And now at the age of thirty-four, with this record behind him, he had come back to Rome to celebrate his many triumphs. No doubt the few remaining nobles at Rome trembled at his coming. Remembering the proscriptions some of them might well tremble, especially those who had sided with his enemies, with Sextus Pompeius, or with L. Antonius, or with Marcus. On the other hand, some might remember the clemency which Julius Cæsar had displayed in his hour of triumph. Augustus had to restore confidence and order in a shattered world. He had to deal with provinces ruined and desolate, a form of government quite visibly obsolete, an aristocracy with immense traditions of pride and power now thoroughly corrupt and effete, a Roman mob which still called itself lord of the world, but which was in a political sense hopeless, armies which were dangerous to the state, conscious of their power [Illustration: FIG. I. TRIUMPHAL ARCH ST. REMY, ARLES FIG. II. MAUSOLEUM OF JULIUS, ST. REMY, ARLES PLATE XXXII.] and destitute of real patriotism. He had at his side a trusty general in Agrippa,[42] who had won many battles for him, though that in itself was generally a dangerous circumstance, and an astute diplomat in Mæcenas, who for the past ten years had been governing Rome in Cæsar’s name without holding any clear official position. But beyond these two it was hard to know where to turn for support. The civil wars and proscriptions had almost destroyed the race of Brutus, but all that was left of the aristocracy was still jealous and hostile under a cover of abject sycophancy, ready to stab him with their tongues if they had not the courage to use the stiletto. Nevertheless, Augustus had one great asset. The Roman world, exhausted with a whole generation’s civil war, was longing for repose. It was ready to fall down and worship the man who would give it that. Thus the broad outlines of his policy were clear before him. He must undertake a work of healing. The fall of Julius warned him that he must not be openly a monarch, but the failure of Sulla and the actual state of Rome were equally eloquent to prove that he must retain the power in his own hands. In the lassitude following upon grave illness--for the dangers and exposure of the civil wars had shattered his health--he may have cherished occasional thoughts of a real abdication. But in his brain he must have known that it was impossible. It was, of course, equally impossible for him to govern the whole world directly without help. For that purpose the machinery of the whole constitution with its senate and magistracies had to be preserved, at any rate for the present. These were the broad lines upon which his policy was shaped.