other, whereas the emperor must have the prerogatives always, and in conjunction with any other functions which he might choose to hold.  He, therefore, only received the corresponding “powers” and privileges.  This position enabled him to veto a measure whenever he chose, and with impunity.  Naturally therefore it became the custom, as far as possible, to find out his wishes beforehand, and to move accordingly.  He could also, in the same right, summon the Senate and bring measures, or get them brought, before it.  To make certainty doubly certain, he was granted the right to what we should call “the first business on the notice-paper.”

Observe further the shrewdness of the first emperor, Augustus, when he selected this particular position.  The “tribunes of the commons” were constitutionally popular champions; they represented the interests of the common people.  By assuming a position similar to theirs, the emperor—­or commander-in-chief—­made it appear to the common people that he was their chief and perpetual representative, and that their interests were bound up with his authority.  He took them under his wing, and saw, among other things, that they did not starve or go stinted of amusements.  He saw to it that they had corn for their bread, plenty of water, and games in the circus.  His “bread and games” kept them quiet.

Supported by the army on one side, with his person secure, enjoying the right of initiative and the right of veto, this officer of the “commonwealth” became indeed the Colossus who bestrode the Roman world.  He was invariably made also the Pontifex Maximus, or chief guardian of the religious interests of Rome.  He might in addition receive other constitutional appointments—­for example, that of supervisor or corrector of morals—­whenever these might suit a special purpose.  What more could a man desire, if he was satisfied to forego the name of autocrat so long as he possessed the substance?  It was quite as much to the purpose to be called Princeps, or “head of the state,” as to be called a king, like the Parthian or other Oriental monarchs.  Among the Romans, therefore, “Princeps” was his regular title.  The Graeco-Oriental half of the empire, which had long been accustomed to kings and to treating them almost as gods, frankly styled this head of the state “king” or “autocrat,” but no true Roman would forget himself so far as to lapse into this vulgar truth.

One other title, however, the Romans did attach to their “Princeps.”  Something was still wanting to bring home, to both the Roman and the provincial, the peculiarly exalted position of so great a man; something which should be a recognition of that majesty which made him almost divine, at least with the divinity that doth hedge a king.  The title selected for this purpose was Augustus, a word for which there is no nearer English equivalent than “His Highness,” or perhaps “His Majesty,” if we imagine that term applied to one who, by a legal fiction, is not a king.  The insane Caligula called himself, or let himself be called, “Lord and Master,” and later Domitian temporarily added to this title “God,” but even Nero claimed neither of these modest epithets.