But patience was not one of his virtues. Actually fortune only left him less than two years, and those broken by tedious campaigns in the Spanish provinces, for the regeneration of Roman society. In that time he restored the finances, rearranged the provincial system, abolished the political clubs which had been centres of disorder at Rome, reformed the Calendar, dedicated a new forum and new temples, restored and revised the senate, founded a system of municipal government for Italy, settled his veterans on the land, and was preparing a great expedition to chastise the Parthians. Most of these acts were wisely done, but in one thing Cæsar miscalculated. His brilliant successes and the adulation with which he was surrounded led him to despise his enemies. He would not stoop to flatter antiquarian prejudices or to cast a decent veil over his monarchical position. You may treat people as slaves and they will admire you for it, but when you _call_ them slaves they will begin to resent it. Cæsar failed to rise from his chair to receive the senators. In his reformed senate he included representatives of the equestrian class, provincials and even distinguished soldiers of quite humble birth. He allowed his statue to be set up beside the Seven Kings of Rome. He accepted a gilt chair, he permanently retained the triumphant general’s laurel-crown, partly because he was bald and keenly sensitive about it; and then either through his orders or by their own officiousness his friends began to throw up _ballons d’essai_ in the direction of kingship. At the Lupercalia Antony offered him a crown of gold. It was spread abroad that an ancient Sibylline prophecy had foretold that the Parthians could only be conquered by a king and that Cæsar was to adopt the title for the purpose of his Eastern expedition. It was trifles like these, and trivial jealousies, trivial requests declined in the name of justice, that led to the great conspiracy. No doubt the influence of rhetorical patriotism had its effect upon many of the conspirators. An unknown hand wrote “O that thou wert living!” upon the statue of old Brutus the Liberator. But neither Brutus nor Cassius deserves our admiration. It was pique not patriotism that sharpened their daggers. Sixty senators conspired together, and on the eve of setting out for Parthia--the Ides of March, 44 B.C.--Julius Cæsar was slain.