Until 44 BC, the Ides of March were best known as a springtime frolic, an occasion for serious drinking, like so many others on the Roman calendar. . . . In 44 the day dawned overcast; toward the end of the cloudy morning, Caesar set off by litter for the Senate, to finalize arrangements for his absence. The young and distinguished Publius Cornelius Dolabella hoped to be named consul in his place, as did Mark Antony. Dolabella’s river in Caesar’s affections. The Senate assembled that day in one of the large chamber adjoining Pompey’s theater. All rose as Caesar entered, a laurel wreath on his head; at about eleven O’clock, he settled into his new golden chair. He was quickly surrounded by colleagues, many of them devoted friends. One extended a petition, which occasioned a flurry of importuning and kissing of hands. Caesar moved to dismiss the request, at which his petitioner – interrupting him in mid-sentence – reached out to yank Caesar’s toga roughly from his shoulder. It was the predetermined signal. With it the group closed on, baring drggers. Caesar twisted away from the initial knife which only grazed him, but found himself powerless against the rain of blows that followed. Every conspirator had agreed to participate in the attack and did so, stabbing wildly at Caesar’s face, his thighs, his chest, and, occasionally, at one another. Caesar attempted to wrestle away, turning his sinewy neck, “from one to another of them with curious cries like a wild beast.” he managed finally to emit a ingle groan and to muffle his face in the fabric of his robe – precisely as Pompey had done off the coast of Egypt – before sinking to the floor. ~ Page 125
Loading
2 comments
Dinesh said:
Dinesh said:
Until 44 BC, the Ides of March were best known as a springtime frolic, an occasion for serious drinking, like so many others on the Roman calendar. . . . In 44 the day dawned overcast; toward the end of the cloudy morning, Caesar set off by litter for the Senate, to finalize arrangements for his absence. The young and distinguished Publius Cornelius Dolabella hoped to be named consul in his place, as did Mark Antony. Dolabella’s river in Caesar’s affections. The Senate assembled that day in one of the large chamber adjoining Pompey’s theater. All rose as Caesar entered, a laurel wreath on his head; at about eleven O’clock, he settled into his new golden chair. He was quickly surrounded by colleagues, many of them devoted friends. One extended a petition, which occasioned a flurry of importuning and kissing of hands. Caesar moved to dismiss the request, at which his petitioner – interrupting him in mid-sentence – reached out to yank Caesar’s toga roughly from his shoulder. It was the predetermined signal. With it the group closed on, baring drggers. Caesar twisted away from the initial knife which only grazed him, but found himself powerless against the rain of blows that followed. Every conspirator had agreed to participate in the attack and did so, stabbing wildly at Caesar’s face, his thighs, his chest, and, occasionally, at one another. Caesar attempted to wrestle away, turning his sinewy neck, “from one to another of them with curious cries like a wild beast.” he managed finally to emit a ingle groan and to muffle his face in the fabric of his robe – precisely as Pompey had done off the coast of Egypt – before sinking to the floor. ~ Page 125