But when following military genius, the Roman soldier performed prodigies of gallantry and valour. A Julius Cæsar, a conqueror in fifty pitched battles, whose practice was to order _venite_ not _ite!_ whose military instinct could cry at the spur of the moment in the Pharsalian fight, _faciem feri, miles!_ and who could reduce mutineers to reason by one word, _Quirites!_ never failed to point the way to victory. We learn from the Great Epileptic[930] himself the secret of his unexampled success; the care with which he cultivated the individual. ‘He instructed the soldiers (when exposed to a new mode of attack), not like the general of a veteran army which had been victorious in so many battles, but like a Lanista training his gladiators. He taught them with what foot they must advance or retire; when they were to oppose and make good their ground; when to counterfeit an attack; at what place and in what manner to launch their javelins.’[931] His very arrogance was effective in making him a ruler of men, as when on receiving bad tidings he struck his Sword-hilt, saying, ‘This will give me my rights!’ And of his ‘politiké’ (as the Greeks call it) we may judge by what Polyænus[932] tells us of him. ‘The Romans had been taught by their commanders that a soldier should not be decorated with gold or silver, but place his confidence in his Sword,’ says Livy.[933] But Divus Cæsar encouraged his men to decorate their weapons with all manner of valuables for a truly soldier-like reason, that they might be the less ready to part with their property in flight. And though he plundered freely and rifled even the fanes of the gods, according to Suetonius, he was careful, like a certain modern Condottiere, to see that his men were well fed and regularly paid by means of the ‘loot.’ [Heading: _THE ROMAN SOLDIER._] The Roman soldier had another valuable gift, which has not wholly left the Latin race. He knew the ‘magic of patience,’ and was aware that ‘le monde est la maison du plus fort.’ So in the Napoleonic days the Spaniards believed chiefly in General ‘No Importa’ (no matter), and made little of defeat, hoping it might lead to victory. Nor did the Roman soldier degenerate till the citizen set him the example. Velleius Paterculus dated the decline of Roman virtue after the destruction of Carthage, when civil disputes were decided by the Sword; others to the invasion of luxury with Lucullus. Yet Pliny could boast of his fellow-countrymen: ‘They have doubtless surpassed every other nation in the display of valour.’