'That we would be utterly ourselves, denying nothing, yielding to our every desire, fulfilling nature, hearkening and obeying every prompting of the senses, so that we might achieve the freedom of the gods, that freedom which consists of being absolutely oneself, untrammelled by conventions or the morality which the timid have constructed to ensnare the brave. You have known both of us, you more than any other have loved both of us, for what we are rather than for some imagined picture of what we might be, or be thought to be — and yet, my dear, even your love has fallen short of the perfect love we felt for each other, each being the other and the other each. Now I see that we aimed too high, exceeded our powers. Publius is dead. I am dying, a slave to lusts I no longer find delight in. My reputation — since Cicero — could not be worse. No decent woman in Rome will receive me in her house. I have always despised such women, and what they call decency, and once I would have laughed at my exclusion. Now, I do not know. The cold grey fingers of death have touched me, and what will I find when I descend to the Shades? Will the gods be angered at my presumption? Will Cybele, whom Catullus said I aped, turn on me with terrible wrath? We cannot play gods, I have learned that, my dear, too late, and yet, even as I come to this conclusion, which terrifies me and makes a mockery of my life, I see that there is an exception: Caesar, descended from gods, inhabited by Venus. Do you understand, Decimus Brutus, little Decimus Brutus, Caesar believes himself to be what my brother and I aspired to be? And in time, I will wager, the Roman people will find themselves in agreement. The Senate — that assembly of timid and greedy goats — will fall down and worship him. They will decree that Caesar is indeed a god: 'Divus Julius', they will chant, 'divus Julius'. Temples will be consecrated to him; and what will you do then, little Decimus Brutus? I will tell you your choice. You must acquiesce in the murder of liberty in Rome, or you must kill Caesar.'
'Kill Caesar?'
'Kill Caesar. It is Caesar or Rome, and as a patriot, you will choose Rome. Kill Caesar. Now go, my dear, and do not return. You have meant something to me, and that is what no living man, except Caesar, can boast. I shall embrace my brother for you, and Gaius Valerius also, if he does not shrink in terror when we encounter each other in the Vale of Shadows.'
CHAPTER 5
Caesar returned to Rome before the end of the year, in order to ensure that the prolongation of his dictatorship be effected without difficulty. That was achieved. Opposition in Rome was muted, though many of course still sympathised with our enemies. Despite Pompey's defeat and death, these were still numerous. They held North Africa and Spain. The leaders were now Pompey's sons, the renegade Labienus, and Marcus Porcius Cato, the one man whom Caesar utterly hated. In general, hatred was an emotion Caesar despised. He called it 'wasteful'. No doubt that was his opinion, but the cause of his inability to feel hatred went deeper. To hate someone was to admit him as an equal, and Caesar recognised no equals. This made his hatred of Cato all the stranger, for there was no respect in which Cato could be thought to match Caesar. He was an incompetent general, whose legionaries loathed him, because his pride (or perhaps his secret suspicion of his own incapacity) made him treat them abominably. Caesar could always be free-and-easy with the common soldier for he had no doubt of his superiority, and knew that he could quell insolence or disaffection with a frown or a single biting sentence. Cato was stiff and bullying and a savage disciplinarian; and perhaps it was because inwardly he feared the men he was so eager to dominate. Besides, Cato was a bore with no sense of humour. I have remarked before that Caesar had no fundamental humour, but he was always capable of the sort of quip that pleases the legionaries. And they would follow him eagerly anywhere, into all sorts of danger, confident in his genius; whereas those who served with Cato tell me that he took the precaution of assigning some of his bodyguards to protect his back from his own men. I would find this hard to believe of any other Roman general.
Moreover, Cato was a wooden orator, and a man of lamentable judgment. He was a drunkard, of the heavy sullen type. There was no joy in him. Caesar once described him to me as 'the coldest dullest piece of base metal you will ever meet'. And yet it wasn't enough for him to despise Cato, as I did; he was consumed with hatred.
Why? Obvious reasons may be advanced. Cato once threatened to bring a prosecution against Caesar on account of atrocities committed in the conquest of Gaul. That threat certainly disturbed Caesar's vanity. No one, after all, was ever more careful of his reputation than Caesar. But of course he knew that the threat was empty. What happened in Gaul, horrible though it frequently was (I'm sorry, Artixes), was no worse than any other conquest. It is easy for people who never leave Rome or their country estates to preach morality; but you cannot subdue a proud people, and win Empire and glory for Rome, without harsh measures. Caesar was never afraid to take such measures, and on the whole his methods were justified. After all, even you must admit, Artixes, that Gaul was pacified, whatever has happened subsequently. Even that won't, I am certain, alter the fact that all Gaul is now incorporated within the Roman Empire, which Gauls themselves will eventually confess to be to their benefit. Civilisation cannot be spread amongst barbarians by the methods which appease the consciences of civilised men. To subdue barbarians inevitably requires a degree of barbarity.
Besides, it was absurd of Cato to try to arraign Caesar on such a count. He never tired, after all, of talking about his great ancestor, Cato the Censor, and everyone knows the part he played in the spread of Empire. It was that model of Republican virtue who concluded every speech in the Senate, no matter what the ostensible subject of the debate, with the words: 'and in my opinion Carthage must be destroyed'. He didn't rest till that was done, not a stone left standing, and the people either massacred or sold into slavery. And yet his admiring grandson would have charged Caesar with war crimes. No wonder it gave Caesar such pleasure — malicious pleasure, I grant you — to found the city of Carthage anew.
Cato's assumption of superior vi rtue infuriated Caesar, all the more because so many people accepted it unquestioningly. He thought him a hypocrite. He also considered that Cato not only failed to understand what Caesar called 'the predicament of the Republic', but was an obstacle to others' comprehension.
And then a personal element sharpened the hatred each felt for the other. Cato's half-sister was Servilia, who was, as I've remarked before, in my mother's opinion at least, the only woman Caesar ever really loved. When they were young Servilia is said to have dominated Cato who revered her as the very model of Roman womanhood. And then she submitted to the dissolute Caesar, with his dangerous Popular political attachments, and his connection with Gaius Marius — for an aunt of Caesar's had actually married the old brute. This was too much for Cato; he went about saying that his sister had been bewitched and also that it was a great mistake on the part of Sulla, when dictator, to allow himself to be persuaded to remove Caesar's name from the list of proscribed persons. He liked to quote Sulla's remark as he reluctantly spared Caesar: 'In that young man I see many Mariuses.'
'Just so,' Cato would say, as if this judgment represented the sum of political wisdom. So Cato hated Caesar on account of his debauchment of Servilia.
There's actually rather a good story about this triangular relationship. During the debates in the Senate concerning the conspiracy of Catiline, Caesar and Cato were of course on different sides — indeed, you may remember that Caesar was actually suspected of involvement. Well, a note was passed to Caesar, and Cato leapt up and accused him of receiving messages from the enemies of the State. 'I assure you, Conscript Fathers,' Caesar said, 'this note relates to a purely private matter.' 'Why should we accept the word of a liar who sympathises with Catiline?' Cato shouted. 'I urge that Caesar be commanded to produce the note that we may all see what treasonable business he is engaged in.'
'Very well,' Caesar said, 'if Cato insists I shall let him see the note, but I protest that it should go no further.'
'I shall decide that,' Cato replied. So Caesar passed him the note, which was a love-letter from Servilia, couched in extremely explicit terms.
I have often heard Caesar tell that story.
Then the matter of Servilia's son, my cousin Marcus Junius Brutus, also came between them. This seems strange when you consider how dull Markie is, but Caesar and Cato competed to exercise influence over him, each affecting to think him the coming great man, a model of virtue. It was absurd; nevertheless that was how they felt. Of course there have always been rumours that Markie was Caesar's son, and I know that sometimes at least Caesar liked to think that this was so. Absolute nonsense, as my mother assured me: Markie was the very image of his extremely dull father. Cato of course was horrified at the suggestion. It seemed to me that he half-believed it, however, and was convinced that if he could attach Markie to himself, this would disprove the story. Be that as it
