The Historians' History of the World 05

His renowned name became at once a charm of magic potency. It raised the sick Ligarius from his bed. A pardoned partisan of Pompey, the clemency of Cæsar rankled in his bosom. “How sad for Ligarius,” said Brutus to him, “to be disabled at such a moment.” The sick man raised himself on his elbow, and replied, “If thou hast any project worthy of the name of Brutus, behold, I am well again.” Ligarius was admitted to the secret, and took an active part in the deed which followed. We learn with pleasure that the conspirators did not venture even to sound Cicero. The fatal intrigue was now ripening to its execution. As long as Cæsar remained at Rome his fearless demeanour exposed him to the daggers of assassins, for he had dismissed the guard which had at first surrounded him, and appeared daily in public with no other attendance than that of his unarmed companions.

His legions had been despatched to Illyricum. To the remonstrances of his friends, from whom perhaps the rumours of his peril were not altogether concealed, he had replied that it was better at once to die than to live always in fear of dying. But from the moment he should assume the command of his armies, his safety would be assured by the fidelity of his troops. Once intoxicated with the splendour of royalty in the provinces, he would never consent to return a citizen to Rome. He had promised, it was said, to restore the towers of Ilium, the cradle of the people of Æneas and Romulus. Possibly he might transfer thither the throne which the pride of the Romans forbade him to establish in the Capitol. Or if the charms of Cleopatra should still retain their power, he might take up his abode in Alexandria, and remove the seat of empire to the shrine of the Macedonian conqueror.

Such considerations as these forbade delay. The preparations for Cæsar’s departure were almost complete. The senate was convened for the ides of March, the 15th day of the month, and the royal name and power, it was said, were then to be conferred upon him in the provinces. On this day, as soon as he should enter the curia, it was determined to strike the blow. The prediction was already current that the ides of March should be fatal to him. Still Cæsar refused to take any precautions. He had lived, he said, enough either for nature or glory; his ambition was satisfied, or perhaps disappointed, and he was proudly indifferent to longer existence.c

THE ASSASSINATION

On the evening of the 14th of March, Cæsar was supping with M. Lepidus, his master of the horse, who was now at the head of a body of troops without the walls, and was preparing shortly to march with them into Transalpine Gaul, which had been assigned to him by Cæsar as his province. It happened that Cæsar was engaged in writing, when the rest of the party began to discuss the question, “What kind of death is most to be desired?” The subject on which they were talking caught his attention, and he cried out, before any one else had expressed an opinion, that the best death was a sudden one.

A coincidence so remarkable was likely to be remembered afterwards by all who had been present; but it is said, also, that he had been often warned by the augurs to beware of the ides of March; and these predictions had, probably, wrought on the mind of his wife, Calpurnia, so that, on the night that preceded that dreaded day, her rest was broken by feverish dreams, and in the morning her impression of fear was so strong, that she earnestly besought her husband not to stir from home. He himself, we are told, felt himself a little unwell; and being thus more ready to be infected by superstitious fears, he was inclined to comply with Calpurnia’s wishes, and allowed some part of the morning to pass away, and the senate to be already assembled, without having as yet quitted his house.