Meanwhile the remedy was preparing. Among the marshes and forests of Gaul, the great Cæsar was accumulating that strength of men and purpose with which he was to descend on Italy and shiver the rotton fabric of the Commonwealth. ‘Fain,’ says the eloquent Michelet――‘fain would I have seen that fair and pale countenance, prematurely aged by the debaucheries of the capital――fain would I have seen that delicate and epileptic man, marching in the rains of Gaul at the head of his legions, and swimming across our rivers, or else on horseback, between the litters in which his secretaries were carried, dictating even six letters at a time, shaking Rome from the extremity of Belgium, sweeping from his path two millions of men, and subduing in ten years Gaul, the Rhine, and the ocean of the north. This barbarous and bellicose chaos of Gaul was a superb material for such a genius. The Gallic tribes were on every side calling in the stranger; Druidism was in its decline; Italy was exhausted; Spain untameable; Gaul was essential to the subjugation of the world.’ Cæsar’s Gallic wars of themselves form a history. We have an account of them yet remaining from the pen of the conqueror himself, and that of his friend Hirtius. Suffice it to say, that in eight years (B. C. 58-50) Cæsar had conquered all Gaul, including the present France and Belgium; had paid two visits to the island of Great Britain (B. C. 55-54); and was able, in the spring of B. C. 50, to take up his residence in Cisalpine Gaul, leaving the 300 tribes beyond the Alps, which he had conquered by such bloody means, not only pacified, but even attached to himself personally. His army, which included many Gauls and Germans, were so devoted to him, that they would have marched to the end of the world in his service.