For the moment, however, all was sunshine and general rejoicing. Even those who had supported the defeated party could not disguise from themselves their relief that the terrible civil wars were over. All felt as if a great weight had been lifted. Women, happy to think that their sons, husbands and lovers would no longer be sacrificed to Mars, united in praise of Caesar. An uncommonly large number of children were conceived in noble families that autumn. When Longina confided her own pregnancy to me, I scarcely doubted that I was the father.
In the Senate, men tumbled over each other in their eagerness to lavish honours on Caesar. Cicero, it must be said, while urging such honours, also recommended that they be kept "within the measure of humanity". But power attracts toadies, and they soon overstepped that measure. It was reasonable to order a temple to be built in honour of Clemency, since none could deny that, except in Spain, Caesar's clemency to his defeated opponents had been remarkable, an honour to Caesar himself and to the Roman people in general. When one thought of how barbarian princes and Orientals were accustomed to make a hecatomb of their conquered rivals, the clemency that Caesar displayed renewed one's pride in Romanitas (to use a word then coming into fashion). It was perhaps appropriate that my cousin Marcus Brutus, who was such a conspicuous example of the dictator's forbearance, should introduce this proposal in the Senate; and few people were as critical of his leaden delivery and pompous platitudes as I was. Indeed, the general opinion was that Brutus had spoken in a manner worthy of his noble ancestors. I have never understood how Markie so easily attracted golden opinions. I suppose there was something in his manner — his lack of humour, his incapacity for irony — which appealed to the dullards who in any assembly are bound to be in the majority.
Caesar, with a self-consciously noble gesture, ordered that Pompey's statues be restored to the place from which they had been cast down. Cicero now declared that "Caesar, by resurrecting Pompey's statues, has established his own for all time". This rhetorical flourish was greeted with loud applause.
If those of us who had been Caesar's loyal friends and collaborators from the first perilous days of civil war were disgusted by the sycophancy now displayed by those who had previously declared him a wild beast that must be pulled down, well, that is hardly a matter for surprise.
Antony, however, was distrustful as well as disgusted. He could not believe in the sincerity of those who now declared themselves utterly reconciled to Caesar.
"It does not make sense," he said, "and yet Caesar appears to accept it at face value. Damned if I do."
He persuaded me that we should approach Caesar and urge him to form a guard for his protection. We cited the example of those from the elder Gracchus onward who had been murdered while they thought themselves the favourites of the people. I did not scruple to add the names of certain Greek tyrants to the list, for I wanted Caesar to understand the loneliness of his position, and the dangers to which this exposed him.
Caesar listened to our arguments, and then repeated them in a loud voice so that they might be more generally known.
Then he raised his hand, and smiled.
"I respect your motives, my friends, but Caesar will not condescend to live like an Oriental despot. It is better to die once, than to live in fear of death."
We could not move him.
"Did you ever hear such bloody nonsense?" Antony said.
It was not the first time he refused my advice. I argued against the proposal that he should celebrate his victory in Spain by a Triumph.
"Caesar," I said, "what is proposed is both unprecedented and distasteful. Even Sulla never held a Triumph to celebrate victories over Roman citizens. The Triumphs which you held last year were different. I grant you there was some dishonesty in the suggestion that they all celebrated victories over foreigners. Nevertheless, it is true that, for instance, even if Scipio and Cato were your chief enemies in Africa, the Triumph could be justified on account of the part that King Juba played in that campaign. But it was different in Spain. There we encountered and defeated none but Romans, and it is improper to rejoice in the defeat and death of men to whom we were united by ties of blood and ancient friendships. You have displayed your magnanimity by your decision to honour Pompey. You are in danger of destroying the effect this has had, if you now insist on a display of public rejoicing on account of the death of Labienus, and the destruction of Pompey's family."
I knew at once that I had gone too far. A nerve twitched in his cheek, sure sign that he was moved to anger.
"You are talking nonsense, Mouse. Labienus betrayed me, as Pompey never did. He was a man I valued, and I had frequently given public evidence of the high regard in which I held him. For him to desert me was treasonable. Besides, Munda was the hardest battle I ever fought. Don't ask me not to rejoice in that victory and Labienus' death."
"Private rejoicing is one thing. Perfectly natural. You know I share your feelings, even though I cannot stifle regret that our old colleague was not loyal and so condemned himself to ignominy. But a public Triumph is another matter. It is wrong in itself, for the reasons I have given. It is also impolitic. It will reopen the wounds which in all other ways you have set yourself to heal. You cannot suppose that all those who are connected by family and friendship with the men we defeated in Spain will not bitterly resent the holding of such a Triumph. That resentment will fester. Besides, it seems to me that in order to enjoy a day of glory, you will not only alienate hundreds of people now ready to be well-disposed to you, but you will pin on yourself a badge of undying shame."
"You forget yourself, Mouse. You forget you are talking to Caesar."
I was dismayed by his obstinacy. In former days, I told myself, Caesar was open to reason. He knew he was given to rashness, but he could be persuaded from unwise courses by those whom he had good reason to trust and respect. I had done nothing to impair that trust and respect, but he received my warning as if I was an insolent fellow of no account. I was grieved by his behaviour, not only because of the cavalier manner in which he set my advice aside, disregarding all I had done for him, but, more particularly, because I was certain that my advice was good and his conduct foolish.
So he pressed on with the Triumph, and insisted that I should myself take a place of honour in the procession. Unfortunately, I was stricken with an ague the day before, and my Greek doctor readily signed a certificate stating that he could not answer for my health if I took part. Caesar pretended to accept this at face value, but I knew he was displeased.
The reception of the Triumph was as I had predicted. Of course the vulgar throng, ever delighted by spectacle, applauded with their usual enthusiasm, but among men who mattered it made a bad impression. People said it was shameful to rejoice in this manner at the calamities which had overtaken the Republic, and in wars which nothing but dire necessity could excuse, either in the eyes of men or before the gods. So Caesar's reputation suffered, and Cicero asked, "What price clemency now? True clemency should extend to the memory of Roman dead, in whatever cause they perished. How is concord to be restored if we are invited to celebrate, rather than mourn, the slaying of our friends and relations?"
My argument, I might add, went against my own interest. I had recently acquired the principal stake in a school of gladiators, who were naturally in great demand on account of the Games held in conjunction with the Triumph. Prices were high, and I received a considerable pecuniary advantage; but I would willingly have forgone that to spare my country and my general the dishonour of this Triumph.
I was so perturbed by this episode that I took the risk of expressing my feelings in a letter to Octavius.
My dear Octavius (I wrote)
You will have received news that Caesar has determined to hold a Triumph in honour of our victories in Spain. I am certain that your feelings on this matter will be the same as mine.
Nothing can tarnish Caesar's glory. Nothing can make me doubt the necessity of these terrible wars. No man, as you can attest, fought harder in Spain than I, and I am sure you will agree that none has been more diligent in your uncle's cause, nor has served him more faithfully.
It is on account of the love I bear him, and the love I bear you whom I presume to be his heir, that I take pen now to urge you to exert your influence with him in the same manner and the same direction that I do myself.
It is a time for moderation and reconciliation. It is necessary to cultivate these qualities if the Republic is to be reconstituted in the manner we should both desire, and of which we have discoursed. We are agreed, are we not, that the central problem is how to combine libert y with order, how to reinvig orate the noble traditions of the Republic without sacrificing what we have fought to gain?
There is no one (except, of course, Caesar) whose wisdom I respect, and whose counsel I value, as I do yours; and I never cease to be amazed by your ability to combine youthful ardour with prudence more to be expected of a man twice your age. And yet I pause on that sentence, for I cannot but observe that advancing years may impair judgment, and success may breed rashness.
I write this also to warn you of the dangers we still run, and of course to assure you of my undying affection.
You will be pleased to learn that I am to become a father.
I trust your studies go well, and that you will soon return to Rome that I may enjoy the charm of your company, and avail myself of the benefit of your opinion which will always, I am certain, be directed towards the restoration of sound principles of public virtue.
I signed myself "Your affectionate friend".
However carefully couched, this was, I knew, a dangerous letter to send. Yet it seemed to me necessary, for I could not but be alarmed by the rashness of Caesar's conduct, and the dangers this might breed for Octavius and myself as well as for Caesar.
I sent the letter by a trusted slave, with instructions that he was to deliver it to Octavius in person and that he was to wait for a reply which he would bring directly to me.
Mouse of mice,
Congratulations on impending fatherhood. I always knew you had it in you.
As for the other matters of which you discourse so sagely, speaking with the wisdom of Cicero, if not of Solon, be assured that I shall ponder them in whatever of my heart I can spare from my current enthusiasms, the nature of which it would be unseemly to commit to writing. Suffice it to say that Greece has delights to offer in matters other than literature and philosophy. Indeed, only the sternest philosopher could profess himself indifferent to the goods available.
Public affairs seem remote from this idyllic Apollonian setting. Yet I am well aware that they will soon press hard upon me, and I am grateful to you, my dear Mouse, for the care with which you attend to my interests. I shall ever be guided by you in all matters, for I know how tenderly you feel. I know and commend your prudence. I am at one with you in all things, and I recognise that this is a time for caution and conciliation.
We are wise, are we not, to walk warily in the sight of the, gods who are ever quick to punish the presumptions of us mere mortals.
I wrote by an earlier messenger today to my uncle, so there is no need to burden you with a request to convey my dutiful love and esteem to him.
Maecenas and Agrippa, though frequently at odds, are in their different ways, agreeable and stimulating companions. I trust their good sense, but I trust you more, and my native discretion most of all.
I send you whatever you would have from me, with the assurance that you will not demand what I cannot offer.
Octavius
That letter provoked a renewed spasm of desire, soon quelled. I admired the boy's discretion, was conscious that the same quality was demanded from me in circumstances which appeared ever more perplexing.
The question "What will Caesar do?" was in everyone's mouth. Nobody could imagine that he would not mark the end of the civil wars by a thorough reconstruction of the State and its Constitution. After all, even many who had followed Pompey agreed that the civil wars had been caused as much by the decay of the Republic as by Caesar's ambition. There were not many to agree with old Cicero that only a change of heart was needed.
Cicero himself had retired, perhaps in disgust, to his estate at Tusculum where he amused himself with philosophy, which he not only wrote but taught to a group of young noblemen who delighted to flatter him. He also talked of writing a history of Rome, but was dissuaded partly by the report that Caesar did not look kindly on the enterprise. This came as a surprise to him because, whenever they met, Caesar was accustomed to flatter him. Nevertheless Caesar's opposition to the project was real.
"It would of course have the merit of keeping the old man occupied and out of mischief," he said to me, "and that is certainly a consideration in its favour. We would all enjoy the rhetorical flourishes too. But all the same I can't approve. When Cicero sits down to write, he gets carried away. Loose talk at the dinner-table doesn't offend me, but I don't choose that Cicero should give the definitive version of my career to posterity. And his literary skill is such that we all know it would be received as definitive. So warn the old thing off, will you, Mouse?"
Which I did, to Cicero's very considerable consternation; he was terrified to think he might have incurred Caesar's displeasure.
"How could he imagine an old man could undertake such an arduous task?" he said. "Do please assure Caesar that I never speak anything but well of him."
This was nonsense, as we all knew, but I let it pass, even though he continued by saying:
"All the same, I do wish you would do something to prompt him to the right sort of action. When I think of how Sulla employed his dictatorship in an attempt to eradicate weaknesses and restore stability to the Republic, I am astonished by Caesar's indolence and complacency. You know how I honour him. You know the depths of my affection for him. It is my consciousness of my own virtue that allows me to urge you to speak to him about these matters. It rests in Caesar's power now — which is greater than that of any man since Sulla, greater perhaps even than Sulla's — to put things on a sound footing. I am told that he plans to appoint the consuls and praetors for the next five years in advance, making the elections a mere formality, and thus also making a mockery of our proud traditions of liberty. I have denied the rumour, of course, and assured people that Caesar would never do anything so flagrant. Do tell him what I say, how I do all I can to quell these insidious rumours, and warn him that the proliferation of such stories must harm his reputation. Constitutional reform — conservative and moderate reform — is the most urgent task before him. I am quite ready to draw up proposals for what needs to be done. You, my dear Decimus Brutus, know better than anyone — I say that for I admire your powers of perception and judgment — that I am the man best fitted to do this, for I am now bereft of ambition. It cannot be supposed that at the age of sixty-two I retain any hopes, even any wish, of playing a conspicuous part in public life. Not at all; I am happy with my books and my garden. It is only my intense desire to serve, to do something more, even above and beyond the great services I performed which earned me the title of 'Father of his Country' — one that I revere above all other honours — which prompts me to suggest that I may perform this last service for Rome and Caesar. Assure him therefore of my willingness, but stress, I beg you, the absence of any personal ambition in my proposals."
And so on, and so on; a man could empty a wine-flask while Cicero talked.
As a matter of fact, Cicero was far too deeply engaged in the problems of his private life to undertake such a task, even if Caesar had wished it, and even if he had still been competent to perform it (which I no longer thought him) or likely to carry it out in a manner agreeable to Caesar. He had recently divorced his wife Terentia, though they had been married for over thirty years. He claimed that she had neglected him during the civil- war, and even left him without necessities. Then he said that she had impoverished him by running up huge debts, that his house had become naked and empty as a result of her insensate extravagance, and that when his daughter Tullia had travelled to receive him at Brindisi after Pharsalus, Terentia had sent her south with an insufficient number of attendants and quantity of supplies. This was all nonsense. The truth was that the old philosopher had had his eye on a girl young enough to be his granddaughter whom he was determined to marry. She had the merit also of being rich, and Cicero was indeed laden with debt, though it was his responsibility rather than Terentia's. The truth was that the old goat lusted after his young bride, and that was the picture that filled my mind, as he jabbered on concerning the need for constitutional reform and his own willingness to undertake the task of drawing up proposals.