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Shakspere: Personal Recollections

<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> <h4>"JULIUS CÆSAR."</h4> <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "O mighty Cæsar! Dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils Shrunk to this little measure?" </div> </div> The assassination of Julius Cæsar by Brutus, Cassius, Casca and twenty other Roman Senators, in the capital of the Empire in broad daylight, was one of the most cowardly and infamous crimes recorded in the annals of time. The historical and philosophical friends of Brutus and Cassius have tried to justify the conspiracy and assassination by imputing the deep design of tyranny to Cæsar, who was bent on trampling down the rights of the people and securing for himself a kingly crown. They say the motive of the conspirators in the deep damnation of Cæsar's "taking off" was purely patriotism. Many murderers have used the same argument. The facts do not justify the excuse. For more than thirty years Julius Cæsar had been a star performer on the boards of the Roman Empire, and his family had been illustrious for five hundred years. Sylla, Marius, Cicero, Cato, Brutus and Pompey had crossed lances with this civil and military genius, and had all become very jealous of his increasing fame. From boyhood Cæsar had been a mixer with the common people, and in midnight hours in Rome, among tradesmen, merchants, students, authors, sailors and soldiers, he became imbued with their wants and impulsive nature. He had no reason to doubt or oppress the people. As commander of invincible troops in Spain, Gaul, Germany and Britain, Cæsar had secured a world-wide reputation, for the eagles of his victorious legions had swept across the mountains and seas to the shore end of Europe and screamed in triumph among the palms and sands of Africa and Asia! Cæsar was a poet, orator, historian, warrior and statesman, and the imperial families and politicians of Rome, who were forced to sit in the shade of his triumphs and glory, felt a secret pang of jealousy at the stride of this colossal character. He was the pride and idol of his soldiers, and whether in the forests of Gaul and Germany, the swamps of Britain, mountains of Spain, or among Ionian isles, his presence was ever worth a thousand men in battle action. His plans were mathematical, his soul sublime and his purpose eternal victory! Bravery and Cæsar were synonymous terms, and the little, mean, pismire ambitions of Roman politicians he despised, striding over their corrupt schemes for pelf and office like a winter whirlwind. Brutus, while professing horror at the contemplated assassination of his friend and natural father Cæsar, lent a willing ear and sympathetic voice to the prime conspirator—Cassius; and although seemingly dragged into the murderous plot, he was in heart the grand villain of the conspiracy, believing he might rise to supreme control of the Roman Empire when Julius the Great lay weltering in his heroic blood. Brutus was a dastard, an ingrate, a coward and a murderer, and no pretense of patriotism can save him from the contempt and condemnation of mankind. There is no justification for assassination! The death of Cæsar was the first great blow in the final destruction of the Roman Empire, for up to this time the people had a voice in electing their tribunes, consuls and governors, and were consulted as to the burden of taxation, although many of their previous rulers had been terrible tyrants. Brutus and Cassius, and their coconspirators, city senators, who dipped their hands in Cæsar's sacred blood, were finally driven from all political power, their estates confiscated, fleeing like frightened wolves to foreign fields and forests and perishing in battle as enemies to their country. When brought to bay at Philippi, Brutus and Cassius mustered up enough courage to commit suicide, which is confession of guilt. In the winter of 1597 William was deeply studying the new translation of Petrarch, and Florio was nightly teaching us the lofty philosophy of Grecian and Roman classics. The lives of noted ancient poets, orators, warriors, statesmen, governors, kings and philosophers, as written or compiled by the great Plutarch has furnished a mine of historic thought for the dramatic artist, and Shakspere, above all the men who ever thought, wrote or talked on the stage, took most advantage of the lines of Plutarch. The British people were clamoring for grand historical plays, not only for the actions of their own kings and queens, but demanded the enactment of the reigns of great, ancient warriors and kings who had given glory to Greece and Rome and left imperishable memories for posterity to avoid or emulate. Burbage, Henslowe and other theatrical managers, were ever on the lookout for plays to suit cash customers, and of course, the Bard of Avon had first call, because his plays went on the various stages like a torchlight procession, while those of his so-called compeers, struggled through the acts and scenes with only the flicker and sputter of tallow dips of dramatic thought. He knew, and I knew, that his plays would be enacted down the circling centuries as long as vice and virtue, hate and love, cowardice and bravery, fun, folly, wit and wisdom characterized humanity. William told Essex and Southampton that he had just composed a play with Julius Cæsar as the central figure, and wished an opportunity to test its merits before a private party of authors, students and lords at the Holborn House, the grand castle of Southampton. These noblemen were delighted with the suggestion, and on the night of the first of March, 1597, Burbage, with his whole tribe of theatrical "rounders," appeared in the grand banquet room of Southampton, and, under the guidance of Shakspere, rendered for the first time "Julius Cæsar." Jo Taylor took the part of Cæsar, Dick Burbage acted Brutus, Condell represented Cassius and Shakspere played Marcus Antonius, while the other characters were distributed among the "stock" as their various talents justified. Calphurnia, wife to Cæsar, and Portia, wife to Brutus, were represented respectively by Hemmings and <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: original reads 'Arnum'">Arnim</ins>. The play opens with a street scene in Rome filled with working, rabble citizens who have turned out to give Cæsar a great triumph on his return from successful war. Flavius and Marullus, tribunes, enter and rebuke the people for greeting Cæsar. Flavius twits the turncoat rabble in this style: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome, Knew ye not Pompey? Many a time and oft Have you climbed up to walls and battlements, To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops, Your infants in your arms, and there have sat The livelong day, with patient expectation, To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome; And when you saw his chariot but appear, Have you not made a universal shout, That Tiber trembled underneath her banks, To hear the replication of your sounds, Made in her concave shores? And do you now put on your best attire? And do you now cull out a holiday? And do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?" </div> </div> Brutus and Cassius witness the triumphal march of Cæsar with jealous, vengeful and dagger hearts, and Cassius, the old, desperate soldier, first hints at blood conspiracy. Brutus asks: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "What is it that you would impart to me? If it be aught toward the general good, Set honor in eye and death in the other, And I will look on both indifferently." </div> </div> Fine talk! Brutus is not the only political murderer that talks of "honor" through the centuries, a cloak for devils in human shape to work a personal purpose and not "the general good." Cassius delivers this eloquent indictment against Cæsar, the grandest of its kind in all history: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Well, Honor is the subject of my story— I cannot tell what you and other men Think of this life; but, for my single self, I had as lief not to be, as live to be In awe of such a thing as I, myself. I was born free as Cæsar; so were you. We both have fed as well; and we can both Endure the winter's cold as well as he. For once, upon a raw and gusty day, The troubled Tiber chafing with her shores, Cæsar said to me, 'Dar'st thou, Cassius, now Leap in with me, into this angry flood And swim to yonder point?' Upon the word, Accoutered as I was, I plunged in And bade him follow; so, indeed, he did. The torrent roared and we did buffet it With lusty sinews; throwing it aside And stemming it with hearts of controversy. But ere we could arrive at the point proposed, Cæsar cried, 'Help me, Cassius, or I sink!' I, as Aeneas, our great ancestor, Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulders The old Anchisas bear, so, from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Cæsar; and this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature, and must bend his body, If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him. He had a fever, when he was in Spain, And when the fit was on him, I did mark How he did shake; 'tis true, this god did shake, His coward lips did from their color fly; And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world Did lose his lustre; I did hear him groan; Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans Mark him, and write his speeches in their books; Alas! it cried, 'Give me some drink, Titinius,' As a sick girl. Ye gods, it doth amaze me, A man of such a feeble temper should So get the start of the majestic world And bear the palm alone! Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus; and we petty men Walk under his huge legs, and peep about To find ourselves dishonorable graves. Men at some time are masters of their fates. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings. Brutus and Cæsar; what should be in that Cæsar? Why should that name be sounded more than yours? Write them together, yours is as fair a name; Sound them, it doth become the mouth as well; Weigh them, it is as heavy; conjure with them Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Cæsar. Now in the name of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed That he is grown so great?" </div> </div> Unanimous applause followed this cunning conspiracy speech, and Jonson, Lodge and Drayton gave loud exclamations of approval. Cæsar, with his staff, returning from the games in his honor, sees Cassius and remarks to Antonius: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Let me have men about me that are fat; Sleek-headed men and such as sleep of nights; Yonder Cassius has a lean and hungry look; He thinks too much; such men are dangerous; And are never at heart's ease Whiles they behold a greater than themselves!" </div> </div> Casca, one of the senatorial conspirators, tells Cassius that Cæsar is to be crowned king, and he replies thus, contemplating suicide: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "I know where I will wear this dagger then; Cassius from bondage will deliver Cassius; Therein, ye gods, you make the weak most strong; Therein, ye gods, you tyrants do defeat; Nor stony tower, nor walls of beaten brass, Nor airless dungeon, nor strong links of iron Can be retentive to the strength of spirit; But life being weary of these worldly bars, Never lacks power to dismiss itself; That part of tyranny that I do bear I can shake off at pleasure!" </div> </div> Brutus, contemplating assassination, says in soliloquy: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "To speak the truth of Cæsar, I have not known when his affections swayed More than his reason. But 'tis a common proof, That lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber upward turns his face; But when he once attains the upmost round, He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend!" </div> </div> This ingratitude of the great to the people is often recompensed by defeat and death. After the senatorial conspirators decided that Cæsar should die, Cassius insisted wisely that Marcus Antonius should not outlive the great Julius, and said: "Let Antony and Cæsar fall together!" But Brutus would not consent to the death of Antony, believing that he was not dangerous to their future, yet insisting that "Cæsar must bleed for it." <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Let's kill him bodily, but not wrathfully; Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods, Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds; And let our hearts as subtle masters do, Stir up their servants to an act of rage, And after seem to chide them!" </div> </div> And yet this is the sweet-scented assassin who prates of "honor," and is sometimes known as "the noblest Roman of them all!" Portia, the wife of Brutus, felt a strange alarm at his recent conduct, and Calphurnia, the wife of Cæsar, implored him not to attend the session of the senate, reminding him of the soothsayer's warning—"Beware the ides of March." Yet, Cæsar threw off all fear and suspicion and said: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "What can be avoided, Whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Cæsar shall go forth, for these predictions Are to the world in general, not to Cæsar! Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once!" </div> </div> The hour of assassination has arrived, and Cæsar, seated in the chair of state, says: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "What is now amiss That Cæsar and his senate must redress?" </div> </div> Senator Metellus, one of the chief conspirators, throws himself at the feet of Cæsar and implores pardon for his traitor brother. Cæsar says: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Be not fond, To think that Cæsar bears such rebel blood, That will be thawed from the true quality, With that which meeteth fools; I mean, sweet words, Low, crooked courtesies, and base, spaniel fawning; Thy brother by decree is banished; If thou dost bend, and pray and fawn for him, I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. Know, Cæsar doth not wrong; nor without cause Will he be satisfied! But I am constant as the northern star, Of whose true fixed and resting quality There is no fellow in the firmament!" </div> </div> The conspirators at this moment crowd around the doomed hero with pretended petitions—and, instanter, Casca stabs Cæsar in the neck, while several other murdering senators stab him through the body, and last Marcus Brutus plunges a dagger in the heart of his benefactor and father, when with glaring eyes and dying breath, the noble Cæsar exclaims: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Et tu, Brute?" (And thou, Brutus?) </div> </div> Thus tumbled down at the base of Pompey's statue the greatest man the world has ever known! Then the citizens of Rome—royal, rabble and conspirators, were filled with consternation, while Brutus tried to stem the rising flood of indignation. Mark Antony was allowed to weep and speak over the pulseless clay of his official partner and friend. Gazing on the cold, bloody form of the amazing Julius, he utters these pathetic phrases: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "O mighty Cæsar! Dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, Shrunk to this little measure? Fare thee well— I know not, gentlemen, what you intend, Who else must be let blood, who else is rank; If I myself, there is no hour so fit As Cæsar's death-hour; nor no instrument Of half that worth, as those your swords, made rich With the most noble blood of all this world. I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, Now, while your purpled hands do reek and smoke, Fulfill your pleasure. Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die; No place will please me so, no mean of death As here by Cæsar, and by you cut off, The choice and master spirit of this age!" </div> </div> Brutus gave orders for a grand funeral, turning the body of the dead lion over to Antony, who might make the funeral oration to the people within such bounds of discretion as the conspirators dictated. Standing alone, by the dead body of Cæsar in the Senate, Antony pours out thus, the overflowing vengeance of his soul: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "O pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth, That I am meek and gentle with these butchers; Thou art the ruins of the noblest man That ever lived in the tide of times. Woe to the hand that shed this costly blood! Over thy wounds now do I prophesy— Which like dumb mouths, do ope their ruby lips To beg the voice and utterance of my tongue; A curse shall light upon the limbs of men; Domestic fury and fierce civil strife Shall cumber all the parts of Italy; Blood and destruction shall be so in use, And dreadful objects so familiar, That mothers shall but smile when they behold Their infants quartered with the hands of war; All pity choked with custom of fell deeds; And Cæsar's spirit, ranging for revenge, With Até by his side, come hot from hell, Shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, Cry, 'Havoc!' and let slip the dogs of <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: inserted a missing closing quote after 'war'">war</ins>!" </div> </div> The wild citizens of Rome clamored for the reason of Cæsar's death, and Brutus mounted the rostrum in the Forum and delivered this cunning and bold oration in defense of the conspirators: "Romans, countrymen and lovers, hear me for my cause, and be silent that ye may hear; believe me for mine honor, and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe; censure me in your wisdom, and awake your senses that you may the better judge. "If there be any in this assembly, any dear friend of Cæsar's, to him I say that Brutus' love to Cæsar was no less than his. "If then that friend demand why Brutus rose against Cæsar, this is my answer. Not that I loved Cæsar less; but that I loved Rome more! "Had you rather Cæsar were living, and die all slaves, than Cæsar were dead, to live all free men? "As Cæsar loved me, I weep for him; as he was fortunate, I rejoice at it; as he was valiant, I honor him, but as he was ambitious I slew him! "There is tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honor for his valor, and death for his ambition! "Who is here so base that would be a bondman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so rude that would be a Roman? If any, speak; for him have I offended. Who is here so vile that will not love his country? If any, speak; for him have I offended. "I pause for a reply." And then the rabble, vacillating, fool citizens said, "None, Brutus, none," and continue to yell, "Live, Brutus, live! live!" Brutus leaves the Forum and requests the human cattle to remain and hear Antony relate the glories of Cæsar! Finally Antony is persuaded to take the rostrum, and delivers this greatest funeral oration of all the ages: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears; I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him; The evil that men do live after them; The good is oft interred with their bones; So let it be with Cæsar. The noble Brutus Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious; If it were so it was a grievous fault; And grievously hath Cæsar answered it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, (For Brutus is an honorable man, So are they all, all honorable men); Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me; But Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill; Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious? When that the poor hath cried, Cæsar hath wept; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff; Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And Brutus is an honorable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal I thrice presented him a kingly crown Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious; And, sure, he is an honorable man. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke, But here I am to speak what I know. You all did love him once, not without cause; What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him? O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, And men have lost their reason! Bear with me; My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar, And I must pause until it come back to me. But, yesterday the word of Cæsar might Have stood against the world, now lies he there, And none so poor to do him reverence. O, Masters! If I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men. I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you Than I will wrong such honorable men. But here's a parchment with the seal of Cæsar; I found it in his closet, 'tis his will; Let but the commons hear this statement, (Which pardon me, I do not mean to read), And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds; And dip their napkins in his sacred blood; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it as a rich legacy Unto their issue. If you have tears prepare to shed them now, You all do know this mantle; I remember The first time ever Cæsar put it on; 'Twas on a summer's evening in his tent; That day he overcame the Nervii; Look! in this place ran Cassius dagger through; See what a rent the envious Casca made; Through this the well beloved Brutus stabbed; And as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it; As rushing out of doors to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel: Judge, O ye gods, how Cæsar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms Quite vanquished him, then burst his mighty heart; And in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell. O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I and you and all of us fell down Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. O, now you weep; and I perceive you feel The impression of pity; these are gracious drops. Kind souls, what, weep you, when you but behold Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look you here, Here is himself marred, as you see, with traitors! Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny; They that have done this deed are honorable; What private griefs they have, alas, I know not That made them do it; they are wise and honorable And will no doubt with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; I am no orator, as Brutus is: But as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, That love my friends, and that they know full well, That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech To stir men's blood, I only speak right on; I tell you that, which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me; but were I Brutus, And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Cæsar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny!" </div> </div> This oration fired the Roman people to mutiny, and Brutus and Cassius with their followers fled from the city and prepared for war with Antony and Octavius, who had suddenly returned to Rome. The passionate quarrel between Brutus and Cassius in their military camp at Sardis was a natural outcome of conspirators. Cassius accused Brutus of having wronged him, and Brutus twitted his brother assassin thus: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemned to have an itching palm, To sell and mart your offices for gold To undeservers!" </div> </div> Cassius fires back this reply: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "I an itching palm? You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or by the gods this speech were else your last!" </div> </div> The night before the battle of Philippi the spirit of Cæsar appeared in the tent of Brutus, who startles from a slumbering trance and exclaims: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Ha! who comes here? I think it is the weakness of mine eyes, That shapes this monstrous apparition. It comes upon me! Art thou anything? Art thou some god, some angel or some devil, That makest my blood cold, and my hair to stare? Speak to me, what thou art." </div> </div> The Ghost replies: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Thy evil spirit, Brutus! </div> <div class="stanza"> Brutus: Why comest thou? Ghost: To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi. Brutus: Well, then I shall see thee again? Ghost: Ay, at Philippi!" </div> </div> The armies of Antony and Octavius and Brutus and Cassius meet in crash of battle. Cassius is hotly pursued by the enemy, and to prevent capture and exhibition at Rome, craves the service of Pindrus to run him through with his sword. He says: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "Now be a freeman, and with this good sword That ran through Cæsar's bowels, search this bosom. Stand not to answer; here, take thou the hilt; And when my face is covered, as 'tis now, Guide thou the sword; Cæsar, thou art revenged, Even with the sword that killed thee!" (Dies.) </div> </div> Brutus is run to earth, and most of his generals dead or fled. He implores Strato to assist him to suicide, and says: <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "I pray thee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord; Thou art a fellow of good respect; Thy life hath had some smack of honor in it; Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face, While I do run upon it! Farewell, good Strato; Cæsar now be still, I killed not thee with half so good a will!" (Runs on his sword and dies.) </div> </div> Antony and Octavius and his army soon find Brutus slain by his own sword, and with a most magnificent and undeserved generosity Antony pronounces this benediction over the dead body of the vilest and most intelligent conspirator who ever lived! <div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> "This was the noblest Roman of them all; All the conspirators, save only he Did that they did in envy of great Cæsar; He only in a general honest thought, And common good to all made one of them. His life was gentle, and the elements So mixed in him that Nature might stand up, And say to all the world, This was a man!" </div> </div> The whole audience, led by Southampton, Essex, Bacon and Drayton gave three cheers and a lion roar for "Julius Cæsar," the greatest historical and classical play ever composed, and destined to run down the ages for a million years! <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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