Caesar was too old, it seems to me, to set about amusing himself with conquering the world. Such sport was good for Augustus or Alexander. They were still young men, and thus difficult to restrain. But Caesar should have been more mature.
– Pascal, Pensees, 132
From emperor to god, distinction’s blade
Has cut me loose from earthly care and set
My star within a diadem that made
My shade regret its bloody ways (forget
The fact that I refused the crown with three
Dismissive waves). So three were keen to set
Upon me – brute ambition, envy’s glee,
And tilting pride – my own to think success
A measure tallied by eternity….
I wept at Alexander’s feats no less
Than now I laugh at what Augustus wants –
To valuate the empire’s populace
A victory subtracting weal from chance
In one decisive sweep of columned sums.
I told the pirates I’d be back to dance
Before their crucifixions; Pompey’s drums
Resolved my mettle. “Let Catullus sing
Of plows and flowers,” I said, “Caesar comes
From Gaul and India with arms to bring
About hic novus ordo.” This head
Is wizened, iron-willed, the only thing
That raises me above them all. Include
Among them, by the way, my wretched son
Who counts his greatest triumph as a god
A forced retreat of numbers back to one.
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