The Major’s Corner…Caesar

In 48 BC when Julius Caesar realized that Alexander the Great’s library was on fire with no chance of salvaging it, he threw himself on the ground and wept. He could not come to grips with the fact that he had destroyed something so precious, especially as his hero in life was Alexander.
Julius had kidnapped the boy-king Ptolemy, husband to his sister Cleopatra, in order to put her on the throne of Egypt, when the king’s army attacked the Romans in Alexandria. Caesar lit the merchant ships in the harbour on fire to create a diversion, but in doing so the harbour buildings began to burn and the blaze spread to the world-famous library with disastrous results. Built three centuries before by one of Alexander’s generals, it was the premier site of knowledge of its time, only to be lost in the end because of Caesar’s lust for the 21-year-old Cleopatra. But it proves the adage that you often hurt the thing you least want to.
I recall as a bullied, pimply little boy being terrified of another student in my physics class. I have forgotten his name, but he was my involuntary seat mate when students were asked to share one Bunsen burner between two boys.
My horrible partner elbowed me constantly as I tried to magnetize an ebony rod with cat’s fur by rubbing the bloody thing. I became so annoyed at this dunce that I slapped his bunsen burner in frustration and then a funny thing happened. The flame disappeared back into its spout without extinguishing itself.
After a pause there was a deep “boom” somewhere under the classroom, then the founder’s statue in the quadrangle outside our class window pitched forward, narrowly missing the Latin teacher walking by. As was not the case for Caesar, no one guessed that it was my action that had caused this catastrophe, but I carry the guilt still. I rather liked that statue.
My father would lay into me with his regimental belt in a fury, but first he would calmly say,
“This hurts me far more than you.” Absolute rubbish as it hurt terribly, I can tell you, but he felt the need to say it.
I suppose he was saying I had disappointed him with one of my deeds and he felt great pain. Well, I would have gladly traded places with him if he was in such great pain. His theory was if I turned out well, then it was because he had strapped me, if I did not it was because he had been too lenient and not brutal enough.
He was not alone in those not so distant days, as many boys in my neighbourhood could be seen dancing on their front lawns while rubbing their bottoms just after their fathers returned from work. The most dreaded words then were: “Wait till your father comes home!”
I knew I was loved by my parents, but I could have done without the beatings. Because of the way I was treated, I was far too lax with my children and thrashed them only rarely, but of course my offspring do not see it that way and thought me very unfair. One cannot win in this business it seems.
Back to Alexander, who killed millions in endless battles. His own troops told him India was the last country they were going to conquer as they had had enough. His generals warned of a possible mutiny if he ignored his soldiers, which forced the young Macedonian leader to head home.
He was so angry he took them via the hardest and longest route. But when he got there, he paid all their debts as he said he loved his soldiers. He died in Babylon at the age of 32 after drinking for 10 days. However there was always the rumour of poison.
Caesar also killed an estimated million and sent another million captives to Rome as slaves while he conquered Gaul and Britain. He became the dictator of Rome, upsetting many, including his old friend Brutus, whom he had pardoned for joining Pompey in opposition to Caesar.
When he was attacked in the senate of Rome March 15th 44 BC, ironically under a statue of Pompey, he received 23 stab wounds, but only one hit his heart. Brutus never forgave him for sleeping with his mother. He stabbed Caesar in the groin. When he saw Brutus, he pulled his toga across his face and let them finish their dreadful deed. Yet the two men had loved each other for most of their lives.
Copyright Christopher Dalton 2016
N.B. A friend of mine whom I admire has suggested that the Major’s Corners has become like a tired sit-com. He may be right. I have written it for almost 8 years and now I rarely hear from my readers. I shall give it a rest.
Cheers
CD