After that, seemingly, there was nothing save apotheosis. But
Caligula, in the nick of time, remembered the ocean. At the head
of an army he crossed Gaul, attacked it, and returned refreshed.
Decidedly he had not exhausted everything yet. He recalled
Tiberius' policy, and abruptly the world was filled again with
accusers and accused. Gold poured in on him, the earth paid him
tribute. In a vast hall he danced naked on the wealth of nations.
Once more he was rich, richer than ever; there were still
illusions to be looted, other dreams to be pierced; yet, even as
he mused, conspirators were abroad. He loosed his pretorians. "Had
Rome but one head!" he muttered. "Let them FEEL themselves die,"
he cried to his officers. "Let me be hated, but let me be feared."

One day, as he was returning from the theatre, the dagger did its
usual work. Rome had lost a genius; in his place there came an
ass.

There is a verse in Greek to the effect that the blessed have
children in three months. Livia and Augustus were blessed in this
pleasant fashion. Three months after their marriage a child was
born--a miracle which surprised no one aware of their previous
intimacy. The child became a man, and the father of Claud, an
imbecile whom the pretorians, after Caligula's death, found in a
closet, shaking with fright, and whom for their own protection
they made emperor in his stead.

Caligula had been frankly adored; there was in him an originality,
and with it a grandeur and a mad magnificence that enthralled.
Then, too, he was young, and at his hours what the French call
charmeur. If at times he frightened, always he dazzled. Of course