claim that his act was a necessity, at least a public benefit, on the ground of the misrule of the aristocracy.  But it does not appear that there was anarchy at Rome, although Milo had killed Clodius.  There were aristocratic feuds, as in the Middle Ages.  Order and law—­the first conditions of society—­were not in jeopardy, as in the French Revolution, when Napoleon arose.  The people were not in hostile array against the nobles, nor the nobles against the people.  The nobles only courted and bribed the people; but so general was corruption that a change in government was deemed necessary by the advocates of Caesar,—­at least they defended it.  The gist of all the arguments in favor of the revolution is:  better imperialism than an oligarchy of corrupt nobles.  It is not my province to settle that question.  It is my work only to describe events.

It is clear that Caesar resolved on seizing supreme power, in taking it away from the nobles, on the ground probably that he could rule better than they,—­the plea of Napoleon, the plea of Cromwell, the plea of all usurpers.

But this supreme power he could not exercise until he had conquered Pompey and the Senate and all his enemies.  It must need be that “he should wade through slaughter to his throne.”  This alternative was forced on him, and he accepted it.  He accepted civil war in order to reign.  At best, he would do evil that good might come.  He was doubtless the strongest man in the world; and, according to Mr. Carlyle’s theory, the strongest ought to rule.

Much has been said about the rabble,—­the democracy,—­their turbulence, corruption, and degradation, their unfitness to rule, and all that sort of thing, which I regard as irrelevant, so far as the usurpation of Caesar is concerned; since the struggle was not between them and the nobles, but between a fortunate general and the aristocracy who controlled the State.  Caesar was not the representative of the people or of their interests, as Tiberius Gracchus was, but the representative of the Army.  He had no more sympathy with the people than he had with the nobles:  he probably despised them both, as unfit to rule.  He flattered the people and bought them, but he did not love them.  It was his soldiers whom he loved, next to himself; although, as a wise and enlightened statesman, he wished to promote the great interests of the nation, so far as was consistent with the enjoyment of imperial rule.  This friend of the people would give them spectacles and shows, largesses of corn,—­money, even,—­and extension of the suffrage, but not political power.  He was popular with them, because he was generous and merciful, because his exploits won their admiration, and his vast public works gave employment to them and adorned their city.