The difficulty grows on
our sickened imagination, under all the killing circumstances of danger
and disappointment. This we see, not only in the men of retirement and
fancy, but in the characters of the men of action; with this only
difference, the coward sees the danger, and sickens under it; the hero,
warmed by the difficulty, dilates, and rises in proportion to that, and
in some sort makes use of his very fears to disarm it. A remarkable
instance of this we have in the great Caesar, when he came to the
Rubicon, and was entering upon a part, perhaps, the most hazardous he
ever bore (certainly the most ungrateful), a war with his countrymen.
When his mind brooded over personal affronts, perhaps his anger burned
with a desire of revenge. But when more serious reflections laid before
him the hazard of the enterprise, with the dismal consequences which
were likely to attend it, aggravated by a special circumstance, What
figure it would bear in the world, or how be excused to posterity. What
shall he do?--His honour, which was his religion, bids him arm; and he
sounds the inclinations of his party, by this set speech:
#_CAESAR_ to his Party at the Rubicon.
Pages:
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511