Egypt -- History -- 30 B.C.-640 A.D. -- Fiction; German fiction -- Translations into English
Most of those who thus beheld the man who held in his hand the fate of
each individual he passed, as of the empire at large, involuntarily asked
themselves afterward what impression he had made on them; and Caracalla
himself would have rejoiced in the answer, for he aimed not at being
attractive or admired, but only at being feared. But, indeed, they had
long since learned that there was nothing too horrible to be expected of
him; and, now that they had seen him, they were of opinion that his
appearance answered to his deeds. It would be hard to picture a more
sinister and menacing looking man than this emperor, with his averted
looks and his haughty contempt for the world and mankind; and yet there
was something about him which made it difficult to take him seriously,
especially to an Alexandrian. There was a touch of the grotesque in the
Gallic robe with a red hood in which this ominous-looking contemner of
humanity was wrapped. It was called a 'Caracalla', and it was from this
garment that Bassianus Antoninus had gained his nickname.
The tyrant who wore this gaudy cloak was, no doubt, devoid alike of truth
and conscience; but, as to his being a philosopher, who knew the
worthlessness of earthly things and turned his back upon the world, those
who could might believe it! He was no more than an actor, who played the
part of Timon not amiss, and who made use of his public to work upon
their fears and enjoy the sight of their anguish. There was something
lacking in him to make one of those thorough-going haters of their kind
at whose mere aspect every knee must bend. The appearance, in short, of
this false philosopher was not calculated to subdue the rash tongues of
the Alexandrians.
To this many of them agreed; still, there was no time for such
reflections till the dust had shrouded the chariot, which vanished as
quickly as it had come, till the shouting was stilled, and the crowd had
spread over the roadway again. Then they began to ask themselves why
they had joined in the acclamations, and had been so wildly excited; how
it was that they had so promptly surrendered their self-possession and
dignity for the sake of this wicked little man. Perhaps it was his
unlimited control over the weal and woe of the world, over the life and
death of millions, which raised a mortal, not otherwise formed for
greatness, so far above common humanity to a semblance of divinity.
Perhaps it was the instinctive craving to take part in the grand
impulsive expression of thousands of others that had carried away each
individual. It was beyond a doubt a mysterious force which had compelled
every one to do as his neighbors did as soon as Caesar had appeared.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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