Cæsar encountered some slight reverses, and took up his quarters at Pharsalia, where he might have been blocked in and starved out, had not Pompey been taunted into attacking him. Cæsar was delighted at that imprudence, the fruits of which were speedily shown; for Pompey's army was utterly routed; and Pompey himself, retreating to his tent, was literally sick at the disgusting result of his enterprise. "The way in which my soldiers turned their backs," exclaimed Pompey to an intimate friend, "has positively turned my stomach;" and he was only sufficiently recovered on the following day to start viâ Lesbos for Egypt. There ill-fortune still awaited him; for Ptolemy, the young king, instead of receiving the outcast with hospitality, was advised to put him to death, as a little compliment to Cæsar. Septimius, a Roman, who had served under Pompey, was sent to meet him, with instructions to stab him in the back; and the victim had no sooner felt the blow, than, according to the custom of the period, he arranged the folds of his robe across his face, so that although very disgracefully killed, he might very gracefully expire. His wife, Cornelia, who witnessed the scene, sailed away as fast as she could from the melancholy sight, leaving no one but an old servant, named Philip, to perform not only the funeral, but all the characters that the performance required. He was, in fact, the undertaker of the whole of the sad ceremony, and attended as sole mourner at the melancholy undertaking.
On the arrival of Cæsar in Egypt, he was welcomed by having the head of Pompey put into his hand; but the former turned away in disgust, and at once dropped his old animosity.
Being detained by contrary winds at Alexandria, Cæsar entered into the disputes between Cleopatra and her elder brother Ptolemy; when the young lady, relying on her powers of fascination, caused herself to be brought, concealed in a mattress,[76] into the presence of the Roman general. Having emerged from under the bed, she pleaded her cause so earnestly, that he went to war on her account with her brother, who ultimately fell into the water; thus causing the drowning of himself and all his enmity. Cleopatra reigned in Egypt; and Cæsar was so enslaved by her charms, that he remained nine months on a visit; nor would he have torn himself away, but for the intelligence that Pharnaces, the son of Mithridates, was endeavouring to recover his father's lost possessions. Hurrying to Pontus, he looked out for the enemy, drew his sword, struck one decisive blow, and in the memorable words, "Veni, vidi, vici," he set an example of the laconic style, which no writer of military despatches has since followed.
Disturbances had by this time broken out at Rome; and in order to repair the evil, Cæsar was obliged to repair himself to the capital. So much enthusiasm had been excited by the battle of Pharsalia—for the people are always too ready to lick the hand which seems capable of striking them—that Cæsar had been elected Dictator for one year, Consul for five, and Tribune for his whole lifetime.
The fact is, that Rome had become so thoroughly tired of the continual contests for the chief power, which a republican form of government necessarily invites, that the nation yearned for a permanent head, and eagerly adopted the very first that offered. It was thought better to be the slaves of one despotic adventurer, than the victims of half-a-dozen; and even absolutism was preferred to the republican system, which had kept the country so long exposed to laceration at the hands of those who were trying to snatch it from each other, without being able to govern it.
After a short stay in Rome, during which he exhibited his power by making various arbitrary changes in the Law and Constitution—for it is the tendency of a republic to place a whole nation at the will of one man—Cæsar proceeded to Africa, with the view of quelling there the party opposed to him. He marched against Utica, which was governed by Cato, who, when he ought to have been preparing to fight, was standing upon ceremony, and politely insisting that Scipio ought to take the command, as being the man of the highest rank present. Scipio, who was not ambitious of the foremost place in the field, declared that the pretended deference to his rank was rank nonsense, and that Cato must assume his proper position. The Governor, however, persisted; and Scipio went forth to fight; but he seems to have killed nobody except himself, while Juba and the legate Petreius, two other brave fellows on the same side, slew each other.
Cato, trembling for the fate of Utica, called a meeting of the Senate, which resolved unanimously to run away; and the Governor went home to supper. On retiring to his chamber he called for his sword, which was nowhere to be found; and he became so irritated, that he savagely struck the domestic who returned without the missing weapon. At length it turned out that "one of the young gentlemen had got it;" for the sword was brought to Cato by his eldest son, and it was quietly put away for the night under the old gentleman's pillow. Cato went to bed, and fell asleep while reading one of Plato's dialogues. Waking again at dawn, he rose, and having methodically finished the perusal of the dialogue he had commenced over-night, he ran himself through the body. His attendants rushed in, and sewed up the wound; but they had no sooner turned their backs, than—if we are to believe the authorities, which we confess we cannot at all times—he either undid the numerous stitches in his side, or ran himself through the body again; and, with a compliment in his mouth to the excellence of the reasoning of Plato, expired.
Cato was only eight-and-forty at the time of his death; and therefore, though in the course of nature too young to die, he was quite old enough to have known better than to kill himself. The graver historians inform us, that "he died the death of a hero and a philosopher;" but being unable to appreciate the heroism of running away from misfortune, instead of meeting it, or the philosophy of refusing to endure what one cannot cure, we must beg to be allowed to differ from the serious writers, who generally hold up suicide as a subject for respect and admiration. Cæsar was, of course, deeply affected on hearing of Cato's decease; but such affectation was common in those days; and there was nothing extraordinary in Cæsar's having gone into mourning for the man whose death he had long been compassing.
The victorious general now returned to Rome, where he might have obtained as long a lease as he pleased of almost unlimited power. He was named Dictator for ten years; and, instead of pursuing the ordinary practice of tyranny, which abuses the greatest power to gratify the pettiest spite, Cæsar not only made no proscriptions, but declared a general amnesty. He celebrated four triumphs, and gave a succession of banquets; for he knew that there is no more portentous grumbling than that which proceeds from an empty stomach.
Being entrusted with supreme power, he turned it, in many instances, to good account; and introduced, among other wholesome regulations, the very valuable reform of the Roman Calendar. This was an improvement, not merely for the day, but for all time, and has handed down the name of its author to every age, and every civilised country, in every almanack.