To wield such a sceptre securely requires grace, no doubt, majesty
too, but certainly strength; the latter Caligula possessed, but it
was the feverish strength of one who had fathomed the
unfathomable, and who sought to make its depths his own. Caligula
was haunted by the intangible. His sleep was a communion with
Nature, with whom he believed himself one. At times the Ocean
talked to him; at others the Earth had secrets which it wished to
tell. Again there was some matter of moment which he must mention
to the day, and he would wander out in the vast galleries of the
palace and invoke the Dawn, bidding it come and listen to his
speech. The day was deaf, but there was the moon, and he prayed
her to descend and share his couch. Luna declined to be the
mistress of a mortal; to seduce her Caligula determined to become
a god.

Nothing was easier. An emperor had but to open his veins, and in
an hour he was a divinity. But the divinity which Caligula desired
was not of that kind. He wished to be a god, not on Olympus alone,
but on earth as well. He wished to be a palpable, tangible, living
god; one that mortals could see, which was more, he knew, than
could be said of the others. The mere wish was sufficient--Rome
fell at his feet. The patent of divinity was in the genuflections
of a nation. At once he had a temple, priests and flamens.
Inexhaustible Greece was sacked again. The statues of her gods,
disembarked at Rome, were decapitated, and on them the head of
Caius shone.

Heretofore his dress had not been Roman, nor, for that matter, the
dress of a man. On his wrists were bracelets; about his shoulders