Caesar Read Online Free PDF Page A

simultaneously, with Postumia Sulpicius — a very silly woman by the way. No, Caesar wasn't like Pompey, who, it may surprise you to know, really adored the women with whom he was engaged. Of course, there was another difference. Pompey as a young man was really beautiful. You won't believe that, looking at him now; but he was so beautiful we used to say that every woman just wanted to bite him. Caesar was, I suppose, handsome, in a cold sneering sort of way, but it wasn't his looks that won him his successes, which, by the way, included Pompey's second wife, Mucia - or was she his third, I can't remember. Anyway she was the mother of three of his children, and Pompey thought she was absolutely secure. And so she was, till Caesar came along. He used to call Caesar 'Aegisthus', you know." "Aegisthus?"
    "Oh, you are slow, Mouse. Aegisthus, the lover of Clytem nestra. Mind you, this didn't stop Pompey from marrying Caesar's daughter, years later. But you know that, of course. Poor girl."
    "Poor girl?"
    "Well, Pompey was impotent by then, Mouse, besides being usually drunk by bedtime, they say. No, if you ask me there was only one woman that Caesar ever came close to loving, and I've never understood why."
    "Who was that?"
    "Servilia. Your cousin Marcus' mother." "Servilia, that dragon?"
    "She may seem a dragon to you, Mouse, but she's a very clever woman. She knew how to hold Caesar. He kept returning to her."
    "Well, I knew of course that they were allies, and that they'd had an affair. That was no secret. We used to make Markie weep about it when we were children. But all the same, that bore, with her constant talk about virtue and her relationship to the Gracchi. You really think he loved her?"
    "Yes," my mother said, "which didn't stop her from prostituting your cousin Tertia for Caesar's delight."
    Tertia was a sweet little thing, not like her mother at all. She took to drink and died young. Perhaps my mother was right after all.
    And of course Cicero, I remember, uttered one of his bons mots on the subject. When Caesar arranged two or three years ago to have some confiscated estates knocked down cheap to Servilia at what was supposed to be a public auction, Cicero said:
    "It was even cheaper than you think, because a third (tertia) part had been discounted."
    It was rumoured, of course, that Marcus Brutus was Caesar's son. When he was a small boy, this accusation would also reduce him to tears of shame and fury. Later, he rather encouraged the notion, while professing that it was impossible. Like all people who parade their virtue, my cousin Markie is a twister, Janus-faced.
    Young Artixes said to me: "You talked of his charm and authority. But all I see is a scoundrel. And I am still amazed that you could follow such a man. It was clear to us Gauls that he was a destructive force. Couldn't you feel that yourself?"
    "Artixes," I said, "I don't know if you have heard what Marcus Cato said."
    "I don't even know who Cato was."
    "You're fortunate. Anyway, he said: 'Caesar was the only sober man who ever tried to wreck the Constitution.'" "I don't understand what you mean by that." "Never mind."
    "Come," I said to Artixes, seeing disappointment in his face, "let us take a stroll in the evening air, and I'll try to explain."
    (The circumstances of my arrest are not, you see, at present either arduous or oppressive. I am rather well treated, in fact, and I am having to revise my notions about Gallic civilisation. It is true that such wine as they have is abominable, but my comforts are considered, and the food is tolerable. Best of all, I have a sort of wild garden in which I am permitted to walk — under supervision, of course. It descends to a river, and there are mountains across the plain. It is pleasant in the evening under the chestnut trees, with the scent of ilex in the air. And young Artixes is a charming companion; I have really grown quite fond of him.)
    The evening air was soft. Birds sang. A dog barked in the