appears to point. And a singular coincidence appears
between this dream and a little anecdote brought down to us, as having
actually occurred in Rome about twenty-four hours before his death. A
little bird, which by some is represented as a very small kind of
sparrow, but which, both to the Greeks and the Romans, was known by a
name implying a regal station (probably from the ambitious courage
which at times prompted it to attack the eagle), was observed to
direct its flight towards the senate-house, consecrated by Pompey,
whilst a crowd of other birds were seen to hang upon its flight in
close pursuit. What might be the object of the chase, whether the
little king himself, or a sprig of laurel which he bore in his mouth,
could not be determined. The whole train, pursuers and pursued,
continued their flight towards Pompey's hall. Flight and pursuit were
there alike arrested; the little king was overtaken by his enemies,
who fell upon him as so many conspirators, and tore him limb from
limb.
If this anecdote were reported to Caesar, which is not at all
improbable, considering the earnestness with which his friends
laboured to dissuade him from his purpose of meeting the senate on the
approaching Ides of March, it is very little to be doubted that it had
a considerable effect upon his feelings, and that, in fact, his own
dream grew out of the impression which it had made. This way of
linking the two anecdotes, as cause and effect, would also bring a
third anecdote under the same _nexus_. We are told that Calpurnia, the
last wife of Caesar, dreamed on the same night, and to the same
ominous result. The circumstances of _her_ dream are less striking,
because less figurative; but on that account its import was less open
to doubt: she dreamed, in fact, that after the roof of their mansion
had fallen in, her husband was stabbed in her bosom. Laying all these
omens together, Caesar would have been more or less than human had he
continued utterly undepressed by them. And if so much superstition as
even this implies, must be taken to argue some little weakness, on the
other hand let it not be forgotten, that this very weakness does but
the more illustrate the unusual force of mind, and the heroic will,
which obstinately laid aside these _concurring_ prefigurations of
impending destruction; concurring, we say, amongst themselves--and
concurring also with a prophecy of older date, which was totally
independent of them all.
There is another and somewhat sublime story of the same class, which
belongs to the most interesting moment of Caesar's life; and those who
are disposed to explain all such tales upon physiological principles,
will find an easy solution of this, in particular, in the exhaustion
of body, and the intense anxiety which must have debilitated even
Caesar under the whole circumstances of the case. On the
ever-memorable night when he had resolved to take the first step (and
in such a case the first step, as regarded the power of retreating,
was also the final step) which placed him in arms against the state,
it happened that his head-quarters were at some distance from the
little river Rubicon, which formed the boundary of his province. With
his usual caution, that no news of his motions might run before
himself, on this night Caesar gave an entertainment to his friends, in
the midst of which he slipped away unobserved, and with a small
retinue proceeded through the woods to the point of the river at which
he designed to cross. The night was stormy, and by the violence of the
wind all the torches of his escort were blown out, so that the whole
party lost their road, having probably at first intentionally deviated
from the main route, and wandered about through the whole night, until
the early dawn enabled them to recover their true course. The light
was still grey and uncertain, as Caesar and his retinue rode down upon
the banks of the fatal river--to cross which with arms in his hands,
since the further bank lay within the territory of the Republic, _ipso
facto_ proclaimed any Roman a rebel and a traitor. No man, the firmest
or the most obtuse, could be otherwise than deeply agitated, when
looking down upon this little brook--so insignificant in itself, but
invested by law with a sanctity so awful, and so dire a consecration.
The whole course of future history, and the fate of every nation,
would necessarily be determined by the irretrievable act of the next
half hour.
In these moments, and with this spectacle before him, and
contemplating these immeasurable consequences consciously for the last
time that could allow him a retreat,--impressed also by the solemnity
and deep tranquillity of the silent dawn, whilst the exhaustion of his
night wanderings predisposed him to nervous irritation,--Caesar, we
may be sure, was profoundly agitated. The whole elements of the scene
were almost scenically disposed; the law of antagonism having perhaps
never been employed with so much effect: the little quiet brook
presenting a direct antithesis to its grand political character; and
the innocent dawn, with its pure untroubled repose, contrasting
potently, to a man of any intellectual sensibility, with the long
chaos of bloodshed, darkness, and anarchy, which was to take its rise
from the apparently trifling acts of this one morning. So prepared, we
need not much wonder at what followed. Caesar was yet lingering on the
hither bank, when suddenly, at a point not far distant from himself,
an apparition was descried in a sitting posture, and holding in its
hand what seemed a flute. This phantom was of unusual size, and of
beauty more than human, so far as its lineaments could be traced in
the early dawn. What is singular, however, in the story, on any
hypothesis which would explain it out of Caesar's individual
condition, is, that others saw it as well as he; both pastoral
labourers (who were present, probably, in the character of guides) and
some of the sentinels stationed at the passage of the river. These men
fancied even that a strain of music issued from this aerial flute. And
some, both of the shepherds and the Roman soldiers, who were bolder
than the rest, advanced towards the figure. Amongst this party, it
happened that there were a few Roman trumpeters. From one of these,
the phantom, rising as they advanced nearer, suddenly caught a
trumpet, and blowing through it a blast of superhuman strength,
plunged into the Rubicon--passed to the other bank--and disappeared in
the dusky twilight of the dawn. Upon which Caesar exclaimed:--"It is
finished: the die is cast: let us follow whither the guiding portents
from heaven, and the malice of our enemy alike summon us to go." So
saying, he crossed the river with impetuosity; and in a sudden rapture
of passionate and vindictive ambition, placed himself and his retinue
upon the Italian soil; and as if by inspiration from Heaven, in one
moment involved himself and his followers in treason, raised the
standard of revolt, put his foot upon the neck of the invincible
republic which had humbled all the kings of the earth, and founded an
empire which was to last for a thousand and half a thousand years. In
what manner this spectral appearance was managed--whether Caesar were
its author, or its dupe, will remain unknown forever. But undoubtedly
this was the first time that the advanced guard of a victorious army
was headed by an apparition; and we may conjecture that it will be the
last.
According to Suetonius, the circumstances of this memorable night were
as follows:--As soon as the decisive intelligence was received, that
the intrigues of his enemies had prevailed at Rome, and that the
interposition of the popular magistrates (the tribunes) was set aside,
Caesar sent forward the troops, who were then at his head-quarters,
but in as private a manner as possible. He himself, by way of masque,
(_per dissimulationem_) attended a public spectacle, gave an audience
to an architect who wished to lay before him a plan for a school of
gladiators which Caesar designed to build, and finally presented
himself at a banquet, which was very numerously attended. From this,
about sunset, he set forward in a carriage, drawn by mules, and with a
small escort (_modico comitatu_.) Losing his road, which was the most
private he could find (_occultissimum_), he quitted his carriage and
proceeded on foot. At dawn he met with a guide; after which followed
the above incidents.
* * * * *