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Liberty and Responsibility in Plutarch and Shakespeare

Topic

The conference will explore the dynamics between liberty, responsibility, and personal ambition in Shakespeare’s three Roman plays, Coriolanus, Julius Ceasar, and Antony and Cleopatra, against the backdrop of his chief source, Plutarch’s Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans. These works form a rich body of literature on the tensions between liberty, responsibility, and personal ambition during Rome’s tumultuous transitions from monarchy to republic and from republic to empire. Both Plutarch and Shakespeare are concerned with the factional strife of ancient politics as well as the nature of military and political expertise. Both writers also focus on leaders who are conquerors-turned-statesmen within a republic either newly established or in its waning stages. As conquerors they earn honor for their prowess in war; as statesmen they meet death for their failures to successfully negotiate the complex demands of public life. Martial virtue, the consummate virtue for the Romans, makes them either unable to deal effectively with civil strife, or inclined towards actions that exacerbate it. In the grandeur of their mistakes and the reversal of their fortunes they are tragic figures, both god-like and deeply human. They embody in their careers a problem that was of vital interest to both ancient Rome and early modern England: the world-historical individual whose military exploits help secure conditions of liberty within the state, but whose pursuit of personal ends, be it honor or pleasure, inclines him towards tyranny or conduct unbefitting a leader.

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  1: Session I: Coriolanus I: Heroic Identity and the Body Politic

  In Coriolanus, Shakespeare’s most political play, the early Roman republic provides the historical backdrop for the exploration of a number of key issues regarding the theory and practice of popular government. Based on Plutarch’s “Life of Coriolanus,” the play probes such questions as the relation between class conflict and political development, foreign war and internal politics, martial virtue and civic leadership. In Acts I and II neither the aristocratic nor democratic party are portrayed in a favorable light, as patrician arrogance is countered by plebeian jealously. If the nobles’ contempt for the people betrays the seeds of despotism, the demagoguery of the tribunes points to tyranny of the majority. In the absence of a constitutional framework to resolve the crisis, Rome teeters on the verge of civil war.

  Plutarch, Plutarch’s Lives. The Translation called Dryden’s. Corrected from the Greek and Revised by A.H. Clough, in 5 volumes (Boston: Little Brown and Co., 1906). Chapter: CORIOLANUS.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1772/93921 on 2008-08-21

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  CORIOLANUS.

  The patrician house of the Marcii in Rome produced many men of distinction, and among the rest, Ancus Marcius, grandson to Numa by his daughter, and king after Tullus Hostilius. Of the same family were also Publius and Quintus Marcius, which two conveyed into the city the best and most abundant supply of water they have at Rome. As likewise Censorinus, who, having been twice chosen censor by the people, afterwards himself induced them to make a law that nobody should bear that office twice. But Caius Marcius, of whom I now write, being left an orphan, and brought up under the widowhood of his mother, has shown us by experience, that, although the early loss of a father may be attended with other disadvantages, yet it can hinder none from being either virtuous or eminent in the world, and that it is no obstacle to true goodness and excellence; however bad men may be pleased to lay the blame of their corruptions upon that misfortune and the neglect of them in their minority. Nor is he less an evidence to the truth of their opinion, who conceive that a generous and worthy nature without proper discipline, like a rich soil without culture, is apt, with its better fruits, to produce also much that is bad and faulty. While the force and vigor of his soul, and a persevering constancy in all he undertook, led him successfully into many noble achievements, yet, on the other side, also, by indulging the vehemence of his passion, and through an obstinate reluctance to yield or accommodate his humors and sentiments to those of people about him, he rendered himself incapable of acting and associating with others. Those who saw with admiration how proof his nature was against all the softnesses of pleasure, the hardships of service, and the allurements of gain, while allowing to that universal firmness of his the respective names of temperance, fortitude, and justice, yet, in the life of the citizen and the statesman, could not choose but be disgusted at the severity and ruggedness of his deportment, and with his overbearing, haughty, and imperious temper. Education and study, and the favors of the muses, confer no greater benefit on those that seek them, than these humanizing and civilizing lessons, which teach our natural qualities to submit to the limitations prescribed by reason, and to avoid the wildness of extremes.

  Those were times at Rome in which that kind of worth was most esteemed which displayed itself in military achievements; one evidence of which we find in the Latin word for virtue, which is properly equivalent to manly courage. As if valor and all virtue had been the same thing, they used as the common term the name of the particular excellence. But Marcius, having a more passionate inclination than any of that age for feats of war, began at once, from his very childhood, to handle arms; and feeling that adventitious implements and artificial arms would effect little, and be of small use to such as have not their native and natural weapons well fixed and prepared for service, he so exercised and inured his body to all sorts of activity and encounter, that, besides the lightness of a racer, he had a weight in close seizures and wrestlings with an enemy, from which it was hard for any to disengage himself; so that his competitors at home in displays of bravery, loath to own themselves inferior in that respect, were wont to ascribe their deficiencies to his strength of body, which they said no resistance and no fatigue could exhaust.

  The first time he went out to the wars, being yet a stripling, was when Tarquinius Superbus, who had been king of Rome and was afterwards expelled, after many unsuccessful attempts, now entered upon his last effort, and proceeded to hazard all as it were upon a single throw. A great number of the Latins and other people of Italy joined their forces, and were marching with him toward the city, to procure his restoration; not, however, so much out of a desire to serve and oblige Tarquin, as to gratify their own fear and envy at the increase of the Roman greatness, which they were anxious to check and reduce. The armies met and engaged in a decisive battle, in the vicissitudes of which, Marcius, while fighting bravely in the dictator’s presence, saw a Roman soldier struck down at a little distance, and immediately stepped in and stood before him, and slew his assailant. The general, after having gained the victory, crowned him for this act, one of the first, with a garland of oaken branches; it being the Roman custom thus to adorn those who had saved the life of a citizen; whether that the law intended some special honor to the oak, in memory of the Arcadians, a people the oracle had made famous by the name of acorn-eaters;* or whether the reason of it was because they might easily, and in all places where they fought, have plenty of oak for that purpose; or, finally, whether the oaken wreath, being sacred to Jupiter, the guardian of the city, might, therefore, be thought a proper ornament for one who preserved a citizen. And the oak, in truth, is the tree which bears the most and the prettiest fruit of any that grow wild, and is the strongest of all that are under cultivation; its acorns were the principal diet of the first mortals, and the honey found in it gave them drink. I may say, too, it furnished fowl and other creatures as dainties, in producing mistletoe for birdlime to ensnare them. In this battle, meantime, it is stated that Castor and Pollux appeared, and, immediately after the battle, were seen at Rome just by the fountain where their temple now stands, with their horses foaming with sweat, and told the news of the victory to the people in the Forum. The fifteenth of July, being the day of this conquest, became consequently a solemn holiday sacred to the Twin Brothers.

  It may be observed, in general, that when young men arrive early at fame and repute, if they are of a nature but slightly touched with emulation, this early attainment is apt to extinguish their thirst and satiate their small appetite; whereas the first distinctions of more solid and weighty characters do but stimulate and quicken them and take them away, like a wind, in the pursuit of honor; they look upon these marks and testimonies to their virtue not as a recompense received for what they have already done, but as a pledge given by themselves of what they will perform hereafter, ashamed now to forsake or underlive the credit they have won, or, rather, not to exceed and obscure all that is gone before by the lustre of their following actions. Marcius, having a spirit of this noble make, was ambitious always to surpass himself, and did nothing, how extraordinary soever, but he thought he was bound to outdo it at the next occasion; and ever desiring to give continual fresh instances of his prowess, he added one exploit to another, and heaped up trophies upon trophies, so as to make it matter of contest also among his commanders, the later still vying with the earlier, which should pay him the greatest honor and speak highest in his commendation. Of all the numerous wars and conflicts in those days, there was not one from which he returned without laurels and rewards. And, whereas others made glory the end of their daring, the end of his glory was his mother’s gladness; the delight she took to hear him praised and to see him crowned, and her weeping for joy in his embraces, rendered him, in his own thoughts, the most honored and most happy person in the world. Epaminondas is similarly said to have acknowledged his feeling, that it was the greatest felicity of his whole life that his father and mother survived to hear of his successful generalship and his victory at Leuctra. And he had the advantage, indeed, to have both his parents partake with him, and enjoy the pleasure of his good fortune. But Marcius, believing himself bound to pay his mother Volumnia all that gratitude and duty which would have belonged to his father, had he also been alive, could never satiate himself in his tenderness and respect to her. He took a wife, also, at her request and wish, and continued, even after he had children, to live still with his mother, without parting families.

  The repute of his integrity and courage had, by this time, gained him a considerable influence and authority in Rome, when the senate, favoring the wealthier citizens, began to be at variance with the common people, who made sad complaints of the rigorous and inhuman usage they received from the money-lenders. For as many as were behind with them, and had any sort of property, they stripped of all they had, by the way of pledges and sales; and such as through former exactions were reduced already to extreme indigence, and had nothing more to be deprived of, these they led away in person and put their bodies under constraint, notwithstanding the scars and wounds that they could show in attestation of their public services in numerous campaigns; the last of which had been against the Sabines, which they undertook upon a promise made by their rich creditors that they would treat them with more gentleness for the future, Marcus Valerius, the consul, having, by order from the senate, engaged also for the performance of it. But when, after they had fought courageously and beaten the enemy, there was, nevertheless, no moderation or forbearance used, and the senate also professed to remember nothing of that agreement, and sat without testifying the least concern to see them dragged away like slaves and their goods seized upon as formerly, there began now to be open disorders and dangerous meetings in the city; and the enemy, also, aware of the popular confusion, invaded and laid waste the country. And when the consuls now gave notice, that all who were of an age to bear arms should make their personal appearance, but found no one regard the summons, the members of the government, then coming to consult what course should be taken, were themselves again divided in opinion: some thought it most advisable to comply a little in favor of the poor, by relaxing their overstrained rights, and mitigating the extreme rigor of the law, while others withstood this proposal; Marcius in particular, with more vehemence than the rest, alleging that the business of money on either side was not the main thing in question, urged that this disorderly proceeding was but the first insolent step towards open revolt against the laws, which it would become the wisdom of the government to check at the earliest moment.

  There had been frequent assemblies of the whole senate, within a small compass of time, about this difficulty, but without any certain issue; the poor commonalty, therefore, perceiving there was likely to be no redress of their grievances, on a sudden collected in a body, and, encouraging each other in their resolution, forsook the city with one accord, and seizing the hill which is now called the Holy Mount, sat down by the river Anio, without committing any sort of violence or seditious outrage, but merely exclaiming, as they went along, that they had this long time past been, in fact, expelled and excluded from the city by the cruelty of the rich; that Italy would everywhere afford them the benefit of air and water and a place of burial, which was all they could expect in the city, unless it were, perhaps, the privilege of being wounded and killed in time of war for the defence of their creditors. The senate, apprehending the consequences, sent the most moderate and popular men of their own order to treat with them.

  Menenius Agrippa, their chief spokesman, after much entreaty to the people, and much plain speaking on behalf of the senate, concluded, at length, with the celebrated fable. “It once happened,” he said, “that all the other members of a man mutinied against the stomach, which they accused as the only idle, uncontributing part in the whole body, while the rest were put to hardships and the expense of much labor to supply and minister to its appetites. The stomach, however, merely ridiculed the silliness of the members, who appeared not to be aware that the stomach certainly does receive the general nourishment, but only to return it again, and redistribute it amongst the rest. Such is the case,” he said, “ye citizens, between you and the senate. The counsels and plans that are there duly digested, convey and secure to all of you, your proper benefit and support.”

  A reconciliation ensued, the senate acceding to the request of the people for the annual election of five protectors for those in need of succor, the same that are now called the tribunes of the people; and the first two they pitched upon were Junius Brutus and Sicinnius Vellutus, their leaders in the secession.

  The city being thus united, the commons stood presently to their arms, and followed their commanders to the war with great alacrity. As for Marcius, though he was not a little vexed himself to see the populace prevail so far, and gain ground of the senators, and might observe many other patricians have the same dislike of the late concessions, he yet besought them not to yield at least to the common people in the zeal and forwardness they now showed for their country’s service, but to prove that they were superior to them, not so much in power and riches, as in merit and worth.

  The Romans were now at war with the Volscian nation, whose principal city was Corioli; when therefore, Cominius the consul had invested this important place, the rest of the Volscians, fearing it would be taken, mustered up whatever force they could from all parts, to relieve it, designing to give the Romans battle before the city, and so attack them on both sides. Cominius, to avoid this inconvenience, divided his army, marching himself with one body to encounter the Volscians on their approach from without, and leaving Titus Lartius, one of the bravest Romans of his time, to command the other and continue the siege. Those within Corioli, despising now the smallness of their number, made a sally upon them, and prevailed at first, and pursued the Romans into their trenches. Here it was that Marcius, flying out with a slender company, and cutting those in pieces that first engaged him, obliged the other assailants to slacken their speed; and then, with loud cries, called upon the Romans to renew the battle. For he had, what Cato thought a great point in a soldier, not only strength of hand and stroke, but also a voice and look that of themselves were a terror to an enemy. Divers of his own party now rallying and making up to him, the enemies soon retreated; but Marcius, not content to see them draw off and retire, pressed hard upon the rear, and drove them, as they fled away in haste, to the very gates of their city; where, perceiving the Romans to fall back from their pursuit, beaten off by the multitude of darts poured in upon them from the walls, and that none of his followers had the hardiness to think of falling in pellmell among the fugitives and so entering a city full of enemies in arms, he, nevertheless, stood and urged them to the attempt, crying out, that fortune had now set open Corioli, not so much to shelter the vanquished, as to receive the conquerors. Seconded by a few that were willing to venture with him, he bore along through the crowd, made good his passage, and thrust himself into the gate through the midst of them, nobody at first daring to resist him. But when the citizens, on looking about, saw that a very small number had entered, they now took courage, and came up and attacked them. A combat ensued of the most extraordinary description, in which Marcius, by strength of hand, and swiftness of foot, and daring of soul, overpowering every one that he assailed, succeeded in driving the enemy to seek refuge, for the most part, in the interior of the town, while the remainder submitted, and threw down their arms; thus affording Lartius abundant opportunity to bring in the rest of the Romans with ease and safety.

  Corioli being thus surprised and taken, the greater part of the soldiers employed themselves in spoiling and pillaging it, while Marcius indignantly reproached them, and exclaimed that it was a dishonorable and unworthy thing, when the consul and their fellow-citizens had now perhaps encountered the other Volscians, and were hazarding their lives in battle, basely to misspend the time in running up and down for booty, and, under a pretence of enriching themselves, keep out of danger. Few paid him any attention, but, putting himself at the head of these, he took the road by which the consul’s army had marched before him, encouraging his companions, and beseeching them, as they went along, not to give up, and praying often to the gods, too, that he might be so happy as to arrive before the fight was over, and come seasonably up to assist Cominius, and partake in the peril of the action.

  It was customary with the Romans of that age, when they were moving into battle array, and were on the point of taking up their bucklers, and girding their coats about them, to make at the same time an unwritten will, or verbal testament, and to name who should be their heirs, in the hearing of three or four witnesses. In this precise posture Marcius found them at his arrival, the enemy being advanced within view.

  They were not a little disturbed by his first appearance, seeing him covered with blood and sweat, and attended with a small train; but when he hastily made up to the consul with gladness in his looks, giving him his hand, and recounting to him how the city had been taken, and when they saw Cominius also embrace and salute him, every one took fresh heart; those that were near enough hearing, and those that were at a distance guessing, what had happened; and all cried out to be led to battle. First, however, Marcius desired to know of him how the Volscians had arrayed their army, and where they had placed their best men, and on his answering that he took the troops of the Antiates in the centre to be their prime warriors, that would yield to none in bravery, “Let me then demand and obtain of you,” said Marcius, “that we may be posted against them.” The consul granted the request, with much admiration of his gallantry. And when the conflict began by the soldiers darting at each other, and Marcius sallied out before the rest, the Volscians opposed to him were not able to make head against him; wherever he fell in, he broke their ranks, and made a lane through them; but the parties turning again, and enclosing him on each side with their weapons, the consul, who observed the danger he was in, despatched some of the choicest men he had for his rescue. The conflict then growing warm and sharp about Marcius, and many falling dead in a little space, the Romans bore so hard upon the enemies, and pressed them with such violence, that they forced them at length to abandon their ground, and to quit the field. And, going now to prosecute the victory, they besought Marcius, tired out with his toils, and faint and heavy through the loss of blood, that he would retire to the camp. He replied, however, that weariness was not for conquerors, and joined with them in the pursuit. The rest of the Volscian army was in like manner defeated, great numbers killed, and no less taken captive.

  The day after, when Marcius, with the rest of the army, presented themselves at the consul’s tent, Cominius rose, and having rendered all due acknowledgment to the gods for the success of that enterprise, turned next to Marcius, and first of all delivered the strongest encomium upon his rare exploits, which he had partly been an eyewitness of himself, in the late battle, and had partly learned from the testimony of Lartius. And then he required him to choose a tenth part of all the treasure and horses and captives that had fallen into their hands, before any division should be made to others; besides which, he made him the special present of a horse with trappings and ornaments, in honor of his actions. The whole army applauded; Marcius, however, stepped forth, and declaring his thankful acceptance of the horse, and his gratification at the praises of his general, said, that all other things, which he could only regard rather as mercenary advantages than any significations of honor, he must waive, and should be content with the ordinary proportion of such rewards. “I have only,” said he, “one special grace to beg, and this I hope you will not deny me. There was a certain hospitable friend of mine among the Volscians, a man of probity and virtue, who is become a prisoner, and from former wealth and freedom is now reduced to servitude. Among his many misfortunes let my intercession redeem him from the one of being sold as a common slave.” Such a refusal and such a request on the part of Marcius were followed with yet louder acclamations; and he had many more admirers of this generous superiority to avarice, than of the bravery he had shown in battle. The very persons who conceived some envy and despite to see him so specially honored, could not but acknowledge, that one who so nobly could refuse reward, was beyond others worthy to receive it; and were more charmed with that virtue which made him despise advantage, than with any of those former actions that had gained him his title to it. It is the higher accomplishment to use money well than to use arms; but not to need it is more noble than to use it.

  When the noise of approbation and applause ceased, Cominius, resuming, said, “It is idle, fellow-soldiers, to force and obtrude those other gifts of ours on one who is unwilling to accept them; let us, therefore, give him one of such a kind that he cannot well reject it; let us pass a vote, I mean, that he shall hereafter be called Coriolanus, unless you think that his performance at Corioli has itself anticipated any such resolution.” Hence, therefore, he had his third name of Coriolanus, making it all the plainer that Caius was a personal proper name, and the second, or surname, Marcius, one common to his house and family; the third being a subsequent addition which used to be imposed either from some particular act or fortune, bodily characteristic, or good quality of the bearer. Just as the Greeks, too, gave additional names in old time, in some cases from some achievement, Soter, for example, and Callinicus; or personal appearance, as Physcon and Grypus; good qualities, Euergetes and Philadelphus; good fortune, Eudæmon, the title of the second Battus.* Several monarchs have also had names given them in mockery, as Antigonus was called Doson, and Ptolemy, Lathyrus. This sort of title was yet more common among the Romans. One of the Metelli was surnamed Diadematus, because he walked about for a long time with a bandage on his head, to conceal a scar; and another, of the same family, got the name of Celer, from the rapidity he displayed in giving a funeral entertainment of gladiators within a few days after his father’s death, his speed and energy in doing which was thought extraordinary. There are some, too, who even at this day take names from certain casual incidents at their nativity; a child that is born when his father is away from home is called Proculus; or Postumus, if after his decease; and when twins come into the world, and one dies at the birth, the survivor has the name of Vopiscus. From bodily peculiarities they derive not only their Syllas and Nigers, but their Cæci and Claudii; wisely endeavoring to accustom their people not to reckon either the loss of sight, or any other bodily misfortune, as a matter of disgrace to them, but to answer to such names without shame, as if they were really their own. But this discussion better befits another place.

  The war against the Volscians was no sooner at an end, than the popular orators revived domestic troubles, and raised another sedition, without any new cause of complaint or just grievance to proceed upon, but merely turning the very mischiefs that unavoidably ensued from their former contests into a pretext against the patricians. The greatest part of their arable land had been left unsown and without tillage, and the time of war allowing them no means or leisure to import provision from other countries, there was an extreme scarcity. The movers of the people then observing, that there was no corn to be bought, and that, if there had been, they had no money to buy it, began to calumniate the wealthy with false stories, and whisper it about, as if they, out of malice, had purposely contrived the famine. Meanwhile, there came an embassy from the Velitrani, proposing to deliver up their city to the Romans, and desiring they would send some new inhabitants to people it, as a late pestilential disease had swept away so many of the natives, that there was hardly a tenth part remaining of their whole community. This necessity of the Velitrani was considered by all more prudent people as most opportune in the present state of affairs; since the dearth made it needful to case the city of its superfluous members, and they were in hope also, at the same time, to dissipate the gathering sedition by ridding themselves of the more violent and heated partisans, and discharging, so to say, the elements of disease and disorder in the state. The consuls, therefore, singled out such citizens to supply the desolation at Velitræ, and gave notice to others, that they should be ready to march against the Volscians, with the politic design of preventing intestine broils by employment abroad, and in the hope, that when rich as well as poor, plebeians and patricians, should be mingled again in the same army and the same camp, and engage in one common service for the public, it would mutually dispose them to reconciliation and friendship.

  But Sicinnius and Brutus, the popular orators, interposed, crying out, that the consuls disguised the most cruel and barbarous action in the world under that mild and plausible name of a colony, and were simply precipitating so many poor citizens into a mere pit of destruction, bidding them settle down in a country where the air was charged with disease, and the ground covered with dead bodies, and expose themselves to the evil influence of a strange and angered deity. And then, as if it would not satisfy their hatred to destroy some by hunger, and offer others to the mercy of a plague, they must proceed to involve them also in a needless war of their own making, that no calamity might be wanting to complete the punishment of the citizens for refusing to submit to that of slavery to the rich.

  By such addresses, the people were so possessed, that none of them would appear upon the consular summons to be enlisted for the war; and they showed entire aversion to the proposal for a new plantation; so that the senate was at a loss what to say or do. But Marcius, who began now to bear himself higher and to feel confidence in his past actions, conscious, too, of the admiration of the best and greatest men of Rome, openly took the lead in opposing the favorers of the people. The colony was despatched to Velitræ, those that were chosen by lot being compelled to depart upon high penalties; and when they obstinately persisted in refusing to enroll themselves for the Volscian service, he mustered up his own clients, and as many others as could be wrought upon by persuasion, and with these made an inroad into the territories of the Antiates, where, finding a considerable quantity of corn, and collecting much booty, both of cattle and prisoners, he reserved nothing for himself in private, but returned safe to Rome, while those that ventured out with him were seen laden with pillage, and driving their prey before them. This sight filled those that had stayed at home with regret for their perverseness, with envy at their fortunate fellow-citizens, and with feelings of dislike to Marcius, and hostility to his growing reputation and power, which might probably be used against the popular interest.

  Not long after he stood for the consulship; when, however, the people began to relent and incline to favor him, being sensible what a shame it would be to repulse and affront a man of his birth and merit, after he had done them so many signal services. It was usual for those who stood for offices among them to solicit and address themselves personally to the citizens, presenting themselves in the forum with the toga on alone, and no tunic under it; either to promote their supplications by the humility of their dress, or that such as had received wounds might more readily display those marks of their fortitude. Certainly, it was not out of suspicion of bribery and corruption that they required all such petitioners for their favor to appear ungirt and open, without any close garment; as it was much later, and many ages after this, that buying and selling crept in at their elections, and money became an ingredient in the public suffrages; proceeding thence to attempt their tribunals, and even attack their camps, till, by hiring the valiant, and enslaving iron to silver, it grew master of the state, and turned their commonwealth into a monarchy. For it was well and truly said that the first destroyer of the liberties of a people is he who first gave them bounties and largesses. At Rome the mischief seems to have stolen secretly in, and by little and little, not being at once discerned and taken notice of. It is not certainly known who the man was that did there first either bribe the citizens, or corrupt the courts; whereas, in Athens, Anytus, the son of Anthemion, is said to have been the first that gave money to the judges, when on his trial, toward the latter end of the Peloponnesian war, for letting the fort of Pylos fall into the hands of the enemy; in a period while the pure and golden race of men were still in possession of the Roman forum.

  Marcius, therefore, as the fashion of candidates was showing the scars and gashes that were still visible on his body, from the many conflicts in which he had signalized himself during a service of seventeen years together they were, so to say, put out of countenance at this display of merit, and told one another that they ought in common modesty to create him consul. But when the day of election was now come, and Marcius appeared in the forum, with a pompous train of senators attending him, and the patricians all manifested greater concern, and seemed to be exerting greater efforts, than they had ever done before on the like occasion, the commons then fell off again from the kindness they had conceived for him, and in the place of their late benevolence, began to feel something of indignation and envy; passions assisted by the fear they entertained, that if a man of such aristocratic temper, and so influential among the patricians, should be invested with the power which that office would give him, he might employ it to deprive the people of all that liberty which was yet left them. In conclusion, they rejected Marcius. Two other names were announced, to the great mortification of the senators, who felt as if the indignity reflected rather upon themselves than on Marcius. He, for his part, could not bear the affront with any patience. He had always indulged his temper, and had regarded the proud and contentious element of human nature as a sort of nobleness and magnanimity; reason and discipline had not imbued him with Page 69 that solidity and equanimity which enters so largely into the virtues of the statesman. He had never learned how essential it is for any one who undertakes public business, and desires to deal with mankind, to avoid above all things that self-will, which, as Plato says, belongs to the family of solitude; and to pursue, above all things, that capacity so generally ridiculed, of submission to ill-treatment. Marcius, straightforward and direct, and possessed with the idea that to vanquish and overbear all opposition is the true part of bravery, and never imagining that it was the weakness and womanishness of his nature that broke out, so to say, in these ulcerations of anger, retired, full of fury and bitterness against the people. The young patricians, too, all that were proudest and most conscious of their noble birth, had always been devoted to his interest, and, adhering to him now, with a fidelity that did him no good, aggravated his resentment with the expression of their indignation and condolence. He had been their captain, and their willing instructor in the arts of war, when out upon expeditions, and their model in that true emulation and love of excellence which makes men extol, without envy or jealousy, each other’s brave achievements.

  In the midst of these distempers, a large quantity of corn reached Rome, a great part bought up in Italy, but an equal amount sent as a present from Syracuse, from Gelo, then reigning there. Many began now to hope well of their affairs, supposing the city, by this means, would be delivered at once, both of its want and discord. A council, therefore, being presently held, the people came flocking about the senate-house, eagerly awaiting the issue of that deliberation, expecting that the market-prices would now be less cruel, and that what had come as a gift, would be distributed as such. There were some within who so advised the senate; but Marcius, standing up, sharply inveighed against those who spoke in favor of the multitude, calling them flatterers of the rabble, traitors to the nobility, and alleging, that, by such gratifications, they did but cherish those ill seeds of boldness and petulance that had been sown among the people, to their own prejudice, which they should have done well to observe and stifle at their first appearance, and not have suffered the plebeians to grow so strong, by granting them magistrates of such authority as the tribunes. They were, indeed, even now formidable to the state, since every thing they desired was granted them; no constraint was put on their will; they refused obedience to the consuls, and, overthrowing all law and magistracy, gave the title of magistrate to their private factious leaders. “When things are come to such a pass, for us to sit here and decree largesses and bounties for them, like those Greeks where the populace is supreme and absolute, what would it be else,” said he, “but to take their disobedience into pay, and maintain it for the common ruin of us all? They certainly cannot look upon these liberalities as a reward of public service, which they know they have so often deserted; nor yet of those secessions, by which they openly renounced their country; much less of the calumnies and slanders they have been always so ready to entertain against the senate; but will rather conclude that a bounty which seems to have no other visible cause or reason, must needs be the effect of our fear and flattery; and will, therefore, set no limit to their disobedience, nor ever cease from disturbances and sedition. Concession is mere madness; if we have any wisdom and resolution at all, we shall, on the contrary, never rest till we have recovered from them that tribunician power they have extorted from us; as being a plain subversion of the consulship, and a perpetual ground of separation in our city, that is no longer one, as heretofore, but has in this received such a wound and rupture, as is never likely to close and unite again, or suffer us to be of one mind, and to give over inflaming our distempers, and being a torment to each other.”

  Marcius, with much more to this purpose, succeeded, to an extraordinary degree, in inspiring the younger men with the same furious sentiments, and had almost all the wealthy on his side, who cried him up as the only person their city had, superior alike to force and flattery; some of the older men, however, opposed him, suspecting the consequences. As, indeed, there came no good of it; for the tribunes, who were present, perceiving how the proposal of Marcius took, ran out into the crowd with exclamations, calling on the plebeians to stand together, and come in to their assistance. The assembly met, and soon became tumultuous. The sum of what Marcius had spoken, having been reported to the people, excited them to such fury, that they were ready to break in upon the senate. The tribunes prevented this, by laying all the blame on Coriolanus, whom, therefore, they cited by their messengers to come before them, and defend himself. And when he contemptuously repulsed the officers who brought him the summons, they came themselves, with the Ædiles, or overseers of the market, proposing to carry him away by force, and, accordingly, began to lay hold on his person. The patricians, however, coming to his rescue, not only thrust off the tribunes, but also beat the Ædiles, that were their seconds in the quarrel; night, approaching, put an end to the contest. But, as soon as it was day, the consuls, observing the people to be highly exasperated, and that they ran from all quarters and gathered in the forum, were afraid for the whole city, so that, convening the senate afresh, they desired them to advise how they might best compose and pacify the incensed multitude by equitable language and indulgent decrees; since, if they wisely considered the state of things, they would find that it was no time to stand upon terms of honor, and a mere point of glory; such a critical conjuncture called for gentle methods, and for temperate and humane counsels. The majority, therefore, of the senators giving way, the consuls proceeded to pacify the people in the best manner they were able, answering gently to such imputations and charges as had been cast upon the senate, and using much tenderness and moderation in the admonitions and reproofs they gave them. On the point of the price of provisions, they said, there should be no difference at all between them. When a great part of the commonalty was grown cool, and it appeared from their orderly and peaceful behavior that they had been very much appeased by what they had heard, the tribunes, standing up, declared, in the name of the people, that since the senate was pleased to act soberly and do them reason, they, likewise, should be ready to yield in all that was fair and equitable on their side; they must insist, however, that Marcius should give in his answer to the several charges as follows: first, could he deny that he instigated the senate to overthrow the government and annual the privileges of the people? and, in the next place, when called to account for it, did he not disobey their summons? and, lastly, by the blows and other public affronts to the Ædiles, had he not done all he could to commence a civil war?

  These articles were brought in against him, with a design either to humble Marcius, and show his submission, if, contrary to his nature, he should now court and sue the people; or, if he should follow his natural disposition, which they rather expected from their judgment of his character, then that he might thus make the breach final between himself and the people.

  He came, therefore, as it were, to make his apology. and clear himself; in which belief the people kept silence, and gave him a quiet hearing. But when, instead of the submissive and deprecatory language expected from him, he began to use not only an offensive kind of freedom, seeming rather to accuse than apologize, but, as well by the tone of his voice as the air of his countenance, displayed a security that was not far from disdain and contempt of them, the whole multitude then became angry, and gave evident signs of impatience and disgust; and Sicinnius, the most violent of the tribunes, after a little private conference with his colleagues, proceeded solemnly to pronounce before them all, that Marcius was condemned to die by the tribunes of the people, and bid the Ædiles take him to the Tarpeian rock, and without delay throw him headlong from the precipice. When they, however, in compliance with the order, came to seize upon his body, many, even of the plebeian party, felt it to be a horrible and extravagant act; the patricians, meantime, wholly beside themselves with distress and horror, hurried up with cries to the rescue; and while some made actual use of their hands to hinder the arrest, and, surrounding Marcius, got him in among them, others, as in so great a tumult no good could be done by words, stretched out theirs, beseeching the multitude that they would not proceed to such furious extremities; and at length, the friends and acquaintance of the tribunes, wisely perceiving how impossible it would be to carry off Marcius to punishment without much bloodshed and slaughter of the nobility, persuaded them to forbear every thing unusual and odious; not to despatch him by any sudden violence, or without regular process, but refer the cause to the general suffrage of the people. Sicinnius then, after a little pause, turning to the patricians, demanded what their meaning was, thus forcibly to rescue Marcius out of the people’s hands, as they were going to punish him; when it was replied by them, on the other side, and the question put, “Rather, how came it into your minds, and what is it you design, thus to drag one of the worthiest men of Rome, without trial, to a barbarous and illegal execution?” “Very well,” said Sicinnius, “you shall have no ground in this respect for quarrel or complaint against the people. The people grant your request, and your partisan shall be tried. We appoint you, Marcius,” directing his speech to him, “the third market-day ensuing, to appear and defend yourself, and to try if you can satisfy the Roman citizens of your innocence, who will then judge your case by vote.” The patricians were content with such a truce and respite for that time, and gladly returned home, having for the present brough off Marcius in safety.

  During the interval before the appointed time (for the Romans hold their sessions every ninth day, which from that cause are called nundinœ in Latin), a war fell out with the Antiates, likely to be of some continuance, which gave them hope they might one way or other elude the judgment. The people, they presumed, would become tractable, and their indignation lessen and languish by degrees in so long a space, if occupation and war did not wholly put it out of their mind. But when, contrary to expectation, they made a speedy agreement with the people of Antium, and the army came back to Rome, the patricians were again in great perplexity, and had frequent meetings to consider how things might be arranged, without either abandoning Marcius, or yet giving occasion to the popular orators to create new disorders. Appius Claudius, whom they counted among the senators most averse to the popular interest, made a solemn declaration, and told them beforehand, that the senate would utterly destroy itself and betray the government, if they should once suffer the people to assume the authority of pronouncing sentence upon any of the patricians; but the oldest senators and most favorable to the people maintained, on the other side, that the people would not be so harsh and severe upon them, as some were pleased to imagine, but rather become more gentle and humane upon the concession of that power, since it was not contempt of the senate, but the impression of being contemned by it, which made them pretend to such a prerogative. Let that be once allowed them as a mark of respect and kind feeling, and the mere possession of this power of voting would at once dispossess them of their animosity.

  When, therefore, Marcius saw that the senate was in pain and suspense upon his account, divided, as it were, betwixt their kindness for him and their apprehensions from the people, he desired to know of the tribunes what the crimes were they intended to charge him with, and what the heads of the indictment they would oblige him to plead to before the people; and being told by them that he was to be impeached for attempting usurpation, and that they would prove him guilty of designing to establish arbitrary government, stepping forth upon this, “Let me go then,” he said, “to clear myself from that imputation before an assembly of them; I freely offer myself to any sort of trial, nor do I refuse any kind of punishment whatsoever; only,” he continued, “let what you now mention be really made my accusation, and do not you play false with the senate.” On their consenting to these terms, he came to his trial. But when the people met together, the tribunes, contrary to all former practice, extorted first, that votes should be taken, not by centuries, but tribes; a change, by which the indigent and factious rabble, that had no respect for honesty and justice, would be sure to carry it against those who were rich and well known, and accustomed to serve the state in war. In the next place, whereas they had engaged to prosecute Marcius upon no other head but that of tyranny, which could never be made out against him, they relinquished this plea, and urged instead, his language in the senate against an abatement of the price of corn, and for the overthrow of the tribunician power; adding further, as a new impeachment, the distribution that was made by him of the spoil and booty he had taken from the Antiates, when he overran their country, which he had divided among those that had followed him, whereas it ought rather to have been brought into the public treasury; which last accusation did, they say, more discompose Marcius than all the rest, as he had not anticipated he should ever be questioned on that subject, and, therefore, was less provided with any satisfactory answer to it on the sudden. And when, by way of excuse, he began to magnify the merits of those who had been partakers with him in the action, those that had stayed at home, being more numerous than the other, interrupted him with outcries. In conclusion, when they came to vote, a majority of three tribes condemned him; the penalty being perpetual banishment. The sentence of his condemnation being pronounced, the people went away with greater triumph and exultation than they had ever shown for any victory over enemies; while the senate was in grief and deep dejection, repenting now and vexed to the soul that they had not done and suffered all things rather than give way to the insolence of the people, and permit them to assume and abuse so great an authority. There was no need then to look at men’s dresses, or other marks of distinction, to know one from another: any one who was glad was, beyond all doubt, a plebeian; any one who looked sorrowful, a patrician.

  Marcius alone, himself, was neither stunned nor humiliated. In mien, carriage, and countenance, he bore the appearance of entire composure, and while all his friends were full of distress, seemed the only man that was not touched with his misfortune. Not that either reflection taught him, or gentleness of temper made it natural for him, to submit: he was wholly possessed, on the contrary, with a profound and deep-seated fury, which passes with many for no pain at all. And pain, it is true, transmuted, so to say, by its own fiery heat into anger, loses every appearance of depression and feebleness; the angry man makes a show of energy, as the man in a high fever does of natural heat, while, in fact, all this action of the soul is but mere diseased palpitation, distention, and inflammation. That such was his distempered state appeared presently plainly enough in his actions. On his return home, after saluting his mother and his wife, who were all in tears and full of loud lamentations, and exhorting them to moderate the sense they had of his calamity, he proceeded at once to the city gates, whither all the nobility came to attend him; and so, not so much as taking any thing with him, or making any request to the company, he departed from them, having only three or four clients with him. He continued solitary for a few days in a place in the country, distracted with a variety of counsels, such as rage and indignation suggested to him; and proposing to himself no honorable or useful end, but only how he might best satisfy his revenge on the Romans, he resolved at length to raise up a heavy war against them from their nearest neighbors. He determined, first to make trial of the Volscians, whom he knew to be still vigorous and flourishing, both in men and treasure, and he imagined their force and power was not so much abated, as their spite and anger increased, by the late overthrows they had received from the Romans.

  There was a man of Antium, called Tullus Aufidius, who, for his wealth and bravery and the splendor of his Page 78 family, had the respect and privilege of a king among the Volscians, but whom Marcius knew to have a particular hostility to himself, above all other Romans. Frequent menaces and challenges had passed in battle between them, and those exchanges of defiance to which their hot and eager emulation is apt to prompt young soldiers had added private animosity to their national feelings of opposition. Yet for all this, considering Tullus to have a certain generosity of temper, and knowing that no Volscian, so much as he, desired an occasion to requite upon the Romans the evils they had done, he did what much confirms the saying, that

  • Hard and unequal is with wrath the strife,
  • Which makes us buy its pleasure with our life.

  Putting on such a dress as would make him appear to any whom he might meet most unlike what he really was, thus, like Ulysses, —

  The town he entered of his mortal foes.

  His arrival at Antium was about evening, and though several met him in the streets, yet he passed along without being known to any, and went directly to the house of Tullus, and, entering undiscovered, went up to the fire-hearth, and seated himself there without speaking a word, covering up his head. Those of the family could not but wonder, and yet they were afraid either to raise or question him, for there was a certain air of majesty both in his posture and silence, but they recounted to Tullus, being then at supper, the strangeness of this accident. He immediately rose from table and came in, and asked him who he was, and for what business he came thither; and then Marcius, unmuffling himself, and pausing awhile, “If,” said he, “you cannot yet call me to mind, Tullus, or do not believe your eyes concerning me, I must of necessity be my own accuser. I am Caius Marcius, the author of so much mischief to the Volscians; of which, were I seeking to deny it, the surname of Coriolanus I now bear would be a sufficient evidence against me. The one recompense I received for all the hardships and perils I have gone through, was the title that proclaims my enmity to your nation, and this is the only thing which is still left me. Of all other advantages, I have been stripped and deprived by the envy and outrage of the Roman people, and the cowardice and treachery of the magistrates and those of my own order. I am driven out as an exile, and become an humble suppliant at your hearth, not so much for safety and protection (should I have come hither, had I been afraid to die?), as to seek vengeance against those that expelled me; which, methinks, I have already obtained, by putting myself into your hands. If, therefore, you have really a mind to attack your enemies, come then, make use of that affliction you see me in to assist the enterprise, and convert my personal infelicity into a common blessing to the Volscians; as, indeed, I am likely to be more serviceable in fighting for than against you, with the advantage, which I now possess, of knowing all the secrets of the enemy that I am attacking. But if you decline to make any further attempts, I am neither desirous to live myself, nor will it be well in you to preserve a person who has been your rival and adversary of old, and now, when he offers you his service, appears unprofitable and useless to you.”

  Tullus, on hearing this, was extremely rejoiced, and giving him his right hand, exclaimed, “Rise, Marcius, and be of good courage; it is a great happiness you bring to Antium, in the present you make us of yourself; expect every thing that is good from the Volscians.” He then proceeded to feast and entertain him with every display of kindness, and for several days after they were in close deliberation together on the prospects of a war.

  While this design was forming, there were great troubles and commotions at Rome, from the animosity of the senators against the people, heightened just now by the late condemnation of Marcius. Besides that, their soothsayers and priests, and even private persons, reported signs and prodigies not to be neglected; one of which is stated to have occurred as follows: Titus Latinus,* a man of ordinary condition, but of a quiet and virtuous character, free from all superstitious fancies, and yet more from vanity and exaggeration, had an apparition in his sleep, as if Jupiter came and bade him tell the senate, that it was with a bad and unacceptable dancer that they had headed his procession. Having beheld the vision, he said, he did not much attend to it at the first appearance; but after he had seen and slighted it a second and third time, he had lost a hopeful son, and was himself struck with a palsy. He was brought into the senate on a litter to tell this, and the story goes, that he had no sooner delivered his message there, but he at once felt his strength return, and got upon his legs, and went home alone, without need of any support. The senators, in wonder and surprise, made a diligent search into the matter. That which his dream alluded to was this: some citizen had, for some heinous offence, given up a servant of his to the rest of his fellows, with charge to whip him first through the market, and then to kill him; and while they were executing this command, and scourging the wretch, who screwed and turned himself into all manner of shapes and unseemly motions, through the pain he was in, the solemn procession in honor of Jupiter chanced to follow at their heels. Several of the attendants on which were, indeed, scandalized at the sight, yet no one of them interfered, or acted further in the matter than merely to utter some common reproaches and execrations on a master who inflicted so cruel a punishment. For the Romans treated their slaves with great humanity in these times, when, working and laboring themselves, and living together among them, they naturally were more gentle and familiar with them. It was one of the severest punishments for a slave who had committed a fault, to have to take the piece of wood which supports the pole of a wagon, and carry it about through the neighborhood; a slave who had once undergone the shame of this, and been thus seen by the household and the neighbors, had no longer any trust or credit among them, and had the name of furcifer; furca being the Latin word for a prop, or support.

  When, therefore, Latinus had related his dream, and the senators were considering who this disagreeable and ungainly dancer could be, some of the company, having been struck with the strangeness of the punishment, called to mind and mentioned the miserable slave who was lashed through the streets and afterward put to death. The priests, when consulted, confirmed the conjecture; the master was punished; and orders given for a new celebration of the procession and the spectacles in honor of the god. Numa, in other respects also a wise arranger of religious offices, would seem to have been especially judicious in his direction, with a view to the attentiveness of the people, that, when the magistrates or priests performed any divine worship, a herald should go before, and proclaim with a loud voice, Hoc age, Do this you are about, and so warn them to mind whatever sacred action they were engaged in, and not suffer any business or worldly avocation to disturb and interrupt it; most of the things which men do of this kind, being in a manner forced from them, and effected by constraint. It is usual with the Romans to recommence their sacrifices and processions and spectacles, not only upon such a cause as this, but for any slighter reason. If but one of the horses which drew the chariots called Tensæ, upon which the images of their gods were placed, happened to fail and falter, or if the driver took hold of the reins with his left hand, they would decree that the whole operation should commence anew; and, in latter ages, one and the same sacrifice was performed thirty times over, because of the occurrence of some defect or mistake or accident in the service. Such was the Roman reverence and caution in religious matters.

  Marcius and Tullus were now secretly discoursing of their project with the chief men of Antium, advising them to invade the Romans while they were at variance among themselves. And when shame appeared to hinder them from embracing the motion, as they had sworn to a truce and cessation of arms for the space of two years, the Romans themselves soon furnished them with a pretence, by making proclamation, out of some jealousy or slanderous report, in the midst of the spectacles, that all the Volscians who had come to see them should depart the city before sunset. Some affirm that this was a contrivance of Marcius, who sent a man privately to the consuls, falsely to accuse the Volscians of intending to fall upon the Romans during the games, and to set the city on fire. This public affront roused and inflamed their hostility to the Romans; and Tullus, perceiving it, made his advantage of it, aggravating the fact, and working on their indignation, till he persuaded them, at last, to despatch ambassadors to Rome, requiring the Romans to restore that part of their country and those towns which they had taken from the Volscians in the late war. When the Romans heard the message, they indignantly replied, that the Volscians were the first that took up arms, but the Romans would be the last to lay them down. This answer being brought back, Tullus called a general assembly of the Volscians; and the vote passing for a war, he then proposed that they should call in Marcius, laying aside the remembrance of former grudges, and assuring themselves that the services they should now receive from him as a friend and associate, would abundantly outweigh any harm or damage he had done them when he was their enemy. Marcius was accordingly summoned, and having made his entrance, and spoken to the people, won their good opinion of his capacity, his skill, counsel, and boldness, not less by his present words than by his past actions. They joined him in commission with Tullus, to have full power as general of their forces in all that related to the war. And he, fearing lest the time that would be requisite to bring all the Volscians together in full preparation might be so long as to lose him the opportunity of action, left order with the chief persons and magistrates of the city to provide other things, while he himself, prevailing upon the most forward to assemble and march out with him as volunteers without staying to be enrolled, made a sudden inroad into the Roman confines, when nobody expected him, and possessed himself of so much booty, that the Volscians found they had more than they could either carry away or use in the camp. The abundance of provision which he gained, and the waste and havoc of the country which he made, were, however, of themselves and in his account, the smallest results of that invasion; the great mischief he intended, and his special object in all, was to increase at Rome the suspicions entertained of the patricians, and to make them upon worse terms with the people. With this view, while spoiling all the fields and destroying the property of other men, he took special care to preserve their farms and lands untouched, and would not allow his soldiers to ravage there, or seize upon any thing which belonged to them. From hence their invectives and quarrels against one another broke out afresh, and rose to a greater height than ever; the senators reproaching those of the commonalty with their late injustice to Marcius; while the plebeians, on their side, did not hesitate to accuse them of having, out of spite and revenge, solicited him to this enterprise, and thus, when others were involved in the miseries of a war by their means, they sat like unconcerned spectators, as being furnished with a guardian and protector abroad of their wealth and fortunes, in the very person of the public enemy. After this incursion and exploit, which was of great advantage to the Volscians, as they learned by it to grow more hardy and to contemn their enemy, Marcius drew them off, and returned in safety.

  But when the whole strength of the Volscians was brought together into the field, with great expedition and alacrity, it appeared so considerable a body, that they agreed to leave part in garrison, for the security of their towns, and with the other part to march against the Romans. Marcius now desired Tullus to choose which of the two charges would be most agreeable to him. Tullus answered, that since he knew Marcius to be equally valiant with himself, and far more fortunate, he would have him take the command of those that were going out to the war, while he made it his care to defend their cities at home, and provide all conveniences for the army abroad. Marcius thus reinforced, and much stronger than before, moved first towards the city called Circæum, a Roman colony. He received its surrender, and did the inhabitants no injury; passing thence, he entered and laid waste the country of the Latins, where he expected the Romans Page 85 would meet him, as the Latins were their confederates and allies, and had often sent to demand succors from them. The people, however, on their part, showing little inclination for the service, and the consuls themselves being unwilling to run the hazard of a battle, when the time of their office was almost ready to expire, they dismissed the Latin ambassadors without any effect; so that Marcius, finding no army to oppose him, marched up to their cities, and, having taken by force Toleria, Lavici, Peda, and Bola, all of which offered resistance, not only plundered their houses, but made a prey likewise of their persons. Meantime, he showed particular regard for all such as came over to his party, and, for fear they might sustain any damage against his will, encamped at the greatest distance he could, and wholly abstained from the lands of their property.

  After, however, that he had made himself master of Bola, a town not above ten miles from Rome, where he found great treasure, and put almost all the adults to the sword; and when, on this, the other Volscians that were ordered to stay behind and protect their cities, hearing of his achievements and success, had not patience to remain any longer at home, but came hastening in their arms to Marcius, saying that he alone was their general and the sole commander they would own; with all this, his name and renown spread throughout all Italy, and universal wonder prevailed at the sudden and mighty revolution in the fortunes of two nations which the loss and the accession of a single man had effected.

  All at Rome was in great disorder; they were utterly averse from fighting, and spent their whole time in cabals and disputes and reproaches against each other; until news was brought that the enemy had laid close siege to Lavinium, where were the images and sacred things of their tutelar gods, and from whence they derived the origin of their nation, that being the first city which Æneas built in Italy. These tidings produced a change as universal as it was extraordinary in the thoughts and inclinations of the people, but occasioned a yet stranger revulsion of feeling among the patricians. The people now were for repealing the sentence against Marcius, and calling him back into the city; whereas the senate, being assembled to preconsider the decree, opposed and finally rejected the proposal, either out of the mere humor of contradicting and withstanding the people in whatever they should desire, or because they were unwilling, perhaps, that he should owe his restoration to their kindness; or having now conceived a displeasure against Marcius himself, who was bringing distress upon all alike, though he had not been ill treated by all, and was become a declared enemy to his whole country, though he knew well enough that the principal and all the better men condoled with him, and suffered in his injuries.

  This resolution of theirs being made public, the people could proceed no further, having no authority to pass any thing by suffrage, and enact it for a law, without a previous decree from the senate. When Marcius heard of this, he was more exasperated than ever, and, quitting the siege of Lavinium, marched furiously towards Rome, and encamped at a place called the Cluilian ditches, about five miles from the city. The nearness of his approach did, indeed, create much terror and disturbance, yet it also ended their dissensions for the present; as nobody now, whether consul or senator, durst any longer contradict the people in their design of recalling Marcius; but, seeing their women running affrighted up and down the streets, and the old men at prayer in every temple with tears and supplications, and that, in short, there was a general absence among them both of courage and wisdom to provide for their own safety, they came at last to be all of one mind, that the people had been in the right to propose as they did a reconciliation with Marcius, and that the senate was guilty of a fatal error to begin a quarrel with him when it was a time to forget offences, and they should have studied rather to appease him. It was, therefore, unanimously agreed by all parties, that ambassadors should be despatched, offering him return to his country, and desiring he would free them from the terrors and distresses of the war. The persons sent by the senate with this message were chosen out of his kindred and acquaintance, who naturally expected a very kind reception at their first interview, upon the score of that relation and their old familiarity and friendship with him; in which, however, they were much mistaken Being led through the enemy’s camp, they found him sitting in state amidst the chief men of the Volscians, looking insupportably proud and arrogant. He bade them declare the cause of their coming, which they did in the most gentle and tender terms, and with a behavior suitable to their language. When they had made an end of speaking, he returned them a sharp answer, full of bitterness and angry resentment, as to what concerned himself, and the ill usage he had received from them; but as general of the Volscians, he demanded restitution of the cities and the lands which had been seized upon during the late war, and that the same rights and franchises should be granted them at Rome, which had been before accorded to the Latins; since there could be no assurance that a peace would be firm and lasting, without fair and just conditions on both sides. He allowed them thirty days to consider and resolve.

  The ambassadors being departed, he withdrew his forces out of the Roman territory. This, those of the Volscians who had long envied his reputation, and could not endure to see the influence he had with the people, laid hold of, as the first matter of complaint against him. Among them was also Tullus himself, not for any wrong done him personally by Marcius, but through the weakness incident to human nature. He could not help feeling mortified to find his own glory thus totally obscured, and himself overlooked and neglected now by the Volscians, who had so great an opinion of their new leader, that he alone was all to them, while other captains, they thought, should be content with that share of power, which he might think fit to accord. From hence the first seeds of complaint and accusation were scattered about in secret, and the malcontents met and heightened each other’s indignation, saying, that to retreat as he did, was in effect to betray and deliver up, though not their cities and their arms, yet what was as bad, the critical times and opportunities for action, on which depend the preservation or the loss of every thing else; since in less than thirty days’ space, for which he had given a respite from the war, there might happen the greatest changes in the world. Yet Marcius spent not any part of the time idly, but attacked the confederates of the enemy, ravaged their land, and took from them seven great and populous cities in that interval. The Romans, in the meanwhile, durst not venture out to their relief; but were utterly fearful, and showed no more disposition or capacity for action, than if their bodies had been struck with a palsy, and become destitute of sense and motion. But when the thirty days were expired, and Marcius appeared again with his whole army, they sent another embassy to beseech him that he would moderate his displeasure, and would withdraw the Volscian army, and then make any proposals he thought best for both parties; the Romans would make no concessions to menaces, but if it were his opinion that the Volscians ought to have any favor shown them, upon laying down their arms they might obtain all they could in reason desire.

  The reply of Marcius was, that he should make no answer to this as general of the Volscians, but, in the quality still of a Roman citizen, he would advise and exhort them, as the case stood, not to carry it so high, but think rather of just compliance, and return to him, before three days were at an end, with a ratification of his previous demands; otherwise, they must understand that they could not have any further freedom of passing through his camp upon idle errands.

  When the ambassadors were come back, and had acquainted the senate with the answer, seeing the whole state now threatened as it were by a tempest, and the waves ready to overwhelm them, they were forced, as we say in extreme perils, to let down the sacred anchor. A decree was made, that the whole order of their priests, those who initiated in the mysteries or had the custody of them, and those who, according to the ancient practice of the country, divined from birds, should all and every one of them go in full procession to Marcius with their pontifical array, and the dress and habit which they respectively used in their several functions, and should urge him, as before, to withdraw his forces, and then treat with his countrymen in favor of the Volscians. He consented so far, indeed, as to give the deputation an admittance into his camp, but granted nothing at all, nor so much as expressed himself more mildly; but, without capitulating or receding, bade them once for all choose whether they would yield or fight, since the old terms were the only terms of peace. When this solemn application proved ineffectual, the priests, too, returning unsuccessful, they determined to sit still within the city, and keep watch about their walls, intending only to repulse Page 90 the enemy, should he offer to attack them, and placing their hopes chiefly in time and in extraordinary accidents of fortune; as to themselves, they felt incapable of doing any thing for their own deliverance; mere confusion and terror and ill-boding reports possessed the whole city; till at last a thing happened not unlike what we so often find represented, without, however, being accepted as true by people in general, in Homer. On some great and unusual occasion we find him say: —

  But him the blue-eyed goddess did inspire;

  and elsewhere: —

  • But some immortal turned my mind away,
  • To think what others of the deed would say;

  and again: —

  Were’t his own thought or were’t a god’s command.

  People are apt, in such passages, to censure and disregard the poet, as if, by the introduction of mere impossibilities and idle fictions, he were denying the action of a man’s own deliberate thought and free choice; which is not, in the least, the case in Homer’s representation, where the ordinary, probable, and habitual conclusions that common reason leads to are continually ascribed to our own direct agency. He certainly says frequently enough: —

  But I consulted with my own great soul;

  or, as in another passage: —

  • He spoke. Achilles, with quick pain possessed,
  • Revolved two purposes in his strong breast;

  and in a third: —

  • — Yet never to her wishes won
  • The just mind of the brave Bellerophon.

  But where the act is something out of the way and extraordinary, and seems in a manner to demand some impulse of divine possession and sudden inspiration to account for it, here he does introduce divine agency, not to destroy, but to prompt the human will; not to create in us another agency, but offering images to stimulate our own; images that in no sort or kind make our action involuntary, but give occasion rather to spontaneous action, aided and sustained by feelings of confidence and hope. For either we must totally dismiss and exclude divine influences from every kind of causality and origination in what we do, or else what other way can we conceive in which divine aid and coöperation can act? Certainly we cannot suppose that the divine beings actually and literally turn our bodies and direct our hands and our feet this way or that, to do what is right: it is obvious that they must actuate the practical and elective element of our nature, by certain initial occasions, by images presented to the imagination, and thoughts suggested to the mind, such either as to excite it to, or avert and withhold it from, any particular course.

  In the perplexity which I have described, the Roman women went, some to other temples, but the greater part, and the ladies of highest rank, to the altar of Jupiter Capitolinus. Among these suppliants was Valeria, sister to the great Poplicola, who did the Romans eminent service both in peace and war. Poplicola himself was now deceased, as is told in the history of his life; but Valeria lived still, and enjoyed great respect and honor at Rome, her life and conduct no way disparaging her birth. She, suddenly seized with the sort of instinct or emotion of mind which I have described, and happily lighting, not without divine guidance, on the right expedient, both rose herself, and bade the others rise, and went directly with them to the house of Volumnia, the mother of Marcius Page 92 And coming in and finding her sitting with her daughter in-law, and with her little grandchildren on her lap, Valeria, then surrounded by her female companions, spoke in the name of them all: —

  “We that now make our appearance, O Volumnia, and you, Vergilia, are come as mere women to women, not by direction of the senate, or an order from the consuls, or the appointment of any other magistrate; but the divine being himself, as I conceive, moved to compassion by our prayers, prompted us to visit you in a body, and request a thing on which our own and the common safety depends, and which, if you consent to it, will raise your glory above that of the daughters of the Sabines, who won over their fathers and their husbands from mortal enmity to peace and friendship. Arise and come with us to Marcius; join in our supplication, and bear for your country this true and just testimony on her behalf: that, notwithstanding the many mischiefs that have been done her, yet she has never outraged you, nor so much as thought of treating you ill, in all her resentment, but does now restore you safe into his hands, though there be small likelihood she should obtain from him any equitable terms.”

  The words of Valeria were seconded by the acclamations of the other women, to which Volumnia made answer: —

  “I and Vergilia, my countrywomen, have an equal share with you all in the common miseries, and we have the additional sorrow, which is wholly ours, that we have lost the merit and good fame of Marcius, and see his person confined, rather than protected, by the arms of the enemy. Yet I account this the greatest of all misfortunes, if indeed the affairs of Rome be sunk to so feeble a state as to have their last dependence upon us. For it is hardly imaginable he should have any consideration left for us, when he has no regard for the country which he was wont to prefer before his mother and wife and children. Make use, however, of our service; and lead us, if you please, to him; we are able, if nothing more, at least to spend our last breath in making suit to him for our country.”

  Having spoken thus, she took Vergilia by the hand, and the young children, and so accompanied them to the Volscian camp. So lamentable a sight much affected the enemies themselves, who viewed them in respectful silence. Marcius was then sitting in his place, with his chief officers about him, and, seeing the party of women advance toward them, wondered what should be the matter; but perceiving at length that his mother was at the head of them, he would fain have hardened himself in his former inexorable temper, but, overcome by his feelings, and confounded at what he saw, he did not endure they should approach him sitting in state, but came down hastily to meet them, saluting his mother first, and embracing her a long time, and then his wife and children, sparing neither tears nor caresses, but suffering himself to be borne away and carried headlong, as it were, by the impetuous violence of his passion.

  When he had satisfied himself, and observed that his mother Volumnia was desirous to say something, the Volscian council being first called in, he heard her to the following effect: “Our dress and our very persons, my son, might tell you, though we should say nothing ourselves, in how forlorn a condition we have lived at home since your banishment and absence from us; and now consider with yourself, whether we may not pass for the most unfortunate of all women, to have that sight, which should be the sweetest that we could see, converted, through I know not what fatality, to one of all others the most formidable and dreadful, — Volumnia to behold her son, and Vergilia her husband, in arms against the walls of Rome. Even prayer itself, whence others gain comfort and relief in all manner of misfortunes, is that which most adds to our confusion and distress; since our best wishes are inconsistent with themselves, nor can we at the same time petition the gods for Rome’s victory and your preservation, but what the worst of our enemies would imprecate as a curse, is the very object of our vows. Your wife and children are under the sad necessity, that they must either be deprived of you, or of their native soil. As for myself, I am resolved not to wait till war shall determine this alternative for me; but if I cannot prevail with you to prefer amity and concord to quarrel and hostility, and to be the benefactor to both parties, rather than the destroyer of one of them, be assured of this from me, and reckon steadfastly upon it, that you shall not be able to reach your country, unless you trample first upon the corpse of her that brought you into life. For it will be ill in me to wait and loiter in the world till the day come wherein I shall see a child of mine, either led in triumph by his own countrymen, or triumphing over them. Did I require you to save your country by ruining the Volscians, then, I confess, my son, the case would be hard for you to solve. It is base to bring destitution on our fellow-citizens; it is unjust to betray those who have placed their confidence in us. But, as it is, we do but desire a deliverance equally expedient for them and us; only more glorious and honorable on the Volscian side, who, as superior in arms, will be thought freely to bestow the two greatest of blessings, peace and friendship, even when they themselves receive the same. If we obtain these, the common thanks will be chiefly due to you as the principal cause; but if they be not granted, you alone must expect to bear the blame from both nations. The chance of all war is uncertain, yet thus much is certain in the present, that you, by conquering Rome, will only get the reputation of having undone your country; but if the Volscians happen to be defeated under your conduct, then the world will say, that, to satisfy a revengeful humor, you brought misery on your friends and patrons.”

  Marcius listened to his mother while she spoke, without answering her a word; and Volumnia, seeing him stand mute also for a long time after she had ceased, resumed: “O my son,” said she, “what is the meaning of this silence? Is it a duty to postpone every thing to a sense of injuries, and wrong to gratify a mother in a request like this? Is it the characteristic of a great man to remember wrongs that have been done him, and not the part of a great and good man to remember benefits such as those that children receive from parents, and to requite them with honor and respect? You, methinks, who are so relentless in the punishment of the ungrateful, should not be more careless than others to be grateful yourself. You have punished your country already; you have not yet paid your debt to me. Nature and religion, surely, unattended by any constraint, should have won your consent to petitions so worthy and so just as these; but if it must be so, I will even use my last resource.” Having said this, she threw herself down at his feet, as did also his wife and children; upon which Marcius, crying out, “O mother! what is it you have done to me?” raised her up from the ground, and pressing her right hand with more than ordinary vehemence, “You have gained a victory,” said he, “fortunate enough for the Romans, but destructive to your son; whom you, though none else, have defeated.” After which, and a little private conference with his mother and his wife, he sent them back again to Rome, as they desired of him.

  The next morning, he broke up his camp, and led the Volscians homeward, variously affected with what he had done; some of them complaining of him and condemning his act, others, who were inclined to a peaceful conclusion, unfavorable to neither. A third party, while much disliking his proceedings, yet could not look upon Marcius as a treacherous person, but thought it pardonable in him to be thus shaken and driven to surrender at last, under such compulsion. None, however, opposed his commands; they all obediently followed him, though rather from admiration of his virtue, than any regard they now had to his authority. The Roman people, meantime, more effectually manifested how much fear and danger they had been in while the war lasted, by their deportment after they were freed from it. Those that guarded the walls had no sooner given notice that the Volscians were dislodged and drawn off, but they set open all their temples in a moment, and began to crown themselves with garlands and prepare for sacrifice, as they were wont to do upon tidings brought of any signal victory. But the joy and transport of the whole city was chiefly remarkable in the honors and marks of affection paid to the women, as well by the senate as the people in general; every one declaring that they were, beyond all question, the instruments of the public safety. And the senate having passed a decree that whatsoever they would ask in the way of any favor or honor should be allowed and done for them by the magistrates, they demanded simply that a temple might be erected to Female Fortune, the expense of which they offered to defray out of their own contributions, if the city would be at the cost of sacrifices, and other matters pertaining to the due honor of the gods, out of the common treasury. The senate, much commending their public spirit, caused the temple to be built and a statue set up in it at the public charge; they, however, made up a sum among themselves, for a second image of Fortune, which the Romans say uttered, as it was putting up, words to this effect, “Blessed of the gods, O women, is your gift.”

  These words they profess were repeated a second time, expecting our belief for what seems pretty nearly an impossibility. It may be possible enough, that statues may seem to sweat, and to run with tears, and to stand with certain dewy drops of a sanguine color; for timber and stones are frequently known to contract a kind of scurf and rottenness, productive of moisture; and various tints may form on the surfaces, both from within and from the action of the air outside; and by these signs it is not absurd to imagine that the deity may forewarn us. It may happen, also, that images and statues may sometimes make a noise not unlike that of a moan or groan, through a rupture or violent internal separation of the parts; but that an articulate voice, and such express words, and language so clear and exact and elaborate, should proceed from inanimate things, is, in my judgment, a thing utterly out of possibility. For it was never known that either the soul of man, or the deity himself, uttered vocal sounds and language, alone, without an organized body and members fitted for speech. But where history seems in a manner to force our assent by the concurrence of numerous and credible witnesses, we are to conclude that an impression distinct from sensation affects the imaginative part of our nature, and then carries away the judgment, so as to believe it to be a sensation: just as in sleep we fancy we see and hear, without really doing either. Persons, however, whose strong feelings of reverence to the deity, and tenderness for religion, will not allow them to deny or invalidate any thing of this kind, have certainly a strong argument for their faith, in the wonderful and transcendent character Page 98 of the divine power; which admits no manner of comparison with ours, either in its nature or its action, the modes or the strength of its operations. It is no contradiction to reason that it should do things that we cannot do, and effect what for us is impracticable: differing from us in all respects, in its acts yet more than in other points we may well believe it to be unlike us and remote from us. Knowledge of divine things for the most part, as Heraclitus says, is lost to us by incredulity.

  When Marcius came back to Antium, Tullus, who thoroughly hated and greatly feared him, proceeded at once to contrive how he might immediately despatch him; as, if he escaped now, he was never likely to give him such another advantage. Having, therefore, got together and suborned several partisans against him, he required Marcius to resign his charge, and give the Volscians an account of his administration. He, apprehending the danger of a private condition, while Tullus held the office of general and exercised the greatest power among his fellow-citizens, made answer, that he was ready to lay down his commission, whenever those from whose common authority he had received it, should think fit to recall it, and that in the mean time he was ready to give the Antiates satisfaction, as to all particulars of his conduct, if they were desirous of it.

  An assembly was called, and popular speakers, as had been concerted, came forward to exasperate and incense the multitude; but when Marcius stood up to answer, the more unruly and tumultuous part of the people became quiet on a sudden, and out of reverence allowed him to speak without the least disturbance; while all the better people, and such as were satisfied with a peace, made it evident by their whole behavior, that they would give him a favorable hearing, and judge and pronounce according to equity.

  Tullus, therefore, began to dread the issue of the defence he was going to make for himself; for he was an admirable speaker, and the former services he had done the Volscians had procured and still preserved for him greater kindness than could be outweighed by any blame for his late conduct. Indeed, the very accusation itself was a proof and testimony of the greatness of his merits, since people could never have complained or thought themselves wronged, because Rome was not brought into their power, but that by his means they had come so near to taking it. For these reasons, the conspirators judged it prudent not to make any further delays, nor to test the general feeling; but the boldest of their faction, crying out that they ought not to listen to a traitor, nor allow him still to retain office and play the tyrant among them, fell upon Marcius in a body, and slew him there, none of those that were present offering to defend him. But it quickly appeared that the action was in nowise approved by the majority of the Volscians, who hurried out of their several cities to show respect to his corpse; to which they gave honorable interment, adorning his sepulchre with arms and trophies, as the monument of a noble hero and a famous general. When the Romans heard tidings of his death, they gave no other signification either of honor or of anger towards him, but simply granted the request of the women, that they might put themselves into mourning and bewail him for ten months, as the usage was upon the loss of a father or a son or a brother; that being the period fixed for the longest lamentation by the laws of Numa Pompilius, as is more amply told in the account of him.

  Marcius was no sooner deceased, but the Volscians felt the need of his assistance. They quarrelled first with the Æquians, their confederates and their friends, about the appointment of the general of their joint forces, and carried their dispute to the length of bloodshed and slaughter; and were then defeated by the Romans in a pitched battle, where not only Tullus lost his life, but the principal flower of their whole army was cut in pieces; so that they were forced to submit and accept of peace upon very dishonorable terms, becoming subjects of Rome, and pledging themselves to submission.

  [* ]“You ask me for Arcadia,” said the oracle to the Spartans, when designing their early invasion. “You ask a great thing, I will not grant it. There are in Arcadia many acorn-eaters ready to prevent you. I, however, grudge you nothing. I grant you to dance about Tegea, and measure out the fair plain by the line.”

  [* ]Sotẽr, Saviour; Callinīcus, Victorious; Physcon, Fat-paunch; Grypus, Hook-nose; Euergětes, Benefactor; Philadelphus, Brotherly; Eudæmon, Fortunate; Doson, Going-to-give; Lathyrus is not certain.

  [* ]The correct name is probably Atinius, in Livy, is merely a mis Titus Latinius, for which Tiberius reading.

  Life of Coriolanus, page 69 . — To beware of self-will, which belongs to the family of solitude, is Plato’s phrase of caution to Dion (Epist. IV., p. 321). See the life of Dion, where it is repeated more than once.

  Page 78 . — The adage about wealth is from Heraclitus, and is quoted in two other places by Plutarch, as also by Aristotle. I have let the couplet stand, but the original, though it has the run of an iambic verse, was probably prose. The line from Homer is from Helen’s description, in the fourth book of the Odyssey (IV., 246).

  Page 85 . — Bola, in the list with Toleria, Lavici, and Peda (or Pedum), is obviously meant for a different town from Bola, a few lines below, — a town not above ten miles from Rome. The spelling in the Greek differs, and there is little doubt that in the latter place Bolla, so written in the Greek, should be turned into Boilla the equivalent used for the Latin Bovillæ.

  Page 90 . — But him the blue-eyed goddess did inspire is the first line of the 21st book of the Odyssey, only that for him, we should have her; Minerva inspires Penelope with the thought of the trial by the bow. Plutarch no doubt quoted from memory. The next two lines are wholly different from any thing new to be found in Homer. The third quotation is from the ninth Odyssey (339) where the Cyclops is described coming home at evening to his cave, and were it some thought of his own, or so ordered him by a god, he left none of his flock outside, but drove them all into his hollow fold. In the same book (IX., 399), is also the line: But I consulted with my own great soul; Ulysses consulted with himself whether he should kill the Cyclops as he lay drunk and asleep, but reflected that there would then be no one to move away the stone from the door and let them out. He spoke; Achilles, with quick pain possessed, in from Iliad I., 188, and the lines about Bellerophon from Iliad VI., 161. Coray in his notes compares the doctrine given at the end of the first paragraph of the following page (91) with a passage in Plato’s Critias (p. 109), where it is said, that we in our several tribes and cities are the flocks whom the divine beings severally tend, not by any bodily compulsion applied to our bodies, but by an intellectual agency operating on the rudder, to which all living things most aptly answer, of the soul.

  Page 92 . — Through all this narrative Plutarch appears to have made a mistake. The mother of Coriolanus was Veturia, and his wife Volumnia.

  Page 98 . — The divine nature, differing from us in all respects, may very well be conceived to differ in its acts and mode of agency yet more than in any thing else. The sense of the passage from Heraclitus, which is quoted also by Clement of Alexandria (Stromata V., cxiii), is very uncertain. It may merely mean that divine things transcend our powers of belief and knowledge.

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  2: Session II: Coriolanus II: Revenge and Humility

  In the second half of the play the tribune-led plebians succeed in banishing Coriolanus — war-hero and leader of the aristocratic faction — from Rome. The conflict involves principles as much as personalities: patrician rule based on merit versus popular rule based on numbers. This “double worship” — and the absence of a third party to moderate the extremes — points to the solution of the mixed regime, which the Roman republic eventually came to resemble. More broadly, the polarization of power and values in Coriolanus speaks to the dangers of class-based politics and the need to reconcile the claims of virtue with demands for equality.

  William Shakespeare, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (The Oxford Shakespeare), ed. with a glossary by W.J. Craig M.A. (Oxford University Press, 1916).

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1619 on 2008-08-21

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  CORIOLANUS

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

  CAIUS MARCIUS,	afterwards Caius Marcius Coriolanus.
  TITUS LARTIUS, }	Generals against the Volscians.
  COMINIUS, }
  MENENIUS AGRIPPA,	Friend to Coriolanus.
  SICINIUS VELUTUS, }	Tribunes of the People.
  JUNIUS BRUTUS, }
  YOUNG MARCIUS,	Son to Coriolanus.
  A Roman Herald.
  TULLUS AUFIDIUS,	General of the Volscians.
  Lieutenant to Aufidius.
  Conspirators with Aufidius.
  NICANOR,	a Roman.
  A Citizen of Antium.
  ADRIAN,	a Volsce.
  Two Volscian Guards.
  VOLUMNIA,	Mother to Coriolanus.
  VIRGILIA,	Wife to Coriolanus.
  VALERIA,	Friend to Virgilia.
  Gentlewoman, attending on Virgilia.
  Roman and Volscian Senators, Patricians, Ædiles, Lictors, Soldiers, Citizens, Messengers, Servants to Aufidius, and other Attendants.

  Scene.—Rome and the Neighbourhood; Corioli and the Neighbourhood; Antium.

  ACT I.

  Scene I.—

  Rome. A Street.

  Enter a Company of mutinous Citizens, with staves, clubs, and other weapons.

  First Cit.

  Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.

  All.

  Speak, speak.

  First Cit.

  You are all resolved rather to die than to famish?

  All.

  Resolved, resolved.

  First Cit.

  First, you know Caius Marcius is chief enemy to the people.

  All.

  We know’t, we know’t.

  First Cit.

  Let us kill him, and we’ll have corn at our own price. Is’t a verdict?

  All.

  No more talking on’t; let it be done.

  Away, away!

  Sec. Cit.

  One word, good citizens.

  First Cit.

  We are accounted poor citizens, the patricians good. What authority surfeits on would relieve us. If they would yield us but the superfluity, while it were wholesome, we might guess they relieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear: the leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an inventory to particularise their abundance; our sufferance is a gain to them. Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere we become rakes: for the gods know I speak this in hunger for bread, not in thirst for revenge.

  Sec. Cit.

  Would you proceed especially against Caius Marcius?

  First Cit.

  Against him first: he’s a very dog to the commonalty.

  Sec. Cit.

  Consider you what services he has done for his country?

  First Cit.

  Very well; and could be content to give him good report for’t, but that he pays himself with being proud.

  Sec. Cit.

  Nay, but speak not maliciously.

  First Cit.

  I say unto you, what he hath done famously, he did it to that end: though soft-conscienced men can be content to say it was for his country, he did it to please his mother, and to be partly proud; which he is, even to the altitude of his virtue.

  Sec. Cit.

  What he cannot help in his nature, you account a vice in him. You must in no way say he is covetous.

  First Cit.

  If I must not, I need not be barren of accusations: he hath faults, with surplus, to tire in repetition. [Shouts within.] What shouts are these? The other side o’ the city is risen: why stay we prating here? to the Capitol!

  All.

  Come, come.

  First Cit.

  Soft! who comes here?

  EnterMenenius Agrippa.

  Sec. Cit.

  Worthy Menenius Agrippa; one that hath always loved the people.

  First Cit.

  He’s one honest enough: would all the rest were so!

  Men.

  What work’s, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you

  With bats and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you.

  First Cit.

  Our business is not unknown to the senate; they have had inkling this fortnight what we intend to do, which now we’ll show ’em in deeds. They say poor suitors have strong breaths: they shall know we have strong arms too.

  Men.

  Why, masters, my good friends, mine honest neighbours,

  Will you undo yourselves?

  First Cit.

  We cannot, sir; we are undone already.

  Men.

  I tell you, friends, most charitable care

  Have the patricians of you. For your wants,

  Your suffering in this dearth, you may as well

  Strike at the heaven with your staves as lift them

  Against the Roman state, whose course will on

  The way it takes, cracking ten thousand curbs

  Of more strong link asunder than can ever

  Appear in your impediment. For the dearth,

  The gods, not the patricians, make it, and

  Your knees to them, not arms, must help. Alack!

  You are transported by calamity

  Thither where more attends you; and you slander

  The helms o’ the state, who care for you like fathers,

  When you curse them as enemies.

  First Cit.

  Care for us! True, indeed! They ne’er cared for us yet: suffer us to famish, and their storehouses crammed with grain; make edicts for usury, to support usurers; repeal daily any wholesome act established against the rich, and provide more piercing statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor. If the wars eat us not up, they will; and there’s all the love they bear us.

  Men.

  Either you must

  Confess yourselves wondrous malicious,

  Or be accus’d of folly. I shall tell you

  A pretty tale: it may be you have heard it;

  But, since it serves my purpose, I will venture

  To scale’t a little more.

  First Cit.

  Well, I’ll hear it, sir; yet you must not think to fob off our disgrace with a tale; but, an’t please you, deliver.

  Men.

  There was a time when all the body’s members

  Rebell’d against the belly; thus accus’d it:

  That only like a gulf it did remain

  I’ the midst o’ the body, idle and unactive,

  Still cupboarding the viand, never bearing

  Like labour with the rest, where the other instruments

  Did see and hear, devise, instruct, walk, feel,

  And, mutually participate, did minister

  Unto the appetite and affection common

  Of the whole body. The belly answer’d,—

  First Cit.

  Well, sir, what answer made the belly?

  Men.

  Sir, I shall tell you.—With a kind of smile,

  Which ne’er came from the lungs, but even thus—

  For, look you, I may make the belly smile

  As well as speak—it tauntingly replied

  To the discontented members, the mutinous parts

  That envied his receipt; even so most fitly

  As you malign our senators for that

  They are not such as you.

  First Cit.

  Your belly’s answer? What!

  The kingly crowned head, the vigilant eye,

  The counsellor heart, the arm our soldier,

  Our steed the leg, the tongue our trumpeter,

  With other muniments and petty helps

  In this our fabric, if that they—

  Men.

  What then?—

  ’Fore me, this fellow speaks! what then? what then?

  First Cit.

  Should by the cormorant belly be restrain’d,

  Who is the sink o’ the body,—

  Men.

  Well, what then?

  First Cit.

  The former agents, if they did complain,

  What could the belly answer?

  Men.

  I will tell you;

  If you’ll bestow a small, of what you have little,

  Patience a while, you’ll hear the belly’s answer.

  First Cit.

  You’re long about it.

  Men.

  Note me this, good friend;

  Your most grave belly was deliberate,

  Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer’d:

  ‘True is it, my incorporate friends,’ quoth he,

  ‘That I receive the general food at first,

  Which you do live upon; and fit it is;

  Because I am the store-house and the shop

  Of the whole body: but, if you do remember,

  I send it through the rivers of your blood,

  Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o’ the brain;

  And, through the cranks and offices of man,

  The strongest nerves and small inferior veins

  From me receive that natural competency

  Whereby they live. And though that all at once,

  You, my good friends,’—this says the belly, mark me,—

  First Cit.

  Ay, sir; well, well.

  Men.

  ‘Though all at once cannot

  See what I do deliver out to each,

  Yet I can make my audit up, that all

  From me do back receive the flour of all,

  And leave me but the bran.’ What say you to’t?

  First Cit.

  It was an answer: how apply you this?

  Men.

  The senators of Rome are this good belly,

  And you the mutinous members; for, examine

  Their counsels and their cares, digest things rightly

  Touching the weal o’ the common, you shall find

  No public benefit which you receive

  But it proceeds or comes from them to you,

  And no way from yourselves. What do you think,

  You, the great toe of this assembly?

  First Cit.

  I the great toe? Why the great toe?

  Men.

  For that, being one o’ the lowest, basest, poorest,

  Of this most wise rebellion, thou go’st foremost:

  Thou rascal, that art worst in blood to run,

  Lead’st first to win some vantage.

  But make you ready your stiff bats and clubs:

  Rome and her rats are at the point of battle;

  The one side must have bale.

  EnterCaius Marcius.

  Hail, noble Marcius!

  Mar.

  Thanks.—What’s the matter, you dissentious rogues,

  That, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,

  Make yourselves scabs?

  First Cit.

  We have ever your good word.

  Mar.

  He that will give good words to thee will flatter

  Beneath abhorring. What would you have, you curs,

  That like nor peace nor war? the one affrights you,

  The other makes you proud. He that trusts to you,

  Where he should find you lions, finds you hares;

  Where foxes, geese: you are no surer, no,

  Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,

  Or hailstone in the sun. Your virtue is,

  To make him worthy whose offence subdues him,

  And curse that justice did it. Who deserves greatness

  Deserves your hate; and your affections are

  A sick man’s appetite, who desires most that

  Which would increase his evil. He that depends

  Upon your favours swims with fins of lead

  And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye?

  With every minute you do change a mind,

  And call him noble that was now your hate,

  Him vile that was your garland. What’s the matter,

  That in these several places of the city

  You cry against the noble senate, who,

  Under the gods, keep you in awe, which else

  Would feed on one another? What’s their seeking?

  Men.

  For corn at their own rates; whereof they say

  The city is well stor’d.

  Mar.

  Hang ’em! They say!

  They’ll sit by the fire, and presume to know

  What’s done i’ the Capitol; who’s like to rise,

  Who thrives, and who declines; side factions, and give out

  Conjectural marriages; making parties strong,

  And feebling such as stand not in their liking,

  Below their cobbled shoes. They say there’s grain enough!

  Would the nobility lay aside their ruth,

  And let me use my sword, I’d make a quarry

  With thousands of these quarter’d slaves, as high

  As I could pick my lance.

  Men.

  Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded;

  For though abundantly they lack discretion,

  Yet are they passing cowardly. But, I beseech you,

  What says the other troop?

  Mar.

  They are dissolv’d: hang ’em!

  They said they were an-hungry; sigh’d forth proverbs:

  That hunger broke stone walls; that dogs must eat;

  That meat was made for mouths; that the gods sent not

  Corn for the rich men only. With these shreds

  They vented their complainings; which being answer’d,

  And a petition granted them, a strange one,—

  To break the heart of generosity,

  And make bold power look pale,—they threw their caps

  As they would hang them on the horns o’ the moon,

  Shouting their emulation.

  Men.

  What is granted them?

  Mar.

  Five tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms,

  Of their own choice: one’s Junius Brutus,

  Sicinius Velutus, and I know not—’Sdeath!

  The rabble should have first unroof’d the city,

  Ere so prevail’d with me; it will in time

  Win upon power, and throw forth greater themes

  For insurrection’s arguing.

  Men.

  This is strange.

  Mar.

  Go; get you home, you fragments!

  Enter a Messenger, hastily.

  Mess.

  Where’s Caius Marcius?

  Mar.

  Here: what’s the matter?

  Mess.

  The news is, sir, the Volsces are in arms.

  Mar.

  I am glad on’t; then we shall ha’ means to vent

  Our musty superfluity. See, our best elders.

  EnterCominius, Titus Lartius,and other Senators; Junius BrutusandSicinius Velutus.

  First Sen.

  Marcius, ’tis true that you have lately told us;

  The Volsces are in arms.

  Mar.

  They have a leader,

  Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to’t.

  I sin in envying his nobility,

  And were I anything but what I am,

  I would wish me only he.

  Com.

  You have fought together.

  Mar.

  Were half to half the world by the ears, and he

  Upon my party, I’d revolt, to make

  Only my wars with him: he is a lion

  That I am proud to hunt.

  First Sen.

  Then, worthy Marcius,

  Attend upon Cominius to these wars.

  Com.

  It is your former promise.

  Mar.

  Sir, it is;

  And I am constant. Titus Lartius, thou

  Shalt see me once more strike at Tullus’ face.

  What! art thou stiff? stand’st out?

  Tit.

  No, Caius Marcius;

  I’ll lean upon one crutch and fight with t’other,

  Ere stay behind this business.

  Men.

  O! true-bred.

  First Sen.

  Your company to the Capitol; where I know

  Our greatest friends attend us.

  Tit.

  [ToCominius.] Lead you on:

  [ToMarcius.] Follow Cominius; we must follow you;

  Right worthy you priority.

  Com.

  Noble Marcius!

  First Sen.

  [To the Citizens.] Hence! to your homes! be gone.

  Mar.

  Nay, let them follow:

  The Volsces have much corn; take these rats thither

  To gnaw their garners. Worshipful mutiners,

  Your valour puts well forth; pray, follow.

  [Exeunt Senators, Cominius, Marcius, Titus,andMenenius. Citizens steal away.

  Sic.

  Was ever man so proud as is this Marcius?

  Bru.

  He has no equal.

  Sic.

  When we were chosen tribunes for the people,—

  Bru.

  Mark’d you his lip and eyes?

  Sic.

  Nay, but his taunts.

  Bru.

  Being mov’d, he will not spare to gird the gods.

  Sic.

  Bemock the modest moon.

  Bru.

  The present wars devour him; he is grown

  Too proud to be so valiant.

  Sic.

  Such a nature,

  Tickled with good success, disdains the shadow

  Which he treads on at noon. But I do wonder

  His insolence can brook to be commanded

  Under Cominius.

  Bru.

  Fame, at the which he aims,

  In whom already he is well grac’d, cannot

  Better be held nor more attain’d than by

  A place below the first; for what miscarries

  Shall be the general’s fault, though he perform

  To the utmost of a man; and giddy censure

  Will then cry out of Marcius ‘O! if he

  Had borne the business.’

  Sic.

  Besides, if things go well,

  Opinion, that so sticks on Marcius, shall

  Of his demerits rob Cominius.

  Bru.

  Come:

  Half all Cominius’ honours are to Marcius,

  Though Marcius earn’d them not; and all his faults

  To Marcius shall be honours, though indeed

  In aught he merit not.

  Sic.

  Let’s hence and hear

  How the dispatch is made; and in what fashion,

  More than his singularity, he goes

  Upon this present action.

  Bru.

  Let’s along.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene II.—

  Corioli. The Senate-house.

  EnterTullus Aufidiusand Senators.

  First Sen.

  So, your opinion is, Aufidius,

  That they of Rome are enter’d in our counsels,

  And know how we proceed.

  Auf.

  Is it not yours?

  What ever have been thought on in this state,

  That could be brought to bodily act ere Rome

  Had circumvention? ’Tis not four days gone

  Since I heard thence; these are the words: I think

  I have the letter here; yes, here it is.

  They have press’d a power, but it is not known

  Whether for east, or west: the dearth is great;

  The people mutinous; and it is rumour’d,

  Cominius, Marcius, your old enemy,—

  Who is of Rome worse hated than of you,—

  And Titus Lartius, a most valiant Roman,

  These three lead on this preparation

  Whither ’tis bent: most likely ’tis for you:

  Consider of it.

  First Sen.

  Our army’s in the field:

  We never yet made doubt but Rome was ready

  To answer us.

  Auf.

  Nor did you think it folly

  To keep your great pretences veil’d till when

  They needs must show themselves; which in the hatching,

  It seem’d, appear’d to Rome. By the discovery

  We shall be shorten’d in our aim, which was

  To take in many towns ere almost Rome

  Should know we were afoot.

  Sec. Sen.

  Noble Aufidius,

  Take your commission; hie you to your bands;

  Let us alone to guard Corioli:

  If they set down before’s, for the remove

  Bring up your army; but, I think you’ll find

  They’ve not prepared for us.

  Auf.

  O! doubt not that;

  I speak from certainties. Nay, more;

  Some parcels of their power are forth already,

  And only hitherward. I leave your honours.

  If we and Caius Marcius chance to meet,

  ’Tis sworn between us we shall ever strike

  Till one can do no more.

  All.

  The gods assist you!

  Auf.

  And keep your honours safe!

  First Sen.

  Farewell.

  Sec. Sen.

  Farewell.

  All.

  Farewell.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene III.—

  Rome. A Room inMarcius’sHouse.

  EnterVolumniaandVirgilia:they set them down on two low stools and sew.

  Vol.

  I pray you, daughter, sing; or express yourself in a more comfortable sort. If my son were my husband, I would freelier rejoice in that absence wherein he won honour than in the embracements of his bed where he would show most love. When yet he was but tender-bodied and the only son of my womb, when youth with comeliness plucked all gaze his way, when for a day of kings’ entreaties a mother should not sell him an hour from her beholding, I, considering how honour would become such a person, that it was no better than picture-like to hang by the wall, if renown made it not stir, was pleased to let him seek danger where he was like to find fame. To a cruel war I sent him; from whence he returned, his brows bound with oak. I tell thee, daughter, I sprang not more in joy at first hearing he was a man-child than now in first seeing he had proved himself a man.

  Vir.

  But had he died in the business, madam; how then?

  Vol.

  Then, his good report should have been my son; I therein would have found issue. Hear me profess sincerely: had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for their country than one voluptuously surfeit out of action.

  Enter a Gentlewoman.

  Gen.

  Madam, the Lady Valeria is come to visit you.

  Vir.

  Beseech you, give me leave to retire myself.

  Vol.

  Indeed, you shall not.

  Methinks I hear hither your husband’s drum,

  See him pluck Aufidius down by the hair,

  As children from a bear, the Volsces shunning him:

  Methinks I see him stamp thus, and call thus:

  ‘Come on, you cowards! you were got in fear,

  Though you were born in Rome.’ His bloody brow

  With his mail’d hand then wiping, forth he goes,

  Like to a harvestman that’s task’d to mow

  Or all or lose his hire.

  Vir.

  His bloody brow! O Jupiter! no blood.

  Vol.

  Away, you fool! it more becomes a man

  Than gilt his trophy: the breasts of Hecuba,

  When she did suckle Hector, look’d not lovelier

  Than Hector’s forehead when it spit forth blood

  At Grecian swords, contemning. Tell Valeria

  We are fit to bid her welcome.

  [Exit Gentlewoman.

  Vir.

  Heavens bless my lord from fell Aufidius!

  Vol.

  He’ll beat Aufidius’ head below his knee,

  And tread upon his neck.

  Re-enter Gentlewoman, withValeriaand an Usher.

  Val.

  My ladies both, good day to you.

  Vol.

  Sweet madam.

  Vir.

  I am glad to see your ladyship.

  Val.

  How do you both? you are manifest housekeepers. What are you sewing here? A fine spot, in good faith. How does your little son?

  Vir.

  I thank your ladyship; well, good madam.

  Vol.

  He had rather see the swords and hear a drum, than look upon his schoolmaster.

  Val.

  O’ my word, the father’s son; I’ll swear ’tis a very pretty boy. O’ my troth, I looked upon him o’ Wednesday half an hour together: he has such a confirmed countenance. I saw him run after a gilded butterfly; and when he caught it, he let it go again; and after it again; and over and over he comes, and up again; catched it again: or whether his fall enraged him, or how ’twas, he did so set his teeth and tear it; O! I warrant, how he mammocked it!

  Vol.

  One on’s father’s moods.

  Val.

  Indeed, la, ’tis a noble child.

  Vir.

  A crack, madam.

  Val.

  Come, lay aside your stitchery; I must have you play the idle huswife with me this afternoon.

  Vir.

  No, good madam; I will not out of doors.

  Val.

  Not out of doors!

  Vol.

  She shall, she shall.

  Vir.

  Indeed, no, by your patience; I’ll not over the threshold till my lord return from the wars.

  Vol.

  Fie! you confine yourself most unreasonably. Come; you must go visit the good lady that lies in.

  Vir.

  I will wish her speedy strength, and visit her with my prayers; but I cannot go thither.

  Vol.

  Why, I pray you?

  Vir.

  ’Tis not to save labour, nor that I want love.

  Val.

  You would be another Penelope; yet, they say, all the yarn she spun in Ulysses’ absence did but fill Ithaca full of moths. Come; I would your cambric were sensible as your finger, that you might leave pricking it for pity. Come, you shall go with us.

  Vir.

  No, good madam, pardon me; indeed, I will not forth.

  Val.

  In truth, la, go with me; and I’ll tell you excellent news of your husband.

  Vir.

  O, good madam, there can be none yet.

  Val.

  Verily, I do not jest with you; there came news from him last night.

  Vir.

  Indeed, madam?

  Val.

  In earnest, it’s true; I heard a senator speak it. Thus it is: The Volsces have an army forth; against whom Cominius the general is gone, with one part of our Roman power: your lord and Titus Lartius are set down before their city Corioli; they nothing doubt prevailing and to make it brief wars. This is true, on mine honour; and so, I pray, go with us.

  Vir.

  Give me excuse, good madam; I will obey you in every thing hereafter.

  Vol.

  Let her alone, lady: as she is now she will but disease our better mirth.

  Val.

  In troth, I think she would. Fare you well then. Come, good sweet lady. Prithee, Virgilia, turn thy solemness out o’ door, and go along with us.

  Vir.

  No, at a word, madam; indeed I must not. I wish you much mirth.

  Val.

  Well then, farewell.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene IV.—

  Before Corioli.

  Enter, with drum and colours,Marcius, Titus Lartius, Officers, and Soldiers. To them a Messenger.

  Mar.

  Yonder comes news: a wager they have met.

  Lart.

  My horse to yours, no.

  Mar.

  ’Tis done.

  Lart.

  Agreed.

  Mar.

  Say, has our general met the enemy?

  Mess.

  They lie in view, but have not spoke as yet.

  Lart.

  So the good horse is mine.

  Mar.

  I’ll buy him of you.

  Lart.

  No, I’ll nor sell nor give him; lend you him I will

  For half a hundred years. Summon the town.

  Mar.

  How far off lie these armies?

  Mess.

  Within this mile and half.

  Mar.

  Then shall we hear their ’larum, and they ours.

  Now, Mars, I prithee, make us quick in work,

  That we with smoking swords may march from hence,

  To help our fielded friends! Come, blow thy blast.

  A Parley sounded. Enter, on the Walls, two Senators, and Others.

  Tullus Aufidius, is he within your walls?

  First Sen.

  No, nor a man that fears you less than he,

  That’s lesser than a little. Hark, our drums

  [Drums afar off.

  Are bringing forth our youth: we’ll break our walls,

  Rather than they shall pound us up: our gates,

  Which yet seem shut, we have but pinn’d with rushes;

  They’ll open of themselves. Hark you, far off!

  [Alarum afar off.

  There is Aufidius: list, what work he makes

  Amongst your cloven army.

  Mar.

  O! they are at it!

  Lart.

  Their noise be our instruction. Ladders, ho!

  The Volsces enter, and pass over the stage.

  Mar.

  They fear us not, but issue forth their city.

  Now put your shields before your hearts, and fight

  With hearts more proof than shields. Advance, brave Titus:

  They do disdain us much beyond our thoughts,

  Which makes me sweat with wrath. Come on, my fellows:

  He that retires, I’ll take him for a Volsce,

  And he shall feel mine edge.

  Alarum. The Romans are beaten back to their trenches. Re-enterMarcius.

  Mar.

  All the contagion of the south light on you,

  You shames of Rome! you herd of—Boils and plagues

  Plaster you o’er, that you may be abhorr’d

  Further than seen, and one infect another

  Against the wind a mile! You souls of geese,

  That bear the shapes of men, how have you run

  From slaves that apes would beat! Pluto and hell!

  All hurt behind; backs red, and faces pale

  With flight and agu’d fear! Mend and charge home,

  Or, by the fires of heaven, I’ll leave the foe

  And make my wars on you; look to ’t: come on;

  If you’ll stand fast, we’ll beat them to their wives,

  As they us to our trenches follow’d.

  Another alarum. The Volsces and Romans re-enter, and the fight is renewed. The Volsces retire into Corioli, andMarciusfollows them to the gates.

  So, now the gates are ope: now prove good seconds:

  ’Tis for the followers Fortune widens them,

  Not for the fliers: mark me, and do the like.

  [He enters the gates.

  First Sol.

  Foolhardiness! not I.

  Sec. Sol.

  Nor I.

  [Marciusis shut in.

  Third Sol.

  See, they have shut him in.

  All.

  To the pot, I warrant him.

  [Alarum continues.

  Re-enterTitus Lartius.

  Lart.

  What is become of Marcius?

  All.

  Slain, sir, doubtless.

  First Sol.

  Following the fliers at the very heels,

  With them he enters; who, upon the sudden,

  Clapp’d-to their gates; he is himself alone,

  To answer all the city.

  Lart.

  O noble fellow!

  Who, sensibly, outdares his senseless sword,

  And, when it bows, stands up. Thou art left, Marcius:

  A carbuncle entire, as big as thou art,

  Were not so rich a jewel. Thou wast a soldier

  Even to Cato’s wish, not fierce and terrible

  Only in strokes; but, with thy grim looks and

  The thunder-like percussion of thy sounds,

  Thou mad’st thine enemies shake, as if the world

  Were feverous and did tremble.

  Re-enterMarcius,bleeding, assaulted by the enemy.

  First Sol.

  Look, sir!

  Lart.

  O! ’tis Marcius!

  Let’s fetch him off, or make remain alike.

  [They fight, and all enter the city.

  Scene V.—

  Corioli. A Street.

  Enter certain Romans, with spoils.

  First Rom.

  This will I carry to Rome.

  Sec. Rom.

  And I this.

  Third Rom.

  A murrain on’t! I took this for silver.

  [Alarum continues still ajar off.

  EnterMarciusandTitus Lartius,with a trumpet.

  Mar.

  See here these movers that do prize their hours

  At a crack’d drachme! Cushions, leaden spoons,

  Irons of a doit, doublets that hangmen would

  Bury with those that wore them, these base slaves,

  Ere yet the fight be done, pack up. Down with them!

  And hark, what noise the general makes! To him!

  There is the man of my soul’s hate, Aufidius,

  Piercing our Romans: then, valiant Titus, take

  Convenient numbers to make good the city,

  Whilst I, with those that have the spirit, will haste

  To help Cominius.

  Lart.

  Worthy sir, thou bleed’st;

  Thy exercise hath been too violent

  For a second course of fight.

  Mar.

  Sir, praise me not;

  My work hath yet not warm’d me: fare you well:

  The blood I drop is rather physical

  Than dangerous to me: to Aufidius thus

  I will appear, and fight.

  Lart.

  Now the fair goddess, Fortune,

  Fall deep in love with thee; and her great charms

  Misguide thy opposers’ swords! Bold gentleman,

  Prosperity be thy page!

  Mar.

  Thy friend no less

  Than those she places highest! So, farewell.

  Lart.

  Thou worthiest Marcius!—

  [ExitMarcius.

  Go, sound thy trumpet in the market-place;

  Call thither all the officers of the town,

  Where they shall know our mind. Away!

  [Exeunt.

  Scene VI.—

  Near the Camp ofCominius.

  EnterCominiusand Forces, retreating.

  Com.

  Breathe you, my friends: well fought; we are come off

  Like Romans, neither foolish in our stands,

  Nor cowardly in retire: believe me, sirs,

  We shall be charg’d again. Whiles we have struck,

  By interims and conveying gusts we have heard

  The charges of our friends. Ye Roman gods!

  Lead their successes as we wish our own,

  That both our powers, with smiling fronts encountering,

  May give you thankful sacrifice.

  Enter a Messenger.

  Thy news?

  Mess.

  The citizens of Corioli have issu’d,

  And given to Lartius and to Marcius battle:

  I saw our party to their trenches driven,

  And then I came away.

  Com.

  Though thou speak’st truth,

  Methinks thou speak’st not well. How long is’t since?

  Mess.

  Above an hour, my lord.

  Com.

  ’Tis not a mile; briefly we heard their drums:

  How couldst thou in a mile confound an hour,

  And bring thy news so late?

  Mess.

  Spies of the Volsces

  Held me in chase, that I was forc’d to wheel

  Three or four miles about; else had I, sir,

  Half an hour since brought my report.

  Com.

  Who’s yonder,

  That does appear as he were flay’d? O gods!

  He has the stamp of Marcius; and I have

  Before-time seen him thus.

  Mar.

  [Within.] Come I too late?

  Com.

  The shepherd knows not thunder from a tabor,

  More than I know the sound of Marcius’ tongue

  From every meaner man.

  EnterMarcius.

  Mar.

  Come I too late?

  Com.

  Ay, if you come not in the blood of others,

  But mantled in your own.

  Mar.

  O! let me clip ye

  In arms as sound as when I woo’d, in heart

  As merry as when our nuptial day was done,

  And tapers burn’d to bedward.

  Com.

  Flower of warriors.

  How is’t with Titus Lartius?

  Mar.

  As with a man busied about decrees:

  Condemning some to death, and some to exile;

  Ransoming him, or pitying, threat’ning the other;

  Holding Corioli in the name of Rome,

  Even like a fawning greyhound in the leash,

  To let him slip at will.

  Com.

  Where is that slave

  Which told me they had beat you to your trenches?

  Where is he? Call him hither.

  Mar.

  Let him alone;

  He did inform the truth: but for our gentlemen,

  The common file—a plague! tribunes for them!—

  The mouse ne’er shunn’d the cat as they did budge

  From rascals worse than they.

  Com.

  But how prevail’d you?

  Mar.

  Will the time serve to tell? I do not think.

  Where is the enemy? Are you lords o’ the field?

  If not, why cease you till you are so?

  Com.

  Marcius, we have at disadvantage fought,

  And did retire to win our purpose.

  Mar.

  How lies their battle? Know you on which side

  They have plac’d their men of trust?

  Com.

  As I guess, Marcius,

  Their bands i’ the vaward are the Antiates,

  Of their best trust; o’er them Aufidius,

  Their very heart of hope.

  Mar.

  I do beseech you,

  By all the battles wherein we have fought,

  By the blood we have shed together, by the vows

  We have made to endure friends, that you directly

  Set me against Aufidius and his Antiates;

  And that you not delay the present, but,

  Filling the air with swords advanc’d and darts,

  We prove this very hour.

  Com.

  Though I could wish

  You were conducted to a gentle bath,

  And balms applied to you, yet dare I never

  Deny your asking: take your choice of those

  That best can aid your action.

  Mar.

  Those are they

  That most are willing. If any such be here—

  As it were sin to doubt—that love this painting

  Wherein you see me smear’d; if any fear

  Lesser his person than an ill report;

  If any think brave death outweighs bad life,

  And that his country’s dearer than himself;

  Let him, alone, or so many so minded,

  Wave thus, to express his disposition,

  And follow Marcius.

  [They all shout, and wave their swords; take him up in their arms, and cast up their caps.

  O! me alone? Make you a sword of me?

  If these shows be not outward, which of you

  But is four Volsces? None of you but is

  Able to bear against the great Aufidius

  A shield as hard as his. A certain number,

  Though thanks to all, must I select from all: the rest

  Shall bear the business in some other fight,

  As cause will be obey’d. Please you to march;

  And four shall quickly draw out my command,

  Which men are best inclin’d.

  Com.

  March on, my fellows:

  Make good this ostentation, and you shall

  Divide in all with us.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene VII.—

  The Gates of Corioli.

  Titus Lartius,having set a guard uponCorioli,going with drum and trumpet towardsCominiusandCaius Marcius,enters with a Lieutenant, a party of Soldiers, and a Scout.

  Lart.

  So; let the ports be guarded: keep your duties,

  As I have set them down. If I do send, dispatch

  Those centuries to our aid; the rest will serve

  For a short holding: if we lose the field,

  We cannot keep the town.

  Lieu.

  Fear not our care, sir.

  Lart.

  Hence, and shut your gates upon us.

  Our guider, come; to the Roman camp conduct us.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene VIII.—

  A Field of Battle between the Roman and the Volscian Camps.

  Alarum. Enter from opposite sidesMarciusandAufidius.

  Mar.

  I’ll fight with none but thee; for I do hate thee

  Worse than a promise-breaker.

  Auf.

  We hate alike:

  Not Afric owns a serpent I abhor

  More than thy fame and envy. Fix thy foot.

  Mar.

  Let the first budger die the other’s slave,

  And the gods doom him after!

  Auf.

  If I fly, Marcius,

  Halloo me like a hare.

  Mar.

  Within these three hours, Tullus,

  Alone I fought in your Corioli walls,

  And made what work I pleas’d; ’tis not my blood

  Wherein thou seest me mask’d; for thy revenge

  Wrench up thy power to the highest.

  Auf.

  Wert thou the Hector

  That was the whip of your bragg’d progeny,

  Thou shouldst not ’scape me here.—

  [They fight, and certain Volsces come to the aid ofAufidius.

  Officious, and not valiant, you have sham’d me

  In your condemned seconds.

  [Exeunt fighting, all driven in byMarcius.

  Scene IX.—

  The Roman Camp.

  Alarum. A retreat sounded. Flourish. Enter from one side,Cominiusand Romans; from the other side,Marcius,with his arm in a scarf, and other Romans.

  Com.

  If I should tell thee o’er this thy day’s work,

  Thou’lt not believe thy deeds: but I’ll report it

  Where senators shall mingle tears with smiles,

  Where great patricians shall attend and shrug,

  I’ the end, admire; where ladies shall be frighted,

  And, gladly quak’d, hear more; where the dull Tribunes,

  That, with the fusty plebeians, hate thine honours,

  Shall say, against their hearts,

  ‘We thank the gods our Rome hath such a soldier!’

  Yet cam’st thou to a morsel of this feast,

  Having fully din’d before.

  EnterTitus Lartius,with his power, from the pursuit.

  Lart.

  O general,

  Here is the steed, we the caparison:

  Hadst thou beheld—

  Mar.

  Pray now, no more: my mother,

  Who has a charter to extol her blood,

  When she does praise me grieves me. I have done

  As you have done; that’s what I can; induc’d

  As you have been; that’s for my country:

  He that has but effected his good will

  Hath overta’en mine act.

  Com.

  You shall not be

  The grave of your deserving; Rome must know

  The value of her own: ’twere a concealment

  Worse than a theft, no less than a traducement,

  To hide your doings; and to silence that,

  Which, to the spire and top of praises vouch’d,

  Would seem but modest. Therefore, I beseech you,—

  In sign of what you are, not to reward

  What you have done,—before our army hear me.

  Mar.

  I have some wounds upon me, and they smart

  To hear themselves remember’d.

  Com.

  Should they not.

  Well might they fester ’gainst ingratitude,

  And tent themselves with death. Of all the horses,

  Whereof we have ta’en good, and good store, of all

  The treasure, in this field achiev’d and city,

  We render you the tenth; to be ta’en forth,

  Before the common distribution,

  At your only choice.

  Mar.

  I thank you, general;

  But cannot make my heart consent to take

  A bribe to pay my sword: I do refuse it;

  And stand upon my common part with those

  That have beheld the doing.

  [A long flourish. They all cry ‘Marcius! Marcius!’ cast up their caps and lances:CominiusandLartiusstand bare.

  Mar.

  May these same instruments, which you profane,

  Never sound more! When drums and trumpets shall

  I’ the field prove flatterers, let courts and cities be

  Made all of false-fac’d soothing!

  When steel grows soft as is the parasite’s silk,

  Let him be made a coverture for the wars!

  No more, I say! For that I have not wash’d

  My nose that bled, or foil’d some debile wretch,

  Which, without note, here’s many else have done,

  You shout me forth

  In acclamations hyperbolical;

  As if I lov’d my little should be dieted

  In praises sauc’d with lies.

  Com.

  Too modest are you;

  More cruel to your good report than grateful

  To us that give you truly. By your patience,

  If ’gainst yourself you be incens’d, we’ll put you,

  Like one that means his proper harm, in manacles,

  Then reason safely with you. Therefore, be it known,

  As to us, to all the world, that Caius Marcius

  Wears this war’s garland; in token of the which,

  My noble steed, known to the camp, I give him,

  With all his trim belonging; and from this time,

  For what he did before Corioli, call him,

  With all the applause and clamour of the host,

  Caius Marcius Coriolanus! Bear

  The addition nobly ever!

  All.

  Caius Marcius Coriolanus!

  [Flourish. Trumpets sound, and drums.

  Cor.

  I will go wash;

  And when my face is fair, you shall perceive

  Whether I blush, or no: howbeit, I thank you.

  I mean to stride your steed, and at all times

  To undercrest your good addition

  To the fairness of my power.

  Com.

  So, to our tent;

  Where, ere we do repose us, we will write

  To Rome of our success. You, Titus Lartius,

  Must to Corioli back: send us to Rome

  The best, with whom we may articulate,

  For their own good and ours.

  Lart.

  I shall, my lord.

  Cor.

  The gods begin to mock me. I, that now

  Refus’d most princely gifts, am bound to beg

  Of my lord general.

  Com.

  Take it; ’tis yours. What is’t?

  Cor.

  I sometime lay here in Corioli

  At a poor man’s house; he us’d me kindly:

  He cried to me; I saw him prisoner;

  But then Aufidius was within my view,

  And wrath o’erwhelm’d my pity: I request you

  To give my poor host freedom.

  Com.

  O! well begg’d!

  Were he the butcher of my son, he should

  Be free as is the wind. Deliver him, Titus.

  Lart.

  Marcius, his name?

  Cor.

  By Jupiter! forgot.

  I am weary; yea, my memory is tir’d.

  Have we no wine here?

  Com.

  Go we to our tent:

  The blood upon your visage dries; ’tis time

  It should be look’d to: come.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene X.—

  The Camp of the Volsces.

  A Flourish. Cornets. EnterTullus Aufidius,bloody, with two or three Soldiers.

  Auf.

  The town is ta’en!

  First Sol.

  ’Twill be deliver’d back on good condition.

  Auf.

  Condition!

  I would I were a Roman; for I cannot,

  Being a Volsce, be that I am. Condition!

  What good condition can a treaty find

  I’ the part that is at mercy? Five times, Marcius,

  I have fought with thee; so often hast thou beat me,

  And wouldst do so, I think, should we encounter

  As often as we eat. By the elements,

  If e’er again I meet him beard to beard,

  He is mine, or I am his: mine emulation

  Hath not that honour in’t it had; for where

  I thought to crush him in an equal force—

  True sword to sword—I’ll potch at him some way

  Or wrath or craft may get him.

  First Sol.

  He’s the devil.

  Auf.

  Bolder, though not so subtle. My valour’s poison’d

  With only suffering stain by him; for him

  Shall fly out of itself. Nor sleep nor sanctuary,

  Being naked, sick, nor fane nor Capitol,

  The prayers of priests, nor times of sacrifice,

  Embarquements all of fury, shall lift up

  Their rotten privilege and custom ’gainst

  My hate to Marcius. Where I find him, were it

  At home, upon my brother’s guard, even there

  Against the hospitable canon, would I

  Wash my fierce hand in ’s heart. Go you to the city;

  Learn how ’tis held, and what they are that must

  Be hostages for Rome.

  First Sol.

  Will not you go?

  Auf.

  I am attended at the cypress grove: I pray you—

  ’Tis south the city mills—bring me word thither

  How the world goes, that to the pace of it

  I may spur on my journey.

  First Sol.

  I shall, sir.

  [Exeunt.

  ACT II.

  Scene I.—

  Rome. A Public Place.

  EnterMenenius, Sicinius,andBrutus.

  Men.

  The augurer tells me we shall have news to-night.

  Bru.

  Good or bad?

  Men.

  Not according to the prayer of the people, for they love not Marcius.

  Sic.

  Nature teaches beasts to know their friends.

  Men.

  Pray you, who does the wolf love?

  Sic.

  The lamb.

  Men.

  Ay, to devour him; as the hungry plebeians would the noble Marcius.

  Bru.

  He’s a lamb indeed, that baes like a bear.

  Men.

  He’s a bear indeed, that lives like a lamb. You two are old men; tell me one thing that I shall ask you.

  Sic.

  Well, sir.

  Bru.

  Well, sir.

  Men.

  In what enormity is Marcius poor in, that you two have not in abundance?

  Bru.

  He’s poor in no one fault, but stored with all.

  Sic.

  Especially in pride.

  Bru.

  And topping all others in boasting.

  Men.

  This is strange now: do you two know how you are censured here in the city, I mean of us o’ the right hand file? Do you?

  Both.

  Why, how are we censured?

  Men.

  Because you talk of pride now,—Will you not be angry?

  Both.

  Well, well, sir; well.

  Men.

  Why, ’tis no great matter; for a very little thief of occasion will rob you of a great deal of patience: give your dispositions the reins, and be angry at your pleasures; at the least, if you take it as a pleasure to you in being so. You blame Marcius for being proud?

  Bru.

  We do it not alone, sir.

  Men.

  I know you can do very little alone; for your helps are many, or else your actions would grow wondrous single: your abilities are too infant-like, for doing much alone. You talk of pride: O! that you could turn your eyes towards the napes of your necks, and make but an interior survey of your good selves. O! that you could.

  Bru.

  What then, sir?

  Men.

  Why, then you should discover a brace of unmeriting, proud, violent, testy magistrates—alias fools—as any in Rome.

  Sic.

  Menenius, you are known well enough too.

  Men.

  I am known to be a humorous patrician, and one that loves a cup of hot wine with not a drop of allaying Tiber in’t; said to be something imperfect in favouring the first complaint; hasty and tinder-like upon too trivial motion; one that converses more with the buttock of the night than with the forehead of the morning. What I think I utter, and spend my malice in my breath. Meeting two such wealsmen as you are,—I cannot call you Lycurguses,—if the drink you give me touch my palate adversely, I make a crooked face at it. I cannot say your worships have delivered the matter well when I find the ass in compound with the major part of your syllables; and though I must be content to bear with those that say you are reverend grave men, yet they lie deadly that tell you have good faces. If you see this in the map of my microcosm, follows it that I am known well enough too? What harm can your bisson conspectuities glean out of this character, if I be known well enough too?

  Bru.

  Come, sir, come, we know you well enough.

  Men.

  You know neither me, yourselves, nor anything. You are ambitious for poor knaves’ caps and legs: you wear out a good wholesome forenoon in hearing a cause between an orange-wife and a fosset-seller, and then rejourn the controversy of three-pence to a second day of audience. When you are hearing a matter between party and party, if you chance to be pinched with the colic, you make faces like mummers, set up the bloody flag against all patience, and, in roaring for a chamber-pot, dismiss the controversy bleeding, the more entangled by your hearing: all the peace you make in their cause is, calling both the parties knaves. You are a pair of strange ones.

  Bru.

  Come, come, you are well understood to be a perfecter giber for the table than a necessary bencher in the Capitol.

  Men.

  Our very priests must become mockers if they shall encounter such ridiculous subjects as you are. When you speak best unto the purpose it is not worth the wagging of your beards; and your beards deserve not so honourable a grave as to stuff a botcher’s cushion, or to be entombed in an ass’s pack-saddle. Yet you must be saying Marcius is proud; who, in a cheap estimation, is worth all your predecessors since Deucalion, though peradventure some of the best of ’em were hereditary hangmen. Good den to your worships: more of your conversation would infect my brain, being the herdsmen of the beastly plebeians: I will be bold to take my leave of you.

  [BrutusandSiciniusgo aside.

  EnterVolumnia, Virgilia,andValeria.

  How now, my as fair as noble ladies,—and the moon, were she earthly, no nobler,—whither do you follow your eyes so fast?

  Vol.

  Honourable Menenius, my boy Marcius approaches; for the love of Juno, let’s go.

  Men.

  Ha! Marcius coming home?

  Vol.

  Ay, worthy Menenius; and with most prosperous approbation.

  Men.

  Take my cap, Jupiter, and I thank thee. Hoo! Marcius coming home!

  Vol.

  Nay, ’tis true.

  Vir.

  Nay, ’tis true.

  Vol.

  Look, here’s a letter from him: the state hath another, his wife another; and, I think, there’s one at home for you.

  Men.

  I will make my very house reel to-night. A letter for me!

  Vir.

  Yes, certain, there’s a letter for you; I saw it.

  Men.

  A letter for me! It gives me an estate of seven years’ health; in which time I will make a lip at the physician: the most sovereign prescription in Galen is but empiricutic, and, to this preservative, of no better report than a horse-drench. Is he not wounded? he was wont to come home wounded.

  Vir.

  O! no, no, no.

  Vol.

  O! he is wounded, I thank the gods for’t.

  Men.

  So do I too, if it be not too much. Brings a’ victory in his pocket? The wounds become him.

  Vol.

  On ’s brows, Menenius; he comes the third time home with the oaken garland.

  Men.

  Has he disciplined Aufidius soundly?

  Vol.

  Titus Lartius writes they fought together, but Aufidius got off.

  Men.

  And ’twas time for him too, I’ll warrant him that: an he had stayed by him I would not have been so fidiused for all the chests in Corioli, and the gold that’s in them. Is the senate possessed of this?

  Vol.

  Good ladies, let’s go. Yes, yes, yes; the senate has letters from the general, wherein he gives my son the whole name of the war. He hath in this action outdone his former deeds doubly.

  Val.

  In troth there’s wondrous things spoke of him.

  Men.

  Wondrous! ay, I warrant you, and not without his true purchasing.

  Vir.

  The gods grant them true!

  Vol.

  True! pow, wow.

  Men.

  True! I’ll be sworn they are true. Where is he wounded? [To the Tribunes.] God save your good worships! Marcius is coming home: he has more cause to be proud. [ToVolumnia.] Where is he wounded?

  Vol.

  I’ the shoulder, and i’ the left arm: there will be large cicatrices to show the people when he shall stand for his place. He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i’ the body.

  Men.

  One i’ the neck, and two i’ the thigh, there’s nine that I know.

  Vol.

  He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him.

  Men.

  Now, it’s twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy’s grave. [A shout and flourish.] Hark! the trumpets.

  Vol.

  These are the ushers of Marcius: before him he carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears:

  Death, that dark spirit, in ’s nervy arm doth lie;

  Which, being advanc’d, declines, and then men die.

  A Sennet. Trumpets sound. EnterCominiusandTitus Lartius;between them,Coriolanus,crowned with an oaken garland; with Captains, Soldiers, and a Herald.

  Her.

  Know, Rome, that all alone Marcius did fight

  Within Corioli gates: where he hath won,

  With fame, a name to Caius Marcius; these

  In honour follows Coriolanus.

  Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

  [Flourish.

  All.

  Welcome to Rome, renowned Coriolanus!

  Cor.

  No more of this; it does offend my heart:

  Pray now, no more.

  Com.

  Look, sir, your mother!

  Cor.

  O!

  You have, I know, petition’d all the gods

  For my prosperity.

  [Kneels.

  Vol.

  Nay, my good soldier, up;

  My gentle Marcius, worthy Caius, and

  By deed-achieving honour newly nam’d,—

  What is it?—Coriolanus must I call thee?

  But O! thy wife!—

  Cor.

  My gracious silence, hail!

  Wouldst thou have laugh’d had I come coffin’d home,

  That weep’st to see me triumph? Ah! my dear,

  Such eyes the widows in Corioli wear,

  And mothers that lack sons.

  Men.

  Now, the gods crown thee!

  Cor.

  And live you yet? [ToValeria.] O my sweet lady, pardon.

  Vol.

  I know not where to turn: O! welcome home;

  And welcome, general; and ye’re welcome all.

  Men.

  A hundred thousand welcomes: I could weep,

  And I could laugh; I am light, and heavy. Welcome.

  A curse begnaw at very root on ’s heart

  That is not glad to see thee! You are three

  That Rome should dote on; yet, by the faith of men,

  We have some old crab-trees here at home that will not

  Be grafted to your relish. Yet, welcome, warriors!

  We call a nettle but a nettle, and

  The faults of fools but folly.

  Com.

  Ever right.

  Cor.

  Menenius, ever, ever.

  Her.

  Give way there, and go on!

  Cor.

  [ToVolumniaandValeria.] Your hand, and yours:

  Ere in our own house I do shade my head,

  The good patricians must be visited;

  From whom I have receiv’d not only greetings,

  But with them change of honours.

  Vol.

  I have liv’d

  To see inherited my very wishes,

  And the buildings of my fancy: only

  There’s one thing wanting, which I doubt not but

  Our Rome will cast upon thee.

  Cor.

  Know, good mother,

  I had rather be their servant in my way

  Than sway with them in theirs.

  Com.

  On, to the Capitol!

  [Flourish. Cornets. Exeunt in state, as before. The Tribunes remain.

  Bru.

  All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights

  Are spectacled to see him: your prattling nurse

  Into a rapture lets her baby cry

  While she chats him: the kitchen malkin pins

  Her richest lockram ’bout her reechy neck,

  Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows,

  Are smother’d up, leads fill’d, and ridges hors’d

  With variable complexions, all agreeing

  In earnestness to see him: seld-shown flamens

  Do press among the popular throngs, and puff

  To win a vulgar station: our veil’d dames

  Commit the war of white and damask in

  Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil

  Of Phœbus’ burning kisses: such a pother

  As if that whatsoever god who leads him

  Were slily crept into his human powers,

  And gave him graceful posture.

  Sic.

  On the sudden

  I warrant him consul.

  Bru.

  Then our office may,

  During his power, go sleep.

  Sic.

  He cannot temperately transport his honours

  From where he should begin and end, but will

  Lose those he hath won.

  Bru.

  In that there’s comfort.

  Sic.

  Doubt not, the commoners, for whom we stand,

  But they upon their ancient malice will

  Forget with the least cause these his new honours,

  Which that he’ll give them, make I as little question

  As he is proud to do’t.

  Bru.

  I heard him swear,

  Were he to stand for consul, never would he

  Appear i’ the market-place, nor on him put

  The napless vesture of humility;

  Nor, showing, as the manner is, his wounds

  To the people, beg their stinking breaths.

  Sic.

  ’Tis right.

  Bru.

  It was his word. O! he would miss it rather

  Than carry it but by the suit o’ the gentry to him

  And the desire of the nobles.

  Sic.

  I wish no better

  Than have him hold that purpose and to put it

  In execution.

  Bru.

  ’Tis most like he will.

  Sic.

  It shall be to him then, as our good wills,

  A sure destruction.

  Bru.

  So it must fall out

  To him or our authorities. For an end,

  We must suggest the people in what hatred

  He still hath held them; that to his power he would

  Have made them mules, silenc’d their pleaders, and

  Dispropertied their freedoms; holding them,

  In human action and capacity,

  Of no more soul nor fitness for the world

  Than camels in the war; who have their provand

  Only for bearing burdens, and sore blows

  For sinking under them.

  Sic.

  This, as you say, suggested

  At some time when his soaring insolence

  Shall teach the people—which time shall not want,

  If he be put upon ’t; and that’s as easy

  As to set dogs on sheep—will be his fire

  To kindle their dry stubble; and their blaze

  Shall darken him for ever.

  Enter a Messenger.

  Bru.

  What’s the matter?

  Mess.

  You are sent for to the Capitol. ’Tis thought

  That Marcius shall be consul.

  I have seen the dumb men throng to see him, and

  The blind to hear him speak: matrons flung gloves,

  Ladies and maids their scarfs and handkerchers

  Upon him as he pass’d; the nobles bended,

  As to Jove’s statue, and the commons made

  A shower and thunder with their caps and shouts:

  I never saw the like.

  Bru.

  Let’s to the Capitol;

  And carry with us ears and eyes for the time,

  But hearts for the event.

  Sic.

  Have with you.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene II.—

  The Same. The Capitol.

  Enter two Officers to lay cushions.

  First Off.

  Come, come, they are almost here.

  How many stand for consulships?

  Sec. Off.

  Three, they say; but ’tis thought of every one Coriolanus will carry it.

  First Off.

  That’s a brave fellow; but he’s vengeance proud, and loves not the common people.

  Sec. Off.

  Faith, there have been many great men that have flattered the people, who ne’er loved them; and there be many that they have loved, they know not wherefore: so that if they love they know not why, they hate upon no better a ground. Therefore, for Coriolanus neither to care whether they love or hate him manifests the true knowledge he has in their disposition; and out of his noble carelessness lets them plainly see’t.

  First Off.

  If he did not care whether he had their love or no, he waved indifferently ’twixt doing them neither good nor harm; but he seeks their hate with greater devotion than they can render it him; and leaves nothing undone that may fully discover him their opposite. Now, to seem to affect the malice and displeasure of the people is as bad as that which he dislikes, to flatter them for their love.

  Sec. Off.

  He hath deserved worthily of his country; and his ascent is not by such easy degrees as those who, having been supple and courteous to the people, bonneted, without any further deed to have them at all into their estimation and report; but he hath so planted his honours in their eyes, and his actions in their hearts, that for their tongues to be silent, and not confess so much, were a kind of ingrateful injury; to report otherwise, were a malice, that, giving itself the lie, would pluck reproof and rebuke from every ear that heard it.

  First Off.

  No more of him; he is a worthy man: make way, they are coming.

  A Sennet. Enter, with Lictors before them,Cominiusthe Consul,Menenius, Coriolanus,many other Senators, SiciniusandBrutus.The Senators take their places; the Tribunes take theirs also by themselves.

  Men.

  Having determin’d of the Volsces, and

  To send for Titus Lartius, it remains,

  As the main point of this our after-meeting,

  To gratify his noble service that

  Hath thus stood for his country: therefore, please you,

  Most reverend and grave elders, to desire

  The present consul, and last general

  In our well-found successes, to report

  A little of that worthy work perform’d

  By Caius Marcius Coriolanus, whom

  We meet here both to thank and to remember

  With honours like himself.

  First Sen.

  Speak, good Cominius:

  Leave nothing out for length, and make us think

  Rather our state’s defective for requital,

  Than we to stretch it out. [To the Tribunes.] Masters o’ the people,

  We do request your kindest ears, and, after,

  Your loving motion toward the common body,

  To yield what passes here.

  Sic.

  We are convented

  Upon a pleasing treaty, and have hearts

  Inclinable to honour and advance

  The theme of our assembly.

  Bru.

  Which the rather

  We shall be bless’d to do, if he remember

  A kinder value of the people than

  He hath hereto priz’d them at.

  Men.

  That’s off, that’s off;

  I would you rather had been silent. Please you

  To hear Cominius speak?

  Bru.

  Most willingly;

  But yet my caution was more pertinent

  Than the rebuke you give it.

  Men.

  He loves your people;

  But tie him not to be their bedfellow.

  Worthy Cominius, speak.

  [Coriolanusrises, and offers to go away.

  Nay, keep your place.

  First Sen.

  Sit, Coriolanus; never shame to hear

  What you have nobly done.

  Cor.

  Your honours’ pardon:

  I had rather have my wounds to heal again

  Than hear say how I got them.

  Bru.

  Sir, I hope

  My words disbench’d you not.

  Cor.

  No, sir: yet oft,

  When blows have made me stay, I fled from words.

  You sooth’d not, therefore hurt not. But your people,

  I love them as they weigh.

  Men.

  Pray now, sit down.

  Cor.

  I had rather have one scratch my head i’ the sun

  When the alarum were struck than idly sit

  To hear my nothings monster’d.

  [Exit.

  Men.

  Masters of the people,

  Your multiplying spawn how can he flatter,—

  That’s thousand to one good one,—when you now see

  He had rather venture all his limbs for honour

  Than one on ’s ears to hear it. Proceed, Cominius.

  Com.

  I shall lack voice: the deeds of Coriolanus

  Should not be utter’d feebly. It is held

  That valour is the chiefest virtue, and

  Most dignifies the haver: if it be,

  The man I speak of cannot in the world

  Be singly counterpois’d. At sixteen years,

  When Tarquin made a head for Rome, he fought

  Beyond the mark of others; our then dictator,

  Whom with all praise I point at, saw him fight,

  When with his Amazonian chin he drove

  The bristled lips before him. He bestrid

  An o’er-press’d Roman, and i’ the consul’s view

  Slew three opposers: Tarquin’s self he met,

  And struck him on his knee: in that day’s feats,

  When he might act the woman in the scene,

  He prov’d best man i’ the field, and for his meed

  Was brow-bound with the oak. His pupil age

  Man-enter’d thus, he waxed like a sea,

  And in the brunt of seventeen battles since

  He lurch’d all swords of the garland. For this last,

  Before and in Corioli, let me say,

  I cannot speak him home: he stopp’d the fliers,

  And by his rare example made the coward

  Turn terror into sport: as weeds before

  A vessel under sail, so men obey’d,

  And fell below his stem: his sword, death’s stamp,

  Where it did mark, it took; from face to foot

  He was a thing of blood, whose every motion

  Was tim’d with dying cries: alone he enter’d

  The mortal gate of the city, which he painted

  With shunless destiny; aidless came off,

  And with a sudden re-enforcement struck

  Corioli like a planet. Now all’s his:

  When by and by the din of war ’gan pierce

  His ready sense; then straight his doubled spirit

  Re-quicken’d what in flesh was fatigate,

  And to the battle came he; where he did

  Run reeking o’er the lives of men, as if

  ’Twere a perpetual spoil; and till we call’d

  Both field and city ours, he never stood

  To ease his breast with panting.

  Men.

  Worthy man!

  First Sen.

  He cannot but with measure fit the honours

  Which we devise him.

  Com.

  Our spoils he kick’d at,

  And look’d upon things precious as they were

  The common muck o’ the world: he covets less

  Than misery itself would give; rewards

  His deeds with doing them, and is content

  To spend the time to end it.

  Men.

  He’s right noble:

  Let him be call’d for.

  First Sen.

  Call Coriolanus.

  Off.

  He doth appear.

  Re-enterCoriolanus.

  Men.

  The senate, Coriolanus, are well pleas’d

  To make thee consul.

  Cor.

  I do owe them still

  My life and services.

  Men.

  It then remains

  That you do speak to the people.

  Cor.

  I do beseech you,

  Let me o’erleap that custom, for I cannot

  Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them,

  For my wounds’ sake, to give their suffrage: please you,

  That I may pass this doing.

  Sic.

  Sir, the people

  Must have their voices; neither will they bate

  One jot of ceremony.

  Men.

  Put them not to ’t:

  Pray you, go fit you to the custom, and

  Take to you, as your predecessors have,

  Your honour with your form.

  Cor.

  It is a part

  That I shall blush in acting, and might well

  Be taken from the people.

  Bru.

  [Aside toSicinius.] Mark you that?

  Cor.

  To brag unto them, thus I did, and thus;

  Show them the unaching scars which I should hide,

  As if I had receiv’d them for the hire

  Of their breath only!

  Men.

  Do not stand upon’t.

  We recommend to you, tribunes of the people,

  Our purpose to them; and to our noble consul

  Wish we all joy and honour.

  Sen.

  To Coriolanus come all joy and honour!

  [Flourish. Exeunt all butSiciniusandBrutus.

  Bru.

  You see how he intends to use the people.

  Sic.

  May they perceive ’s intent! He will require them,

  As if he did contemn what he requested

  Should be in them to give.

  Bru.

  Come; we’ll inform them

  Of our proceedings here: on the market-place

  I know they do attend us.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene III.—

  The Same. The Forum.

  Enter several Citizens.

  First Cit.

  Once, if he do require our voices, we ought not to deny him.

  Sec. Cit.

  We may, sir, if we will.

  Third Cit.

  We have power in ourselves to do it, but it is a power that we have no power to do; for if he show us his wounds, and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those wounds and speak for them; so, if he tell us his noble deeds, we must also tell him our noble acceptance of them. Ingratitude is monstrous, and for the multitude to be ingrateful were to make a monster of the multitude; of the which, we being members, should bring ourselves to be monstrous members.

  First Cit.

  And to make us no better thought of, a little help will serve; for once we stood up about the corn, he himself stuck not to call us the many-headed multitude.

  Third Cit.

  We have been called so of many; not that our heads are some brown, some black, some abram, some bald, but that our wits are so diversely coloured: and truly I think, if all our wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly east, west, north, south; and their consent of one direct way should be at once to all the points o’ the compass.

  Sec. Cit.

  Think you so? Which way do you judge my wit would fly?

  Third Cit.

  Nay, your wit will not so soon out as another man’s will; ’tis strongly wedged up in a block-head; but if it were at liberty, ’twould, sure, southward.

  Sec. Cit.

  Why that way?

  Third Cit.

  To lose itself in a fog; where being three parts melted away with rotten dews, the fourth would return for conscience’ sake, to help to get thee a wife.

  Sec. Cit.

  You are never without your tricks. you may, you may.

  Third Cit.

  Are you all resolved to give your voices? But that’s no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if he would incline to the people, there was never a worthier man.

  Re-enterCoriolanus,in a gown of humility, andMenenius.

  Here he comes, and in a gown of humility mark his behaviour. We are not to stay all together, but to come by him where he stands, by ones, by twos, and by threes. He’s to make his requests by particulars; wherein every one of us has a single honour, in giving him our own voices with our own tongues: therefore follow me, and I’ll direct you how you shall go by him.

  All.

  Content, content.

  [Exeunt Citizens.

  Men.

  O, sir, you are not right: have you not known

  The worthiest men have done’t?

  Cor.

  What must I say?

  ‘I pray, sir,’—Plague upon’t! I cannot bring

  My tongue to such a pace. ‘Look, sir, my wounds!

  I got them in my country’s service, when

  Some certain of your brethren roar’d and ran

  From the noise of our own drums.’

  Men.

  O me! the gods!

  You must not speak of that: you must desire them

  To think upon you.

  Cor.

  Think upon me! Hang ’em!

  I would they would forget me, like the virtues

  Which our divines lose by ’em.

  Men.

  You’ll mar all:

  I’ll leave you. Pray you, speak to ’em, I pray you,

  In wholesome manner.

  Cor.

  Bid them wash their faces,

  And keep their teeth clean.

  [ExitMenenius.

  So, here comes a brace.

  Re-enter two Citizens.

  You know the cause, sir, of my standing here?

  First Cit.

  We do, sir; tell us what hath brought you to ’t.

  Cor.

  Mine own desert.

  Sec. Cit.

  Your own desert!

  Cor.

  Ay, not mine own desire.

  First Cit.

  How! not your own desire?

  Cor.

  No, sir, ’twas never my desire yet to trouble the poor with begging.

  First Cit.

  You must think, if we give you any thing, we hope to gain by you.

  Cor.

  Well, then, I pray, your price o’ the consulship?

  First Cit.

  The price is, to ask it kindly.

  Cor.

  Kindly! sir, I pray, let me ha ’t: I have wounds to show you, which shall be yours in private. Your good voice, sir; what say you?

  Sec. Cit.

  You shall ha ’t, worthy sir.

  Cor.

  A match, sir. There is in all two worthy voices begged. I have your alms: adieu.

  First Cit.

  But this is something odd.

  Sec. Cit.

  An ’twere to give again,—but ’tis no matter.

  [Exeunt the two Citizens.

  Re-enter two other Citizens.

  Cor.

  Pray you now, if it may stand with the tune of your voices that I may be consul, I have here the customary gown.

  Third Cit.

  You have deserved nobly of your country, and you have not deserved nobly.

  Cor.

  Your enigma?

  Third Cit.

  You have been a scourge to her enemies, you have been a rod to her friends; you have not indeed loved the common people.

  Cor.

  You should account me the more virtuous that I have not been common in my love. I will, sir, flatter my sworn brother the people, to earn a dearer estimation of them; ’tis a condition they account gentle: and since the wisdom of their choice is rather to have my hat than my heart, I will practise the insinuating nod, and be off to them most counterfeitly; that is, sir, I will counterfeit the bewitchment of some popular man, and give it bountifully to the desirers. Therefore, beseech you, I may be consul.

  Fourth Cit.

  We hope to find you our friend, and therefore give you our voices heartily.

  Third Cit.

  You have received many wounds for your country.

  Cor.

  I will not seal your knowledge with showing them. I will make much of your voices, and so trouble you no further.

  Both Cit.

  The gods give you joy, sir, heartily!

  [Exeunt.

  Cor.

  Most sweet voices!

  Better it is to die, better to starve,

  Than crave the hire which first we do deserve.

  Why in this woolvish toge should I stand here,

  To beg of Hob and Dick, that do appear,

  Their needless vouches? Custom calls me to ’t:

  What custom wills, in all things should we do ’t,

  The dust on antique time would lie unswept,

  And mountainous error be too highly heap’d

  For truth to o’er-peer. Rather than fool it so,

  Let the high office and the honour go

  To one that would do thus. I am half through;

  The one part suffer’d, the other will I do.

  Here come more voices.

  Re-enter three other Citizens.

  Your voices: for your voices I have fought;

  Watch’d for your voices; for your voices bear

  Of wounds two dozen odd; battles thrice six

  I have seen and heard of; for your voices have

  Done many things, some less, some more; your voices:

  Indeed, I would be consul.

  Fifth Cit.

  He has done nobly, and cannot go without any honest man’s voice.

  Sixth Cit.

  Therefore let him be consul. The gods give him joy, and make him good friend to the people!

  All.

  Amen, amen.

  God save thee, noble consul!

  [Exeunt Citizens.

  Cor.

  Worthy voices!

  Re-enterMenenius,withBrutusandSicinius.

  Men.

  You have stood your limitation; and the tribunes

  Endue you with the people’s voice: remains

  That, in the official marks invested, you

  Anon do meet the senate.

  Cor.

  Is this done?

  Sic.

  The custom of request you have discharg’d:

  The people do admit you, and are summon’d

  To meet anon, upon your approbation.

  Cor.

  Where? at the senate-house?

  Sic.

  There, Coriolanus.

  Cor.

  May I change these garments?

  Sic.

  You may, sir.

  Cor.

  That I’ll straight do; and, knowing myself again,

  Repair to the senate-house.

  Men.

  I’ll keep you company. Will you along?

  Bru.

  We stay here for the people.

  Sic.

  Fare you well.

  [ExeuntCoriolanusandMenenius.

  He has it now; and by his looks, methinks,

  ’Tis warm at’s heart.

  Bru.

  With a proud heart he wore

  His humble weeds. Will you dismiss the people?

  Re-enter Citizens.

  Sic.

  How now, my masters! have you chose this man?

  First Cit.

  He has our voices, sir.

  Bra.

  We pray the gods he may deserve your love.

  Sec. Cit.

  Amen, sir. To my poor unworthy notice,

  He mock’d us when he begg’d our voices.

  Third Cit.

  Certainly,

  He flouted us downright.

  First Cit.

  No, ’tis his kind of speech; he did not mock us.

  Sec. Cit.

  Not one amongst us, save yourself, but says

  He used us scornfully: he should have show’d us

  His marks of merit, wounds receiv’d for’s country.

  Sic.

  Why, so he did, I am sure.

  All.

  No, no; no man saw ’em.

  Third Cit.

  He said he had wounds, which he could show in private;

  And with his hat, thus waving it in scorn,

  ‘I would be consul,’ says he: ‘aged custom,

  But by your voices, will not so permit me;

  Your voices therefore:’ when we granted that,

  Here was, ‘I thank you for your voices, thank you,

  Your most sweet voices: now you have left your voices

  I have no further with you.’ Was not this mockery?

  Sic.

  Why, either were you ignorant to see ’t,

  Or, seeing it, of such childish friendliness

  To yield your voices?

  Bru.

  Could you not have told him

  As you were lesson’d, when he had no power,

  But was a petty servant to the state,

  He was your enemy, ever spake against

  Your liberties and the charters that you bear

  I’ the body of the weal; and now, arriving

  A place of potency and sway o’ the state,

  If he should still malignantly remain

  Fast foe to the plebeii, your voices might

  Be curses to yourselves? You should have said

  That as his worthy deeds did claim no less

  Than what he stood for, so his gracious nature

  Would think upon you for your voices and

  Translate his malice towards you into love,

  Standing your friendly lord.

  Sic.

  Thus to have said,

  As you were fore-advis’d, had touch’d his spirit

  And tried his inclination; from him pluck’d

  Either his gracious promise, which you might,

  As cause had call’d you up, have held him to;

  Or else it would have gall’d his surly nature,

  Which easily endures not article

  Tying him to aught; so, putting him to rage,

  You should have ta’en the advantage of his choler,

  And pass’d him unelected.

  Bru.

  Did you perceive

  He did solicit you in free contempt

  When he did need your loves, and do you think

  That his contempt shall not be bruising to you

  When he hath power to crush? Why, had your bodies

  No heart among you? or had you tongues to cry

  Against the rectorship of judgment?

  Sic.

  Have you

  Ere now denied the asker? and now again

  Of him that did not ask, but mock, bestow

  Your su’d-for tongues?

  Third Cit.

  He’s not confirm’d; we may deny him yet.

  Sec. Cit.

  And will deny him:

  I’ll have five hundred voices of that sound.

  First Cit.

  Ay, twice five hundred and their friends to piece ’em.

  Bru.

  Get you hence instantly, and tell those friends,

  They have chose a consul that will from them take

  Their liberties; make them of no more voice

  Than dogs that are as often beat for barking

  As therefore kept to do so.

  Sic.

  Let them assemble;

  And, on a safer judgment, all revoke

  Your ignorant election. Enforce his pride,

  And his old hate unto you; besides, forget not

  With what contempt he wore the humble weed;

  How in his suit he scorn’d you; but your loves,

  Thinking upon his services, took from you

  The apprehension of his present portance,

  Which most gibingly, ungravely, he did fashion

  After the inveterate hate he bears you.

  Bru.

  Lay

  A fault on us, your tribunes; that we labour’d,—

  No impediment between,—but that you must

  Cast your election on him.

  Sic.

  Say, you chose him

  More after our commandment than as guided

  By your own true affections; and that, your minds,

  Pre-occupied with what you rather must do

  Than what you should, made you against the grain

  To voice him consul: lay the fault on us.

  Bru.

  Ay, spare us not. Say we read lectures to you,

  How youngly he began to serve his country,

  How long continu’d, and what stock he springs of,

  The noble house o’ the Marcians, from whence came

  That Ancus Marcius, Numa’s daughter’s son,

  Who, after great Hostilius, here was king;

  Of the same house Publius and Quintus were,

  That our best water brought by conduits hither;

  And Censorinus, that was so surnam’d,—

  And nobly nam’d so, twice being censor,—

  Was his great ancestor.

  Sic.

  One thus descended,

  That hath, beside, well in his person wrought

  To be set high in place, we did commend

  To your remembrances: but you have found,

  Scaling his present bearing with his past,

  That he’s your fixed enemy, and revoke

  Your sudden approbation.

  Bru.

  Say you ne’er had done ’t—

  Harp on that still—but by our putting on;

  And presently, when you have drawn your number,

  Repair to the Capitol.

  All.

  We will so; almost all

  Repent in their election.

  [Exeunt Citizens.

  Bru.

  Let them go on;

  This mutiny were better put in hazard

  Than stay, past doubt, for greater.

  If, as his nature is, he fall in rage

  With their refusal, both observe and answer

  The vantage of his anger.

  Sic.

  To the Capitol, come:

  We will be there before the stream o’ the people;

  And this shall seem, as partly ’tis, their own,

  Which we have goaded onward.

  [Exeunt.

  ACT III.

  Scene I.—

  Rome. A Street.

  Cornets. EnterCoriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, Titus Lartius, Senators, and Patricians.

  Cor.

  Tullus Aufidius then had made new head?

  Lart.

  He had, my lord; and that it was which caus’d

  Our swifter composition.

  Cor.

  So then the Volsces stand but as at first,

  Ready, when time shall prompt them, to make road

  Upon ’s again.

  Com.

  They are worn, lord consul, so,

  That we shall hardly in our ages see

  Their banners wave again.

  Cor.

  Saw you Aufidius?

  Lart.

  On safe-guard he came to me; and did curse

  Against the Volsces, for they had so vilely

  Yielded the town: he is retir’d to Antium.

  Cor.

  Spoke he of me?

  Lart.

  He did, my lord.

  Cor.

  How? what?

  Lart.

  How often he had met you, sword to sword;

  That of all things upon the earth he hated

  Your person most, that he would pawn his fortunes

  To hopeless restitution, so he might

  Be call’d your vanquisher.

  Cor.

  At Antium lives he?

  Lart.

  At Antium.

  Cor.

  I wish I had a cause to seek him there,

  To oppose his hatred fully. Welcome home.

  EnterSiciniusandBrutus.

  Behold! these are the tribunes of the people,

  The tongues o’ the common mouth: I do despise them;

  For they do prank them in authority

  Against all noble sufferance.

  Sic.

  Pass no further.

  Cor.

  Ha! what is that?

  Bru.

  It will be dangerous to go on: no further.

  Cor.

  What makes this change?

  Men.

  The matter?

  Com.

  Hath he not pass’d the noble and the common?

  Bru.

  Cominius, no.

  Cor.

  Have I had children’s voices?

  First Sen.

  Tribunes, give way; he shall to the market-place.

  Bru.

  The people are incens’d against him.

  Sic.

  Stop,

  Or all will fall in broil.

  Cor.

  Are these your herd?

  Must these have voices, that can yield them now,

  And straight disclaim their tongues? What are your offices?

  You being their mouths, why rule you not their teeth?

  Have you not set them on?

  Men.

  Be calm, be calm.

  Cor.

  It is a purpos’d thing, and grows by plot,

  To curb the will of the nobility:

  Suffer’t, and live with such as cannot rule

  Nor ever will be rul’d.

  Bru.

  Call’t not a plot:

  The people cry you mock’d them, and of late,

  When corn was given them gratis, you repin’d;

  Scandall’d the suppliants for the people, call’d them

  Time-pleasers, flatterers, foes to nobleness.

  Cor.

  Why, this was known before.

  Bru.

  Not to them all.

  Cor.

  Have you inform’d them sithence?

  Bru.

  How! I inform them!

  Cor.

  You are like to do such business.

  Bru.

  Not unlike,

  Each way, to better yours.

  Cor.

  Why then should I be consul? By yond clouds,

  Let me deserve so ill as you, and make me

  Your fellow tribune.

  Sic.

  You show too much of that

  For which the people stir; if you will pass

  To where you are bound, you must inquire your way,

  Which you are out of, with a gentler spirit;

  Or never be so noble as a consul,

  Nor yoke with him for tribune.

  Men.

  Let’s be calm.

  Com.

  The people are abus’d; set on. This paltering

  Becomes not Rome, nor has Coriolanus

  Deserv’d this so dishonour’d rub, laid falsely

  I’ the plain way of his merit.

  Cor.

  Tell me of corn!

  This was my speech, and I will speak’t again,—

  Men.

  Not now, not now.

  First Sen.

  Not in this heat, sir, now.

  Cor.

  Now, as I live, I will. My nobler friends,

  I crave their pardons:

  For the mutable, rank-scented many, let them

  Regard me as I do not flatter, and

  Therein behold themselves: I say again,

  In soothing them we nourish ’gainst our senate

  The cockle of rebellion, insolence, sedition,

  Which we ourselves have plough’d for, sow’d and scatter’d,

  By mingling them with us, the honour’d number;

  Who lack’d not virtue, no, nor power, but that

  Which they have given to beggars.

  Men.

  Well, no more.

  First Sen.

  No more words, we beseech you.

  Cor.

  How! no more!

  As for my country I have shed my blood,

  Not fearing outward force, so shall my lungs

  Coin words till they decay against those measles,

  Which we disdain should tetter us, yet sought

  The very way to catch them.

  Bru.

  You speak o’ the people,

  As if you were a god to punish, not

  A man of their infirmity.

  Sic.

  ’Twere well

  We let the people know’t.

  Men.

  What, what? his choler?

  Cor.

  Choler!

  Were I as patient as the midnight sleep,

  By Jove, ’twould be my mind!

  Sic.

  It is a mind

  That shall remain a poison where it is,

  Not poison any further.

  Cor.

  Shall remain!

  Hear you this Triton of the minnows? mark you

  His absolute ‘shall?’

  Com.

  ’Twas from the canon.

  Cor.

  ‘Shall!’

  O good but most unwise patricians! why,

  You grave but reckless senators, have you thus

  Given Hydra here to choose an officer,

  That with his peremptory ‘shall,’ being but

  The horn and noise o’ the monster’s, wants not spirit

  To say he’ll turn your current in a ditch,

  And make your channel his? If he have power,

  Then vail your ignorance; if none, awake

  Your dangerous lenity. If you are learned,

  Be not as common fools; if you are not,

  Let them have cushions by you. You are plebeians

  If they be senators; and they are no less,

  When, both your voices blended, the great’st taste

  Most palates theirs. They choose their magistrate,

  And such a one as he, who puts his ‘shall,’

  His popular ‘shall,’ against a graver bench

  Than ever frown’d in Greece. By Jove himself!

  It makes the consuls base; and my soul aches

  To know, when two authorities are up;

  Neither supreme, how soon confusion

  May enter ’twixt the gap of both and take

  The one by the other.

  Com.

  Well, on to the market-place.

  Cor.

  Whoever gave that counsel, to give forth

  The corn o’ the store-house gratis, as ’twas us’d

  Sometime in Greece,—

  Men.

  Well, well; no more of that.

  Cor.

  Though there the people had more absolute power,

  I say, they nourish’d disobedience, fed

  The ruin of the state.

  Bru.

  Why, shall the people give

  One that speaks thus their voice?

  Cor.

  I’ll give my reasons,

  More worthier than their voices. They know the corn

  Was not our recompense, resting well assur’d

  They ne’er did service for ’t. Being press’d to the war,

  Even when the navel of the state was touch’d,

  They would not thread the gates: this kind of service

  Did not deserve corn gratis. Being i’ the war,

  Their mutinies and revolts, wherein they show’d

  Most valour, spoke not for them. The accusation

  Which they have often made against the senate,

  All cause unborn, could never be the motive

  Of our so frank donation. Well, what then?

  How shall this bisson multitude digest

  The senate’s courtesy? Let deeds express

  What’s like to be their words: ‘We did request it;

  We are the greater poll, and in true fear

  They gave us our demands.’ Thus we debase

  The nature of our seats, and make the rabble

  Call our cares, fears; which will in time break ope

  The locks o’ the senate, and bring in the crows

  To peck the eagles.

  Men.

  Come, enough.

  Bru.

  Enough, with over-measure.

  Cor.

  No, take more:

  What may be sworn by, both divine and human,

  Seal what I end withal! This double worship,

  Where one part does disdain with cause, the other

  Insult without all reason; where gentry, title, wisdom,

  Cannot conclude, but by the yea and no

  Of general ignorance,—it must omit

  Real necessities, and give way the while

  To unstable slightness: purpose so barr’d, it follows

  Nothing is done to purpose. Therefore, beseech you,—

  You that will be less fearful than discreet,

  That love the fundamental part of state

  More than you doubt the change on ’t, that prefer

  A noble life before a long, and wish

  To jump a body with a dangerous physic

  That’s sure of death without it, at once pluck out

  The multitudinous tongue; let them not lick

  The sweet which is their poison. Your dishonour

  Mangles true judgment, and bereaves the state

  Of that integrity which should become it,

  Not having the power to do the good it would,

  For the ill which doth control ’t.

  Bru.

  He has said enough.

  Sic.

  He has spoken like a traitor, and shall answer

  As traitors do.

  Cor.

  Thou wretch! despite o’erwhelm thee!

  What should the people do with these bald tribunes?

  On whom depending, their obedience fails

  To the greater bench. In a rebellion,

  When what’s not meet, but what must be, was law,

  Then were they chosen: in a better hour,

  Let what is meet be said it must be meet,

  And throw their power i’ the dust.

  Bru.

  Manifest treason!

  Sic.

  This a consul? no.

  Bru.

  The ædiles, ho! Let him be apprehended.

  Enter an Ædile.

  Sic.

  Go, call the people; [Exit Ædile] in whose name, myself

  Attach thee as a traitorous innovator,

  A foe to the public weal: obey, I charge thee,

  And follow to thine answer.

  Cor.

  Hence, old goat!

  Sen.

  We’ll surety him.

  Com.

  Aged sir, hands off.

  Cor.

  Hence, rotten thing! or I shall shake thy bones

  Out of thy garments.

  Sic.

  Help, ye citizens!

  Re-enter Ædiles, with Others, and a rabble of Citizens.

  Men.

  On both sides more respect.

  Sic.

  Here’s he that would take from you all your power.

  Bru.

  Seize him, ædiles!

  Citizens.

  Down with him!—down with him!—

  Sen.

  Weapons!—weapons!—weapons!—

  [They all bustle aboutCoriolanus,crying Tribunes!—patricians!—citizens!—What ho!—Sicinius! — Brutus! — Coriolanus!—Citizens! Peace!—Peace!—Peace!—Stay!—Hold!—Peace!

  Men.

  What is about to be?—I am out of breath;

  Confusion’s near; I cannot speak. You, tribunes

  To the people! Coriolanus, patience!

  Speak, good Sicinius.

  Sic.

  Hear me, people; peace!

  Citizens.

  Let’s hear our tribune:—Peace!—Speak, speak, speak.

  Sic.

  You are at point to lose your liberties:

  Marcius would have all from you; Marcius,

  Whom late you have nam’d for consul.

  Men.

  Fie, fie, fie!

  This is the way to kindle, not to quench.

  First Sen.

  To unbuild the city and to lay all flat.

  Sic.

  What is the city but the people?

  Citizens.

  True,

  The people are the city.

  Bru.

  By the consent of all, we were establish’d

  The people’s magistrates.

  Citizens.

  You so remain.

  Men.

  And so are like to do.

  Com.

  That is the way to lay the city flat;

  To bring the roof to the foundation,

  And bury all, which yet distinctly ranges,

  In heaps and piles of ruin.

  Sic.

  This deserves death.

  Bru.

  Or let us stand to our authority,

  Or let us lose it. We do here pronounce,

  Upon the part o’ the people, in whose power

  We were elected theirs, Marcius is worthy

  Of present death.

  Sic.

  Therefore lay hold of him;

  Bear him to the rock Tarpeian, and from thence

  Into destruction cast him.

  Bru.

  Ædiles, seize him!

  Citizens.

  Yield, Marcius, yield!

  Men.

  Hear me one word;

  Beseech you, tribunes, hear me but a word.

  Æd.

  Peace, peace!

  Men.

  Be that you seem, truly your country’s friends,

  And temperately proceed to what you would

  Thus violently redress.

  Bru.

  Sir, those cold ways,

  That seem like prudent helps, are very poisonous

  Where the disease is violent. Lay hands upon him,

  And bear him to the rock.

  Cor.

  No, I’ll die here.

  [Drawing his sword.

  There’s some among you have beheld me fighting:

  Come, try upon yourselves what you have seen me.

  Men.

  Down with that sword! Tribunes, withdraw awhile.

  Bru.

  Lay hands upon him.

  Men.

  Help Marcius, help,

  You that be noble; help him, young and old!

  Citizens.

  Down with him!—down with him!

  [In this mutiny the Tribunes, the Ædiles, and the People are beat in.

  Men.

  Go, get you to your house; be gone, away!

  All will be naught else.

  Sec. Sen.

  Get you gone.

  Cor.

  Stand fast;

  We have as many friends as enemies.

  Men.

  Shall it be put to that?

  First Sen.

  The gods forbid!

  I prithee, noble friend, home to thy house;

  Leave us to cure this cause.

  Men.

  For ’tis a sore upon us,

  You cannot tent yourself: be gone, beseech you.

  Com.

  Come, sir, along with us.

  Cor.

  I would they were barbarians,—as they are,

  Though in Rome litter’d,—not Romans,—as they are not,

  Though calv’d i’ the porch o’ the Capitol,—

  Men.

  Be gone;

  Put not your worthy rage into your tongue;

  One time will owe another.

  Cor.

  On fair ground

  I could beat forty of them.

  Men.

  I could myself

  Take up a brace o’ the best of them; yea, the two tribunes.

  Com.

  But now ’tis odds beyond arithmetic;

  And manhood is call’d foolery when it stands

  Against a falling fabric. Will you hence,

  Before the tag return? whose rage doth rend

  Like interrupted waters and o’erbear

  What they are us’d to bear.

  Men.

  Pray you, be gone.

  I’ll try whether my old wit be in request

  With those that have but little: this must be patch’d

  With cloth of any colour.

  Com.

  Nay, come away.

  [ExeuntCoriolanus, Cominius,and Others.

  First Pat.

  This man has marr’d his fortune.

  Men.

  His nature is too noble for the world:

  He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,

  Or Jove for ’s power to thunder. His heart’s his mouth:

  What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent;

  And, being angry, does forget that ever

  He heard the name of death.

  [A noise within.

  Here’s goodly work!

  Sec. Pat.

  I would they were a-bed!

  Men.

  I would they were in Tiber! What the vengeance!

  Could he not speak ’em fair?

  Re-enterBrutusandSicinius,with the rabble.

  Sic.

  Where is this viper

  That would depopulate the city and

  Be every man himself?

  Men.

  You worthy tribunes,—

  Sic.

  He shall be thrown down the Tarpeian rock

  With rigorous hands: he hath resisted law,

  And therefore law shall scorn him further trial

  Than the severity of the public power,

  Which he so sets at nought.

  First Cit.

  He shall well know

  The noble tribunes are the people’s mouths,

  And we their hands.

  Citizens.

  He shall, sure on’t.

  Men.

  Sir, sir,—

  Sic.

  Peace!

  Men.

  Do not cry havoc, where you should but hunt

  With modest warrant.

  Sic.

  Sir, how comes ’t that you

  Have holp to make this rescue?

  Men.

  Hear me speak:

  As I do know the consul’s worthiness,

  So can I name his faults.

  Sic.

  Consul! what consul?

  Men.

  The Consul Coriolanus.

  Bru.

  He consul!

  Citizens.

  No, no, no, no, no.

  Men.

  If, by the tribunes’ leave, and yours, good people,

  I may be heard, I would crave a word or two,

  The which shall turn you to no further harm

  Than so much loss of time.

  Sic.

  Speak briefly then;

  For we are peremptory to dispatch

  This viperous traitor. To eject him hence

  Were but one danger, and to keep him here

  Our certain death; therefore it is decreed

  He dies to-night.

  Men.

  Now the good gods forbid

  That our renowned Rome, whose gratitude

  Towards her deserved children is enroll’d

  In Jove’s own book, like an unnatural dam

  Should now eat up her own!

  Sic.

  He’s a disease that must be cut away.

  Men.

  O! he’s a limb that has but a disease;

  Mortal to cut it off; to cure it easy.

  What has he done to Rome that’s worthy death?

  Killing our enemies, the blood he hath lost,—

  Which, I dare vouch, is more than that he hath

  By many an ounce,—he dropp’d it for his country;

  And what is left, to lose it by his country,

  Were to us all, that do’t and suffer it,

  A brand to th’ end o’ the world.

  Sic.

  This is clean kam.

  Bru.

  Merely awry: when he did love his country

  It honour’d him.

  Men.

  The service of the foot

  Being once gangren’d, is not then respected

  For what before it was.

  Bru.

  We’ll hear no more.

  Pursue him to his house, and pluck him thence,

  Lest his infection, being of catching nature,

  Spread further.

  Men.

  One word more, one word.

  This tiger-footed rage, when it shall find

  The harm of unscann’d swiftness, will, too late,

  Tie leaden pounds to’s heels. Proceed by process;

  Lest parties—as he is belov’d—break out,

  And sack great Rome with Romans.

  Bru.

  If ’twere so,—

  Sic.

  What do ye talk?

  Have we not had a taste of his obedience?

  Our ædiles smote? ourselves resisted? Come!

  Men.

  Consider this: he has been bred i’ the wars

  Since he could draw a sword, and is ill school’d

  In bolted language; meal and bran together

  He throws without distinction. Give me leave,

  I’ll go to him, and undertake to bring him

  Where he shall answer by a lawful form,—

  In peace,—to his utmost peril.

  First Sen.

  Noble tribunes,

  It is the humane way: the other course

  Will prove too bloody, and the end of it

  Unknown to the beginning.

  Sic.

  Noble Menenius,

  Be you then as the people’s officer.

  Masters, lay down your weapons.

  Bru.

  Go not home.

  Sic.

  Meet on the market-place. We’ll attend you there:

  Where, if you bring not Marcius, we’ll proceed

  In our first way.

  Men.

  I’ll bring him to you.

  [To the Senators.] Let me desire your company. He must come,

  Or what is worst will follow.

  First Sen.

  Pray you, let’s to him.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene II.—

  The Same. A Room inCoriolanus’sHouse.

  EnterCoriolanusand Patricians.

  Cor.

  Let them pull all about mine ears; present me

  Death on the wheel, or at wild horses’ heels;

  Or pile ten hills on the Tarpeian rock,

  That the precipitation might down stretch

  Below the beam of sight; yet will I still

  Be thus to them.

  First Pat.

  You do the nobler.

  Cor.

  I muse my mother

  Does not approve me further, who was wont

  To call them woollen vassals, things created

  To buy and sell with groats, to show bare heads

  In congregations, to yawn, be still, and wonder,

  When one but of my ordinance stood up

  To speak of peace or war.

  EnterVolumnia.

  I talk of you:

  Why did you wish me milder? Would you have me

  False to my nature? Rather say I play

  The man I am.

  Vol.

  O! sir, sir, sir,

  I would have had you put your power well on

  Before you had worn it out.

  Cor.

  Let go.

  Vol.

  You might have been enough the man you are

  With striving less to be so: lesser had been

  The thwarting of your dispositions if

  You had not show’d them how you were dispos’d,

  Ere they lack’d power to cross you.

  Cor.

  Let them hang.

  Vol.

  Ay, and burn too.

  EnterMeneniusand Senators.

  Men.

  Come, come; you have been too rough, something too rough;

  You must return and mend it.

  First Sen

  There’s no remedy;

  Unless, by not so doing, our good city

  Cleave in the midst, and perish.

  Vol.

  Pray be counsell’d.

  I have a heart of mettle apt as yours,

  But yet a brain that leads my use of anger

  To better vantage.

  Men.

  Well said, noble woman!

  Before he should thus stoop to the herd, but that

  The violent fit o’ the time craves it as physic

  For the whole state, I would put mine armour on,

  Which I can scarcely bear.

  Cor.

  What must I do?

  Men.

  Return to the tribunes.

  Cor.

  Well, what then? what then?

  Men.

  Repent what you have spoke.

  Cor.

  For them! I cannot do it to the gods;

  Must I then do’t to them?

  Vol.

  You are too absolute;

  Though therein you can never be too noble,

  But when extremities speak. I have heard you say,

  Honour and policy, like unsever’d friends,

  I’ the war do grow together: grant that, and tell me,

  In peace what each of them by th’ other lose,

  That they combine not there.

  Cor.

  Tush, tush!

  Men.

  A good demand.

  Vol.

  If it be honour in your wars to seem

  The same you are not,—which, for your best ends,

  You adopt your policy,—how is it less or worse,

  That it shall hold companionship in peace

  With honour, as in war, since that to both

  It stands in like request?

  Cor.

  Why force you this?

  Vol.

  Because that now it lies you on to speak

  To the people; not by your own instruction,

  Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you,

  But with such words that are but rooted in

  Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables

  Of no allowance to your bosom’s truth.

  Now, this no more dishonours you at all

  Than to take in a town with gentle words,

  Which else would put you to your fortune and

  The hazard of much blood.

  I would dissemble with my nature where

  My fortunes and my friends at stake requir’d

  I should do so in honour: I am in this,

  Your wife, your son, these senators, the nobles;

  And you will rather show our general louts

  How you can frown than spend a fawn upon ’em,

  For the inheritance of their loves and safeguard

  Of what that want might ruin.

  Men.

  Noble lady!

  Come, go with us; speak fair; you may salve so,

  Not what is dangerous present, but the loss

  Of what is past.

  Vol.

  I prithee now, my son,

  Go to them, with this bonnet in thy hand;

  And thus far having stretch’d it,—here be with them,

  Thy knee bussing the stones,—for in such business

  Action is eloquence, and the eyes of the ignorant

  More learned than the ears,—waving thy head,

  Which often, thus, correcting thy stout heart,

  Now humble as the ripest mulberry

  That will not hold the handling: or say to them,

  Thou art their soldier, and being bred in broils

  Hast not the soft way which, thou dost confess,

  Were fit for thee to use as they to claim,

  In asking their good loves; but thou wilt frame

  Thyself, forsooth, hereafter theirs, so far

  As thou hast power and person.

  Men.

  This but done,

  Even as she speaks, why, their hearts were yours;

  For they have pardons, being ask’d, as free

  As words to little purpose.

  Vol.

  Prithee now,

  Go, and be rul’d; although I know thou hadst rather

  Follow thine enemy in a fiery gulf

  Than flatter him in a bower. Here is Cominius.

  EnterCominius.

  Com.

  I have been i’ the market-place; and, sir, ’tis fit

  You make strong party, or defend yourself

  By calmness or by absence: all’s in anger.

  Men.

  Only fair speech.

  Com.

  I think ’twill serve if he

  Can thereto frame his spirit.

  Vol.

  He must, and will.

  Prithee now, say you will, and go about it.

  Cor.

  Must I go show them my unbarbed sconce?

  Must I with my base tongue give to my noble heart

  A lie that it must bear? Well, I will do’t:

  Yet, were there but this single plot to lose,

  This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it,

  And throw ’t against the wind. To the market-place!

  You have put me now to such a part which never

  I shall discharge to the life.

  Com.

  Come, come, we’ll prompt you.

  Vol.

  I prithee now, sweet son, as thou hast said

  My praises made thee first a soldier, so,

  To have my praise for this, perform a part

  Thou hast not done before.

  Cor.

  Well, I must do ’t:

  Away, my disposition, and possess me

  Some harlot’s spirit! My throat of war be turn’d,

  Which quired with my drum, into a pipe

  Small as a eunuch, or the virgin voice

  That babies lulls asleep! The smiles of knaves

  Tent in my cheeks, and school-boys’ tears take up

  The glasses of my sight! A beggar’s tongue

  Make motion through my lips, and my arm’d knees,

  Who bow’d but in my stirrup, bend like his

  That hath receiv’d an alms! I will not do ’t,

  Lest I surcease to honour mine own truth,

  And by my body’s action teach my mind

  A most inherent baseness.

  Vol.

  At thy choice then:

  To beg of thee it is my more dishonour

  Than thou of them. Come all to ruin; let

  Thy mother rather feel thy pride than fear

  Thy dangerous stoutness, for I mock at death

  With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list,

  Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck’dst it from me,

  But owe thy pride thyself.

  Cor.

  Pray, be content:

  Mother, I am going to the market-place;

  Chide me no more. I’ll mountebank their loves,

  Cog their hearts from them, and come home belov’d

  Of all the trades in Rome. Look, I am going:

  Commend me to my wife. I’ll return consul,

  Or never trust to what my tongue can do

  I’ the way of flattery further.

  Vol.

  Do your will.

  [Exit.

  Com.

  Away! the tribunes do attend you: arm yourself

  To answer mildly; for they are prepar’d

  With accusations, as I hear, more strong

  Than are upon you yet.

  Men.

  The word is ‘mildly.’

  Cor.

  Pray you, let us go:

  Let them accuse me by invention, I

  Will answer in mine honour.

  Men.

  Ay, but mildly.

  Cor.

  Well, mildly be it then. Mildly!

  [Exeunt.

  Scene III.—

  The Same. The Forum.

  EnterSiciniusandBrutus.

  Bru.

  In this point charge him home, that he affects

  Tyrannical power: if he evade us there,

  Enforce him with his envy to the people,

  And that the spoil got on the Antiates

  Was ne’er distributed.—

  Enter an Ædile.

  What, will he come?

  Æd.

  He’s coming.

  Bru.

  How accompanied?

  Æd.

  With old Menenius, and those senators

  That always favour’d him.

  Sic.

  Have you a catalogue

  Of all the voices that we have procur’d,

  Set down by the poll?

  Æd.

  I have; ’tis ready.

  Sic.

  Have you collected them by tribes?

  Æd.

  I have.

  Sic.

  Assemble presently the people hither;

  And when they hear me say, ‘It shall be so,

  I’ the right and strength o’ the commons,’ be it either

  For death, for fine, or banishment, then let them,

  If I say, fine, cry ‘fine,’—if death, cry ‘death,’

  Insisting on the old prerogative

  And power i’ the truth o’ the cause.

  Æd.

  I shall inform them.

  Bru.

  And when such time they have begun to cry,

  Let them not cease, but with a din confus’d

  Enforce the present execution

  Of what we chance to sentence.

  Æd.

  Very well.

  Sic.

  Make them be strong and ready for this hint,

  When we shall hap to give ’t them.

  Bru.

  Go about it.

  [Exit Ædile.

  Put him to choler straight. He hath been us’d

  Ever to conquer, and to have his worth

  Of contradiction: being once chaf’d, he cannot

  Be rein’d again to temperance; then he speaks

  What’s in his heart; and that is there which looks

  With us to break his neck.

  Sic.

  Well, here he comes.

  EnterCoriolanus, Menenius, Cominius, Senators, and Patricians.

  Men.

  Calmly, I do beseech you.

  Cor.

  Ay, as an ostler, that for the poorest piece

  Will bear the knave by the volume. The honour’d gods

  Keep Rome in safety, and the chairs of justice

  Supplied with worthy men! plant love among us!

  Throng our large temples with the shows of peace,

  And not our streets with war!

  First Sen.

  Amen, amen.

  Men.

  A noble wish.

  Re-enter Ædile, with Citizens.

  Sic.

  Draw near, ye people.

  Æd.

  List to your tribunes; audience; peace! I say.

  Cor.

  First, hear me speak.

  Both Tri.

  Well, say. Peace, ho!

  Cor.

  Shall I be charg’d no further than this present?

  Must all determine here?

  Sic.

  I do demand,

  If you submit you to the people’s voices,

  Allow their officers, and are content

  To suffer lawful censure for such faults

  As shall be prov’d upon you?

  Cor.

  I am content.

  Men.

  Lo! citizens, he says he is content:

  The war-like service he has done, consider; think

  Upon the wounds his body bears, which show

  Like graves i’ the holy churchyard.

  Cor.

  Scratches with briers,

  Scars to move laughter only.

  Men.

  Consider further,

  That when he speaks not like a citizen,

  You find him like a soldier: do not take

  His rougher accents for malicious sounds,

  But, as I say, such as become a soldier,

  Rather than envy you.

  Com.

  Well, well; no more.

  Cor.

  What is the matter,

  That being pass’d for consul with full voice

  I am so dishonour’d that the very hour

  You take it off again?

  Sic.

  Answer to us.

  Cor.

  Say, then: ’tis true, I ought so.

  Sic.

  We charge you, that you have contriv’d to take

  From Rome all season’d office, and to wind

  Yourself into a power tyrannical;

  For which you are a traitor to the people.

  Cor.

  How! Traitor!

  Men.

  Nay, temperately; your promise.

  Cor.

  The fires i’ the lowest hell fold-in the people!

  Call me their traitor! Thou injurious tribune!

  Within thine eyes sat twenty thousand deaths,

  In thy hands clutch’d as many millions, in

  Thy lying tongue both numbers, I would say

  ‘Thou liest’ unto thee with a voice as free

  As I do pray the gods.

  Sic.

  Mark you this, people!

  Citizens.

  To the rock!—to the rock with him!

  Sic.

  Peace!

  We need not put new matter to his charge:

  What you have seen him do, and heard him speak,

  Beating your officers, cursing yourselves,

  Opposing laws with strokes, and here defying

  Those whose great power must try him; even this,

  So criminal and in such capital kind,

  Deserves the extremest death.

  Bru.

  But since he hath

  Serv’d well for Rome,—

  Cor.

  What do you prate of service?

  Bru.

  I talk of that, that know it.

  Cor.

  You!

  Men.

  Is this the promise that you made your mother?

  Com.

  Know, I pray you,—

  Cor.

  I’ll know no further:

  Let them pronounce the steep Tarpeian death,

  Vagabond exile, flaying, pent to linger

  But with a grain a day, I would not buy

  Their mercy at the price of one fair word,

  Nor check my courage for what they can give,

  To have ’t with saying ‘Good morrow.’

  Sic.

  For that he has,—

  As much as in him lies,—from time to time

  Envied against the people, seeking means

  To pluck away their power, as now at last

  Given hostile strokes, and that not in the presence

  Of dreaded justice, but on the ministers

  That do distribute it; in the name o’ the people,

  And in the power of us the tribunes, we,

  Even from this instant, banish him our city,

  In peril of precipitation

  From off the rock Tarpeian, never more

  To enter our Rome gates: i’ the people’s name,

  I say, it shall be so.

  Citizens.

  It shall be so,—It shall be so,—Let him away.—

  He’s banish’d, and it shall be so.

  Com.

  Hear me, my masters, and my common friends,—

  Sic.

  He’s sentenc’d; no more hearing.

  Com.

  Let me speak:

  I have been consul, and can show for Rome

  Her enemies’ marks upon me. I do love

  My country’s good with a respect more tender,

  More holy, and profound, than mine own life,

  My dear wife’s estimate, her womb’s increase,

  And treasure of my loins; then if I would

  Speak that—

  Sic.

  We know your drift: speak what?

  Bru.

  There’s no more to be said, but he is banish’d,

  As enemy to the people and his country:

  It shall be so.

  Citizens.

  It shall be so,—it shall be so.

  Cor.

  You common cry of curs! whose breath I hate

  As reek o’ the rotten fens, whose loves I prize

  As the dead carcases of unburied men

  That do corrupt my air, I banish you;

  And here remain with your uncertainty!

  Let every feeble rumour shake your hearts!

  Your enemies, with nodding of their plumes,

  Fan you into despair! Have the power still

  To banish your defenders; till at length

  Your ignorance,—which finds not, till it feels,—

  Making but reservation of yourselves,—

  Still your own foes,—deliver you as most

  Abated captives to some nation

  That won you without blows! Despising,

  For you, the city, thus I turn my back:

  There is a world elsewhere.

  [ExeuntCoriolanus, Cominius, Menenius, Senators, and Patricians.

  Æd.

  The people’s enemy is gone, is gone!

  Citizens.

  Our enemy is banish’d!—he is gone!—Hoo! hoo!

  [They all shout and throw up their caps.

  Sic.

  Go, see him out at gates, and follow him,

  As he hath follow’d you, with all despite;

  Give him deserv’d vexation. Let a guard

  Attend us through the city.

  Citizens.

  Come, come,—let us see him out at gates! come!

  The gods preserve our noble tribunes! Come!

  [Exeunt.

  ACT IV.

  Scene I.—

  Rome. Before a Gate of the City.

  EnterCoriolanus, Volumnia, Virgilia, Menenius, Cominius,and several young Patricians.

  Cor.

  Come, leave your tears: a brief farewell: the beast

  With many heads butts me away. Nay, mother,

  Where is your ancient courage? you were us’d,

  To say extremity was the trier of spirits;

  That common chances common men could bear;

  That when the sea was calm all boats alike

  Show’d mastership in floating; fortune’s blows,

  When most struck home, being gentle wounded, craves

  A noble cunning: you were us’d to load me

  With precepts that would make invincible

  The heart that conn’d them.

  Vir.

  O heavens! O heavens!

  Cor.

  Nay, I prithee, woman,—

  Vol.

  Now the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome,

  And occupations perish!

  Cor.

  What, what, what!

  I shall be lov’d when I am lack’d. Nay, mother,

  Resume that spirit, when you were wont to say,

  If you had been the wife of Hercules,

  Six of his labours you’d have done, and sav’d

  Your husband so much sweat. Cominius,

  Droop not; adieu. Farewell, my wife! my mother!

  I’ll do well yet. Thou old and true Menenius,

  Thy tears are salter than a younger man’s.

  And venomous to thine eyes. My sometime general,

  I have seen thee stern, and thou hast oft beheld

  Heart-hardening spectacles; tell these sad women

  ’Tis fond to wail inevitable strokes

  As ’tis to laugh at them. My mother, you wot well

  My hazards still have been your solace; and

  Believe ’t not lightly,—though I go alone

  Like to a lonely dragon, that his fen

  Makes fear’d and talk’d of more than seen,—your son

  Will or exceed the common or be caught

  With cautelous baits and practice.

  Vol.

  My first son,

  Whither wilt thou go? Take good Cominius

  With thee awhile: determine on some course,

  More than a wild exposture to each chance

  That starts i’ the way before thee.

  Cor.

  O the gods!

  Com.

  I’ll follow thee a month, devise with thee

  Where thou shalt rest, that thou mayst hear of us,

  And we of thee: so, if the time thrust forth

  A cause for thy repeal, we shall not send

  O’er the vast world to seek a single man,

  And lose advantage, which doth ever cool

  I’ the absence of the needer.

  Cor.

  Fare ye well:

  Thou hast years upon thee; and thou art too full

  Of the wars’ surfeits, to go rove with one

  That’s yet unbruis’d: bring me but out at gate.

  Come, my sweet wife, my dearest mother, and

  My friends of noble touch, when I am forth,

  Bid me farewell, and smile. I pray you, come.

  While I remain above the ground you shall

  Hear from me still; and never of me aught

  But what is like me formerly.

  Men.

  That’s worthily

  As any ear can hear. Come, let’s not weep.

  If I could shake off but one seven years

  From these old arms and legs, by the good gods,

  I’d with thee every foot.

  Cor.

  Give me thy hand:

  Come.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene II.—

  The Same. A Street near the Gate.

  EnterSicinius, Brutus,and an Ædile.

  Sic.

  Bid them all home; he’s gone, and we’ll no further.

  The nobility are vex’d, whom we see have sided

  In his behalf.

  Bru.

  Now we have shown our power,

  Let us seem humbler after it is done

  Than when it was a-doing.

  Sic.

  Bid them home;

  Say their great enemy is gone, and they

  Stand in their ancient strength.

  Bru.

  Dismiss them home.

  [Exit Ædile.

  EnterVolumnia, Virgilia,andMenenius.

  Here comes his mother.

  Sic.

  Let’s not meet her.

  Bru.

  Why?

  Sic.

  They say she’s mad.

  Bru.

  They have ta’en note of us: keep on your way.

  Vol.

  O! you’re well met. The hoarded plague o’ the gods

  Requite your love!

  Men.

  Peace, peace! be not so loud.

  Vol.

  If that I could for weeping, you should hear,—

  Nay, and you shall hear some. [ToBrutus.] Will you be gone?

  Vir.

  [ToSicinius.] You shall stay too. I would I had the power

  To say so to my husband.

  Sic.

  Are you mankind?

  Vol.

  Ay, fool; is that a shame? Note but this fool.

  Was not a man my father? Hadst thou foxship

  To banish him that struck more blows for Rome

  Than thou hast spoken words?

  Sic.

  O blessed heavens!

  Vol.

  More noble blows than ever thou wise words;

  And for Rome’s good. I’ll tell thee what; yet go:

  Nay, but thou shalt stay too: I would my son

  Were in Arabia, and thy tribe before him,

  His good sword in his hand.

  Sic.

  What then?

  Vir.

  What then!

  He’d make an end of thy posterity.

  Vol.

  Bastards and all.

  Good man, the wounds that he does bear for Rome!

  Men.

  Come, come: peace!

  Sic.

  I would he had continu’d to his country

  As he began, and not unknit himself

  The noble knot he made.

  Bru.

  I would he had.

  Vol.

  ‘I would he had!’ ’Twas you incens’d the rabble:

  Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth

  As I can of those mysteries which heaven

  Will not have earth to know.

  Bru.

  Pray, let us go.

  Vol.

  Now, pray, sir, get you gone:

  You have done a brave deed. Ere you go, hear this:

  As far as doth the Capitol exceed

  The meanest house in Rome, so far my son,—

  This lady’s husband here, this, do you see,—

  Whom you have banish’d, does exceed you all.

  Bru.

  Well, well, we’ll leave you.

  Sic.

  Why stay we to be baited

  With one that wants her wits?

  Vol.

  Take my prayers with you.

  [Exeunt Tribunes.

  I would the gods had nothing else to do

  But to confirm my curses! Could I meet ’em

  But once a day, it would unclog my heart

  Of what lies heavy to ’t.

  Men.

  You have told them home,

  And, by my troth, you have cause. You’ll sup with me?

  Vol.

  Anger’s my meat; I sup upon myself,

  And so shall starve with feeding. Come, let’s go.

  Leave this faint puling and lament as I do,

  In anger, Juno-like. Come, come, come.

  Men.

  Fie, fie, fie!

  [Exeunt.

  Scene III.—

  A Highway between Rome and Antium.

  Enter a Roman and a Volsce, meeting.

  Rom.

  I know you well, sir, and you know me: your name I think is Adrian.

  Vols.

  It is so, sir: truly, I have forget you.

  Rom.

  I am a Roman; and my services are, as you are, against ’em: know you me yet?

  Vols.

  Nicanor? No.

  Rom.

  The same, sir.

  Vols.

  You had more beard, when I last saw you; but your favour is well approved by your tongue. What’s the news in Rome? I have a note from the Volscian state to find you out there: you have well saved me a day’s journey.

  Rom.

  There hath been in Rome strange insurrections: the people against the senators, patricians, and nobles.

  Vols.

  Hath been! Is it ended then? Our state thinks not-so; they are in a most war-like preparation, and hope to come upon them in the heat of their division.

  Rom.

  The main blaze of it is past, but a small thing would make it flame again. For the nobles receive so to heart the banishment of that worthy Coriolanus, that they are in a ripe aptness to take all power from the people and to pluck from them their tribunes for ever. This lies glowing, I can tell you, and is almost mature for the violent breaking out.

  Vols.

  Coriolanus banished!

  Rom.

  Banished, sir.

  Vols.

  You will be welcome with this intelligence, Nicanor.

  Rom.

  The day serves well for them now. I have heard it said, the fittest time to corrupt a man’s wife is when she’s fallen out with her husband. Your noble Tullus Aufidius will appear well in these wars, his great opposer, Coriolanus, being now in no request of his country.

  Vols.

  He cannot choose. I am most fortunate, thus accidentally to encounter you: you have ended my business, and I will merrily accompany you home.

  Rom.

  I shall, between this and supper, tell you most strange things from Rome; all tending to the good of their adversaries. Have you an army ready, say you?

  Vols.

  A most royal one: the centurions and their charges distinctly billeted, already in the entertainment, and to be on foot at an hour’s warning.

  Rom.

  I am joyful to hear of their readiness, and am the man, I think, that shall set them in present action. So, sir, heartily well met, and most glad of your company.

  Vols.

  You take my part from me, sir; I have the most cause to be glad of yours.

  Rom.

  Well, let us go together.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene IV.—

  Antium. BeforeAufidius’ House.

  EnterCoriolanus,in mean apparel, disguised and muffled.

  Cor.

  A goodly city is this Antium. City,

  ’Tis I that made thy widows: many an heir

  Of these fair edifices ’fore my wars

  Have I heard groan and drop: then, know me not,

  Lest that thy wives with spits and boys with stones

  In puny battle slay me.

  Enter a Citizen.

  Save you, sir.

  Cit.

  And you.

  Cor.

  Direct me, if it be your will,

  Where great Aufidius lies. Is he in Antium?

  Cit.

  He is, and feasts the nobles of the state

  At his house this night.

  Cor.

  Which is his house, beseech you?

  Cit.

  This, here before you.

  Cor.

  Thank you, sir. Farewell.

  [Exit Citizen.

  O world! thy slippery turns. Friends now fast sworn,

  Whose double bosoms seem to wear one heart,

  Whose hours, whose bed, whose meal, and exercise,

  Are still together, who twin, as ’twere, in love

  Unseparable, shall within this hour,

  On a dissension of a doit, break out

  To bitterest enmity: so, fellest foes,

  Whose passions and whose plots have broke their sleep

  To take the one the other, by some chance,

  Some trick not worth an egg, shall grow dear friends

  And interjoin their issues. So with me:

  My birth-place hate I, and my love’s upon

  This enemy town. I’ll enter: if he slay me,

  He does fair justice; if he give me way,

  I’ll do his country service.

  [Exit.

  Scene V.—

  The Same. A Hall inAufidius’ House.

  Music within. Enter a Servingman.

  First Serv.

  Wine, wine, wine! What service is here! I think our fellows are asleep.

  [Exit.

  Enter a Second Servingman.

  Sec. Serv.

  Where’s Cotus? my master calls for him. Cotus!

  [Exit.

  EnterCoriolanus.

  Cor.

  A goodly house: the feast smells well; but I

  Appear not like a guest.

  Re-enter the First Servingman.

  First Serv.

  What would you have, friend? Whence are you? Here’s no place for you: pray, go to the door.

  [Exit.

  Cor.

  I have deserv’d no better entertainment,

  In being Coriolanus.

  Re-enter Second Servingman.

  Sec. Serv.

  Whence are you, sir? Has the porter his eyes in his head, that he gives entrance to such companions? Pray, get you out.

  Cor.

  Away!

  Sec. Serv.

  ‘Away!’ Get you away.

  Cor.

  Now, thou art troublesome.

  Sec. Serv.

  Are you so brave? I’ll have you talked with anon.

  Enter a Third Servingman. Re-enter the First.

  Third Serv.

  What fellow’s this?

  First Serv.

  A strange one as ever I looked on:

  I cannot get him out o’ the house: prithee, call my master to him.

  Third Serv.

  What have you to do here, fellow? Pray you, avoid the house.

  Cor.

  Let me but stand; I will not hurt your hearth.

  Third Serv.

  What are you?

  Cor.

  A gentleman.

  Third Serv.

  A marvellous poor one.

  Cor.

  True, so I am.

  Third Serv.

  Pray you, poor gentleman, take up some other station; here’s no place for you; pray you, avoid: come.

  Cor.

  Follow your function; go, and batten on cold bits.

  [Pushes him away.

  Third Serv.

  What, you will not? Prithee, tell my master what a strange guest he has here.

  Sec. Serv.

  And I shall.

  [Exit.

  Third Serv.

  Where dwell’st thou?

  Cor.

  Under the canopy.

  Third Serv.

  ‘Under the canopy!’

  Cor.

  Ay.

  Third Serv.

  Where’s that?

  Cor.

  I’ the city of kites and crows.

  Third Serv.

  ‘I’ the city of kites and crows!’ What an ass it is! Then thou dwell’st with daws too?

  Cor.

  No; I serve not thy master.

  Third Serv.

  How sir! Do you meddle with my master?

  Cor.

  Ay; ’tis an honester service than to meddle with thy mistress.

  Thou prat’st, and prat’st: serve with thy trencher. Hence.

  [Beats him away.

  EnterAufidiusand First Servingman.

  Auf.

  Where is this fellow?

  Sec. Serv.

  Here, sir: I’d have beaten him like a dog, but for disturbing the lords within.

  Auf.

  Whence com’st thou? what wouldst thou? Thy name?

  Why speak’st not? Speak, man: what’s thy name?

  Cor.

  [Unmuffling.] If, Tullus,

  Not yet thou know’st me, and, seeing me, dost not

  Think me for the man I am, necessity

  Commands me name myself.

  Auf.

  What is thy name?

  [Servants retire.

  Cor.

  A name unmusical to the Volscians’ ears,

  And harsh in sound to thine.

  Auf.

  Say, what’s thy name?

  Thou hast a grim appearance, and thy face

  Bears a command in ’t; though thy tackle’s torn,

  Thou show’st a noble vessel. What’s thy name?

  Cor.

  Prepare thy brow to frown. Know’st thou me yet?

  Auf.

  I know thee not. Thy name?

  Cor.

  My name is Caius Marcius, who hath done

  To thee particularly, and to all the Volsces,

  Great hurt and mischief; thereto witness may

  My surname, Coriolanus: the painful service,

  The extreme dangers, and the drops of blood

  Shed for my thankless country, are requited

  But with that surname; a good memory,

  And witness of the malice and displeasure

  Which thou shouldst bear me: only that name remains;

  The cruelty and envy of the people,

  Permitted by our dastard nobles, who

  Have all forsook me, hath devour’d the rest;

  And suffer’d me by the voice of slaves to be

  Whoop’d out of Rome. Now this extremity

  Hath brought me to thy hearth; not out of hope,

  Mistake me not, to save my life; for if

  I had fear’d death, of all the men i’ the world

  I would have ’voided thee; but in mere spite,

  To be full quit of those my banishers,

  Stand I before thee here. Then if thou hast

  A heart of wreak in thee, that will revenge

  Thine own particular wrongs and stop those maims

  Of shame seen through thy country, speed thee straight,

  And make my misery serve thy turn: so use it,

  That my revengeful services may prove

  As benefits to thee, for I will fight

  Against my canker’d country with the spleen

  Of all the under fiends. But if so be

  Thou dar’st not this, and that to prove more fortunes

  Thou art tir’d, then, in a word, I also am

  Longer to live most weary, and present

  My throat to thee and to thy ancient malice;

  Which not to cut would show thee but a fool,

  Since I have ever follow’d thee with hate,

  Drawn tuns of blood out of thy country’s breast,

  And cannot live but to thy shame, unless

  It be to do thee service.

  Auf.

  O Marcius, Marcius!

  Each word thou hast spoke hath weeded from my heart

  A root of ancient envy. If Jupiter

  Should from yond cloud speak divine things,

  And say, ‘’Tis true,’ I’d not believe them more

  Than thee, all noble Marcius. Let me twine

  Mine arms about that body, where against

  My grained ash a hundred times hath broke,

  And scarr’d the moon with splinters: here I clip

  The anvil of my sword, and do contest

  As hotly and as nobly with thy love

  As ever in ambitious strength I did

  Contend against thy valour. Know thou first,

  I lov’d the maid I married; never man

  Sigh’d truer breath; but that I see thee here,

  Thou noble thing! more dances my rapt heart

  Than when I first my wedded mistress saw

  Bestride my threshold. Why, thou Mars! I tell thee,

  We have a power on foot; and I had purpose

  Once more to hew thy target from thy brawn,

  Or lose mine arm for ’t. Thou hast beat me out

  Twelve several times, and I have nightly since

  Dreamt of encounters ’twixt thyself and me;

  We have been down together in my sleep,

  Unbuckling helms, fisting each other’s throat,

  And wak’d half dead with nothing. Worthy Marcius,

  Had we no quarrel else to Rome, but that

  Thou art thence banish’d, we would muster all

  From twelve to seventy, and, pouring war

  Into the bowels of ungrateful Rome,

  Like a bold flood o’er-bear. O! come; go in,

  And take our friendly senators by the hands,

  Who now are here, taking their leaves of me,

  Who am prepar’d against your territories,

  Though not for Rome itself.

  Cor.

  You bless me, gods!

  Auf.

  Therefore, most absolute sir, if thou wilt have

  The leading of thine own revenges, take

  The one half of my commission, and set down,

  As best thou art experienc’d, since thou know’st

  Thy country’s strength and weakness, thine own ways;

  Whether to knock against the gates of Rome,

  Or rudely visit them in parts remote,

  To fright them, ere destroy. But come in:

  Let me commend thee first to those that shall

  Say yea to thy desires. A thousand welcomes!

  And more a friend than e’er an enemy;

  Yet, Marcius, that was much. Your hand: most welcome!

  [ExeuntCoriolanusandAufidius.

  First Serv.

  [Advancing.] Here’s a strange alteration!

  Sec. Serv.

  By my hand, I had thought to have strucken him with a cudgel; and yet my mind gave me his clothes made a false report of him.

  First Serv.

  What an arm he has! He turned me about with his finger and his thumb, as one would set up a top.

  Sec. Serv.

  Nay, I knew by his face that there was something in him: he had, sir, a kind of face, methought,—I cannot tell how to term it.

  First Serv.

  He had so; looking as it were,— would I were hanged but I thought there was more in him than I could think.

  Sec. Serv.

  So did I, I’ll be sworn: he is simply the rarest man i’ the world.

  First Serv.

  I think he is; but a greater soldier than he you wot on.

  Sec. Serv.

  Who? my master?

  First Serv.

  Nay, it’s no matter for that.

  Sec. Serv.

  Worth six on him.

  First Serv.

  Nay, not so neither; but I take him to be the greater soldier.

  Sec. Serv.

  Faith, look you, one cannot tell how to say that: for the defence of a town our general is excellent.

  First Serv.

  Ay, and for an assault too.

  Re-enter Third Servingman.

  Third Serv.

  O slaves! I can tell you news; news, you rascals.

  First Serv.

  What, what, what? let’s partake.

  Sec. Serv.

  What, what, what? let’s partake.

  Third Serv.

  I would not be a Roman, of all nations; I had as lief be a condemned man.

  First Serv.

  Wherefore? wherefore?

  Sec. Serv.

  Wherefore? wherefore?

  Third Serv.

  Why, here’s he that was wont to thwack our general, Caius Marcius.

  First Serv.

  Why do you say ‘thwack our general?’

  Third Serv.

  I do not say, ‘thwack our general;’ but he was always good enough for him.

  Sec. Serv.

  Come, we are fellows and friends: he was ever too hard for him; I have heard him say so himself.

  First Serv.

  He was too hard for him,—directly to say the truth on ’t: before Corioli he scotched him and notched him like a carbonado.

  Sec. Serv.

  An he had been cannibally given, he might have broiled and eaten him too.

  First Serv.

  But, more of thy news.

  Third Serv.

  Why, he is so made on here within, as if he were son and heir to Mars; set at upper end o’ the table; no question asked him by any of the senators, but they stand bald before him. Our general himself makes a mistress of him; sanctifies himself with ’s hand, and turns up the white o’ the eye to his discourse. But the bottom of the news is, our general is out i’ the middle, and but one half of what he was yesterday, for the other has half, by the entreaty and grant of the whole table. He’ll go, he says, and sowle the porter of Rome gates by the ears: he will mow down all before him, and leave his passage polled.

  Sec. Serv.

  And he’s as like to do ’t as any man I can imagine.

  Third Serv.

  Do ’t! he will do ’t for—look you, sir—he has as many friends as enemies; which friends, sir—as it were—durst not—look you, sir—show themselves—as we term it—his friends, whilst he’s in directitude.

  First Serv.

  Directitude! what’s that?

  Sec. Serv.

  But when they shall see, sir, his crest up again, and the man in blood, they will out of their burrows, like comes after rain, and revel all with him.

  First Serv.

  But when goes this forward?

  Third Serv.

  To-morrow; to-day; presently. You shall have the drum struck up this afternoon; ’tis, as it were, a parcel of their feast, and to be executed ere they wipe their lips.

  Sec. Serv.

  Why, then we shall have a stirring world again. This peace is nothing but to rust iron, increase tailors, and breed ballad-makers.

  First Serv.

  Let me have war, say I; it exceeds peace as far as day does night; it’s spritely, waking, audible, and full of vent. Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war’s a destroyer of men.

  Sec. Serv.

  ’Tis so: and as war, in some sort, may be said to be a ravisher, so it cannot be denied but peace is a great maker of cuckolds.

  First Serv.

  Ay, and it makes men hate one another.

  Third Serv.

  Reason: because they then less need one another. The wars for my money. I hope to see Romans as cheap as Volscians. They are rising, they are rising.

  All.

  In, in, in, in!

  [Exeunt.

  Scene VI.—

  Rome. A Public Place.

  EnterSiciniusandBrutus.

  Sic.

  We hear not of him, neither need we fear him;

  His remedies are tame i’ the present peace

  And quietness o’ the people, which before

  Were in wild hurry. Here do we make his friends

  Blush that the world goes well, who rather had,

  Though they themselves did suffer by ’t, behold

  Dissentious numbers pestering streets, than see

  Our tradesmen singing in their shops and going

  About their functions friendly.

  EnterMenenius.

  Bru.

  We stood to ’t in good time. Is this Menenius?

  Sic.

  ’Tis he, ’tis he O! he is grown most kind

  Of late. Hail, sir!

  Men.

  Hail to you both!

  Sic.

  Your Coriolanus is not much miss’d

  But with his friends: the commonwealth doth stand,

  And so would do, were he more angry at it.

  Men.

  All’s well; and might have been much better, if

  He could have temporiz’d.

  Sic.

  Where is he, hear you?

  Men.

  Nay, I hear nothing: his mother and his wife

  Hear nothing from him.

  Enter three or four Citizens.

  Citizens.

  The gods preserve you both!

  Sic.

  Good den, our neighbours.

  Bru.

  Good den to you all, good den to you all.

  First Cit.

  Ourselves, our wives, and children, on our knees,

  Are bound to pray for you both.

  Sic.

  Live, and thrive!

  Bru.

  Farewell, kind neighbours: we wish’d Coriolanus

  Had lov’d you as we did.

  Citizens.

  Now the gods keep you!

  Sic.

  Farewell, farewell.

  [Exeunt Citizens.

  Bru.

  Farewell, farewell.

  Sic.

  This is a happier and more comely time

  Than when these fellows ran about the streets

  Crying confusion.

  Bru.

  Caius Marcius was

  A worthy officer i’ the war; but insolent,

  O’ercome with pride, ambitious past all thinking,

  Self-loving,—

  Sic.

  And affecting one sole throne.

  Without assistance.

  Men.

  I think not so.

  Sic.

  We should by this, to all our lamentation,

  If he had gone forth consul, found it so.

  Bru.

  The gods have well prevented it, and Rome

  Sits safe and still without him.

  Enter an Ædile.

  Æd.

  Worthy tribunes,

  There is a slave, whom we have put in prison,

  Reports, the Volsces with two several powers

  Are enter’d in the Roman territories,

  And with the deepest malice of the war

  Destroy what lies before them.

  Men.

  ’Tis Aufidius,

  Who, hearing of our Marcius’ banishment,

  Thrusts forth his horns again into the world;

  Which were inshell’d when Marcius stood for Rome,

  And durst not once peep out.

  Sic.

  Come, what talk you of Marcius?

  Bru.

  Go see this rumourer whipp’d. It cannot be

  The Volsces dare break with us.

  Men.

  Cannot be!

  We have record that very well it can,

  And three examples of the like have been

  Within my age. But reason with the fellow,

  Before you punish him, where he heard this,

  Lest you shall chance to whip your information,

  And beat the messenger who bids beware

  Of what is to be dreaded.

  Sic.

  Tell not me:

  I know this cannot be.

  Bru.

  Not possible.

  Enter a Messenger.

  Mess.

  The nobles in great earnestness are going

  All to the senate-house: some news is come,

  That turns their countenances.

  Sic.

  ’Tis this slave.—

  Go whip him ’fore the people’s eyes: his raising;

  Nothing but his report.

  Mess.

  Yes, worthy sir,

  The slave’s report is seconded; and more,

  More fearful, is deliver’d.

  Sic.

  What more fearful?

  Mess.

  It is spoke freely out of many mouths—

  How probable I do not know—that Marcius,

  Join’d with Aufidius, leads a power ’gainst Rome,

  And vows revenge as spacious as between

  The young’st and oldest thing.

  Sic.

  This is most likely.

  Bru.

  Rais’d only, that the weaker sort may wish

  Good Marcius home again.

  Sic.

  The very trick on ’t.

  Men.

  This is unlikely:

  He and Aufidius can no more atone,

  Than violentest contrariety.

  Enter another Messenger.

  Sec. Mess.

  You are sent for to the senate:

  A fearful army, led by Caius Marcius,

  Associated with Aufidius, rages

  Upon our territories; and have already

  O’erborne their way, consum’d with fire, and took

  What lay before them.

  EnterCominius.

  Com.

  O! you have made good work!

  Men.

  What news? what news?

  Com.

  You have holp to ravish your own daughters; and

  To melt the city leads upon your pates.

  To see your wives dishonour’d to your noses,—

  Men.

  What’s the news? what’s the news?

  Com.

  Your temples burned in their cement, and

  Your franchises, whereon you stood, confin’d

  Into an auger’s bore.

  Men.

  Pray now, your news?—

  You have made fair work, I fear me. Pray, your news?

  If Marcius should be join’d with Volscians,—

  Com.

  If!

  He is their god: he leads them like a thing

  Made by some other deity than Nature,

  That shapes man better; and they follow him,

  Against us brats, with no less confidence

  Than boys pursuing summer butterflies,

  Or butchers killing flies.

  Men.

  You have made good work,

  You, and your apron-men; you that stood so much

  Upon the voice of occupation and

  The breath of garlic-eaters!

  Com.

  He will shake

  Your Rome about your ears.

  Men.

  As Hercules

  Did shake down mellow fruit. You have made fair work!

  Bru.

  But is this true, sir?

  Com.

  Ay; and you’ll look pale

  Before you find it other. All the regions

  Do smilingly revolt; and who resist

  Are mock’d for valiant ignorance,

  And perish constant fools. Who is’t can blame him?

  Your enemies, and his, find something in him.

  Men.

  We are all undone unless

  The noble man have mercy.

  Com.

  Who shall ask it?

  The tribunes cannot do’t for shame; the people

  Deserve such pity of him as the wolf

  Does of the shepherds: for his best friends, if they

  Should say, ‘Be good to Rome,’ they charg’d him even

  As those should do that had deserv’d his hate,

  And therein show’d like enemies.

  Men.

  ’Tis true:

  If he were putting to my house the brand

  That should consume it, I have not the face

  To say, ‘Beseech you, cease.’—You have made fair hands,

  You and your crafts! you have crafted fair!

  Com.

  You have brought

  A trembling upon Rome, such as was never

  So incapable of help.

  Sic.

  Say not we brought it.

  Bru.

  Say not we brought it.

  Men.

  How! Was it we? We lov’d him; but, like beasts

  And cowardly nobles, gave way unto your clusters,

  Who did hoot him out o’ the city.

  Com.

  But I fear

  They’ll roar him in again. Tullus Aufidius,

  The second name of men, obeys his points

  As if he were his officer: desperation

  Is all the policy, strength, and defence,

  That Rome can make against them.

  Enter a troop of Citizens.

  Men.

  Here come the clusters.

  And is Aufidius with him? You are they

  That made the air unwholesome, when you cast

  Your stinking greasy caps in hooting at

  Coriolanus’ exile. Now he’s coming;

  And not a hair upon a soldier’s head

  Which will not prove a whip: as many coxcombs

  As you threw caps up will he tumble down,

  And pay you for your voices. ’Tis no matter;

  If he could burn us all into one coal,

  We have deserv’d it.

  Citizens.

  Faith, we hear fearful news.

  First Cit.

  For mine own part,

  When I said banish him, I said ’twas pity.

  Sec. Cit.

  And so did I.

  Third Cit.

  And so did I; and, to say the truth, so did very many of us. That we did we did for the best; and though we willingly consented to his banishment, yet it was against our will.

  Com.

  You’re goodly things, you voices!

  Men.

  You have made

  Good work, you and your cry! Shall’s to the Capitol?

  Com.

  O! ay; what else?

  [ExeuntCominiusandMenenius.

  Sic.

  Go, masters, get you home; be not dismay’d:

  These are a side that would be glad to have

  This true which they so seem to fear. Go home,

  And show no sign of fear.

  First Cit.

  The gods be good to us! Come, masters, let’s home. I ever said we were i’ the wrong when we banished him.

  Sec. Cit.

  So did we all. But come, let’s home.

  [Exeunt Citizens.

  Bru.

  I do not like this news.

  Sic.

  Nor I.

  Bru.

  Let’s to the Capitol. Would half my wealth

  Would buy this for a lie!

  Sic.

  Pray let us go.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene VII.—

  A Camp at a small distance from Rome.

  EnterAufidiusand his Lieutenant.

  Auf.

  Do they still fly to the Roman?

  Lieu.

  I do not know what witchcraft’s in him, but

  Your soldiers use him as the grace ’fore meat,

  Their talk at table, and their thanks at end;

  And you are darken’d in this action, sir,

  Even by your own.

  Auf.

  I cannot help it now,

  Unless, by using means, I lame the foot

  Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier,

  Even to my person, than I thought he would

  When first I did embrace him; yet his nature

  In that’s no changeling, and I must excuse

  What cannot be amended.

  Lieu.

  Yet, I wish, sir,—

  I mean for your particular,—you had not

  Join’d in commission with him; but either

  Had borne the action of yourself, or else

  To him had left it solely.

  Auf.

  I understand thee well; and be thou sure,

  When he shall come to his account, he knows not

  What I can urge against him. Although it seems,

  And so he thinks, and is no less apparent

  To the vulgar eye, that he bears all things fairly,

  And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,

  Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon

  As draw his sword; yet he hath left undone

  That which shall break his neck or hazard mine,

  Whene’er we come to our account.

  Lieu.

  Sir, I beseech you, think you he’ll carry Rome?

  Auf.

  All places yield to him ere he sits down;

  And the nobility of Rome are his:

  The senators and patricians love him too:

  The tribunes are no soldiers; and their people

  Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty

  To expel him thence. I think he’ll be to Rome

  As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it

  By sovereignty of nature. First he was

  A noble servant to them, but he could not

  Carry his honours even; whether ’twas pride,

  Which out of daily fortune ever taints

  The happy man; whether defect of judgment,

  To fail in the disposing of those chances

  Which he was lord of; or whether nature,

  Not to be other than one thing, not moving

  From the casque to the cushion, but commanding peace

  Even with the same austerity and garb

  As he controll’d the war; but one of these,

  As he hath spices of them all, not all,

  For I dare so far free him, made him fear’d,

  So hated, and so banish’d: but he has a merit

  To choke it in the utterance. So our virtues

  Lie in the interpretation of the time;

  And power, unto itself most commendable,

  Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair

  To extol what it hath done.

  One fire drives out one fire; one nail, one nail;

  Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail.

  Come, let’s away. When, Caius, Rome is thine,

  Thou art poor’st of all; then shortly art thou mine.

  [Exeunt.

  ACT V.

  Scene I.—

  Rome. A Public Place.

  EnterMenenius, Cominius, Sicinius, Brutus,and Others.

  Men.

  No, I’ll not go: you hear what he hath said

  Which was sometime his general; who lov’d him

  In a most dear particular. He call’d me father:

  But what o’ that? Go, you that banish’d him;

  A mile before his tent fall down, and knee

  The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coy’d

  To hear Cominius speak, I’ll keep at home.

  Com.

  He would not seem to know me.

  Men.

  Do you hear?

  Com.

  Yet one time he did call me by my name.

  I urg’d our old acquaintance, and the drops

  That we have bled together. Coriolanus

  He would not answer to; forbad all names;

  He was a kind of nothing, titleless,

  Till he had forg’d himself a name o’ the fire

  Of burning Rome.

  Men.

  Why, so: you have made good work!

  A pair of tribunes that have rack’d for Rome,

  To make coals cheap: a noble memory!

  Com.

  I minded him how royal ’twas to pardon

  When it was less expected: he replied,

  It was a bare petition of a state

  To one whom they had punish’d.

  Men.

  Very well.

  Could he say less?

  Com.

  I offer’d to awaken his regard

  For’s private friends: his answer to me was,

  He could not stay to pick them in a pile

  Of noisome musty chaff: he said ’twas folly,

  For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt,

  And still to nose the offence.

  Men.

  For one poor grain or two!

  I am one of those; his mother, wife, his child,

  And this brave fellow too, we are the grains:

  You are the musty chaff, and you are smelt

  Above the moon. We must be burnt for you.

  Sic.

  Nay, pray, be patient: if you refuse your aid

  In this so-never-needed help, yet do not

  Upbraid’s with our distress. But, sure, if you

  Would be your country’s pleader, your good tongue,

  More than the instant army we can make,

  Might stop our countryman.

  Men.

  No; I’ll not meddle.

  Sic.

  Pray you, go to him.

  Men.

  What should I do?

  Bru.

  Only make trial what your love can do

  For Rome, towards Marcius.

  Men.

  Well; and say that Marcius

  Return me, as Cominius is return’d,

  Unheard; what then?

  But as a discontented friend, grief-shot

  With his unkindness? say ’t be so?

  Sic.

  Yet your good will

  Must have that thanks from Rome, after the measure

  As you intended well.

  Men.

  I’ll undertake it:

  I think he’ll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip,

  And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me.

  He was not taken well; he had not din’d:

  The veins unfill’d, our blood is cold, and then

  We pout upon the morning, are unapt

  To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff’d

  These pipes and these conveyances of our blood

  With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls

  Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore, I’ll watch him

  Till he be dieted to my request,

  And then I’ll set upon him.

  Bru.

  You know the very road into his kindness,

  And cannot lose your way.

  Men.

  Good faith, I’ll prove him,

  Speed how it will. I shall ere long have knowledge

  Of my success.

  [Exit.

  Com.

  He’ll never hear him.

  Sic.

  Not?

  Com.

  I tell you he does sit in gold, his eye

  Red as ’twould burn Rome, and his injury

  The gaoler to his pity. I kneel’d before him;

  ’Twas very faintly he said ‘Rise;’ dismiss’d me

  Thus, with his speechless hand: what he would do

  He sent in writing after me; what he would not,

  Bound with an oath to yield to his conditions:

  So that all hope is vain

  Unless his noble mother and his wife,

  Who, as I hear, mean to solicit him

  For mercy to his country. Therefore let’s hence,

  And with our fair entreaties haste them on.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene II.—

  The Volscian Camp before Rome. The Guards at their stations.

  Enter to them,Menenius.

  First Guard.

  Stay! whence are you?

  Sec. Guard.

  Stand! and go back.

  Men.

  You guard like men; ’tis well; but, by your leave,

  I am an officer of state, and come

  To speak with Coriolanus.

  First Guard.

  From whence?

  Men.

  From Rome.

  First Guard.

  You may not pass; you must return: our general

  Will no more hear from thence.

  Sec. Guard.

  You’ll see your Rome embrac’d with fire before

  You’ll speak with Coriolanus.

  Men.

  Good my friends,

  If you have heard your general talk of Rome,

  And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks

  My name hath touch’d your ears: it is Menenius.

  First Guard.

  Be it so; go back: the virtue of your name

  Is not here passable.

  Men.

  I tell thee, fellow,

  Thy general is my lover: I have been

  The book of his good acts, whence men have read

  His fame unparallel’d, haply amplified;

  For I have ever glorified my friends—

  Of whom he’s chief—with all the size that verity

  Would without lapsing suffer: nay, sometimes,

  Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,

  I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise

  Have almost stamp’d the leasing. Therefore, fellow,

  I must have leave to pass.

  First Guard.

  Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here; no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. Therefore go back.

  Men.

  Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party of your general.

  Sec. Guard.

  Howsoever you have been his liar—as you say you have—I am one that, telling true under him, must say you cannot pass. Therefore go back.

  Men.

  Has he dined, canst thou tell? for I would not speak with him till after dinner.

  First Guard.

  You are a Roman, are you?

  Men.

  I am as thy general is.

  First Guard.

  Then you should hate Rome, as he does. Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the very defender of them, and, in a violent popular ignorance, given your enemy your shield, think to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceived; therefore, back to Rome, and prepare for your execution: you are condemned, our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon.

  Men.

  Sirrah, if thy captain know I were here, he would use me with estimation.

  Sec. Guard.

  Come, my captain knows you not.

  Men.

  I mean, thy general.

  First Guard.

  My general cares not for you.

  Back, I say: go, lest I let forth your half-pint of blood; back, that’s the utmost of your having: back.

  Men.

  Nay, but, fellow, fellow,—

  EnterCoriolanusandAufidius.

  Cor.

  What’s the matter?

  Men.

  Now, you companion, I’ll say an errand for you: you shall know now that I am in estimation; you shall perceive that a Jack guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus: guess, but by my entertainment with him, if thou standest not i’ the state of hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship, and crueller in suffering; behold now presently, and swound for what’s to come upon thee. [ToCoriolanus.] The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father Menenius does! O my son! my son! thou art preparing fire for us; look thee, here’s water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee; but being assured none but myself could move thee, I have been blown out of your gates with sighs; and conjure thee to pardon Rome, and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage thy wrath, and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here; this, who, like a block, hath denied my access to thee.

  Cor.

  Away!

  Men.

  How! away!

  Cor.

  Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs

  Are servanted to others: though I owe

  My revenge properly, my remission lies

  In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar,

  Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison, rather

  Than pity note how much. Therefore, be gone:

  Mine ears against your suits are stronger than

  Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov’d thee,

  Take this along; I writ it for thy sake,

  [Gives a paper.

  And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius,

  I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius,

  Was my belov’d in Rome: yet thou behold’st!

  Auf.

  You keep a constant temper.

  [ExeuntCoriolanusandAufidius.

  First Guard.

  Now, sir, is your name Menenius?

  Sec. Guard.

  ’Tis a spell, you see, of much power. You know the way home again.

  First Guard.

  Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back?

  Sec. Guard.

  What cause, do you think, I have to swound?

  Men.

  I neither care for the world, nor your general: for such things as you, I can scarce think there’s any, ye’re so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another. Let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are, long; and your misery increase with your age! I say to you, as I was said to, Away!

  [Exit.

  First Guard.

  A noble fellow, I warrant him.

  Sec. Guard.

  The worthy fellow is our general: he is the rock, the oak not to be wind-shaken.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene III.—

  The Tent ofCoriolanus.

  EnterCoriolanus, Aufidius,and Others.

  Cor.

  We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow

  Set down our host. My partner in this action,

  You must report to the Volscian lords, how plainly

  I have borne this business.

  Auf.

  Only their ends

  You have respected; stopp’d your ears against

  The general suit of Rome; never admitted

  A private whisper; no, not with such friends

  That thought them sure of you.

  Cor.

  This last old man,

  Whom with a crack’d heart I have sent to Rome,

  Lov’d me above the measure of a father;

  Nay, godded me indeed. Their latest refuge

  Was to send him; for whose old love I have,

  Though I show’d sourly to him, once more offer’d

  The first conditions, which they did refuse,

  And cannot now accept, to grace him only

  That thought he could do more. A very little

  I have yielded to; fresh embassies and suits,

  Nor from the state, nor private friends, hereafter

  Will I lend ear to. [Shout within.] Ha! what shout is this?

  Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow

  In the same time ’tis made? I will not.

  Enter, in mourning habits,Virgilia, Volumnia,leading youngMarcius, Valeria,and Attendants.

  My wife comes foremost; then the honour’d mould

  Wherein this trunk was fram’d, and in her hand

  The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection!

  All bond and privilege of nature, break!

  Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.

  What is that curtsy worth? or those doves’ eyes,

  Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not

  Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows,

  As if Olympus to a molehill should

  In supplication nod; and my young boy

  Hath an aspect of intercession, which

  Great nature cries, ‘Deny not.’ Let the Volsces

  Plough Rome, and harrow Italy; I’ll never

  Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand

  As if a man were author of himself

  And knew no other kin.

  Vir.

  My lord and husband!

  Cor.

  These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.

  Vir.

  The sorrow that delivers us thus chang’d

  Makes you think so.

  Cor.

  Like a dull actor now,

  I have forgot my part, and I am out,

  Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh,

  Forgive my tyranny; but do not say

  For that, ‘Forgive our Romans.’ O! a kiss

  Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!

  Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss

  I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip

  Hath virgin’d it e’er since. You gods! I prate,

  And the most noble mother of the world

  Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i’ the earth;

  [Kneels.

  Of thy deep duty more impression show

  Than that of common sons.

  Vol.

  O! stand up bless’d;

  Whilst, with no softer cushion than the flint,

  I kneel before thee, and unproperly

  Show duty, as mistaken all this while

  Between the child and parent.

  [Kneels.

  Cor.

  What is this?

  Your knees to me! to your corrected son!

  Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach

  Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds

  Strike the proud cedars ’gainst the fiery sun,

  Murd’ring impossibility, to make

  What cannot be, slight work.

  Vol.

  Thou art my warrior;

  I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?

  Cor.

  The noble sister of Publicola,

  The moon of Rome; chaste as the icicle

  That’s curdied by the frost from purest snow,

  And hangs on Dian’s temple: dear Valeria!

  Vol.

  This is a poor epitome of yours,

  [Pointing to the Child.

  Which by the interpretation of full time

  May show like all yourself.

  Cor.

  The god of soldiers,

  With the consent of supreme Jove, inform

  Thy thoughts with nobleness; that thou mayst prove

  To shame unvulnerable, and stick i’ the wars

  Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw,

  And saving those that eye thee!

  Vol.

  Your knee, sirrah.

  Cor.

  That’s my brave boy!

  Vol.

  Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself,

  Are suitors to you.

  Cor.

  I beseech you, peace:

  Or, if you’d ask, remember this before:

  The things I have forsworn to grant may never

  Be held by you denials. Do not bid me

  Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate

  Again with Rome’s mechanics: tell me not

  Wherein I seem unnatural: desire not

  To allay my rages and revenges with

  Your colder reasons.

  Vol.

  O! no more, no more;

  You have said you will not grant us any thing;

  For we have nothing else to ask but that

  Which you deny already: yet we will ask;

  That, if you fail in our request, the blame

  May hang upon your hardness. Therefore, hear us.

  Cor.

  Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we’ll

  Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request?

  Vol.

  Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment

  And state of bodies would bewray what life

  We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself

  How more unfortunate than all living women

  Are we come hither: since that thy sight, which should

  Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts,

  Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow;

  Making the mother, wife, and child to see

  The son, the husband, and the father tearing

  His country’s bowels out. And to poor we

  Thine enmity’s most capital: thou barr’st us

  Our prayers to the gods, which is a comfort

  That all but we enjoy; for how can we,

  Alas! how can we for our country pray,

  Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory,

  Whereto we are bound? Alack! or we must lose

  The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person,

  Our comfort in the country. We must find

  An evident calamity, though we had

  Our wish, which side should win; for either thou

  Must, as a foreign recreant, be led

  With manacles through our streets, or else

  Triumphantly tread on thy country’s ruin,

  And bear the palm for having bravely shed

  Thy wife and children’s blood. For myself, son,

  I purpose not to wait on Fortune till

  These wars determine: if I cannot persuade thee

  Rather to show a noble grace to both parts

  Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner

  March to assault thy country than to tread—

  Trust to’t, thou shalt not—on thy mother’s womb,

  That brought thee to this world.

  Vir.

  Ay, and mine,

  That brought you forth this boy, to keep your name

  Living to time.

  Boy.

  A’ shall not tread on me:

  I’ll run away till I am bigger, but then I’ll fight.

  Cor.

  Not of a woman’s tenderness to be,

  Requires nor child nor woman’s face to see.

  I have sat too long.

  [Rising.

  Vol.

  Nay, go not from us thus.

  If it were so, that our request did tend

  To save the Romans, thereby to destroy

  The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us,

  As poisonous of your honour: no; our suit

  Is, that you reconcile them: while the Volsces

  May say, ‘This mercy we have show’d;’ the Romans,

  ‘This we receiv’d;’ and each in either side

  Give the all-hail to thee, and cry, ‘Be bless’d

  For making up this peace!’ Thou know’st, great son,

  The end of war’s uncertain; but this certain,

  That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit

  Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name

  Whose repetition will be dogg’d with curses;

  Whose chronicle thus writ: ‘The man was noble,

  But with his last attempt he wip’d it out,

  Destroy’d his country, and his name remains

  To the ensuing age abhorr’d.’ Speak to me, son!

  Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour,

  To imitate the graces of the gods;

  To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o’ the air,

  And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt

  That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?

  Think’st thou it honourable for a noble man

  Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you:

  He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy:

  Perhaps thy childishness will move him more

  Than can our reasons. There is no man in the world

  More bound to ’s mother; yet here he lets me prate

  Like one i’ the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life

  Show’d thy dear mother any courtesy;

  When she—poor hen! fond of no second brood—

  Has cluck’d thee to the wars, and safely home,

  Loaden with honour. Say my request’s unjust,

  And spurn me back; but if it be not so,

  Thou art not honest, and the gods will plague thee,

  That thou restrain’st from me the duty which

  To a mother’s part belongs. He turns away:

  Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees.

  To his surname Coriolanus ’longs more pride

  Than pity to our prayers. Down: an end;

  This is the last: so we will home to Rome,

  And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold us.

  This boy, that cannot tell what he would have,

  But kneels and holds up hands for fellowship,

  Does reason our petition with more strength

  Than thou hast to deny ’t. Come, let us go:

  This fellow had a Volscian to his mother;

  His wife is in Corioli, and his child

  Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch:

  I am hush’d until our city be a-fire,

  And then I’ll speak a little.

  Cor.

  [HoldingVolumniaby the hand, silent.]

  O, mother, mother!

  What have you done? Behold! the heavens do ope,

  The gods look down, and this unnatural scene

  They laugh at. O my mother! mother! O!

  You have won a happy victory to Rome;

  But, for your son, believe it, O! believe it,

  Most dangerously you have with him prevail’d,

  If not most mortal to him. But let it come.

  Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars,

  I’ll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius,

  Were you in my stead, would you have heard

  A mother less, or granted less, Aufidius?

  Auf.

  I was mov’d withal.

  Cor.

  I dare be sworn you were:

  And, sir, it is no little thing to make

  Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir,

  What peace you’ll make, advise me: for my part,

  I’ll not to Rome, I’ll back with you; and pray you,

  Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife!

  Auf.

  [Aside.] I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy honour

  At difference in thee: out of that I’ll work

  Myself a former fortune.

  [The ladies make signs toCoriolanus.

  Cor.

  Ay, by and by;

  But we will drink together; and you shall bear

  A better witness back than words, which we,

  On like conditions, would have counter-seal’d.

  Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve

  To have a temple built you: all the swords

  In Italy, and her confederate arms,

  Could not have made this peace.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene IV.—

  Rome. A Public Place.

  EnterMeneniusandSicinius.

  Men.

  See you yond coign o’ the Capitol, yond corner-stone?

  Sic.

  Why, what of that?

  Men.

  If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say, there is no hope in ’t. Our throats are sentenced and stay upon execution.

  Sic.

  Is’t possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man?

  Men.

  There is differency between a grub and a butterfly; yet your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon: he has wings; he’s more than a creeping thing.

  Sic.

  He loved his mother dearly.

  Men.

  So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes: when he walks, he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading: he is able to pierce a corslet with his eye; talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state, as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is finished with his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in.

  Sic.

  Yes, mercy, if you report him truly.

  Men.

  I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him: there is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find: and all this is ’long of you.

  Sic.

  The gods be good unto us!

  Men.

  No, in such a case the gods will not be good unto us. When we banished him, we respected not them; and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.

  Enter a Messenger.

  Mess.

  Sir, if you’d save your life, fly to your house:

  The plebeians have got your fellow-tribune,

  And hale him up and down; all swearing, if

  The Roman ladies bring not comfort home,

  They’ll give him death by inches.

  Enter a second Messenger.

  Sic.

  What’s the news?

  Sec. Mess.

  Good news, good news! the ladies have prevail’d,

  The Volscians are dislodg’d, and Marcius gone.

  A merrier day did never yet greet Rome,

  No, not the expulsion of the Tarquins.

  Sic.

  Friend,

  Art thou certain this is true? is it most certain?

  Sec. Mess.

  As certain as I know the sun is fire:

  Where have you lurk’d that you make doubt of it?

  Ne’er through an arch so hurried the blown tide,

  As the recomforted through the gates. Why, hark you!

  [Trumpets and hautboys sounded, and drums beaten, all together. Shouting also within.

  The trumpets, sackbuts, psalteries, and fifes,

  Tabors, and cymbals, and the shouting Romans,

  Make the sun dance. Hark you!

  [A shout within.

  Men.

  This is good news:

  I will go meet the ladies. This Volumnia

  Is worth of consuls, senators, patricians,

  A city full; of tribunes, such as you,

  A sea and land full. You have pray’d well to-day:

  This morning for ten thousand of your throats

  I’d not have given a doit. Hark, how they joy!

  [Music still and shouts.

  Sic.

  First, the gods bless you for your tidings; next,

  Accept my thankfulness.

  Sec. Mess.

  Sir, we have all

  Great cause to give great thanks.

  Sic.

  They are near the city?

  Sec. Mess.

  Almost at point to enter.

  Sic.

  We will meet them,

  And help the joy.

  [Going.

  Enter the Ladies, accompanied by Senators, Patricians, and People. They pass over the stage.

  First Sen.

  Behold our patroness, the life of Rome!

  Call all your tribes together, praise the gods,

  And make triumphant fires; strew flowers before them:

  Unshout the noise that banish’d Marcius;

  Repeal him with the welcome of his mother;

  Cry, ‘Welcome, ladies, welcome!’

  All.

  Welcome, ladies,

  Welcome!

  [A flourish with drums and trumpets. Exeunt.

  Scene V.—

  Corioli. A Public Place.

  EnterTullus Aufidius,with Attendants.

  Auf.

  Go tell the lords o’ the city I am here:

  Deliver them this paper: having read it,

  Bid them repair to the market-place; where I,

  Even in theirs and in the commons’ ears,

  Will vouch the truth of it. Him I accuse

  The city ports by this hath enter’d, and

  Intends to appear before the people, hoping

  To purge himself with words: dispatch.

  [Exeunt Attendants.

  Enter three or four Conspirators ofAufidius’ faction.

  Most welcome!

  First Con.

  How is it with our general?

  Auf.

  Even so

  As with a man by his own alms empoison’d,

  And with his charity slain.

  Sec. Con.

  Most noble sir,

  If you do hold the same intent wherein

  You wish’d us parties, we’ll deliver you

  Of your great danger.

  Auf.

  Sir, I cannot tell:

  We must proceed as we do find the people.

  Third Con.

  The people will remain uncertain whilst

  ’Twixt you there’s difference; but the fall of either

  Makes the survivor heir of all.

  Auf.

  I know it;

  And my pretext to strike at him admits

  A good construction. I rais’d him, and I pawn’d

  Mine honour for his truth: who being so heighten’d,

  He water’d his new plants with dews of flattery,

  Seducing so my friends; and, to this end,

  He bow’d his nature, never known before

  But to be rough, unswayable, and free.

  Third Con.

  Sir, his stoutness

  When he did stand for consul, which he lost

  By lack of stooping,—

  Auf.

  That I would have spoke of:

  Being banish’d for’t, he came unto my hearth;

  Presented to my knife his throat: I took him;

  Made him joint-servant with me; gave him way

  In all his own desires; nay, let him choose

  Out of my files, his projects to accomplish,

  My best and freshest men; serv’d his designments

  In mine own person; holp to reap the fame

  Which he did end all his; and took some pride

  To do myself this wrong: till, at the last,

  I seem’d his follower, not partner; and

  He wag’d me with his countenance, as if

  I had been mercenary.

  First Con.

  So he did, my lord:

  The army marvell’d at it; and, in the last,

  When we had carried Rome, and that we look’d

  For no less spoil than glory,—

  Auf.

  There was it;

  For which my sinews shall be stretch’d upon him.

  At a few drops of women’s rheum, which are

  As cheap as lies, he sold the blood and labour

  Of our great action: therefore shall he die,

  And I’ll renew me in his fall. But, hark!

  [Drums and trumpets sound, with great shouts of the People.

  First Con.

  Your native town you enter’d like a post,

  And had no welcomes home; but he returns,

  Splitting the air with noise.

  Sec. Con.

  And patient fools,

  Whose children he hath slain, their base throats tear

  With giving him glory.

  Third Con.

  Therefore, at your vantage,

  Ere he express himself, or move the people

  With what he would say, let him feel your sword,

  Which we will second. When he lies along,

  After your way his tale pronounc’d shall bury

  His reasons with his body.

  Auf.

  Say no more:

  Here come the lords.

  Enter the Lords of the city.

  Lords.

  You are most welcome home.

  Auf.

  I have not deserv’d it.

  But, worthy lords, have you with heed perus’d

  What I have written to you?

  Lords.

  We have.

  First Lord.

  And grieve to hear ’t.

  What faults he made before the last, I think

  Might have found easy fines; but there to end

  Where he was to begin, and give away

  The benefit of our levies, answering us

  With our own charge, making a treaty where

  There was a yielding, this admits no excuse.

  Auf.

  He approaches: you shall hear him.

  EnterCoriolanus,with drums and colours; a crowd of Citizens with him.

  Cor.

  Hail, lords! I am return’d your soldier;

  No more infected with my country’s love

  Than when I parted hence, but still subsisting

  Under your great command. You are to know,

  That prosperously I have attempted and

  With bloody passage led your wars even to

  The gates of Rome. Our spoils we have brought home

  Do more than counterpoise a full third part

  The charges of the action. We have made peace

  With no less honour to the Antiates

  Than shame to the Romans; and we here deliver,

  Subscrib’d by the consuls and patricians,

  Together with the seal o’ the senate, what

  We have compounded on.

  Auf.

  Read it not, noble lords;

  But tell the traitor in the highest degree

  He hath abus’d your powers.

  Cor.

  Traitor! How now?

  Auf.

  Ay, traitor, Marcius.

  Cor.

  Marcius!

  Auf.

  Ay, Marcius, Caius Marcius. Dost thou think

  I’ll grace thee with that robbery, thy stol’n name

  Coriolanus in Corioli?

  You lords and heads of the state, perfidiously

  He has betray’d your business, and given up,

  For certain drops of salt, your city Rome,

  I say ‘your city,’ to his wife and mother;

  Breaking his oath and resolution like

  A twist of rotten silk, never admitting

  Counsel o’ the war, but at his nurse’s tears

  He whin’d and roar’d away your victory,

  That pages blush’d at him, and men of heart

  Look’d wondering each at other.

  Cor.

  Hear’st thou, Mars?

  Auf.

  Name not the god, thou boy of tears.

  Cor.

  Ha!

  Auf.

  No more.

  Cor.

  Measureless liar, thou hast made my heart

  Too great for what contains it. Boy! O slave!

  Pardon me, lords, ’tis the first time that ever

  I was forc’d to scold. Your judgments, my grave lords,

  Must give this cur the lie: and his own notion—

  Who wears my stripes impress’d upon him, that

  Must bear my beating to his grave—shall join

  To thrust the lie unto him.

  First Lord.

  Peace, both, and hear me speak.

  Cor.

  Cut me to pieces, Volsces; men and lads,

  Stain all your edges on me. Boy! False hound!

  If you have writ your annals true, ’tis there,

  That, like an eagle in a dove-cote, I

  Flutter’d your Volscians in Corioli:

  Alone I did it. Boy!

  Auf.

  Why, noble lords,

  Will you be put in mind of his blind fortune,

  Which was your shame, by this unholy braggart,

  ’Fore your own eyes and ears?

  Conspirators.

  Let him die for ’t.

  All the People.

  Tear him to pieces.—Do it presently.—He killed my son.—My daughter.—He killed my cousin Marcus.—He killed my father.

  Sec. Lord.

  Peace, ho! no outrage: peace!

  The man is noble and his fame folds in

  This orb o’ the earth. His last offences to us

  Shall have judicious hearing. Stand, Aufidius,

  And trouble not the peace.

  Cor.

  O! that I had him,

  With six Aufidiuses, or more, his tribe,

  To use my lawful sword!

  Auf.

  Insolent villain!

  Conspirators.

  Kill, kill, kill, kill, kill him!

  [Aufidiusand the Conspirators draw, and killCoriolanus,who falls:Aufidiusstands on his body.

  Lords.

  Hold, hold, hold, hold!

  Auf.

  My noble masters, hear me speak.

  First Lord.

  O Tullus!

  Sec. Lord.

  Thou hast done a deed whereat valour will weep.

  Third Lord.

  Tread not upon him. Masters all, be quiet.

  Put up your swords.

  Auf.

  My lords, when you shall know,—as in this rage,

  Provok’d by him, you cannot,—the great danger

  Which this man’s life did owe you, you’ll rejoice

  That he is thus cut off. Please it your honours

  To call me to your senate, I’ll deliver

  Myself your loyal servant, or endure

  Your heaviest censure.

  First Lord.

  Bear from hence his body;

  And mourn you for him! Let him be regarded

  As the most noble corse that ever herald

  Did follow to his urn.

  Sec. Lord.

  His own impatience

  Takes from Aufidius a great part of blame.

  Let’s make the best of it.

  Auf.

  My rage is gone,

  And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up:

  Help, three o’ the chiefest soldiers; I’ll be one.

  Beat thou the drum, that it speak mournfully;

  Trail your steel pikes. Though in this city he

  Hath widow’d and unchilded many a one,

  Which to this hour bewail the injury,

  Yet he shall have a noble memory.

  Assist.

  [Exeunt, bearing the body ofCoriolanus.A dead march sounded.

• Back to Top

  3: Session III: Julius Ceasar I: Public Duty, Private Conscience, and Tyrannicide

  The pompous and aging autocrat of Shakespeare’s play is largely a caricature of the vigorous colossus found in the pages of Plutarch. The biographer covers the whole of Caesar’s public life, from his colorful youth and extraordinary conquests to his dictatorship and death. While more interested in moral character than political events, Plutarch’s “Life of Caesar” provides on object lesson in personal ambition, military skill, and civil leadership. It also supplies a vivid account of the Roman republic in its death throes and the birth of the Roman empire.

  Plutarch, Plutarch’s Lives. The Translation called Dryden’s. Corrected from the Greek and Revised by A.H. Clough, in 5 volumes (Boston: Little Brown and Co., 1906). Chapter: CÆSAR.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1774/93962 on 2008-08-21

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  CÆSAR.

  After Sylla became master of Rome, he wished to make Cæsar put away his wife Cornelia, daughter of Cinna, the late sole ruler of the commonwealth, but was unable to effect it either by promises or intimidation, and so contented himself with confiscating her dowry. The ground of Sylla’s hostility to Cæsar, was the relationship between him and Marius; for Marius, the elder, married Julia, the sister of Cæsar’s father, and had by her the younger Marius, who consequently was Cæsar’s first cousin. And though at the beginning, while so many were to be put to death and there was so much to do, Cæsar was overlooked by Sylla, yet he would not keep quiet, but presented himself to the people as a candidate for the priesthood, though he was yet a mere boy. Sylla, without any open opposition, took measures to have him rejected, and in consultation whether he should be put to death, when it was urged by some that it was not worth his while to contrive the death of a boy, he answered, that they knew little who did not see more than one Marius in that boy. Cæsar, on being informed of this saying, concealed himself, and for a considerable time kept out of the way in the country of the Sabines, often changing his quarters, till one night, as he was removing from one house to another on account of his health, he fell into the hands of Sylla’s soldiers, who were searching those parts in order to apprehend any who had absconded Cæsar, by a bribe of two talents, prevailed with Cornelius, their captain, to let him go, and was no sooner dismissed but he put to sea, and made for Bithynia. After a short stay there with Nicomedes, the king, in his passage back he was taken near the island Pharmacusa by some of the pirates, who, at that time, with large fleets of ships and innumerable smaller vessels infested the seas everywhere.

  When these men at first demanded of him twenty talents for his ransom, he laughed at them for not understanding the value of their prisoner, and voluntarily engaged to give them fifty. He presently despatched those about him to several places to raise the money, till at last he was left among a set of the most bloodthirsty people in the world, the Cilicians, only with one friend and two attendants. Yet he made so little of them, that when he had a mind to sleep, he would send to them, and order them to make no noise. For thirty-eight days, with all the freedom in the world, he amused himself with joining in their exercises and games, as if they had not been his keepers, but his guards. He wrote verses and speeches, and made them his auditors, and those who did not admire them, he called to their faces illiterate and barbarous, and would often, in raillery, threaten to hang them. They were greatly taken with this, and attributed his free talking to a kind of simplicity and boyish playfulness. As soon as his ransom was come from Miletus, he paid it, and was discharged, and proceeded at once to man some ships at the port of Miletus, and went in pursuit of the pirates, whom he surprised with their ships still stationed at the island, and took most of them. Their money he made his prize, and the men he secured in prison at Pergamus, and made application to Junius, Page 258 who was then governor of Asia, to whose office it belonged, as prætor, to determine their punishment. Junius, having his eye upon the money, for the sum was considerable, said he would think at his leisure what to do with the prisoners, upon which Cæsar took his leave of him, and went off to Pergamus, where he ordered the pirates to be brought forth and crucified; the punishment he had often threatened them with whilst he was in their hands, and they little dreamed he was in earnest.

  In the mean time Sylla’s power being now on the decline, Cæsar’s friends advised him to return to Rome, but he went to Rhodes, and entered himself in the school of Apollonius, Molon’s son, a famous rhetorician, one who had the reputation of a worthy man, and had Cicero for one of his scholars. Cæsar is said to have been admirably fitted by nature to make a great statesman and orator, and to have taken such pains to improve his genius this way, that without dispute he might challenge the second place. More he did not aim at, as choosing to be first rather amongst men of arms and power, and, therefore, never rose to that height of eloquence to which nature would have carried him, his attention being diverted to those expeditions and designs, which at length gained him the empire. And he himself, in his answer to Cicero’s panegyric on Cato, desires his reader not to compare the plain discourse of a soldier with the harangues of an orator who had not only fine parts, but had employed his life in this study.

  When he was returned to Rome, he accused Dolabella of maladministration, and many cities of Greece came in to attest it. Dolabella was acquitted, and Cæsar, in return for the support he had received from the Greeks, assisted them in their prosecution of Publius Antonius for corrupt practices, before Marcus Lucullus, prætor of Macedonia. In this cause he so far succeeded, that Antonius was forced to appeal to the tribunes at Rome, alleging that in Greece he could not have fair play against Grecians. In his pleadings at Rome, his eloquence soon obtained him great credit and favor, and he won no less upon the affections of the people by the affability of his manners and address, in which he showed a tact and consideration beyond what could have been expected at his age; and the open house he kept, the entertainments he gave, and the general splendor of his manner of life contributed little by little to create and increase his political influence. His enemies slighted the growth of it at first, presuming it would soon fail when his money was gone; whilst in the mean time it was growing up and flourishing among the common people. When his power at last was established and not to be overthrown, and now openly tended to the altering of the whole constitution, they were aware too late, that there is no beginning so mean, which continued application will not make considerable, and that despising a danger at first, will make it at last irresistible. Cicero was the first who had any suspicions of his designs upon the government, and, as a good pilot is apprehensive of a storm when the sea is most smiling, saw the designing temper of the man through this disguise of good-humor and affability, and said, that in general, in all he did and undertook, he detected the ambition for absolute power, “but when I see his hair so carefully arranged, and observe him adjusting it with one finger, I cannot imagine it should enter into such a man’s thoughts to subvert the Roman state.” But of this more hereafter.

  The first proof he had of the people’s good-will to him, was when he received by their suffrages a tribuneship in the army, and came out on the list with a higher place than Caius Popilius. A second and clearer instance of their favor appeared upon his making a magnificent oration in praise of his aunt Julia, wife to Marius, publicly in the forum, at whose funeral he was so bold as to bring forth the images of Marius, which nobody had dared to produce since the government came into Sylla’s hands, Marius’s party having from that time been declared enemies of the State. When some who were present had begun to raise a cry against Cæsar, the people answered with loud shouts and clapping in his favor, expressing their joyful surprise and satisfaction at his having, as it were, brought up again from the grave those honors of Marius, which for so long a time had been lost to the city. It had always been the custom at Rome to make funeral orations in praise of elderly matrons, but there was no precedent of any upon young women till Cæsar first made one upon the death of his own wife. This also procured him favor, and by this show of affection he won upon the feelings of the people, who looked upon him as a man of great tenderness and kindness of heart. After he had buried his wife, he went as quæstor into Spain under one of the prætors, named Vetus, whom he honored ever after, and made his son his own quæstor, when he himself came to be prætor. After this employment was ended, he married Pompeia, his third wife, having then a daughter by Cornelia, his first wife, whom he afterwards married to Pompey the Great. He was so profuse in his expenses, that before he had any public employment, he was in debt thirteen hundred talents, and many thought that by incurring such expense to be popular, he changed a solid good for what would prove but a short and uncertain return; but in truth he was purchasing what was of the greatest value at an inconsiderable rate. When he was made surveyor of the Appian Way, he disbursed, besides the public money, a great sum out of his private purse; and when he was ædile, he provided such a number of gladiators, that he entertained the people with three hundred and twenty single combats, and by his great liberality and magnificence in theatrical shows, in processions, and public feastings, he threw into the shade all the attempts that had been made before him, and gained so much upon the people, that every one was eager to find out new offices and new honors for him in return for his munificence.

  There being two factions in the city, one that of Sylla, which was very powerful, the other that of Marius, which was then broken and in a very low condition, he undertook to revive this and to make it his own. And to this end, whilst he was in the height of his repute with the people for the magnificent shows he gave as ædile, he ordered images of Marius, and figures of Victory, with trophies in their hands, to be carried privately in the night and placed in the capitol. Next morning, when some saw them bright with gold and beautifully made, with inscriptions upon them, referring them to Marius’s exploits over the Cimbrians, they were surprised at the boldness of him who had set them up, nor was it difficult to guess who it was. The fame of this soon spread and brought together a great concourse of people. Some cried out that it was an open attempt against the established government thus to revive those honors which had been buried by the laws and decrees of the senate; that Cæsar had done it to sound the temper of the people whom he had prepared before, and to try whether they were tame enough to bear his humor, and would quietly give way to his innovations. On the other hand, Marius’s party took courage, and it was incredible how numerous they were suddenly seen to be, and what a multitude of them appeared and came shouting into the capitol. Many, when they saw Marius’s likeness, cried for joy, and Cæsar was highly extolled as the one man, in the place of all others, who was a relation worthy of Marius. Upon this the senate Page 262 met, and Catulus Lutatius, one of the most eminent Romans of that time, stood up and inveighed against Cæsar, closing his speech with the remarkable saying, that Cæsar was now not working mines, but planting batteries to overthrow the state. But when Cæsar had made an apology for himself, and satisfied the senate, his admirers were very much animated, and advised him not to depart from his own thoughts for any one, since with the people’s good favor he would erelong get the better of them all, and be the first man in the commonwealth.

  At this time, Metellus, the High-Priest, died, and Catulus and Isauricus, persons of the highest reputation, and who had great influence in the senate, were competitors for the office; yet Cæsar would not give way to them, but presented himself to the people as a candidate against them. The several parties seeming very equal, Catulus, who, because he had the most honor to lose, was the most apprehensive of the event, sent to Cæsar to buy him off, with offers of a great sum of money. But his answer was, that he was ready to borrow a larger sum than that, to carry on the contest. Upon the day of election, as his mother conducted him out of doors with tears, after embracing her, “My mother,” he said, “to-day you will see me either High-Priest, or an exile.” When the votes were taken, after a great struggle, he carried it, and excited among the senate and nobility great alarm lest he might now urge on the people to every kind of insolence. And Piso and Catulus found fault with Cicero for having let Cæsar escape, when in the conspiracy of Catiline he had given the government such advantage against him. For Catiline, who had designed not only to change the present state of affairs, but to subvert the whole empire and confound all, had himself taken to flight, while the evidence was yet incomplete against him, before his ultimate purposes had been properly discovered. But he had left Lentulus and Cethegus in the city to supply his place in the conspiracy, and whether they received any secret encouragement and assistance from Cæsar is uncertain; all that is certain, is, that they were fully convicted in the senate, and when Cicero, the consul, asked the several opinions of the senators, how they would have them punished, all who spoke before Cæsar sentenced them to death; but Cæsar stood up and made a set speech, in which he told them, that he thought it without precedent and not just to take away the lives of persons of their birth and distinction before they were fairly tried, unless there was an absolute necessity for it; but that if they were kept confined in any towns of Italy Cicero himself should choose, till Catiline was defeated, then the senate might in peace and at their leisure determine what was best to be done.

  This sentence of his carried so much appearance of humanity, and he gave it such advantage by the eloquence with which he urged it, that not only those who spoke after him closed with it, but even they who had before given a contrary opinion, now came over to his, till it came about to Catulus’s and Cato’s turn to speak. They warmly opposed it, and Cato intimated in his speech the suspicion of Cæsar himself, and pressed the matter so strongly, that the criminals were given up to suffer execution. As Cæsar was going out of the senate, many of the young men who at that time acted as guards to Cicero, ran in with their naked swords to assault him. But Curio, it is said, threw his gown over him, and conveyed him away, and Cicero himself, when the young men looked up to see his wishes, gave a sign not to kill him, either for fear of the people, or because he thought the murder unjust and illegal. If this be true, I wonder how Cicero came to omit all mention of it in his book about his consulship. He was blamed, however, afterwards, for not having made use of so fortunate an opportunity against Cæsar, as if he had let it escape him out of fear of the populace, who, indeed, showed remarkable solicitude about Cæsar, and some time after, when he went into the senate to clear himself of the suspicions he lay under, and found great clamors raised against him, upon the senate in consequence sitting longer than ordinary, they went up to the house in a tumult, and beset it, demanding Cæsar, and requiring them to dismiss him. Upon this, Cato, much fearing some movement among the poor citizens, who were always the first to kindle the flame among the people, and placed all their hopes in Cæsar, persuaded the senate to give them a monthly allowance of corn, an expedient which put the commonwealth to the extraordinary charge of seven million five hundred thousand drachmas in the year, but quite succeeded in removing the great cause of terror for the present, and very much weakened Cæsar’s power, who at that time was just going to be made prætor, and consequently would have been more formidable by his office.

  But there was no disturbance during his prætorship, only what misfortune he met with in his own domestic affairs. Publius Clodius was a patrician by descent, eminent both for his riches and eloquence, but in licentiousness of life and audacity exceeded the most noted profligates of the day. He was in love with Pompeia, Cæsar’s wife, and she had no aversion to him. But there was strict watch kept on her apartment, and Cæsar’s mother, Aurelia, who was a discreet woman, being continually about her, made any interview very dangerous and difficult. The Romans have a goddess whom they call Bona, the same whom the Greeks call Gynæcea. The Phrygians, who claim a peculiar title to her, say she was mother to Midas. The Romans profess she was one of the Dryads, and married to Faunus. The Grecians affirm that she is that mother of Bacchus whose name is not to be uttered, and, for this reason, the women who celebrate her festival, cover the tents with vine-branches, and, in accordance with the fable, a consecrated serpent is placed by the goddess. It is not lawful for a man to be by, nor so much as in the house, whilst the rites are celebrated, but the women by themselves perform the sacred offices, which are said to be much the same with those used in the solemnities of Orpheus. When the festival comes, the husband, who is either consul or prætor, and with him every male creature, quits the house. The wife then taking it under her care, sets it in order, and the principal ceremonies are performed during the night, the women playing together amongst themselves as they keep watch, and music of various kinds going on.

  As Pompeia was at that time celebrating this feast, Clodius, who as yet had no beard, and so thought to pass undiscovered, took upon him the dress and ornaments of a singing woman, and so came thither, having the air of a young girl. Finding the doors open, he was without any stop introduced by the maid, who was in the intrigue. She presently ran to tell Pompeia, but as she was away a long time, he grew uneasy in waiting for her, and left his post and traversed the house from one room to another, still taking care to avoid the lights, till at last Aurelia’s woman met him, and invited him to play with her, as the women did among themselves. He refused to comply, and she presently pulled him forward, and asked him who he was, and whence he came. Clodius told her he was waiting for Pompeia’s own maid, Abra,* being in fact her own name also, and as he said so, betrayed himself by his voice. Upon which the woman shrieking, ran into the company where there were lights, and cried out, she had discovered a man. The women were all in a fright. Aurelia covered up the sacred things and stopped the proceedings, and having ordered the doors to be shut, went about with lights to find Clodius, who was got into the maid’s room that he had come in with, and was seized there. The women knew him, and drove him out of doors, and at once, that same night, went home and told their husbands the story. In the morning, it was all about the town, what an impious attempt Clodius had made, and how he ought to be punished as an offender, not only against those whom he had affronted, but also against the public and the gods. Upon which one of the tribunes impeached him for profaning the holy rites, and some of the principal senators combined together and gave evidence against him, that besides many other horrible crimes, he had been guilty of incest with his own sister, who was married to Lucullus. But the people set themselves against this combination of the nobility, and defended Clodius, which was of great service to him with the judges, who took alarm and were afraid to provoke the multitude. Cæsar at once dismissed Pompeia, but being summoned as a witness against Clodius, said he had nothing to charge him with. This looking like a paradox, the accuser asked him why he parted with his wife. Cæsar replied, “I wished my wife to be not so much as suspected.” Some say that Cæsar spoke this as his real thought; others, that he did it to gratify the people, who were very earnest to save Clodius. Clodius, at any rate, escaped; most of the judges giving their opinions so written as to be illegible, that they might not be in danger from the people by condemning him, nor in disgrace with the nobility by acquitting him.

  Cæsar, in the mean time, being out of his prætorship, had got the province of Spain, but was in great embarrassment with his creditors, who, as he was going off, came upon him, and were very pressing and importunate. This led him to apply himself to Crassus, who was the richest man in Rome, but wanted Cæsar’s youthful vigor and heat to sustain the opposition against Pompey. Crassus took upon him to satisfy those creditors who were most uneasy to him, and would not be put off any longer, and engaged himself to the amount of eight hundred and thirty talents, upon which Cæsar was now at liberty to go to his province. In his journey, as he was crossing the Alps, and passing by a small village of the barbarians with but few inhabitants and those wretchedly poor, his companions asked the question among themselves by way of mockery, if there were any canvassing for offices there; any contention which should be uppermost, or feuds of great men one against another. To which Cæsar made answer seriously, “For my part, I had rather be the first man among these fellows, than the second man in Rome.” It is said that another time, when free from business in Spain, after reading some part of the history of Alexander, he sat a great while very thoughtful, and at last burst out into tears. His friends were surprised, and asked him the reason of it. “Do you think,” said he, “I have not just cause to weep, when I consider that Alexander at my age had conquered so many nations, and I have all this time done nothing that is memorable?” As soon as he came into Spain he was very active, and in a few days had got together ten new cohorts of foot in addition to the twenty which were there before. With these he marched against the Calaici and Lusitani and conquered them, and advancing as far as the ocean, subdued the tribes which never before had been subject to the Romans. Having managed his military affairs with good success, he was equally happy in the course of his civil government. He took pains to establish a good understanding amongst the several states, and no less care to heal the differences between debtors and creditors. He ordered that the creditor should receive two parts of the debtor’s yearly income, and that the other part should be managed by the debtor himself, till by this method the whole debt was at last discharged. This conduct made him leave his province with a fair reputation; being rich himself, and having enriched his soldiers, and having received from them the honorable name of Imperator.

  There is a law among the Romans, that whoever desires the honor of a triumph must stay without the city and expect his answer. And another, that those who stand for the consulship shall appear personally upon the place. Cæsar was come home at the very time of choosing consuls, and being in a difficulty between these two opposite laws, sent to the senate to desire that since he was obliged to be absent, he might sue for the consulship by his friends. Cato, being backed by the law, at first opposed his request; afterwards perceiving that Cæsar had prevailed with a great part of the senate to comply with it, he made it his business to gain time, and went on wasting the whole day in speaking. Upon which Cæsar thought fit to let the triumph fall, and pursued the consulship. Entering the town and coming forward immediately, he had recourse to a piece of state-policy by which everybody was deceived but Cato. This was the reconciling of Crassus and Pompey, the two men who then were most powerful in Rome. There had been a quarrel between them, which he now succeeded in making up, and by this means strengthened himself by the united power of both, and so under the cover of an action which carried all the appearance of a piece of kindness and good-nature, caused what was in effect a revolution in the government. For it was not the quarrel between Pompey and Cæsar, as most men imagine, which was the origin of the civil wars, but their union, their conspiring together at first to subvert the aristocracy, and so quarrelling afterwards between themselves. Cato, who often foretold what the consequence of this alliance would be, had then the character of a sullen, interfering man, but in the end the reputation of a wise but unsuccessful counsellor.

  Thus Cæsar being doubly supported by the interests of Crassus and Pompey, was promoted to the consulship, and triumphantly proclaimed with Calpurnius Bibulus. When he entered on his office, he brought in bills which would have been preferred with better grace by the most audacious of the tribunes than by a consul, in which he proposed the plantation of colonies and division of lands, simply to please the commonalty. The best and most honorable of the senators opposed it, upon which, as he had long wished for nothing more than for such a colorable pretext, he loudly protested how much against his will it was to be driven to seek support from the people, and how the senate’s insulting and harsh conduct left no other course possible for him, than to devote himself henceforth to the popular cause and interest. And so he hurried out of the senate, and presenting himself to the people, and there placing Crassus and Pompey, one on each side of him, he asked them whether they consented to the bills he had proposed. They owned their assent, upon which he desired them to assist him against those who had threatened to oppose him with their swords. They engaged they would, and Pompey added further, that he would meet their swords with a sword and buckler too. These words the nobles much resented, as neither suitable to his own dignity, nor becoming the reverence due to the senate, but resembling rather the vehemence of a boy, or the fury of a madman. But the people were pleased with it. In order to get a yet firmer hold upon Pompey, Cæsar having a daughter, Julia, who had been before contracted to Servilius Cæpio, now betrothed her to Pompey, and told Servilius he should have Pompey’s daughter, who was not unengaged either, but promised to Sylla’s son, Faustus. A little time after, Cæsar married Calpurnia, the daughter of Piso, and got Piso made consul for the year following. Cato exclaimed loudly against this, and protested with a great deal of warmth, that it was intolerable the government should be prostituted by marriages, and that they should advance one another to the commands of armies, provinces, and other great posts, by means of women. Bibulus, Cæsar’s colleague, finding it was to no purpose to oppose his bills, but that he was in danger of being murdered in the forum, as also was Cato, confined himself to his house, and there let the remaining part of his consulship expire. Pompey, when he was married, at once filled the forum with soldiers, and gave the people his help in passing the new laws, and secured Cæsar the government of all Gaul, both on this and the other side of the Alps, together with Illyricum, and the command of four legions for five years. Cato made some attempts against these proceedings, but was seized and led off on the way to prison by Cæsar, who expected he would appeal to the tribunes. But when he saw that Cato went along without speaking a word, and not only the nobility were indignant, but that the people, also, out of respect for Cato’s virtue, were following in silence, and with dejected looks, he himself privately desired one of the tribunes to rescue Cato. As for the other senators, some few of them attended the house, the rest being disgusted, absented themselves. Hence Considius, a very old man, took occasion one day to tell Cæsar, that the senators did not meet because they were afraid of his soldiers. Cæsar asked, “Why Page 271 do n’t you then, out of the same fear, keep at home?” To which Considius replied, that age was his guard against fear, and that the small remains of his life were not worth much caution. But the most disgraceful thing that was done in Cæsar’s consulship, was his assisting to gain the tribuneship for the same Clodius who had made the attempt upon his wife’s chastity, and intruded upon the secret vigils. He was elected on purpose to effect Cicero’s downfall; nor did Cæsar leave the city to join his army, till they two had overpowered Cicero, and driven him out of Italy.

  Thus far have we followed Cæsar’s actions before the wars of Gaul. After this, he seems to begin his course afresh, and to enter upon a new life and scene of action. And the period of those wars which he now fought, and those many expeditions in which he subdued Gaul, showed him to be a soldier and general not in the least inferior to any of the greatest and most admired commanders who had ever appeared at the head of armies. For if we compare him with the Fabii, the Metelli, the Scipios, and with those who were his contemporaries, or not long before him, Sylla, Marius, the two Luculli, or even Pompey himself, whose glory, it may be said, went up at that time to heaven for every excellence in war, we shall find Cæsar’s actions to have surpassed them all. One he may be held to have outdone in consideration of the difficulty of the country in which he fought, another in the extent of territory which he conquered; some, in the number and strength of the enemies whom he defeated; one man, because of the wildness and perfidiousness of the tribes whose good-will he conciliated, another in his humanity and clemency to those he overpowered; others, again in his gifts and kindnesses to his soldiers; all alike in the number of the battles which he fought and the enemies whom he killed. For he had not pursued the wars in Gaul full ten years, when he had taken by storm above eight hundred towns, subdued three hundred states, and of the three millions of men, who made up the gross sum of those with whom at several times he engaged, he had killed one million, and taken captive a second.

  He was so much master of the good-will and hearty service of his soldiers, that those who in other expeditions were but ordinary men, displayed a courage past defeating or withstanding when they went upon any danger where Cæsar’s glory was concerned. Such a one was Acilius, who, in the sea-fight before Marseilles, had his right hand struck off with a sword, yet did not quit his buckler out of his left, but struck the enemies in the face with it, till he drove them off, and made himself master of the vessel. Such another was Cassius Scæva, who, in a battle near Dyrrhachium, had one of his eyes shot out with an arrow, his shoulder pierced with one javelin, and his thigh with another; and having received one hundred and thirty darts upon his target, called to the enemy, as though he would surrender himself. But when two of them came up to him, he cut off the shoulder of one with a sword, and by a blow over the face forced the other to retire, and so with the assistance of his friends, who now came up, made his escape. Again, in Britain, when some of the foremost officers had accidentally got into a morass full of water, and there were assaulted by the enemy, a common soldier, whilst Cæsar stood and looked on, threw himself into the midst of them, and after many signal demonstrations of his valor, rescued the officers, and beat off the barbarians. He himself, in the end, took to the water, and with much difficulty, partly by swimming, partly by wading, passed it, but in the passage lost his shield. Cæsar and his officers saw it and admired, and went to meet him with joy and acclamation. But the soldier, much dejected and in tears, threw himself down at Cæsar’s feet, and begged his pardon for having let go his buckler. Another time in Africa, Scipio having taken a ship of Cæsar’s in which Granius Petro, lately appointed quæstor, was sailing, gave the other passengers as free prize to his soldiers, but thought fit to offer the quæstor his life. But he said it was not usual for Cæsar’s soldiers to take, but give mercy, and having said so, fell upon his sword and killed himself.

  This love of honor and passion for distinction were inspired into them and cherished in them by Cæsar himself, who, by his unsparing distribution of money and honors, showed them that he did not heap up wealth from the wars for his own luxury, or the gratifying his private pleasures, but that all he received was but a public fund laid by for the reward and encouragement of valor, and that he looked upon all he gave to deserving soldiers as so much increase to his own riches. Added to this, also, there was no danger to which he did not willingly expose himself, no labor from which he pleaded an exemption. His contempt of danger was not so much wondered at by his soldiers, because they knew how much he coveted honor. But his enduring so much hardship, which he did to all appearance beyond his natural strength, very much astonished them. For he was a spare man, had a soft and white skin, was distempered in the head, and subject to an epilepsy, which, it is said, first seized him at Corduba. But he did not make the weakness of his constitution a pretext for his ease, but rather used war as the best physic against his indispositions; whilst by indefatigable journeys, coarse diet, frequent lodging in the field, and continual laborious exercise, he struggled with his diseases, and fortified his body against all attacks. He slept generally in his chariots or litters, employing even his rest in pursuit of action. In the day he was thus carried to the forts, garrisons, and camps, one servant sitting with him, who used to write down what he dictated as he went, and a soldier attending behind with his sword drawn. He drove so rapidly, that when he first left Rome, he arrived at the river Rhone within eight days. He had been an expert rider from his childhood; for it was usual with him to sit with his hands joined together behind his back, and so to put his horse to its full speed. And in this war he disciplined himself so far as to be able to dictate letters from on horseback, and to give directions to two who took notes at the same time, or, as Oppius says, to more. And it is thought that he was the first who contrived means for communicating with friends by cipher, when either press of business, or the large extent of the city, left him no time for a personal conference about matters that required despatch. How little nice he was in his diet, may be seen in the following instance. When at the table of Valerius Leo, who entertained him at supper at Milan, a dish of asparagus was put before him, on which his host instead of oil had poured sweet ointment. Cæsar partook of it without any disgust, and reprimanded his friends for finding fault with it. “For it was enough,” said he, “not to eat what you did not like; but he who reflects on another man’s want of breeding, shows he wants it as much himself.” Another time upon the road he was driven by a storm into a poor man’s cottage, where he found but one room, and that such as would afford but a mean reception to a single person, and therefore told his companions, places of honor should be given up to the greater men, and necessary accommodations to the weaker, and accordingly ordered that Oppius, who was in bad health, should lodge within, whilst he and the rest slept under a shed at the door.

  His first war in Gaul was against the Helvetians and Tigurini, who having burnt their own towns, twelve in number, and four hundred villages, would have marched forward through that part of Gaul which was included in the Roman province, as the Cimbrians and Teutons formerly had done. Nor were they inferior to these in courage; and in numbers they were equal, being in all three hundred thousand, of which one hundred and ninety thousand were fighting men. Cæsar did not engage the Tigurini in person, but Labienus, under his directions, routed them near the river Arar. The Helvetians surprised Cæsar, and unexpectedly set upon him as he was conducting his army to a confederate town. He succeeded, however, in making his retreat into a strong position, where, when he had mustered and marshalled his men, his horse was brought to him; upon which he said, “When I have won the battle, I will use my horse for the chase, but at present let us go against the enemy,” and accordingly charged them on foot. After a long and severe combat, he drove the main army out of the field, but found the hardest work at their carriages and ramparts, where not only the men stood and fought, but the women also and children defended themselves, till they were cut to pieces; insomuch that the fight was scarcely ended till midnight. This action, glorious in itself, Cæsar crowned with another yet more noble, by gathering in a body all the barbarians that had escaped out of the battle, above one hundred thousand in number, and obliging them to reoccupy the country which they had deserted, and the cities which they had burnt. This he did for fear the Germans should pass in and possess themselves of the land whilst it lay uninhabited.

  His second war was in defence of the Gauls against the Germans, though some time before he had made Ariovistus, their king, recognized at Rome as an ally. But they were very insufferable neighbors to those under his government; and it was probable, when occasion offered, they would renounce the present arrangements, and march on to occupy Gaul. But finding his officers timorous, and especially those of the young nobility who came along with him in hopes of turning their campaigns with him into a means for their own pleasure or profit, he called them together, and advised them to march off, and not run the hazard of a battle against their inclinations, since they had such weak and unmanly feelings; telling them that he would take only the tenth legion, and march against the barbarians, whom he did not expect to find an enemy more formidable than the Cimbri, nor, he added, should they find him a general inferior to Marius. Upon this, the tenth legion deputed some of their body to pay him their acknowledgments and thanks, and the other legions blamed their officers, and all, with great vigor and zeal, followed him many days’ journey, till they encamped within two hundred furlongs of the enemy. Ariovistus’s courage to some extent was cooled upon their very approach; for never expecting the Romans would attack the Germans, whom he had thought it more likely they would not venture to withstand even in defence of their own subjects, he was the more surprised at Cæsar’s conduct, and saw his army to be in consternation. They were still more discouraged by the prophecies of their holy women, who foretell the future by observing the eddies of rivers, and taking signs from the windings and noise of streams, and who now warned them not to engage before the next new moon appeared. Cæsar having had intimation of this, and seeing the Germans lie still, thought it expedient to attack them whilst they were under these apprehensions, rather than sit still and wait their time. Accordingly he made his approaches to the strong-holds and hills on which they lay encamped, and so galled and fretted them, that at last they came down with great fury to engage. But he gained a signal victory, and pursued them for four hundred furlongs, as far as the Rhine; all which space was covered with spoils and bodies of the slain. Ariovistus made shift to pass the Rhine with the small remains of an army, for it is said the number of the slain amounted to eighty thousand.

  After this action, Cæsar left his army at their winterquarters in the country of the Sequani, and in order to attend to affairs at Rome, went into that part of Gaul which lies on the Po, and was part of his province; for the river Rubicon divides Gaul, which is on this side the Alps, from the rest of Italy. There he sat down and employed himself in courting people’s favor; great numbers coming to him continually, and always finding their requests answered; for he never failed to dismiss all with present pledges of his kindness in hand, and further hopes for the future. And during all this time of the war in Gaul, Pompey never observed how Cæsar was on the one hand using the arms of Rome to effect his conquests, and on the other was gaining over and securing to himself the favor of the Romans, with the wealth which those conquests obtained him. But when he heard that the Belgæ, who were the most powerful of all the Gauls, and inhabited a third part of the country, were revolted, and had got together a great many thousand men in arms, he immediately set out and took his way thither with great expedition, and falling upon the enemy as they were ravaging the Gauls, his allies, he soon defeated and put to flight the largest and least scattered division of them. For though their numbers were great, yet they made but a slender defence, and the marshes and deep rivers were made passable to the Roman foot by the vast quantity of dead bodies. Of those who revolted, all the tribes that lived near the ocean came over without fighting, and he, therefore, led his army against the Nervii, the fiercest and most warlike people of all in those parts. These live in a country covered with continuous woods, and having lodged their children and property out of the way in the depth of the forest, fell upon Cæsar with a body of sixty thousand men, before he was prepared for them, while he was making his encampment. They soon routed his cavalry, and having surrounded the twelfth and seventh legions, killed all the officers, and had not Cæsar himself snatched up a buckler, and forced his way through his own men to come up to the barbarians, or had not the tenth legion, when they saw him in danger, run in from the tops of the hills, where they lay, and broken through the enemy’s ranks to rescue him, in all probability not a Roman would have been saved. But now, under the influence of Cæsar’s bold example, they fought a battle, as the phrase is, of more than human courage, and yet with their utmost efforts they were not able to drive the enemy out of the field, but cut them down fighting in their defence. For out of sixty thousand men, it is stated that not above five hundred survived the battle, and of four hundred of their senators not above three.

  When the Roman senate had received news of this, they voted sacrifices and festivals to the gods, to be strictly observed for the space of fifteen days, a longer space than ever was observed for any victory before. The danger to which they had been exposed by the joint outbreak of such a number of nations was felt to have been great; and the people’s fondness for Cæsar gave additional lustre to successes achieved by him. He now, after settling every thing in Gaul, came back again, and spent the winter by the Po, in order to carry on the designs he had in hand at Rome. All who were candidates for offices used his assistance, and were supplied with money from him to corrupt the people and buy their votes, in return of which, when they were chosen, they did all things to advance his power. But what was more considerable, the most eminent and powerful men in Rome in great numbers came to visit him at Lucca, Pompey, and Crassus, and Appius, the governor of Sardinia, and Nepos, the proconsul of Spain, so that there were in the place at one time one hundred and twenty lictors, and more than two hundred senators. In deliberation here held, it was determined that Pompey and Crassus should be consuls again for the following year; that Cæsar should have a fresh supply of money, and that his command should be renewed to him for five years more. It seemed very extravagant to all thinking men, that those very persons who had received so much money from Cæsar should persuade the senate to grant him more, as if he were in want. Though in truth it was not so much upon persuasion as compulsion, that, with sorrow and groans for their own acts, they passed the measure. Cato was not present, for they had sent him seasonably out of the way into Cyprus; but Favonius, who was a zealous imitator of Cato, when he found he could do no good by opposing it, broke out of the house, and loudly declaimed against these proceedings to the people, but none gave him any hearing; some slighting him out of respect to Crassus and Pompey, and the greater part to gratify Cæsar, on whom depended their hopes.

  After this, Cæsar returned again to his forces in Gaul, where he found that country involved in a dangerous war, two strong nations of the Germans having lately passed the Rhine, to conquer it; one of them called the Usipes, the other the Tenteritæ.* Of the war with this people, Cæsar himself has given this account in his commentaries, that the barbarians, having sent ambassadors to treat with him, did, during the treaty, set upon him in his march, by which means with eight hundred men they routed five thousand of his horse, who did not suspect their coming; that afterwards they sent other ambassadors to renew the same fraudulent practices, whom he kept in custody, and led on his army against the barbarians, as judging it mere simplicity to keep faith with those who had so faithlessly broken the terms they had agreed to. But Tanusius states, that when the senate decreed festivals and sacrifices for this victory, Cato declared it to be his opinion that Cæsar ought to be given into the hands of the barbarians, that so the guilt which this breach of faith might otherwise bring upon the state, might be expiated by transferring the curse on him, who was the occasion of it. Of those who passed the Rhine, there were four hundred thousand cut off; those few who escaped were sheltered by the Sugambri, a people of Germany. Cæsar took hold of this pretence to invade the Germans, being at the same time ambitious of the honor of being the first man that should pass the Rhine with an army. He carried a bridge across it, though it was very wide, and the current at that particular point very full, strong, and violent, bringing down with its waters trunks of trees, and other lumber, which much shook and weakened the foundations of his bridge. But he drove great piles of wood into the bottom of the river above the passage, to catch and stop these as they floated down, and thus fixing his bridle upon the stream, successfully finished his bridge, which no one who saw could believe to be the work but of ten days.

  In the passage of his army over it, he met with no opposition; the Suevi themselves, who are the most warlike people of all Germany, flying with their effects into the deepest and most densely wooded valleys. When he had burnt all the enemy’s country, and encouraged those who embraced the Roman interest, he went back into Gaul, after eighteen days’ stay in Germany. But his expedition into Britain was the most famous testimony of his courage. For he was the first who brought a navy into the western ocean, or who sailed into the Atlantic with an army to make war; and by invading an island, the reported extent of which had made its existence a matter of controversy among historians, many of whom questioned whether it were not a mere name and fiction, not a real place, he might be said to have carried the Roman empire beyond the limits of the known world. He passed thither twice from that part of Gaul which lies over against it, and in several battles which he fought, did more hurt to the enemy than service to himself, for the islanders were so miserably poor, that they had nothing worth being plundered of. When he found himself unable to put such an end to the war as he wished, he was content to take hostages from the king, and to impose a tribute, and then quitted the island. At his arrival in Gaul, he found letters which lay ready to be conveyed over the water to him from his friends at Rome, announcing his daughter’s death, who died in labor of a child by Pompey. Cæsar and Pompey both were much afflicted with her death, nor were their friends less disturbed, believing that the alliance was now broken, which had hitherto kept the sickly commonwealth in peace, for the child also died within a few days after the mother. The people took the body of Julia, in spite of the opposition of the tribunes, and carried it into the field of Mars, and there her funeral rites were performed, and her remains are laid.

  Cæsar’s army was now grown very numerous, so that he was forced to disperse them into various camps for their winter-quarters, and he having gone himself to Italy, as he used to do, in his absence a general outbreak throughout the whole of Gaul commenced, and large armies marched about the country, and attacked the Roman quarters, and attempted to make themselves masters of the forts where they lay. The greatest and strongest party of the rebels, under the command of Abriorix, cut off Cotta and Titurius with all their men, while a force sixty thousand strong besieged the legion under the command of Cicero,* and had almost taken it by storm, the Roman soldiers being all wounded, and having quite spent themselves by a defence beyond their natural strength. But Cæsar, who was at a great distance, having received the news, quickly got together seven thousand men, and hastened to relieve Cicero. The besiegers were aware of it, and went to meet him, with great confidence that they should easily overpower such an handful of men. Cæsar, to increase their presumption, seemed to avoid fighting, and still marched off, till he found a place conveniently situated for a few to engage against many, where he encamped. He kept his soldiers from making any attack upon the enemy, and commanded them to raise the ramparts higher, and barricade the gates, that by show of fear, they might heighten the enemy’s contempt of them. Till at last they came without any order in great security to make an assault, when he issued forth, and put them to flight with the loss of many men.

  This quieted the greater part of the commotions in these parts of Gaul, and Cæsar, in the course of the winter, visited every part of the country, and with great vigilance took precautions against all innovations. For there were three legions now come to him to supply the place of the men he had lost, of which Pompey furnished him with two, out of those under his command; the other was newly raised in the part of Gaul by the Po. But in a while the seeds of war, which had long since been secretly sown and scattered by the most powerful men in those warlike nations, broke forth into the greatest and most dangerous war that ever was in those parts, both as regards the number of men in the vigor of their youth who were gathered and armed from all quarters, the vast funds of money collected to maintain it, the strength of the towns, and the difficulty of the country where it was carried on. It being winter, the rivers were frozen, the woods covered with snow, and the level country flooded, so that in some places the ways were lost through the depth of the snow; in others, the overflowing of marshes and streams made every kind of passage uncertain. All which difficulties made it seem impracticable for Cæsar to make any attempt upon the insurgents. Many tribes had revolted together, the chief of them being the Arverni and Carnutini;* the general who had the supreme command in war was Vergentorix, whose father the Gauls had put to death on suspicion of his aiming at absolute government.

  He having disposed his army in several bodies, and set officers over them, drew over to him all the country round about as far as those that lie upon the Arar, and having intelligence of the opposition which Cæsar now experienced at Rome, thought to engage all Gaul in the Page 284 war. Which if he had done a little later, when Cæsar was taken up with the civil wars, Italy had been put into as great a terror as before it was by the Cimbri. But Cæsar, who above all men was gifted with the faculty of making the right use of every thing in war, and most especially of seizing the right moment, as soon as he heard of the revolt, returned immediately the same way he went, and showed the barbarians, by the quickness of his march in such a severe season, that an army was advancing against them which was invincible. For in the time that one would have thought it scarce credible that a courier or express should have come with a message from him, he himself appeared with all his army, ravaging the country, reducing their posts, subduing their towns, receiving into his protection those who declared for him. Till at last the Edui, who hitherto had styled themselves brethren to the Romans, and had been much honored by them, declared against him, and joined the rebels, to the great discouragement of his army. Accordingly he removed thence, and passed the country of the Lingones, desiring to reach the territories of the Sequani, who were his friends, and who lay like a bulwark in front of Italy against the other tribes of Gaul. There the enemy came upon him, and surrounded him with many myriads, whom he also was eager to engage; and at last, after some time and with much slaughter, gained on the whole a complete victory; though at first he appears to have met with some reverse, and the Aruveni show you a small sword hanging up in a temple, which they say was taken from Cæsar. Cæsar saw this afterwards himself, and smiled, and when his friends advised it should be taken down, would not permit it, because he looked upon it as consecrated.

  After the defeat, a great part of those who had escaped, fled with their king into a town called Alesia, which Cæsar besieged, though the height of the walls, and number of those who defended them, made it appear impregnable; and meantime, from without the walls, he was assailed by a greater danger than can be expressed. For the choice men of Gaul, picked out of each nation, and well armed, came to relieve Alesia, to the number of three hundred thousand; nor were there in the town less than one hundred and seventy thousand. So that Cæsar being shut up betwixt two such forces, was compelled to protect himself by two walls, one towards the town, the other against the relieving army, as knowing if these forces should join, his affairs would be entirely ruined. The danger that he underwent before Alesia,* justly gained him great honor on many accounts, and gave him an opportunity of showing greater instances of his valor and conduct than any other contest had done. One wonders much how he should be able to engage and defeat so many thousands of men without the town, and not be perceived by those within, but yet more, that the Romans themselves, who guarded their wall which was next the town, should be strangers to it. For even they knew nothing of the victory, till they heard the cries of the men and lamentations of the women who were in the town, and had from thence seen the Romans at a distance carrying into their camp a great quantity of bucklers, adorned with gold and silver, many breastplates stained with blood, besides cups and tents made in the Gallic fashion. So soon did so vast an army dissolve and vanish like a ghost or dream, the greatest part of them being killed upon the spot. Those who were in Alesia, having given themselves and Cæsar much trouble, surrendered at last; and Vergentorix, who was the chief spring of all the war, putting his best armor on, and adorning his horse, rode out of the gates, and made a turn about Cæsar as he was sitting, then quitted his horse, threw off his armor, and remained seated quietly at Cæsar’s feet until he was led away to be reserved for the triumph.

  Cæsar had long ago resolved upon the overthrow of Pompey, as had Pompey, for that matter, upon his. For Crassus, the fear of whom had hitherto kept them in peace, having now been killed in Parthia, if the one of them wished to make himself the greatest man in Rome, he had only to overthrow the other; and if he again wished to prevent his own fall, he had nothing for it but to be beforehand with him whom he feared. Pompey had not been long under any such apprehensions, having till lately despised Cæsar, as thinking it no difficult matter to put down him whom he himself had advanced. But Cæsar had entertained this design from the beginning against his rivals, and had retired, like an expert wrestler, to prepare himself apart for the combat. Making the Gallic wars his exercise-ground, he had at once improved the strength of his soldiery, and had heightened his own glory by his great actions, so that he was looked on as one who might challenge comparison with Pompey. Nor did he let go any of those advantages which were now given him both by Pompey himself and the times, and the ill government of Rome, where all who were candidates for offices publicly gave money, and without any shame bribed the people, who having received their pay, did not contend for their benefactors with their bare suffrages, but with bows, swords, and slings. So that after having many times stained the place of election with the blood of men killed upon the spot, they left the city at last without a government at all, to be carried Page 287 about like a ship without a pilot to steer her; while all who had any wisdom could only be thankful if a course of such wild and stormy disorder and madness might end no worse than in a monarchy. Some were so bold as to declare openly, that the government was incurable but by a monarchy, and that they ought to take that remedy from the hands of the gentlest physician, meaning Pompey, who, though in words he pretended to decline it, yet in reality made his utmost efforts to be declared dictator. Cato perceiving his design, prevailed with the senate to make him sole consul, that with the offer of a more legal sort of monarchy he might be withheld from demanding the dictatorship. They over and above voted him the continuance of his provinces, for he had two, Spain and all Africa, which he governed by his lieutenants, and maintained armies under him, at the yearly charge of a thousand talents out of the public treasury.

  Upon this Cæsar also sent and petitioned for the consulship, and the continuance of his provinces. Pompey at first did not stir in it, but Marcellus and Lentulus opposed it, who had always hated Cæsar, and now did every thing, whether fit or unfit, which might disgrace and affront him. For they took away the privilege of Roman citizens from the people of New Comum, who were a colony that Cæsar had lately planted in Gaul; and Marcellus, who was then consul, ordered one of the senators of that town, then at Rome, to be whipped, and told him he laid that mark upon him to signify he was no citizen of Rome, bidding him, when he went back again, to show it to Cæsar. After Marcellus’s consulship, Cæsar began to lavish gifts upon all the public men out of the riches he had taken from the Gauls; discharged Curio, the tribune, from his great debts; gave Paulus, then consul, fifteen hundred talents, with which he built the noble court of justice* adjoining the forum, to supply the place of that called the Fulvian. Pompey, alarmed at these preparations, now openly took steps, both by himself and his friends, to have a successor appointed in Cæsar’s room, and sent to demand back the soldiers whom he had lent him to carry on the wars in Gaul. Cæsar returned them, and made each soldier a present of two hundred and fifty drachmas. The officer who brought them home to Pompey, spread amongst the people no very fair or favorable report of Cæsar, and flattered Pompey himself with false suggestions that he was wished for by Cæsar’s army; and though his affairs here were in some embarrassment through the envy of some, and the ill state of the government, yet there the army was at his command, and if they once crossed into Italy, would presently declare for him; so weary were they of Cæsar’s endless expeditions, and so suspicious of his designs for a monarchy. Upon this Pompey grew presumptuous, and neglected all war-like preparations, as fearing no danger, and used no other means against him than mere speeches and votes, for which Cæsar cared nothing. And one of his captains, it is said, who was sent by him to Rome, standing before the senate-house one day, and being told that the senate would not give Cæsar a longer time in his government, clapped his hand on the hilt of his sword, and said, “But this shall.”

  Yet the demands which Cæsar made had the fairest colors of equity imaginable. For he proposed to lay down his arms, and that Pompey should do the same, and both together should become private men, and each expect a reward of his services from the public. For that those who proposed to disarm him, and at the same time to confirm Pompey in all the power he held, were simply establishing the one in the tyranny which they accused the other of aiming at. When Curio made these proposals to the people in Cæsar’s name, he was loudly applauded, and some threw garlands towards him, and dismissed him as they do successful wrestlers, crowned with flowers. Antony, being tribune, produced a letter sent from Cæsar on this occasion, and read it, though the consuls did what they could to oppose it. But Scipio, Pompey’s father-in-law, proposed in the senate, that if Cæsar did not lay down his arms within such a time, he should be voted an enemy; and the consuls putting it to the question, whether Pompey should dismiss his soldiers, and again, whether Cæsar should disband his, very few assented to the first, but almost all to the latter. But Antony proposing again, that both should lay down their commissions, all but a very few agreed to it. Scipio was upon this very violent, and Lentulus the consul cried aloud, that they had need of arms, and not of suffrages, against a robber; so that the senators for the present adjourned, and appeared in mourning as a mark of their grief for the dissension.

  Afterwards there came other letters from Cæsar, which seemed yet more moderate, for he proposed to quit every thing else, and only to retain Gaul within the Alps, Illyricum, and two legions, till he should stand a second time for consul. Cicero, the orator, who was lately returned from Cilicia, endeavored to reconcile differences, and softened Pompey, who was willing to comply in other things, but not to allow him the soldiers. At last Cicero used his persuasions with Cæsar’s friends to accept of the provinces, and six thousand soldiers only, and so to make up the quarrel. And Pompey was inclined to give way to this, but Lentulus, the consul, would not hearken to it, but drove Antony and Curio out of the senate-house with insults, by which he afforded Cæsar the most plausible pretence that could be, and one which he could readily use to inflame the soldiers, by showing them two persons of such repute and authority, who were forced to escape in a hired carriage in the dress of slaves. For so they were glad to disguise themselves, when they fled out of Rome.

  There were not about him at that time above three hundred horse, and five thousand foot; for the rest of his army, which was left behind the Alps, was to be brought after him by officers who had received orders for that purpose. But he thought the first motion towards the design which he had on foot did not require large forces at present, and that what was wanted was to make this first step suddenly, and so as to astound his enemies with the boldness of it; as it would be easier, he thought, to throw them into consternation by doing what they never anticipated, than fairly to conquer them, if he had alarmed them by his preparations. And therefore, he commanded his captains and other officers to go only with their swords in their hands, without any other arms, and make themselves masters of Ariminum, a large city of Gaul, with as little disturbance and bloodshed as possible. He committed the care of these forces to Hortensius, and himself spent the day in public as a stander-by and spectator of the gladiators, who exercised before him. A little before night he attended to his person, and then went into the hall, and conversed for some time with those he had invited to supper, till it began to grow dusk, when he rose from table, and made his excuses to the company, begging them to stay till he came back, having already given private directions to a few immediate friends, that they should follow him, not all the same way, but some one way, some another. He himself got into one of the hired carriages, and drove at first another way, but presently turned towards Ariminum. When he came to the river Rubicon, which parts Gaul within the Alps from the rest of Italy, his thoughts began to work, now he was just entering upon the danger, and he wavered much in his mind, when he considered the greatness of the enterprise into which he was throwing himself. He checked his course, and ordered a halt, while he revolved with himself, and often changed his opinion one way and the other, without speaking a word. This was when his purposes fluctuated most; presently he also discussed the matter with his friends who were about him, (of which number Asinius Pollio was one,) computing how many calamities his passing that river would bring upon mankind, and what a relation of it would be transmitted to posterity. At last, in a sort of passion, casting aside calculation, and abandoning himself to what might come, and using the proverb frequently in their mouths who enter upon dangerous and bold attempts, “The die is cast,” with these words he took the river. Once over, he used all expedition possible, and before it was day reached Ariminum, and took it. It is said that the night before he passed the river, he had an impious dream, that he was unnaturally familiar with his own mother.

  As soon as Ariminum was taken, wide gates, so to say, were thrown open, to let in war upon every land alike and sea, and with the limits of the province, the boundaries of the laws were transgressed. Nor would one have thought that, as at other times, the mere men and women fled from one town of Italy to another in their consternation, but that the very towns themselves left their sites, and fled for succor to each other. The city of Rome was overrun as it were with a deluge, by the conflux of people flying in from all the neighboring places. Magistrates could no longer govern, nor the eloquence of any orator quiet it; it was all but suffering shipwreck by the violence of its own tempestuous agitation. The most vehement contrary passions and impulses were at work everywhere. Nor did those who rejoiced at the prospect of the change altogether conceal their feelings, but when they met, as in so great a city they frequently must, with the alarmed and dejected of the other party, they provoked quarrels by their bold expressions of confidence in the event. Pompey, sufficiently disturbed of himself, was yet more perplexed by the clamors of others; some telling him that he justly suffered for having armed Cæsar against himself and the government; others blaming him for permitting Cæsar to be insolently used by Lentulus, when he made such ample concessions, and offered such reasonable proposals towards an accommodation. Favonius bade him now stamp upon the ground; for once talking big in the senate, he desired them not to trouble themselves about making any preparations for the war, for that he himself, with one stamp of his foot, would fill all Italy with soldiers. Yet still Pompey at that time had more forces than Cæsar; but he was not permitted to pursue his own thoughts, but being continually disturbed with false reports and alarms, as if the enemy was close upon him and carrying all before him, he gave way, and let himself be borne down by the general cry. He put forth an edict declaring the city to be in a state of anarchy, and left it with orders that the senate should follow him, and that no one should stay behind who did not prefer tyranny to their country and liberty.

  The consuls at once fled, without making even the usual sacrifices; so did most of the senators, carrying off their own goods in as much haste as if they had been robbing their neighbors. Some, who had formerly much favored Cæsar’s cause, in the prevailing alarm, quitted their own sentiments, and without any prospect of good to themselves, were carried along by the common stream. It was a melancholy thing to see the city tossed in these tumults, like a ship given up by her pilots, and left to run, as chance guides her, upon any rock in her way. Yet, in spite of their sad condition, people still esteemed the place of their exile to be their country for Pompey’s sake, and fled from Rome, as if it had been Cæsar’s camp. Labienus even, who had been one of Cæsar’s nearest friends, and his lieutenant, and who had fought by him zealously in the Gallic wars, now deserted him, and went over to Pompey. Cæsar sent all his money and equipage after him, and then sat down before Corfinium, which was garrisoned with thirty cohorts under the command of Domitius. He, in despair of maintaining the defence, requested a physician, whom he had among his attendants, to give him poison; and taking the dose, drank it, in hopes of being dispatched by it. But soon after, when he was told that Cæsar showed the utmost clemency towards those he took prisoners, he lamented his misfortune, and blamed the hastiness of his resolution. His physician consoled him, by informing him that he had taken a sleeping draught, not a poison; upon which, much rejoiced, and rising from his bed, he went presently to Cæsar, and gave him the pledge of his hand, yet afterwards again went over to Pompey. The report of these actions at Rome, quieted those who were there, and some who had fled thence returned.

  Cæsar took into his army Domitius’s soldiers, as he did all those whom he found in any town enlisted for Pompey’s service. Being now strong and formidable enough, he advanced against Pompey himself, who did not stay to receive him, but fled to Brundisium, having sent the consuls before with a body of troops to Dyrrhachium. Soon after, upon Cæsar’s approach, he set to sea, as shall be more particularly related in his Life. Cæsar would have immediately pursued him, but wanted shipping, and therefore went back to Rome, having made himself master of all Italy without bloodshed in the space of sixty days. When he came thither, he found the city more quiet than he expected, and many senators present, to whom he addressed himself with courtesy and deference, desiring them to send to Pompey about any reasonable accommodations towards a peace. But nobody complied with this proposal; whether out of fear of Pompey, whom they had deserted, or that they thought Cæsar did not mean what he said, but thought it his interest to talk plausibly. Afterwards, when Metellus, the tribune, would have hindered him from taking money out of the public treasure, and adduced some laws against it, Cæsar replied, that arms and laws had each their own time; “If what I do displeases you, leave the place; war allows no free talking. When I have laid down my arms, and made peace, come back and make what speeches you please. And this,” he added, “I tell you in diminution of my own just right, as indeed you and all others who have appeared against me and are now in my power, may be treated as I please.” Having said this to Metellus, he went to the doors of the treasury, and the keys being not to be found, sent for smiths to force them open. Metellus again making resistance, and some encouraging him in it, Cæsar, in a louder tone, told him he would put him to death, if he gave him any further disturbance. “And this,” said he, “you know, young man, is more disagreeable for me to say, than to do.” These words made Metellus withdraw for fear, and obtained speedy execution henceforth for all orders that Cæsar gave for procuring necessaries for the war.

  He was now proceeding to Spain, with the determination of first crushing Afranius and Varro, Pompey’s lieutenants, and making himself master of the armies and provinces under them, that he might then more securely advance against Pompey, when he had no enemy left behind him. In this expedition his person was often in danger from ambuscades, and his army by want of provisions, yet he did not desist from pursuing the enemy, provoking them to fight, and hemming them with his fortifications, till by main force he made himself master of their camps and their forces. Only the generals got off, and fled to Pompey.

  When Cæsar came back to Rome, Piso, his father-in-law, advised him to send men to Pompey, to treat of a peace; but Isauricus, to ingratiate himself with Cæsar, spoke against it. After this, being created dictator by the senate, he called home the exiles, and gave back their rights as citizens to the children of those who had suffered under Sylla; he relieved the debtors by an act remitting some part of the interest on their debts, and passed some other measures of the same sort, but not many. For within eleven days he resigned his dictatorship, and having declared himself consul, with Servilius Isauricus, hastened again to the war. He marched so fast, that he left all his army behind him, except six hundred chosen horse, and five legions, with which he put to sea in the very middle of winter, about the beginning of the month January, (which corresponds pretty nearly with the Athenian month Posideon,) and having past the Ionian Sea, took Oricum and Apollonia, and then sent back the ships to Brundisium, to bring over the soldiers who were left behind in the march. They, while yet on the march, their bodies now no longer in the full vigor of youth, and they themselves weary with such a multitude of wars, could not but exclaim against Cæsar, “When at last, and where, will this Cæsar let us be quiet? He carries us from place to place, and uses us as if we were not to be worn out, and had no sense of labor. Even our iron itself is spent by blows, and we ought to have some pity on our bucklers and breastplates, which have been used so long. Our wounds, if nothing else, should make him see that we are mortal men, whom he commands, subject to the same pains and sufferings as other human beings. The very gods themselves cannot force the winter season, or hinder the storms in their time; yet he pushes forward, as if he were not pursuing, but flying from an enemy.” So they talked as they marched leisurely towards Brundisium. But when they came thither, and found Cæsar gone off before them, their feelings changed, and they blamed themselves as traitors to their general. They now railed at their officers for marching so slowly, and placing themselves on the heights overlooking the sea towards Epirus, they kept watch to see if they could espy the vessels which were to transport them to Cæsar.

  He in the mean time was posted in Apollonia, but had not an army with him able to fight the enemy, the forces from Brundisium being so long in coming, which put him to great suspense and embarrassment what to do. At last he resolved upon a most hazardous experiment, and embarked, without any one’s knowledge, in a boat of twelve oars, to cross over to Brundisium, though the sea was at that time covered with a vast fleet of the enemies. He got on board in the night time, in the dress of a slave, and throwing himself down like a person of no consequence, lay along at the bottom of the vessel. The river Anius* was to carry them down to sea, and there used to blow a gentle gale every morning from the land, which made it calm at the mouth of the river, by driving the waves forward; but this night there had blown a strong wind from the sea, which overpowered that from the land, so that where the river met the influx of the sea-water and the opposition of the waves, it was extremely rough and angry; and the current was beaten back with such a violent swell, that the master of the boat could not make good his passage, but ordered his sailors to tack about and return. Cæsar, upon this, discovers himself, and taking the man by the hand, who was surprised to see him there, said, “Go on, my friend, and fear nothing; you carry Cæsar and his fortune in your boat.” The mariners, when they heard that, forgot the storm, and laying all their strength to their oars, did what they could to force their way down the river. But when it was to no purpose, and the vessel now took in much water, Cæsar finding himself in such danger in the very mouth of the river, much against his will permitted the master to turn back. When he was come to land, his soldiers ran to him in a multitude, reproaching him for what he had done, and indignant that he should think himself not strong enough to get a victory by their sole assistance, but must disturb himself, and expose his life for those who were absent, as if he could not trust those who were with him.

  After this, Antony came over with the forces from Brundisium, which encouraged Cæsar to give Pompey battle, though he was encamped very advantageously, and furnished with plenty of provisions both by sea and land, whilst he himself was at the beginning but ill-supplied, and before the end was extremely pinched for want of necessaries, so that his soldiers were forced to dig up a kind of root which grew there, and tempering it with milk, to feed on it. Sometimes they made a kind of bread of it, and advancing up to the enemy’s outposts, would throw in these loaves, telling them, that as long as the earth produced such roots they would not give up blockading Pompey. But Pompey took what care he could, that neither the loaves nor the words should reach his men, who were out of heart and despondent, through terror at the fierceness and hardiness of their enemies, whom they looked upon as a sort of wild beasts. There were continual skirmishes about Pompey’s outworks, in all which Cæsar had the better, except one, when his men were forced to fly in such a manner that he had like to have lost his camp. For Pompey made such a vigorous sally on them that not a man stood his ground; the trenches were filled with the slaughter, many fell upon their own ramparts and bulwarks, whither they were driven in flight by the enemy. Cæsar met them, and would have turned them back, but could not. When he went to lay hold of the ensigns, those who carried them threw them down, so that the enemies took thirty-two of them. He himself narrowly escaped; for taking hold of one of his soldiers, a big and strong man, that was flying by him, he bade him stand and face about; but the fellow, full of apprehensions from the danger he was in, laid hold of his sword, as if he would strike Cæsar, but Cæsar’s armor-bearer cut off his arm. Cæsar’s affairs were so desperate at that time, that when Pompey, either through over-cautiousness, or his ill fortune, did not give the finishing stroke to that great success, but retreated after he had driven the routed enemy within their camp, Cæsar, upon seeing his withdrawal, said to his friends, “The victory to-day had been on the enemies’ side, if they had had a general who knew how to gain it.” When he was retired into his tent, he laid himself down to sleep, but spent that night as miserably as ever he did any, in perplexity and consideration with himself, coming to the conclusion that he had conducted the war amiss. For when he had a fertile country before him, and all the wealthy cities of Macedonia and Thessalv. he had neglected to carry the war thither, and had sat down by the seaside, where his enemies had such a powerful fleet, so that he was in fact rather besieged by the want of necessaries, than besieging others with his arms. Being thus distracted in his thoughts with the view of the difficulty and distress he was in, he raised his camp, with the intention of advancing towards Scipio, who lay in Macedonia; hoping either to entice Pompey into a country where he should fight without the advantage he now had of supplies from the sea, or to overpower Scipio, if not assisted.

  This set all Pompey’s army and officers on fire to hasten and pursue Cæsar, whom they concluded to be beaten and flying. But Pompey was afraid to hazard a battle on which so much depended, and being himself provided with all necessaries for any length of time, thought to tire out and waste the vigor of Cæsar’s army, which could not last long. For the best part of his men, though they had great experience, and showed an irresistible courage in all engagements, yet by their frequent marches, changing their camps,* attacking fortifications, and keeping long night-watches, were getting worn-out and broken; they being now old, their bodies less fit for labor, and their courage, also, beginning to give way with the failure of their strength. Besides, it was said that an infectious disease, occasioned by their irregular diet, was prevailing in Cæsar’s army, and what was of greatest moment, he was neither furnished with money nor provisions, so that in a little time he must needs fall of himself.

  For these reasons Pompey had no mind to fight him, but was thanked for it by none but Cato, who rejoiced at the prospect of sparing his fellow-citizens. For he when he saw the dead bodies of those who had fallen in the last battle on Cæsar’s side, to the number of a thousand, turned away, covered his face, and shed tears. But every one else upbraided Pompey for being reluctant to fight, and tried to goad him on by such nicknames as Agamemnon, and king of kings, as if he were in no hurry to lay down his sovereign authority, but was pleased to see so many commanders attending on him, and paying their attendance at his tent. Favonius, who affected Cato’s free way of speaking his mind, complained bitterly that they should eat no figs even this year at Tusculum, because of Pompey’s love of command. Afranius, who was lately returned out of Spain, and on account of his ill success there, labored under the suspicion of having been bribed to betray the army, asked why they did not fight this purchaser of provinces. Pompey was driven, against his own will, by this kind of language, into offering battle, and proceeded to follow Cæsar. Cæsar had found great difficulties in his march, for no country would supply him with provisions, his reputation being very much fallen since his late defeat. But after he took Gomphi, a town of Thessaly, he not only found provisions for his army, but physic too. For there they met with plenty of wine, which they took very freely, and heated with this, sporting and revelling on their march in bacchanalian fashion, they shook off the disease, and their whole constitution was relieved and changed into another habit.

  When the two armies were come into Pharsalia,* and both encamped there, Pompey’s thoughts ran the same way as they had done before, against fighting, and the more because of some unlucky presages, and a vision he had in a dream.† But those who were about him were so confident of success, that Domitius, and Spinther, and Scipio, as if they had already conquered, quarrelled which should succeed Cæsar in the pontificate. And many sent to Rome to take houses fit to accommodate consuls and prætors, as being sure of entering upon those offices, as soon as the battle was over. The cavalry especially were obstinate for fighting, being splendidly armed and bravely mounted, and valuing themselves upon the fine horses they kept, and upon their own handsome persons; as also upon the advantage of their numbers, for they were five thousand against one thousand of Cæsar’s. Nor were the numbers of the infantry less disproportionate, there being forty-five thousand of Pompey’s, against twenty-two thousand of the enemy.

  Cæsar, collecting his soldiers together, told them that Corfinius* was coming up to them with two legions, and that fifteen cohorts more under Calenus were posted at Megara and Athens; he then asked them whether they would stay till these joined them, or would hazard the battle by themselves. They all cried out to him not to wait, but on the contrary to do whatever he could to bring about an engagement as soon as possible. When he sacrificed to the gods for the lustration of his army, upon the death of the first victim, the augur told him, within three days he should come to a decisive action. Cæsar asked him whether he saw any thing in the entrails, which promised an happy event. “That,” said the priest, “you can best answer yourself; for the gods signify a great alteration from the present posture of affairs. If, therefore, you think yourself well off now, expect worse fortune; if unhappy, hope for better.” The night before the battle, as he walked the rounds about midnight, there was a light seen in the heaven, very bright and flaming, which seemed to pass over Cæsar’s camp, and fall into Pompey’s. And when Cæsar’s soldiers came to relieve the watch in the morning, they perceived a panic disorder among the enemies. However, he did not expect to fight that day, but set about raising his camp with the intention of marching towards Scotussa.

  But when the tents were now taken down, his scouts rode up to him, and told him the enemy would give him battle. With this news he was extremely pleased, and having performed his devotions to the gods, set his army in battle array, dividing them into three bodies. Over the middlemost he placed Domitius Calvinus; Antony commanded the left wing, and he himself the right, being resolved to fight at the head of the tenth legion. But when he saw the enemies’ cavalry taking position against him, being struck with their fine appearance and their number, he gave private orders that six cohorts from the rear of the army should come round and join him, whom he posted behind the right wing, and instructed them what they should do, when the enemy’s horse came to charge. On the other side, Pompey commanded the right wing, Domitius the left, and Scipio, Pompey’s father-in-law, the centre. The whole weight of the cavalry was collected on the left wing, with the intent that they should outflank the right wing of the enemy, and rout that part where the general himself commanded. For they thought no phalanx of infantry could be solid enough to sustain such a shock, but that they must necessarily be broken and shattered all to pieces upon the onset of so immense a force of cavalry. When they were ready on both sides to give the signal for battle, Pompey commanded his foot who were in the front, to stand their ground, and without breaking their order, receive quietly the enemy’s first attack, till they came within javelin’s cast. Cæsar, in this respect, also, blames Pompey’s generalship, as if he had not been aware how the first encounter, when made with an impetus and upon the run, gives weight and force to the strokes, and fires the men’s spirits into a flame, which the general concurrence fans to full heat. He himself was just putting the troops into motion and advancing to the action, when he found one of his captains, a trusty and experienced soldier, encouraging his men to exert their utmost. Cæsar called him by his name, and said, “What hopes, Caius Crassinius, and what grounds for encouragement?” Crassinius stretched out his hand, and cried in a loud voice, “We shall conquer nobly, Cæsar; and I this day will deserve your praises, either alive or dead.” So he said, and was the first man to run in upon the enemy, followed by the hundred and twenty soldiers about him, and breaking through the first rank, still pressed on forwards with much slaughter of the enemy, till at last he was struck back by the wound of a sword, which went in at his mouth with such force that it came out at his neck behind.

  Whilst the foot was thus sharply engaged in the main battle, on the flank Pompey’s horse rode up confidently, and opened their ranks very wide, that they might surround the right wing of Cæsar. But before they engaged, Cæsar’s cohorts rushed out and attacked them, and did not dart their javelins at a distance, nor strike at the thighs and legs, as they usually did in close battle, but aimed at their faces. For thus Cæsar had instructed them, in hopes that young gentlemen, who had not known much of battles and wounds, but came wearing their hair long, in the flower of their age and height of their beauty, would be more apprehensive of such blows, and not care for hazarding both a danger at present and a blemish for the future. And so it proved, for they were so far from bearing the stroke of the javelins, that they could not stand the sight of them, but turned about, and covered their faces to secure them. Once in disorder, presently they turned about to fly; and so most shamefully ruined all. For those who had beat them back, at once outflanked the infantry, and falling on their rear, cut them to pieces. Pompey, who commanded the other wing of the army, when he saw his cavalry thus broken and flying, was no longer himself, nor did he now remember that he was Pompey the Great, but like one whom some god had deprived of his senses, retired to his tent without speaking a word, and there sat to expect the event, till the whole army was routed, and the enemy appeared upon the works which were thrown up before the camp, where they closely engaged with his men, who were posted there to defend it. Then first he seemed to have recovered his senses, and uttering, it is said, only these words, “What, into the camp too?” he laid aside his general’s habit, and putting on such clothes as might best favor his flight, stole off. What fortune he met with afterwards, how he took shelter in Egypt, and was murdered there, we tell you in his Life.

  Cæsar, when he came to view Pompey’s camp, and saw some of his opponents dead upon the ground, others dying, said, with a groan, “This they would have; they brought me to this necessity. I, Caius Cæsar, after succeeding in so many wars, had been condemned, had I dismissed my army.”* These words, Pollio says, Cæsar spoke in Latin at that time, and that he himself wrote them in Greek; adding, that those who were killed at the taking of the camp, were most of them servants; and that not above six thousand soldiers fell. Cæsar incorporated most of the foot whom he took prisoners, with his own legions, and gave a free pardon to many of the distinguished persons, and amongst the rest, to Brutus, who afterwards killed him. He did not immediately appear after the battle was over, which put Cæsar, it is said, into great anxiety for him; nor was his pleasure less when he saw him present himself alive.

  There were many prodigies that foreshowed this victory, but the most remarkable that we are told of, was that at Tralles. In the temple of Victory stood Cæsar’s statue. The ground on which it stood was naturally hard and solid, and the stone with which it was paved still harder; yet it is said that a palm-tree shot itself up near the pedestal of this statue. In the city of Padua, one Caius Cornelius, who had the character of a good augur, the fellow-citizen and acquaintance of Livy, the historian, happened to be making some augural observations that very day when the battle was fought. And first, as Livy tells us, he pointed out the time of the fight, and said to those who were by him, that just then the battle was begun, and the men engaged. When he looked a second time, and observed the omens, he leaped up as if he had been inspired, and cried out, “Cæsar, you are victorious.” This much surprised the standers by, but he took the garland which he had on from his head, and swore he would never wear it again till the event should give authority to his art. This Livy positively states for a truth.

  Cæsar, as a memorial of his victory, gave the Thessalians their freedom, and then went in pursuit of Pompey. When he was come into Asia, to gratify Theopompus, the author of the collection of fables, he enfranchised the Cnidians, and remitted one third of their tribute to all the people of the province of Asia. When he came to Alexandria, where Pompey was already murdered, he would not look upon Theodotus, who presented him with his head, but taking only his signet, shed tears. Those of Pompey’s friends who had been arrested by the king of Egypt, as they were wandering in those parts, he relieved, and offered them his own friendship. In his letter to his friends at Rome, he told them that the greatest and most signal pleasure his victory had given him, was to be able continually to save the lives of fellow-citizens who had fought against him. As to the war in Egypt, some say it was at once dangerous and dishonorable, and noways necessary, but occasioned only by his passion for Cleopatra. Others blame the ministers of the king, and especially the eunuch Pothinus, who was the chief favorite, and had lately killed Pompey, who had banished Cleopatra, and was now secretly plotting Cæsar’s destruction, (to prevent which, Cæsar from that time began to sit up whole nights, under pretence of drinking, for the security of his person,) while openly he was intolerable in his affronts to Cæsar, both by his words and actions. For when Cæsar’s soldiers had musty and unwholesome corn measured out to them, Pothinus told them they must be content with it, since they were fed at another’s cost. He ordered that his table should be served with wooden and earthen dishes, and said Cæsar had carried off all the gold and silver plate, under pretence of arrears of debt. For the present king’s father owed Cæsar one thousand seven hundred and fifty myriads of money; Cæsar had formerly remitted to his children the rest, but thought fit to demand the thousand myriads at that time, to maintain his army. Pothinus told him that he had better go now and attend to his other affairs of greater consequence, and that he should receive his money at another time with thanks. Cæsar replied that he did not want Egyptians to be his counsellors, and soon after privately sent for Cleopatra from her retirement.

  She took a small boat, and one only of her confidents, Apollodorus, the Sicilian, along with her, and in the dusk of the evening landed near the palace. She was at a loss how to get in undiscovered, till she thought of putting herself into the coverlet of a bed and lying at length, whilst Apollodorus tied up the bedding and carried it on his back through the gates to Cæsar’s apartment. Cæsar was first captivated by this proof of Cleopatra’s bold wit, and was afterwards so overcome by the charm of her society, that he made a reconciliation between her and her brother, on condition that she should rule as his colleague in the kingdom. A festival was kept to celebrate this reconciliation, where Cæsar’s barber, a busy, listening fellow, whose excessive timidity made him inquisitive into every thing, discovered that there was a plot carrying on against Cæsar by Achillas, general of the king’s forces, and Pothinus, the eunuch. Cæsar, upon the first intelligence of it, set a guard upon the hall where the feast was kept, and killed Pothinus. Achillas escaped to the army, and raised a troublesome and embarrassing war against Cæsar, which it was not easy for him to manage with his few soldiers against so powerful a city and so large an army. The first difficulty he met with was want of water, for the enemies had turned the canals.* Another was, when the enemy endeavored to cut off his communication by sea, he was forced to divert that danger by setting fire to his own ships, which, after burning the docks, thence spread on and destroyed the great library. A third was, when in an engagement near Pharos, he leaped from the mole into a small boat, to assist his soldiers who were in danger, and when the Egyptians pressed him on every side, he threw himself into the sea, and with much difficulty swam off. This was the time when, according to the story, he had a number of manuscripts in his hand, which, though he was continually darted at, and forced to keep his head often under water, yet he did not let go, but held them up safe from wetting in one hand, whilst he swam with the other. His boat, in the mean time, was quickly sunk. At last, the king having gone off to Achillas and his party, Cæsar engaged and conquered them. Many fell in that battle, and the king himself was never seen after. Upon this, he left Cleopatra queen of Egypt, who soon after had a son by him, whom the Alexandrians called Cæsarion, and then departed for Syria.

  Thence he passed to Asia, where he heard that Domitius was beaten by Pharnaces, son of Mithridates, and had fled out of Pontus with a handful of men; and that Pharnaces pursued the victory so eagerly, that though he was already master of Bithynia and Cappadocia, he had a further design of attempting the Lesser Armenia, and was inviting all the kings and tetrarchs there to rise. Cæsar immediately marched against him with three legions, fought him near Zela, drove him out of Pontus, and totally defeated his army. When he gave Amantius, a friend of his at Rome, an account of this action, to express the promptness and rapidity of it, he used three words, I came, saw, and conquered, which in Latin* having all the same cadence, carry with them a very suitable air of brevity.

  Hence he crossed into Italy, and came to Rome at the end of that year, for which he had been a second time Page 309 chosen dictator, though that office had never before lasted a whole year, and was elected consul for the next. He was ill spoken of, because upon a mutiny of some soldiers, who killed Cosconius and Galba, who had been prætors, he gave them only the slight reprimand of calling them Citizens, instead of Fellow-Soldiers, and afterwards assigned to each man a thousand drachmas, besides a share of lands in Italy. He was also reflected on for Dolabella’s extravagance, Amantius’s covetousness, Antony’s debauchery, and Corfinius’s profuseness, who pulled down Pompey’s house, and rebuilt it, as not magnificent enough; for the Romans were much displeased with all these. But Cæsar, for the prosecution of his own scheme of government, though he knew their characters and disapproved them, was forced to make use of those who would serve him.

  After the battle of Pharsalia, Cato and Scipio fled into Africa, and there, with the assistance of king Juba, got together a considerable force, which Cæsar resolved to engage. He, accordingly, passed into Sicily about the winter-solstice, and to remove from his officers’ minds all hopes of delay there, encamped by the sea-shore, and as soon as ever he had a fair wind, put to sea with three thousand foot and a few horse. When he had landed them, he went back secretly, under some apprehensions for the larger part of his army, but met them upon the sea, and brought them all to the same camp. There he was informed that the enemies relied much upon an ancient oracle, that the family of the Scipios should be always victorious in Africa. There was in his army a man, otherwise mean and contemptible, but of the house of the Africani, and his name Scipio Sallutio. This man Cæsar, (whether in raillery, to ridicule Scipio, who commanded the enemy, or seriously to bring over the omen to his side, it were hard to say,) put at the head of his troops, as if he were general, in all the frequent battles which he was compelled to fight. For he was in such want both of victualling for his men, and forage for his horses, that he was forced to feed the horses with sea-weed, which he washed thoroughly to take off its saltness, and mixed with a little grass, to give it a more agreeable taste. The Numidians, in great numbers, and well horsed, whenever he went, came up and commanded the country. Cæsar’s cavalry being one day unemployed, diverted themselves with seeing an African, who entertained them with dancing and at the same time playing upon the pipe to admiration. They were so taken with this, that they alighted, and gave their horses to some boys, when on a sudden the enemy surrounded them, killed some, pursued the rest, and fell in with them into their camp; and had not Cæsar himself and Asinius Pollio come to their assistance, and put a stop to their flight, the war had been then at an end. In another engagement, also, the enemy had again the better, when Cæsar, it is said, seized a standard-bearer, who was running away, by the neck, and forcing him to face about, said, “Look, that is the way to the enemy.”

  Scipio, flushed with this success at first, had a mind to come to one decisive action. He therefore left Afranius and Juba in two distinct bodies not far distant, and marched himself towards Thapsus, where he proceeded to build a fortified camp above a lake, to serve as a centrepoint for their operations, and also as a place of refuge. Whilst Scipio was thus employed, Cæsar with incredible despatch made his way through thick woods, and a country supposed to be impassable, cut off one party of the enemy, and attacked another in the front. Having routed these, he followed up his opportunity and the current of his good fortune, and on the first onset carried Afranius’s camp, and ravaged that of the Numidians, Juba, their king, being glad to save himself by flight; so that in a small part of a single day he made himself master of three camps, and killed fifty thousand of the enemy, with the loss only of fifty of his own men. This is the account some give of that fight. Others say, he was not in the action, but that he was taken with his usual distemper just as he was setting his army in order. He perceived the approaches of it, and before it had too far disordered his senses, when he was already beginning to shake under its influence, withdrew into a neighboring fort, where he reposed himself. Of the men of consular and prætorian dignity that were taken after the fight, several Cæsar put to death, others anticipated him by killing themselves.

  Cato had undertaken to defend Utica, and for that reason was not in the battle. The desire which Cæsar had to take him alive, made him hasten thither; and upon the intelligence that he had despatched himself, he was much discomposed, for what reason is not so well agreed. He certainly said, “Cato, I must grudge you your death, as you grudged me the honor of saving your life.” Yet the discourse he wrote against Cato after his death, is no great sign of his kindness, or that he was inclined to be reconciled to him. For how is it probable that he would have been tender of his life, when he was so bitter against his memory? But from his clemency to Cicero, Brutus, and many others who fought against him, it may be divined that Cæsar’s book was not written so much out of animosity to Cato, as in his own vindication. Cicero had written an encomium upon Cato, and called it by his name. A composition by so great a master upon so excellent a subject, was sure to be in every one’s hands. This touched Cæsar, who looked upon a panegyric on his enemy, as no better than an invective against himself; and therefore he made in his Anti-Cato, a collection of whatever could be said in his derogation. The two compositions, like Cato and Cæsar themselves, have each of them their several admirers.

  Cæsar, upon his return to Rome, did not omit to pronounce before the people a magnificent account of his victory, telling them that he had subdued a country which would supply the public every year with two hundred thousand attic bushels of corn, and three million pounds weight of oil. He then led three triumphs for Egypt, Pontus, and Africa, the last for the victory over, not Scipio, but king Juba, as it was professed, whose little son was then carried in the triumph, the happiest captive that ever was, who of a barbarian Numidian, came by this means to obtain a place among the most learned historians of Greece. After the triumphs, he distributed rewards to his soldiers, and treated the people with feasting and shows. He entertained the whole people together at one feast, where twenty-two thousand dining couches were laid out; and he made a display of gladiators, and of battles by sea, in honor, as he said, of his daughter Julia, though she had been long since dead. When these shows were over, an account was taken of the people, who from three hundred and twenty thousand, were now reduced to one hundred and fifty thousand. So great a waste had the civil war made in Rome alone, not to mention what the other parts of Italy and the provinces suffered.

  He was now chosen a fourth time consul, and went into Spain against Pompey’s sons. They were but young, yet had gathered together a very numerous army, and showed they had courage and conduct to command it, so that Cæsar was in extreme danger. The great battle was near the town of Munda, in which Cæsar seeing his men hard pressed, and making but a weak resistance, ran through the ranks among the soldiers, and crying out, asked them whether they were not ashamed to deliver him into the hands of boys? At last, with great difficulty, and the best efforts he could make, he forced back the enemy, killing thirty thousand of them, though with the loss of one thousand of his best men. When he came back from the fight, he told his friends that he had often fought for victory, but this was the first time that he had ever fought for life. This battle was won on the feast of Bacchus, the very day in which Pompey, four years before, had set out for the war. The younger of Pompey’s sons escaped; but Didius, some days after the fight, brought the head of the elder to Cæsar. This was the last war he was engaged in. The triumph which he celebrated for this victory, displeased the Romans beyond any thing. For he had not defeated foreign generals, or barbarian kings, but had destroyed the children and family of one of the greatest men of Rome, though unfortunate; and it did not look well to lead a procession in celebration of the calamities of his country, and to rejoice in those things for which no other apology could be made either to gods or men, than their being absolutely necessary. Besides that, hitherto he had never sent letters or messengers to announce any victory over his fellow-citizens, but had seemed rather to be ashamed of the action, than to expect honor from it.

  Nevertheless his countrymen, conceding all to his fortune, and accepting the bit, in the hope that the government of a single person would give them time to breathe after so many civil wars and calamities, made him dictator for life. This was indeed a tyranny avowed, since his power now was not only absolute, but perpetual too. Cicero made the first proposals to the senate for conferring honors upon him, which might in some sort be said not to exceed the limits of ordinary human moderation. But others, striving which should deserve most, carried them so excessively high, that they made Cæsar odious to the most indifferent and moderate sort of men, by the pretension and the extravagance of the titles which they decreed him. His enemies, too, are thought to have had some share in this, as well as his flatterers. It gave them advantage against him, and would be their justification for any attempt they should make upon him; for since the civil wars were ended, he had nothing else that he could be charged with. And they had good reason to decree a temple to Clemency, in token of their thanks for the mild use he made of his victory. For he not only pardoned many of those who fought against him, but, further, to some gave honors and offices; as particularly to Brutus and Cassius, who both of them were prætors. Pompey’s images that were thrown down, he set up again, upon which Cicero also said that by raising Pompey’s statues he had fixed his own. When his friends advised him to have a guard, and several offered their service, he would not hear of it; but said it was better to suffer death once, than always to live in fear of it. He looked upon the affections of the people to be the best and surest guard, and entertained them again with public feasting, and general distributions of corn; and to gratify his army, he sent out colonies to several places, of which the most remarkable were Carthage and Corinth; which as before they had been ruined at the same time, so now were restored and repeopled together.

  As for the men of high rank, he promised to some of them future consulships and prætorships, some he consoled with other offices and honors, and to all held out hopes of favor by the solicitude he showed to rule with the general good-will; insomuch that upon the death of Maximus one day before his consulship was ended, he made Caninius Revilius consul for that day. And when many went to pay the usual compliments and attentions to Page 315 the new consul, “Let us make haste,” said Cicero, “lest the man be gone out of his office before we come.”

  Cæsar was born to do great things, and had a passion after honor, and the many noble exploits he had done did not now serve as an inducement to him to sit still and reap the fruit of his past labors, but were incentives and encouragements to go on, and raised in him ideas of still greater actions, and a desire of new glory, as if the present were all spent. It was in fact a sort of emulous struggle with himself, as it had been with another, how he might outdo his past actions by his future. In pursuit of these thoughts, he resolved to make war upon the Parthians, and when he had subdued them, to pass through Hyrcania; thence to march along by the Caspian Sea to Mount Caucasus, and so on about Pontus, till he came into Scythia; then to overrun all the countries bordering upon Germany, and Germany itself; and so to return through Gaul into Italy, after completing the whole circle of his intended empire, and bounding it on every side by the ocean. While preparations were making for this expedition, he proposed to dig through the isthmus on which Corinth stands; and appointed Anienus to superintend the work. He had also a design of diverting the Tiber, and carrying it by a deep channel directly from Rome to Circeii, and so into the sea near Tarracina, that there might be a safe and easy passage for all merchants who traded to Rome. Besides this, he intended to drain all the marshes by Pomentium and Setia, and gain ground enough from the water to employ many thousands of men in tillage. He proposed further to make great mounds on the shore nearest Rome, to hinder the sea from breaking in upon the land, to clear the coast at Ostia of all the hidden rocks and shoals that made it unsafe for shipping, and to form ports and harbors fit to receive the large number of vessels that would frequent them.

  These things were designed without being carried into effect; but his reformation of the calendar, in order to rectify the irregularity of time, was not only projected with great scientific ingenuity, but was brought to its completion, and proved of very great use. For it was not only in ancient times that the Romans had wanted a certain rule to make the revolutions of their months fall in with the course of the year, so that their festivals and solemn days for sacrifice were removed by little and little, till at last they came to be kept at seasons quite the contrary to what was at first intended, but even at this time the people had no way of computing the solar year; only the priests could say the time, and they, at their pleasure, without giving any notice, slipped in the intercalary month, which they called Mercedonius. Numa was the first who put in this month, but his expedient was but a poor one and quite inadequate to correct all the errors that arose in the returns of the annual cycles, as we have shown in his life. Cæsar called in the best philosophers and mathematicians of his time to settle the point, and out of the systems he had before him, formed a new and more exact method of correcting the calendar, which the Romans use to this day, and seem to succeed better than any nation in avoiding the errors occasioned by the inequality of the cycles. Yet even this gave offence to those who looked with an evil eye on his position, and felt oppressed by his power. Cicero, the orator, when some one in his company chanced to say, the next morning Lyra would rise, replied, “Yes, in accordance with the edict,” as if even this were a matter of compulsion.

  But that which brought upon him the most apparent and mortal hatred, was his desire of being king; which gave the common people the first occasion to quarrel with him, and proved the most specious pretence to those who had been his secret enemies all along. Those, who would have procured him that title, gave it out, that it was foretold in the Sybils’ books that the Romans should conquer the Parthians when they fought against them under the conduct of a king, but not before. And one day, as Cæsar was coming down from Alba to Rome, some were so bold as to salute him by the name of king; but he finding the people disrelish it, seemed to resent it himself, and said his name was Cæsar, not king. Upon this, there was a general silence, and he passed on looking not very well pleased or contented. Another time, when the senate had conferred on him some extravagant honors, he chanced to receive the message as he was sitting on the rostra, where, though the consuls and prætors themselves waited on him, attended by the whole body of the senate, he did not rise, but behaved himself to them as if they had been private men, and told them his honors wanted rather to be retrenched than increased. This treatment offended not only the senate, but the commonalty too, as if they thought the affront upon the senate equally reflected upon the whole republic; so that all who could decently leave him went off, looking much discomposed. Cæsar, perceiving the false step he had made, immediately retired home; and laying his throat bare, told his friends that he was ready to offer this to any one who would give the stroke. But afterwards he made the malady from which he suffered, the excuse for his sitting, saying that those who are attacked by it, lose their presence of mind, if they talk much standing; that they presently grow giddy, fall into convulsions, and quite lose their reason. But this was not the reality, for he would willingly have stood up to the senate, had not Cornelius Balbus, one of his friends, or rather flatterers, hindered him. “Will you not remember,” said he, “you are Cæsar, and claim the honor which is due to your merit?”

  He gave a fresh occasion of resentment by his affront to the tribunes. The Lupercalia were then celebrated, a feast at the first institution belonging, as some writers say, to the shepherds, and having some connection with the Arcadian Lycæa. Many young noblemen and magistrates run up and down the city with their upper garments off, striking all they meet with thongs of hide, by way of sport; and many women, even of the highest rank, place themselves in the way, and hold out their hands to the lash, as boys in a school do to the master, out of a belief that it procures an easy labor to those who are with child, and makes those conceive who are barren. Cæsar, dressed in a triumphal robe, seated himself in a golden chair at the rostra, to view this ceremony. Antony, as consul, was one of those who ran this course, and when he came into the forum, and the people made way for him, he went up and reached to Cæsar a diadem wreathed with laurel. Upon this, there was a shout, but only a slight one, made by the few who were planted there for that purpose; but when Cæsar refused it, there was universal applause. Upon the second offer, very few, and upon the second refusal, all again applauded. Cæsar finding it would not take, rose up, and ordered the crown to be carried into the capitol. Cæsar’s statues were afterwards found with royal diadems on their heads. Flavius and Marullus, two tribunes of the people, went presently and pulled them off, and having apprehended those who first saluted Cæsar as king, committed them to prison. The people followed them with acclamations, and called them by the name of Brutus, because Brutus was the first who ended the succession of kings, and transferred the power which before was lodged in one man into the hands of the senate and people. Cæsar so far resented this, that he displaced Marullus and Flavius; and in urging his charges against them, at the same time ridiculed the people, by himself giving the men more than once the names of Bruti, and Cumæi.*

  This made the multitude turn their thoughts to Marcus Brutus, who, by his father’s side, was thought to be descended from that first Brutus, and by his mother’s side from the Servilii, another noble family, being besides nephew and son-in-law to Cato. But the honors and favors he had received from Cæsar, took off the edge from the desires he might himself have felt for overthrowing the new monarchy. For he had not only been pardoned himself after Pompey’s defeat at Pharsalia, and had procured the same grace for many of his friends, but was one in whom Cæsar had a particular confidence. He had at that time the most honorable prætorship of the year, and was named for the consulship four years after, being preferred before Cassius, his competitor. Upon the question as to the choice, Cæsar, it is related, said that Cassius had the fairer pretensions, but that he could not pass by Brutus. Nor would he afterwards listen to some who spoke against Brutus, when the conspiracy against him was already afoot, but laying his hand on his body, said to the informers, “Brutus will wait for this skin of mine,” intimating that he was worthy to bear rule on account of his virtue, but would not be base and ungrateful to gain it. Those who desired a change, and looked on him as the only, or at least the most proper, person to effect it, did not venture to speak with him; but in the nighttime laid papers about his chair of state, where he used to sit and determine causes, with such sentences in them as, “You are asleep, Brutus,” “You are no longer Brutus.” Cassius, when he perceived his ambition a little raised upon this, was more instant than before to work him yet further, having himself a private grudge against Cæsar, for some reasons that we have mentioned in the Life of Brutus. Nor was Cæsar without suspicions of him, and said once to his friends, “What do you think Cassius is aiming at? I do n’t like him, he looks so pale.” And when it was told him that Antony and Dolabella were in a plot against him, he said he did not fear such fat, luxurious men, but rather the pale, lean fellows, meaning Cassius and Brutus.

  Fate, however, is to all appearance more unavoidable than unexpected. For many strange prodigies and apparitions are said to have been observed shortly before the event. As to the lights in the heavens, the noises heard in the night, and the wild birds which perched in the forum, these are not perhaps worth taking notice of in so great a case as this. Strabo, the philosopher, tells us that a number of men were seen, looking as if they were heated through with fire, contending with each other; that a quantity of flame issued from the hand of a soldier’s servant, so that they who saw it thought he must be burnt, but that after all he had no hurt. As Cæsar was sacrificing, the victim’s heart was missing, a very bad omen, because no living creature can subsist without a heart. One finds it also related by many, that a soothsayer bade him prepare for some great danger on the ides of March. When the day was come, Cæsar, as he went to the senate, met this soothsayer, and said to him by way of raillery, “The ides of March are come;” who answered him calmly, “Yes, they are come, but they are not past.” The day before this assassination, he supped with Marcus Lepidus; and as he was signing some letters, according to his custom, as he reclined at table, there arose a question what sort of death was the best. At which he immediately, before any one could speak, said, “A sudden one.”

  After this, as he was in bed with his wife, all the doors and windows of the house flew open together; he was startled at the noise, and the light which broke into the room, and sat up in his bed, where by the moonshine he perceived Calpurnia fast asleep, but heard her utter in her dream some indistinct words and inarticulate groans. She fancied at that time she was weeping over Cæsar, and holding him butchered in her arms. Others say this was not her dream, but that she dreamed that a pinnacle which the senate, as Livy relates, had ordered to be raised on Cæsar’s house by way of ornament and grandeur, was tumbling down, which was the occasion of her tears and ejaculations. When it was day, she begged of Cæsar, if it were possible, not to stir out, but to adjourn the senate to another time; and if he slighted her dreams, that he would be pleased to consult his fate by sacrifices, and other kinds of divination. Nor was he himself without some suspicion and fears; for he never before discovered any womanish superstition in Calpurnia, whom he now saw in such great alarm. Upon the report which the priests made to him, that they had killed several sacrifices, and still found them inauspicious, he resolved to send Antony to dismiss the senate.

  In this juncture, Decimus Brutus, surnamed Albinus, one whom Cæsar had such confidence in that he made him his second heir, who nevertheless was engaged in the conspiracy with the other Brutus and Cassius, fearing lest if Cæsar should put off the senate to another day, the business might get wind, spoke scoffingly and in mockery of the diviners, and blamed Cæsar for giving the senate so fair an occasion of saying he had put a slight upon them, for that they were met upon his summons, and were ready to vote unanimously, that he should be declared king of all the provinces out of Italy, and might wear a diadem in any other place but Italy, by sea or land. If any one should be sent to tell them they might break up for the present, and meet again when Calpurnia should chance to have better dreams, what would his enemies say? Or who would with any patience hear his friends, if they should presume to defend his government as not arbitrary and tyrannical? But if he was possessed so far as to think this day unfortunate, yet it were more decent to go himself to the senate, and to adjourn it in his own person. Brutus, as he spoke these words, took Cæsar by the hand, and conducted him forth. He was not gone far from the door, when a servant of some other person’s made towards him, but not being able to come up to him, on account of the crowd of those who pressed about him, he made his way into the house, and committed himself to Calpurnia, begging of her to secure him till Cæsar returned, because he had matters of great importance to communicate to him.

  Artemidorus, a Cnidian, a teacher of Greek logic, and by that means so far acquainted with Brutus and his friends as to have got into the secret, brought Cæsar in a small written memorial, the heads of what he had to depose. He had observed that Cæsar, as he received any papers, presently gave them to the servants who attended on him; and therefore came as near to him as he could, and said, “Read this, Cæsar, alone, and quickly, for it contains matter of great importance which nearly concerns you.” Cæsar received it, and tried several times to read it, but was still hindered by the crowd of those who came to speak to him. However, he kept it in his hand by itself till he came into the senate. Some say it was another who gave Cæsar this note, and that Artemidorus could not get to him, being all along kept off by the crowd.

  All these things might happen by chance. But the place which was destined for the scene of this murder, in which the senate met that day, was the same in which Pompey’s statue stood, and was one of the edifices which Pompey had raised and dedicated with his theatre to the use of the public, plainly showing that there was something of a supernatural influence which guided the action, and ordered it to that particular place. Cassius, just before the act, is said to have looked towards Pompey’s statue, and silently implored his assistance, though he had been inclined to the doctrines of Epicurus. But this occasion and the instant danger, carried him away out of all his reasonings, and filled him for the time with a sort of inspiration. As for Antony, who was firm to Cæsar, and a strong man, Brutus Albinus kept him outside the house, and delayed him with a long conversation contrived on purpose. When Cæsar entered, the senate stood up to show their respect to him, and of Brutus’s confederates, some came about his chair and stood behind it, others met him, pretending to add their petitions to those of Tillius Cimber, in behalf of his brother, who was in exile; and they followed him with their joint supplications till he came to his seat. When he was sat down, he refused to comply with their requests, and upon their urging him further, began to reproach them severally for their importunities, when Tillius, laying hold of his robe with both his hands, pulled it down from his neck, which was the signal for the assault. Casca gave him the first cut, in the neck, which was not mortal nor dangerous, as coming from one who at the beginning of such a bold action was probably very much disturbed. Cæsar immediately turned about, and laid his hand upon the dagger and kept hold of it. And both of them at the same time cried out, he that received the blow, in Latin, “Vile Casca, what does this mean?” and he that gave it, in Greek, to his brother, “Brother, help!” Upon this first onset, those who were not privy to the design were astonished, and their horror and amazement at what they saw were so great, that they durst not fly nor assist Cæsar, nor so much as speak a word. But those who came prepared for the business inclosed him on every side, with their naked daggers in their hands. Which way soever he turned, he met with blows, and saw their swords levelled at his face and eyes, and was encompassed, like a wild beast in the toils, on every side. For it had been agreed they should each of them make a thrust at him, and flesh themselves with his blood; for which reason Brutus also gave him one stab in the groin. Some say that he fought and resisted all the rest, shifting his body to avoid the blows, and calling out for help, but that when he saw Brutus’s sword drawn, he covered his face with his robe and submitted, letting himself fall, whether it were by chance, or that he was pushed in that direction by his murderers, at the foot of the pedestal on which Pompey’s statue stood, and which was thus wetted with his blood. So that Pompey himself seemed to have presided, as it were, over the revenge done upon his adversary, who lay here at his feet, and breathed out his soul through his multitude of wounds, for they say he received three and twenty. And the conspirators themselves were many of them wounded by each other, whilst they all levelled their blows at the same person.

  When Cæsar was dispatched, Brutus stood forth to give a reason for what they had done, but the senate would not hear him, but flew out of doors in all haste, and filled the people with so much alarm and distraction, that some shut up their houses, others left their counters and shops. All ran one way or the other, some to the place to see the sad spectacle, others back again after they had seen it. Antony and Lepidus, Cæsar’s most faithful friends, got off privately, and hid themselves in some friends’ houses. Brutus and his followers, being yet hot from the deed, marched in a body from the senate-house to the capitol with their drawn swords, not like persons who thought of escaping, but with an air of confidence and assurance, and as they went along, called to the people to resume their liberty, and invited the company of any more distinguished people whom they met. And some of these joined the procession and went up along with them, as if they also had been of the conspiracy, and could claim a share in the honor of what had been done. As, for example, Caius Octavius and Lentulus Spinther, who suffered afterwards for their vanity, being taken off by Antony and the young Cæsar, and lost the honor they desired, as well as their lives, which it cost them, since no one believed they had any share in the action. For neither did those who punished them profess to revenge the fact, but the ill-will. The day after, Brutus with the rest came down from the capitol, and made a speech to the people, who listened without expressing either any pleasure or resentment, but showed by their silence that they pitied Cæsar, and respected Brutus. The senate passed acts of oblivion for what was past, and took measures to reconcile all parties. They ordered that Cæsar should be worshipped as a divinity, and nothing, even of the slightest consequence, should be revoked, which he had enacted during his government. At the same time they gave Brutus and his followers the command of provinces, and other considerable posts. So that all people now thought things were well settled, and brought to the happiest adjustment.

  But when Cæsar’s will was opened, and it was found that he had left a considerable legacy to each one of the Roman citizens, and when his body was seen carried through the market-place all mangled with wounds, the multitude could no longer contain themselves within the bounds of tranquillity and order, but heaped together a pile of benches, bars, and tables, which they placed the corpse on, and setting fire to it, burnt it on them. Then they took brands from the pile, and ran some to fire the houses of the conspirators, others up and down the city, to find out the men and tear them to pieces, but met, however, with none of them, they having taken effectual care to secure themselves.

  One Cinna, a friend of Cæsar’s, chanced the night before to have an odd dream. He fancied that Cæsar invited him to supper, and that upon his refusal to go with him, Cæsar took him by the hand and forced him, though he hung back. Upon hearing the report that Cæsar’s body was burning in the market-place, he got up and went thither, out of respect to his memory, though his dream gave him some ill apprehensions, and though he was suffering from a fever. One of the crowd who saw him there, asked another who that was, and having learned his name, told it to his next neighbor. It presently passed for a certainty that he was one of Cæsar’s murderers, as, indeed, there was another Cinna, a conspirator, and they, taking this to be the man, immediately seized him, and tore him limb from limb upon the spot.

  Brutus and Cassius, frightened at this, within a few days retired out of the city. What they afterwards did and suffered, and how they died, is written in the Life of Brutus. Cæsar died in his fifty-sixth year, not having survived Pompey above four years. That empire and power which he had pursued through the whole course of his life with so much hazard, he did at last with much difficulty compass, but reaped no other fruits from it than the empty name and invidious glory. But the great genius which attended him through his lifetime, even after his death remained as the avenger of his murder, pursuing through every sea and land all those who were concerned in it, and suffering none to escape, but reaching all who in any sort or kind were either actually engaged in the fact, or by their counsels any way promoted it.

  The most remarkable of mere human coincidences was that which befell Cassius, who, when he was defeated at Philippi, killed himself with the same dagger which he had made use of against Cæsar. The most signal preter-natural appearances were the great comet, which shone very bright for seven nights after Cæsar’s death, and then disappeared, and the dimness of the sun,* whose orb continued pale and dull for the whole of that year, never showing its ordinary radiance at its rising, and giving but a weak and feeble heat. The air consequently was damp and gross, for want of stronger rays to open and rarify it. The fruits, for that reason, never properly ripened, and began to wither and fall off for want of heat, before they were fully formed. But above all, the phantom which appeared to Brutus showed the murder was not pleasing to the gods. The story of it is this.

  Brutus being to pass his army from Abydos to the continent on the other side, laid himself down one night, as he used to do, in his tent, and was not asleep, but thinking of his affairs, and what events he might expect. For he is related to have been the least inclined to sleep of all men who have commanded armies, and to have had the greatest natural capacity for continuing awake, and employing himself without need of rest. He thought he heard a noise at the door of his tent, and looking that way, by the light of his lamp, which was almost out, saw Page 328 a terrible figure, like that of a man, but of unusual stature and severe countenance. He was somewhat frightened at first, but seeing it neither did nor spoke any thing to him, only stood silently by his bed-side, he asked who it was. The spectre answered him, “Thy evil genius, Brutus, thou shalt see me at Philippi.” Brutus answered courageously, “Well, I shall see you,” and immediately the appearance vanished. When the time was come, he drew up his army near Philippi against Antony and Cæsar, and in the first battle won the day, routed the enemy, and plundered Cæsar’s camp. The night before the second battle, the same phantom appeared to him again, but spoke not a word. He presently understood his destiny was at hand, and exposed himself to all the danger of the battle. Yet he did not die in the fight, but seeing his men defeated, got up to the top of a rock, and there presenting his sword to his naked breast, and assisted, as they say, by a friend, who helped him to give the thrust, met his death.

  Demades, the orator, when in the height of the power which he obtained at Athens by advising the state in the interest of Antipater and the Macedonians, being necessitated to write and speak many things below the dignity, and contrary to the character, of the city, was wont to excuse himself by saying he steered only the shipwrecks of the commonwealth. This hardy saying of his might have some appearance of truth, if applied to Phocion’s government. For Demades indeed was himself the mere wreck of his country, living and ruling so dissolutely, that Antipater took occasion to say of him, when he was now grown old, that he was like a sacrificed beast, all consumed except the tongue and the belly. But Phocion’s was a real virtue, only overmatched in the unequal contest with an adverse time, and rendered by the ill fortunes of Greece inglorious and obscure. We must not, indeed, allow ourselves to concur with Sophocles in so far diminishing the force of virtue as to say that

  • When fortune fails, the sense we had before
  • Deserts us also, and is ours no more.

  Yet thus much, indeed, must be allowed to happen in the conflicts between good men and ill fortune, that instead of due returns of honor and gratitude, obloquy and unjust surmises may often prevail, to weaken, in a considerable degree, the credit of their virtue.

  It is commonly said that public bodies are most insulting and contumelious to a good man, when they are puffed up with prosperity and success. But the contrary often happens; afflictions and public calamities naturally imbittering and souring the minds and tempers of men, and disposing them to such peevishness and irritability, that hardly any word or sentiment of common vigor can be addressed to them, but they will be apt to take offence. He that remonstrates with them on their errors, is presumed to be insulting over their misfortunes, and any free spoken expostulation is construed into contempt. Honey itself is searching in sore and ulcerated parts; and the wisest and most judicious counsels prove provoking to distempered minds, unless offered with those soothing and compliant approaches which made the poet, for instance, characterize agreeable things in general, by a word expressive of a grateful and easy touch,* exciting nothing of offence or resistance. Inflamed eyes require a retreat into dusky places, amongst colors of the deepest shades, and are unable to endure the brilliancy of light. So fares it in the body politic, in times of distress and humiliation; a certain sensitiveness and soreness of humor prevail, with a weak incapacity of enduring any free and open advice, even when the necessity of affairs most requires such plaindealing, and when the consequences of any single error may be beyond retrieving. At such times the conduct of public affairs is on all hands most hazardous. Those who humor the people are swallowed up in the common ruin; those who endeavor to lead them aright, perish the first in their attempt.

  Astronomers tell us, the sun’s motion is neither exactly parallel with that of the heavens in general, nor yet directly and diametrically opposite, but describing an oblique line, with insensible declination he steers his course in such a gentle, easy curve, as to dispense his light and influence, in his annual revolution, at several seasons, in just proportions to the whole creation. So it happens in political affairs; if the motions of rulers be constantly opposite and cross to the tempers and inclination of the people, they will be resented as arbitrary and harsh; as, on the other side, too much deference, or encouragement, as too often it has been, to popular faults and errors, is full of danger and ruinous consequences. But where concession is the response to willing obedience, and a statesman gratifies his people, that he may the more imperatively recall them to a sense of the common interest, then, indeed, human beings, who are ready enough to serve well and submit to much, if they are not always ordered about and roughly handled, like slaves, may be said to be guided and governed upon the method that leads to safety. Though it must be confessed, it is a nice point and extremely difficult, so to temper this lenity as to preserve the authority of the government. But if such a blessed mixture and temperament may be obtained, it seems to be of all concords and harmonies the most concordant and most harmonious. For thus we are taught even God governs the world, not by irresistible force, but persuasive argument and reason, controlling it into compliance with his eternal purposes.

  Cato the younger is a similar instance. His manners were little agreeable or acceptable to the people, and he received very slender marks of their favor; witness his repulse when he sued for the consulship, which he lost, as Page 332 Cicero says, for acting rather like a citizen in Plato’s commonwealth, than among the dregs of Romulus’s posterity, the same thing happening to him, in my opinion, as we observe in fruits ripe before their season, which we rather take pleasure in looking at and admiring, than actually use; so much was his old-fashioned virtue out of the present mode, among the depraved customs which time and luxury had introduced, that it appeared indeed remarkable and wonderful, but was too great and too good to suit the present exigencies, being so out of all proportion to the times. Yet his circumstances were not altogether like Phocion’s, who came to the helm when the ship of the state was just upon sinking. Cato’s time was, indeed, stormy and tempestuous, yet so as he was able to assist in managing the sails, and lend his helping hand to those who, which he was not allowed to do, commanded at the helm. Others were to blame for the result; yet his courage and virtue made it in spite of all a hard task for fortune to ruin the commonwealth, and it was only with long time and effort and by slow degrees, when he himself had all but succeeded in averting it, that the catastrophe was at last effected.

  Phocion and he may be well compared together, not for any mere general resemblances, as though we should say, both were good men and great statesmen. For assuredly there is difference enough among virtues of the same denomination, as between the bravery of Alcibiades and that of Epaminondas, the prudence of Themistocles and that of Aristides, the justice of Numa and that of Agesilaus. But these men’s virtues, even looking to the most minute points of difference, bear the same color, stamp, and character impressed upon them, so as not to be distinguishable. The mixture is still made in the same exact proportions, whether we look at the combination to be found in them both of lenity on the one hand, with austerity on the other; their boldness upon some occasions, and caution on others; their extreme solicitude for the public, and perfect neglect of themselves; their fixed and immovable bent to all virtuous and honest actions, accompanied with an extreme tenderness and scrupulosity as to doing any thing which might appear mean or unworthy; so that we should need a very nice and subtle logic of discrimination to detect and establish the distinctions between them.

  As to Cato’s extraction, it is confessed by all to have been illustrious, as will be said hereafter, nor was Phocion’s, I feel assured, obscure or ignoble. For had he been the son of a turner, as Idomeneus reports, it had certainly not been forgotten to his disparagement by Glaucippus, the son of Hyperides, when heaping up a thousand spiteful things to say against him. Nor, indeed, had it been possible for him, in such circumstances, to have had such a liberal breeding and education in his youth, as to be first Plato’s, and afterwards Xenocrates’s scholar in the Academy, and to have devoted himself from the first to the pursuit of the noblest studies and practices. His countenance was so composed, that scarcely was he ever seen by any Athenian either laughing, or in tears. He was rarely known, so Duris has recorded, to appear in the public baths, or was observed with his hand exposed outside his cloak, when he wore one. Abroad, and in the camp, he was so hardy in going always thin clad and barefoot, except in a time of excessive and intolerable cold, that the soldiers used to say in merriment, that it was like to be a hard winter when Phocion wore his coat.

  Although he was most gentle and humane in his disposition, his aspect was stern and forbidding, so that he was seldom accosted alone by any who were not intimate with him. When Chares once made some remark on his frowning looks, and the Athenians laughed at the jest “My sullenness,” said Phocion, “never yet made any of you sad, but these men’s jollities have given you sorrow enough.” In like manner Phocion’s language, also, was full of instruction, abounding in happy maxims and wise thoughts, but admitted no embellishment to its austere and commanding brevity. Zeno said a philosopher should never speak till his words had been steeped in meaning; and such, it may be said, were Phocion’s, crowding the greatest amount of significance into the smallest allowance of space. And to this, probably, Polyeuctus, the Sphettian, referred, when he said that Demosthenes was, indeed, the best orator of his time, but Phocion the most powerful speaker. His oratory, like small coin of great value, was to be estimated, not by its bulk, but its intrinsic worth. He was once observed, it is said, when the theatre was filling with the audience, to walk musing alone behind the scenes, which one of his friends taking notice of, said, “Phocion, you seem to be thoughtful;” “Yes,” replied he, “I am considering how I may shorten what I am going to say to the Athenians.” Even Demosthenes himself, who used to despise the rest of the haranguers, when Phocion stood up, was wont to say quietly to those about him, “Here is the pruning-knife of my periods.” This, however, might refer, perhaps, not so much to his eloquence, as to the influence of his character, since not only a word, but even a nod from a person who is esteemed, is of more force than a thousand arguments or studied sentences from others.

  In his youth he followed Chabrias, the general, from whom he gained many lessons in military knowledge, and in return did something to correct his unequal and capricious humor. For whereas at other times Chabrias was heavy and phlegmatic, in the heat of battle he used to be so fired and transported, that he threw himself headlong into danger beyond the forwardest, which, indeed, in the end, cost him his life in the island of Chios, he having pressed his own ship foremost to force a landing. But Phocion, being a man of temper as well as courage, had the dexterity at some times to rouse the general, when in his procrastinating mood, to action, and at others to moderate and cool the impetuousness of his unseasonable fury. Upon which account Chabrias, who was a good-natured, kindly-tempered man, loved him much, and procured him commands and opportunities for action, giving him means to make himself known in Greece, and using his assistance in all his affairs of moment. Particularly the sea-fight at Naxos added not a little to Phocion’s reputation, when he had the left squadron committed to him by Chabrias, as in this quarter the battle was sharply contested, and was decided by a speedy victory. And this being the first prosperous sea-battle the city had engaged in with its own force since its captivity, Chabrias won great popularity by it, and Phocion, also, got the reputation of a good commander. The victory was gained at the time of the Great Mysteries, and Chabrias used to keep the commemoration of it, by distributing wine among the Athenians, yearly, on the sixteenth day of Boëdromion.

  After this, Chabrias sent Phocion to demand their quota of the charges of the war from the islanders, and offered him a guard of twenty ships. Phocion told him, if he intended him to go against them as enemies, that force was insignificant; if as to friends and allies, one vessel was sufficient. So he took his own single galley, and having visited the cities, and treated with the magistrates in an equitable and open manner, he brought back a number of ships, sent by the confederates to Athens, to convey the supplies. Neither did his friendship and attention close with Chabrias’s life, but after his decease Page 336 he carefully maintained it to all that were related to him, and chiefly to his son Ctesippus, whom he labored to bring to some good, and although he was a stupid and intractable young fellow, always endeavored, so far as in him lay, to correct and cover his faults and follies. Once, however, when the youngster was very impertinent and troublesome to him in the camp, interrupting him with idle questions, and putting forward his opinions and suggestions of how the war should be conducted, he could not forbear exclaiming, “O Chabrias, Chabrias, how grateful I show myself for your friendship, in submitting to endure your son.”

  Upon looking into public matters, and the way in which they were now conducted, he observed that the administration of affairs was cut and parcelled out, like so much land by allotment, between the military men and the public speakers, so that neither these nor those should interfere with the claims of the others. As the one were to address the assemblies, to draw up votes and prepare motions, men, for example, like Eubulus, Aristophon, Demosthenes, Lycurgus, and Hyperides, and were to push their interests here; so, in the mean time, Diopithes, Menestheus, Leosthenes, and Chares, were to make their profit by war and in military commands. Phocion, on the other hand, was desirous to restore and carry out the old system, more complete in itself, and more harmonious and uniform, which prevailed in the times of Pericles, Aristides, and Solon; when statesmen showed themselves, to use Archilochus’s words, —

  • Mars’ and the Muses’ friends alike designed,
  • To arts and arms indifferently inclined,

  and the presiding goddess of his country was, he did not fail to see, the patroness and protectress of both civil and military wisdom. With these views, while his advice at nome was always for peace and quietness, he nevertheless held the office of general more frequently than any of the statesmen, not only of his own times, but of those preceding, never, indeed, promoting or encouraging military expeditions, yet never, on the other hand, shunning or declining, when he was called upon by the public voice. Thus much is well known, that he was no less than forty-five several times chosen general, he being never on any one of those occasions present at the election, but having the command, in his absence, by common suffrage, conferred on him, and he sent for on purpose to undertake it. Insomuch that it amazed those who did not well consider, to see the people always prefer Phocion, who was so far from humoring them or courting their favor, that he always thwarted and opposed them. But so it was, as great men and princes are said to call in their flatterers when dinner has been served,* so the Athenians, upon slight occasions, entertained and diverted themselves with their spruce speakers and trim orators, but when it came to action, they were sober and considerate enough to single out the austerest and wisest for public employment, however much he might be opposed to their wishes and sentiments. This, indeed, he made no scruple to admit, when the oracle from Delphi was read, which informed them that the Athenians were all of one mind, a single dissentient only excepted, frankly coming forward and declaring that they need look no further; he was the man, there was no one but he who was dissatisfied with every thing they did. And when Page 338 once he gave his opinion to the people, and was met with the general approbation and applause of the assembly, turning to some of his friends, he asked them, “Have I inadvertently said something foolish?”

  Upon occasion of a public festivity, being solicited for his contribution by the example of others, and the people pressing him much, he bade them apply themselves to the wealthy; for his part he should blush to make a present here, rather than a repayment there, turning and pointing to Callicles, the money-lender. Being still clamored upon and importuned, he told them this tale. A certain cowardly fellow setting out for the wars, hearing the ravens croak in his passage, threw down his arms, resolving to wait. Presently he took them and ventured out again, but hearing the same music, once more made a stop. “For,” said he, “you may croak till you are tired, but you shall make no dinner upon me.”

  The Athenians urging him at an unseasonable time to lead them out against the enemy, he peremptorily refused, and being upbraided by them with cowardice and pusillanimity, he told them, “Just now, do what you will, I shall not be brave; and do what I will, you will not be cowards. Nevertheless, we know well enough what we are.” And when again, in a time of great danger, the people were very harsh upon him, demanding a strict account how the public money had been employed, and the like, he bade them, “First, good friends, make sure you are safe.” After a war, during which they had been very tractable and timorous, when, upon peace being made, they began again to be confident and overbearing, and to cry out upon Phocion, as having lost them the honor of victory, to all their clamor he made only this answer, “My friends, you are fortunate in having a leader who knows you; otherwise, you had long since been undone.”

  Having a controversy with the Bœotians about boundaries, which he counselled them to decide by negotiation, they inclined to blows. “You had better,” said he, “carry on the contest with the weapons in which you excel, (your tongues,) and not by war, in which you are inferior.” Once, when he was addressing them, and they would not hear him or let him go on, said he, “You may compel me to act against my wishes, but you shall never force me to speak against my judgment.” Among the many public speakers who opposed him, Demosthenes, for example, once told him, “The Athenians, Phocion, will kill you some day when they once are in a rage.” “And you,” said he, “if they once are in their senses.” Polyeuctus, the Sphettian, once on a hot day was urging war with Philip, and being a corpulent man, and out of breath and in a great heat with speaking, took numerous draughts of water as he went on. “Here, indeed,” said Phocion, “is a fit man to lead us into a war! What think you he will do when he is carrying his corslet and his shield to meet the enemy, if even here, delivering a prepared speech to you has almost killed him with exhaustion?” When Lycurgus in the assembly made many reflections on his past conduct, upbraiding him above all for having advised them to deliver up the ten citizens whom Alexander had demanded, he replied that he had been the author of much safe and wholesome counsel, which had not been followed.

  There was a man called Archibiades, nicknamed the Lacedæmonian, who used to go about with a huge overgrown beard, wearing an old threadbare cloak, and affecting a very stern countenance. Phocion once, when attacked in council by the rest, appealed to this man for his support and testimony. And when he got up and began to speak on the popular side, putting his hand to his beard, “O Archibiades,” said he, “it is time you should shave.” Aristogiton, a common accuser, was a terrible man of war within the assembly, always inflaming the people to battle, but when the muster-roll came to be produced, he appeared limping on a crutch, with a bandage on his leg; Phocion descried him afar off, coming in, and cried out to the clerk, “Put down Aristogiton, too, as lame and worthless.”

  So that it is a little wonderful, how a man so severe and harsh upon all occasions should, notwithstanding, obtain the name of the Good. Yet, though difficult, it is not, I suppose, impossible for men’s tempers, any more than for wines, to be at the same time harsh and agreeable to the taste; just as on the other hand many that are sweet at the first taste, are found, on further use, extremely disagreeable and very unwholesome. Hyperides, we are told, once said to the people, “Do not ask yourselves, men of Athens, whether or not I am bitter, but whether or not I am paid for being so,” as though a covetous purpose were the only thing that should make a harsh temper insupportable, and as if men might not even more justly render themselves obnoxious to popular dislike and censure, by using their power and influence in the indulgence of their own private passions of pride and jealousy, anger and animosity. Phocion never allowed himself from any feeling of personal hostility to do hurt to any fellow-citizen, nor, indeed, reputed any man his enemy, except so far as he could not but contend sharply with such as opposed the measures he urged for the public good; in which argument he was, indeed, a rude, obstinate, and uncompromising adversary. For his general conversation, it was easy, courteous, and obliging to all, to that point that he would befriend his very opponents in their distress, and espouse the cause of those who differed most from him, when they needed his patronage. His friends reproaching him for pleading in behalf of a man of indifferent character, he told them the innocent had no need of an advocate. Aristogiton, the sycophant, whom we mentioned before, having after sentence passed upon him, sent earnestly to Phocion to speak with him in the prison, his friends dissuaded him from going; “Nay, by your favor,” said he, “where should I rather choose to pay Aristogiton a visit?”

  As for the allies of the Athenians, and the islanders, whenever any admiral besides Phocion was sent, they treated him as an enemy suspect, barricaded their gates, blocked up their havens, brought in from the country their cattle, slaves, wives, and children, and put them in garrison; but upon Phocion’s arrival, they went out to welcome him in their private boats and barges, with streamers and garlands, and received him at landing with every demonstration of joy and pleasure.

  When king Philip was effecting his entry into Eubœa, and was bringing over troops from Macedonia, and making himself master of the cities, by means of the tyrants who ruled in them, Plutarch of Eretria sent to request aid of the Athenians for the relief of the island, which was in imminent danger of falling wholly into the hands of the Macedonians. Phocion was sent thither with a handful of men in comparison, in expectation that the Eubœans themselves would flock in and join him. But when he came, he found all things in confusion, the country all betrayed, the whole ground, as it were, undermined under his feet, by the secret pensioners of king Philip, so that he was in the greatest risk imaginable. To secure himself as far as he could, he seized a small rising ground, which was divided from the level plains about Tamynæ by a deep watercourse, and here he inclosed and fortified the choicest of his army. As for the idle talkers and disorderly bad citizens who ran off from his camp and made their way back, he bade his officers not regard them, since here they would have been not only useless and ungovernable themselves, but an actual hinderance to the rest; and further, being conscious to themselves of the neglect of their duty, they would be less ready to misrepresent the action, or raise a cry against them at their return home. When the enemy drew nigh, he bade his men stand to their arms, until he had finished the sacrifice, in which he spent a considerable time, either by some difficulty of the thing itself, or on purpose to invite the enemy nearer. Plutarch, interpreting this tardiness as a failure in his courage, fell on alone with the mercenaries, which the cavalry perceiving, could not be contained, but issuing also out of the camp, confusedly and in disorder, spurred up to the enemy. The first who came up were defeated, the rest were put to the rout, Plutarch himself took to flight, and a body of the enemy advanced in the hope of carrying the camp, supposing themselves to have secured the victory. But by this time, the sacrifice being over, the Athenians within the camp came forward, and falling upon them put them to flight, and killed the greater number as they fled among the intrenchments, while Phocion ordering his infantry to keep on the watch and rally those who came in from the previous flight, himself, with a body of his best men, engaged the enemy in a sharp and bloody fight, in which all of them behaved with signal courage and gallantry. Thallus, the son of Cineas, and Glaucus, of Polymedes, who fought near the general, gained the honors of the day. Cleophanes, also, did good service in the battle. Recovering the cavalry from its defeat, and with his shouts and encouragement bringing them up to succor the general, who was in danger, he confirmed the victory obtained by the infantry. Phocion now expelled Plutarch from Eretria, and possessed himself of the very important fort of Zaretra, situated where the island is pinched in, as it were, by the seas on each side, and its breadth most reduced to a narrow girth. He released all the Greeks whom he took out of fear of the public speakers at Athens, thinking they might very likely persuade the people in their anger into committing some act of cruelty.

  This affair thus despatched and settled, Phocion set sail homewards, and the allies had soon as good reason to regret the loss of his just and humane dealing, as the Athenians that of his experience and courage. Molossus, the commander who took his place, had no better success than to fall alive into the enemy’s hands.

  Philip, full of great thoughts and designs, now advanced with all his forces into the Hellespont, to seize the Chersonesus and Perinthus, and after them, Byzantium. The Athenians raised a force to relieve them, but the popular leaders made it their business to prefer Chares to be general, who, sailing thither, effected nothing worthy of the means placed in his hands. The cities were afraid, and would not receive his ships into their harbors, so that he did nothing but wander about, raising money from their friends, and despised by their enemies. And when the people, chafed by the orators, were extremely indignant, and repented having ever sent any help to the Byzantines, Phocion rose and told them they ought not to be angry with the allies for distrusting, but with their generals for being distrusted. “They make you suspected,” he said, “even by those who cannot possibly subsist without your succor.” The assembly being moved with this speech of his, changed their minds on the sudden, and commanded him immediately to raise another force, and go himself to assist their confederates in the Hellespont; an appointment which, in effect, contributed more than any thing to the relief of Byzantium.

  For Phocion’s name was already honorably known; and an old acquaintance of his, who had been his fellow-student in the Academy, Leon, a man of high renown for virtue among the Byzantines, having vouched for Phocion to the city, they opened their gates to receive him, not permitting him, though he desired it, to encamp without the walls, but entertained him and all the Athenians with perfect reliance, while they, to requite their confidence, behaved among their new hosts soberly and inoffensively, and exerted themselves on all occasions with the greatest zeal and resolution for their defence. Thus king Philip was driven out of the Hellespont, and was despised to boot, whom till now, it had been thought impossible to match, or even to oppose. Phocion also took some of his ships, and recaptured some of the places he had garrisoned, making besides several inroads into the country, which he plundered and overran, until he received a wound from some of the enemy who came to the defence, and, thereupon, sailed away home.

  The Megarians at this time privately praying aid of the Athenians, Phocion, fearing lest the Bœotians should hear of it, and anticipate them, called an assembly at sunrise, and brought forward the petition of the Megarians, and immediately after the vote had been put, and carried in their favor, he sounded the trumpet, and led the Athenians straight from the assembly, to arm and put themselves in posture. The Megarians received them joyfully, and he proceeded to fortify Nisæa, and built two new long walls from the city to the arsenal, and so joined it to the sea, so that having now little reason to regard the enemies on the land side, it placed its dependence entirely on the Athenians.

  When final hostilities with Philip were now certain, and in Phocion’s absence other generals had been nominated, he on his arrival from the islands, dealt earnestly with the Athenians, that since Philip showed peaceable inclinations towards them, and greatly apprehended the danger, they would consent to a treaty. Being contradicted Page 345 in this by one of the ordinary frequenters of the courts of justice, a common accuser, who asked him if he durst presume to persuade the Athenians to peace, now their arms were in their hands, “Yes,” said he, “though I know that if there be war, I shall be in office over you, and if peace, you over me.” But when he could not prevail, and Demosthenes’s opinion carried it, advising them to make war as far off from home as possible, and fight the battle out of Attica, “Good friend,” said Phocion, “let us not ask where we shall fight, but how we may conquer in the war. That will be the way to keep it at a distance. If we are beaten, it will be quickly at our doors.” After the defeat, when the clamorers and incendiaries in the town would have brought up Charidemus to the hustings, to be nominated to the command, the best of the citizens were in a panic, and supporting themselves with the aid of the council of the Areopagus, with entreaties and tears hardly prevailed upon the people to have Phocion intrusted with the care of the city. He was of opinion, in general, that the fair terms to be expected from Philip should be accepted, yet after Demades had made a motion that the city should receive the common conditions of peace in concurrence with the rest of the states of Greece, he opposed it, till it were known what the particulars were which Philip demanded. He was overborne in this advice, under the pressure of the time, but almost immediately after, the Athenians repented it, when they understood that by these articles, they were obliged to furnish Philip both with horse and shipping. “It was the fear of this,” said Phocion, “that occasioned my opposition. But since the thing is done, let us make the best of it, and not be discouraged. Our forefathers were sometimes in command, and sometimes under it; and by doing their duty, whether as rulers or as subjects, saved their own country and the rest of Greece.”

  When Demosthenes made his invectives against Alexander, now on his way to attack Thebes, he repeated those verses of Homer, —

  • “Unwise one, wherefore to a second stroke
  • His anger be foolhardy to provoke?”

  and asked, “Why stimulate his already eager passion for glory? Why take pains to expose the city to the terrible conflagration now so near? We, who accepted office to save our fellow-citizens, will not, however they desire it, be consenting to their destruction.”

  After Thebes was lost, and Alexander had demanded Demosthenes, Lycurgus, Hyperides, and Charidemus to be delivered up, the whole assembly turning their eyes to him, and calling on him by name to deliver his opinion, at last he rose up, and showing them one of his most intimate friends, whom he loved and confided in above all others, told them, “You have brought things amongst you to that pass, that for my part, should he demand this my friend Nicocles, I would not refuse to give him up. For as for myself, to have it in my power to sacrifice my own life and fortune for the common safety, I should think the greatest of good fortune. Truly,” he added, “it pierces my heart to see those who are fled hither for succor from the desolation of Thebes. Yet it is enough for Greece to have Thebes to deplore. It will be more for the interest of all that we should deprecate the conqueror’s anger, and intercede for both, than run the hazard of another battle.”

  When this was decreed by the people, Alexander is said to have rejected their first address when it was presented, throwing it from him scornfully, and turning his back upon the deputation, who left him in affright. But the second, which was presented by Phocion, he received, understanding from the older Macedonians how much Philip had admired and esteemed him. And he not only gave him audience and listened to his memorial and petition, but also permitted him to advise him, which he did to this effect, that if his designs were for quietness, he should make peace at once; if glory were his aim, he should make war, not upon Greece, but on the barbarians. And with various counsels and suggestions, happily designed to meet the genius and feelings of Alexander, he so won upon him, and softened his temper, that he bade the Athenians not forget their position, as if any thing went wrong with him, the supremacy belonged to them. And to Phocion himself, whom he adopted as his friend and guest, he showed a respect, and admitted him to distinctions, which few of those who were continually near his person ever received. Duris, at any rate, tells us, that when he became great, and had conquered Darius, in the heading of all his letters he left off the word Greeting,* except in those he wrote to Phocion. To him, and to Antipater alone, he condescended to use it. This, also, is stated by Chares.

  As for his munificence to him, it is well known he sent him a present at one time of one hundred talents; and this being brought to Athens, Phocion asked of the bearers, how it came to pass, that among all the Athenians, he alone should be the object of this bounty. And being told that Alexander esteemed him alone a person of honor and worth, “Let him, then,” said he, “permit me to continue so, and be still so reputed.” Following him to his house, and observing his simple and plain way of living, his wife employed in kneading bread with her own hands, himself drawing water to wash his feet, they pressed him to accept it, with some indignation, being ashamed, as they said, that Alexander’s friend should live so poorly and pitifully. So Phocion pointing out to them a poor old fellow, in a dirty worn-out coat, passing by, asked them if they thought him in worse condition than this man. They bade him not mention such a comparison. “Yet,” said Phocion, “he with less to live upon than I, finds it sufficient, and in brief,” he continued, “if I do not use this money, what good is there in my having it; and if I do use it, I shall procure an ill name, both for myself and for Alexander, among my countrymen.” So the treasure went back again from Athens, to prove to Greece, by a signal example, that he who could afford to give so magnificent a present, was yet not so rich as he who could afford to refuse it. And when Alexander was displeased, and wrote back to him to say that he could not esteem those his friends, who would not be obliged by him, not even would this induce Phocion to accept the money, but he begged leave to intercede with him in behalf of Echecratides, the sophist, and Athenodorus, the Imbrian, as also for Demaratus and Sparton, two Rhodians, who had been arrested upon some charges, and were in custody at Sardis. This was instantly granted by Alexander, and they were set at liberty. Afterwards, when sending Craterus into Macedonia, he commanded him to make him an offer of four cities in Asia, Cius, Gergithus, Mylasa, and Elæa, any one of which, at his choice, should be delivered to him; insisting yet more positively with him, and declaring he should resent it, should he continue obstinate in his refusal. But Phocion was not to be prevailed with at all, and, shortly after, Alexander died.

  Phocion’s house is shown to this day in Melita,* ornamented with small plates of copper, but otherwise plain and homely. Concerning his wives, of the first of them there is little said, except that she was sister of Cephisodotus, the statuary. The other was a matron of no less reputation for her virtues and simple living among the Athenians, than Phocion was for his probity. It happened once when the people were entertained with a new tragedy, that the actor, just as he was to enter the stage to perform the part of a queen, demanded to have a number of attendants sumptuously dressed, to follow in his train, and on their not being provided, was sullen and refused to act, keeping the audience waiting, till at last Melanthius, who had to furnish the chorus,† pushed him on the stage, crying out, “What, do n’t you know that Phocion’s wife is never attended by more than a single waiting woman, but you must needs be grand, and fill our women’s heads with vanity?” This speech of his, spoken loud enough to be heard, was received with great applause, and clapped all round the theatre. She herself, when once entertaining a visitor out of Ionia, who showed her all her rich ornaments, made of gold and set with jewels, her wreaths, necklaces, and the like, “For my part,” said she, “all my ornament is my husband Phocion, now for the twentieth year in office as general at Athens.”

  He had a son named Phocus, who wished to take part in the games at the great feast of Minerva. He permitted him so to do, in the contest of leaping, not with any view to the victory, but in the hope that the training and discipline for it would make him a better man, the youth being in a general way a lover of drinking, and ill-regulated in his habits. On his having succeeded in the sports, many were eager for the honor of his company at banquets in celebration of the victory. Phocion declined all these invitations but one, and when he came to this entertainment and saw the costly preparations, even the water brought to wash the guests’ feet being mingled with wine and spices, he reprimanded his son, asking him why he would so far permit his friend to sully the honor of his victory. And in the hope of wholly weaning the young man from such habits and company, he sent him to Lacedæmon, and placed him among the youths then under the course of the Spartan discipline. This the Athenians took offence at, as though he slighted and contemned the education at home; and Demades twitted him with it publicly, “Suppose, Phocion, you and I advise the Athenians to adopt the Spartan constitution. If you like, I am ready to introduce a bill to that effect, and to speak in its favor.” “Indeed,” said Phocion, “you with that strong scent of perfumes about you, and with that mantle on your shoulders, are just the very man to speak in honor of Lycurgus, and recommend the Spartan table.”

  When Alexander wrote to demand a supply of galleys, and the public speakers objected to sending them, Phocion, on the council requesting his opinion, told them freely, “Sirs, I would either have you victorious yourselves, or friends of those who are so.” He took up Pytheas, who about this time first began to address the assembly, and already showed himself a confident, talking fellow, by saying that a young slave whom the people had but bought yesterday,* ought to have the manners to hold his tongue. And when Harpalus, who had fled from Alexander out of Asia, carrying off a large sum of money, came to Attica, and there was a perfect race among the ordinary public men of the assembly who should be the first to take his pay, he distributed amongst these some trifling sums by way of a bait and provocative, but to Phocion he made an offer of no less than seven hundred talents and all manner of other advantages he pleased to demand; with the compliment that he would entirely commit himself and all his affairs to his disposal. Phocion answered sharply, Harpalus should repent of it, if he did not quickly leave off corrupting and debauching the city, which for the time silenced him, and checked his proceedings. But afterwards, when the Athenians were deliberating in council about him, he found those that had received money from him to be his greatest enemies, urging and aggravating matters against him, to prevent themselves being discovered, whereas Phocion, who had never touched his pay, now, so far as the public interest would admit of it, showed some regard to his particular security. This encouraged him once more to try his inclinations, and upon further survey, finding that he himself was a fortress, inaccessible on every quarter to the approaches of corruption, he professed a particular friendship to Phocion’s son-in-law, Charicles. And admitting him into his confidence in all his affairs, and continually requesting his assistance, he brought him into some suspicion. Upon the occasion, for example, of the death of Pythonice, who was Harpalus’s mistress, for whom he had a great fondness, and had a child by her, he resolved to build her a sumptuous monument, and committed the care of it to his friend Charicles. This commission, disreputable enough in itself, was yet further disparaged by the figure the piece of workmanship made after it was finished. It is yet to be seen in the Hermeum,* as you go from Athens to Eleusis, with nothing in its appearance answerable to the sum of thirty talents, with which Charicles is said to have charged Harpalus for its erection. After Harpalus’s own decease, his daughter was educated by Phocion and Charicles with great care. But when Charicles was called to account for his dealings with Harpalus, and entreated his father-in-law’s protection, begging that he would appear for him in the court, Phocion refused, telling him, “I did not choose you for my son-in-law for any but honorable purposes.”

  Asclepiades, the son of Hipparchus, brought the first tidings of Alexander’s death to Athens, which Demades told them was not to be credited; for, were it true, the whole world would ere this have stunk with the dead body. But Phocion seeing the people eager for an instant revolution, did his best to quiet and repress them. And when numbers of them rushed up to the hustings to speak, and cried out that the news was true, and Alexander was dead, “If he is dead to-day,” said he, “he will be so to-morrow and the day after to-morrow equally. So that there is no need to take counsel hastily or before it is safe.”

  When Leosthenes now had embarked the city in the Lamian war, greatly against Phocion’s wishes, to raise a laugh against Phocion, he asked him scoffingly, what the State had been benefited by his having now so many years been general. “It is not a little,” said Phocion, “that the citizens have been buried in their own sepulchres.” And when Leosthenes continued to speak boldly and boastfully in the assembly, “Young man,” he said, “your speeches are like cypress-trees, stately and tall, and no fruit to come of them.” And when he was then attacked by Hyperides, who asked him when the time would come, that he would advise the Athenians to make war, “As soon,” said he, “as I find the young men keep Page 353 their ranks, the rich men contribute their money, and the orators leave off robbing the treasury.” Afterwards, when many admired the forces raised, and the preparations for war that were made by Leosthenes, they asked Phocion how he approved of the new levies. “Very well,” said he, “for the short course; but what I fear, is the long race.* Since however late the war may last, the city has neither money, ships, nor soldiers, but these.” And the event justified his prognostics. At first all things appeared fair and promising. Leosthenes gained great reputation by worsting the Bœotians† in battle, and driving Antipater within the walls of Lamia, and the citizens were so transported with the first successes, that they kept solemn festivities for them, and offered public sacrifices to the gods. So that some, thinking Phocion must now be convinced of his error, asked him whether he would not willingly have been author of these successful actions. “Yes,” said he, “most gladly, but also of the former counsel.” And when one express after another came from the camp, confirming and magnifying the victories, “When,” said he, “will the end of them come?”

  Leosthenes, soon after, was killed, and now those who feared lest if Phocion obtained the command, he would put an end to the war, arranged with an obscure person in the assembly, who should stand up and profess himself to be a friend and old confidant of Phocion’s, and persuade the people to spare him at this time, and reserve him (with whom none could compare) for a more pressing occasion, and now to give Antiphilus the command of the army. This pleased the generality, but Phocion made it appear he was so far from having any friendship with him of old standing, that he had not so much as the least familiarity with him; “Yet now, sir,” says he, “give me leave to put you down among the number of my friends and well-wishers, as you have given a piece of advice so much to my advantage.”

  And when the people were eager to make an expedition against the Bœotians, he at first opposed it; and on his friends telling him the people would kill him, for always running counter to them, “That will be unjust of them,” he said, “if I give them honest advice, if not, it will be just of them.” But when he found them persisting and shouting to him to lead them out, he commanded the crier to make proclamation, that all the Athenians under sixty should instantly provide themselves with five days’ provision, and follow him from the assembly. This caused a great tumult. Those in years were startled, and clamored against the order; he demanded wherein he injured them, “For I,” says he, “am now fourscore, and am ready to lead you.” This succeeded in pacifying them for the present.

  But when Micion, with a large force of Macedonians and mercenaries, began to pillage the sea-coast, having made a descent upon Rhamnus, and overrun the neighboring country, Phocion led out the Athenians to attack him. And when sundry private persons came, intermeddling with his dispositions, and telling him that he ought to occupy such or such a hill, detach the cavalry in this or that direction, engage the enemy on this point or that, “O Hercules,” said he, “how many generals have we here, and how few soldiers!” Afterwards, having formed the battle, one who wished to show his bravery, advanced out of his post before the rest, but on the enemy’s approaching, lost heart, and retired back into his rank. “Young man,” said Phocion, “are you not ashamed twice in one day to desert your station, first that on which I had placed you, and secondly, that on which you had placed yourself?” However, he entirely routed the enemy, killing Micion and many more on the spot. The Grecian army, also, in Thessaly, after Leonnatus and the Macedonians who came with him out of Asia, had arrived and joined Antipater, fought and beat them in a battle. Leonnatus was killed in the fight, Antiphilus commanding the foot, and Menon, the Thessalian, the horse.

  But not long after, Craterus crossed from Asia with numerous forces; a pitched battle was fought at Cranon; the Greeks were beaten; though not, indeed, in a signal defeat, nor with any great loss of men. But what with their want of obedience to their commanders, who were young and over-indulgent with them, and what with Antipater’s tampering and treating with their separate cities, one by one, the end of it was that the army was dissolved, and the Greeks shamefully surrendered the liberty of their country.

  Upon the news of Antipater’s now advancing at once against Athens with all his force, Demosthenes and Hyperides deserted the city, and Demades, who was altogether insolvent for any part of the fines that had been laid upon him by the city, for he had been condemned no less than seven times for introducing bills contrary to the laws, and who had been disfranchised, and was no longer competent to vote in the assembly, laid hold of this season of impunity, to bring in a bill for sending ambassadors with plenipotentiary power to Antipater, to treat about a peace. But the people distrusted him, and called upon Phocion to give his opinion, as the person they only and entirely confided in. He told them, “If my former counsels had been prevalent with you, we had not been reduced to deliberate on the question at all.” However, the vote passed; and a decree was made, and Page 356 he with others deputed to go to Antipater, who lay now encamped in the Theban territories, but intended to dislodge immediately, and pass into Attica. Phocion’s first request was, that he would make the treaty without moving his camp. And when Craterus declared that it was not fair to ask them to be burdensome to the country of their friends and allies by their stay, when they might rather use that of their enemies for provisions and the support of their army, Antipater taking him by the hand, said, “We must grant this favor to Phocion.” For the rest, he bade them return to their principals, and acquaint them that he could only offer them the same terms, namely, to surrender at discretion, which Leosthenes had offered to him when he was shut up in Lamia.

  When Phocion had returned to the city, and acquainted them with this answer, they made a virtue of necessity, and complied, since it would be no better. So Phocion returned to Thebes with the other ambassadors, and among the rest, Xenocrates, the philosopher, the reputation of whose virtue and wisdom was so great and famous everywhere, that they conceived there could not be any pride, cruelty, or anger arising in the heart of man, which would not at the mere sight of him be subdued into something of reverence and admiration. But the result, as it happened, was the very opposite, Antipater showed such a want of feeling, and such a dislike of goodness. He saluted every one else, but would not so much as notice Xenocrates. Xenocrates, they tell us, observed upon it, that Antipater when meditating such cruelty to Athens, did well to be ashamed of seeing him.* When he began to speak, he would not hear him, but broke in and rudely interrupted him, until at last he was obliged to be silent. But when Phocion had declared the purport of their embassy, he replied shortly, that he would make peace with the Athenians on these conditions, and no others; that Demosthenes and Hyperides should be delivered up to him; that they should retain their ancient form of government, the franchise being determined by a property qualification; that they should receive a garrison into Munychia, and pay a certain sum for the cost of the war. As things stood, these terms were judged tolerable by the rest of the ambassadors; Xenocrates only said, that if Antipater considered the Athenians slaves, he was treating them fairly, but if free, severely. Phocion pressed him only to spare them the garrison, and used many arguments and entreaties. Antipater replied, “Phocion, we are ready to do you any favor, which will not bring ruin both on ourselves and on you.” Others report it differently; that Antipater asked Phocion, supposing he remitted the garrison to the Athenians, would he, Phocion, stand surety for the city’s observing the terms and attempting no revolution? And when he hesitated, and did not at once reply, Callimedon, the Carabus,* a hot partisan and professed enemy of free states, cried out, “And if he should talk so idly, Antipater, will you be so much abused as to believe him and not carry out your own purpose?” So the Athenians received the garrison, and Menyllus for the governor, a fair-dealing man, and one of Phocion’s acquaintance.

  But the proceeding seemed sufficiently imperious and arbitrary, indeed rather a spiteful and insulting ostentation of power, than that the possession of the fortress would be of any great importance. The resentment felt upon it was heightened by the time it happened in, for the garrison was brought in on the twentieth of the month of Boedromion, just at the time of the great festival, when they carry forth Iacchus with solemn pomp from the city to Eleusis; so that the solemnity being disturbed, many began to call to mind instances, both ancient and modern, of divine interventions and intimations. For in old time, upon the occasions of their happiest successes, the presence of the shapes and voices* of the mystic ceremonies had been vouchsafed to them, striking terror and amazement into their enemies; but now, at the very season of their celebration, the gods themselves stood witnesses of the saddest oppressions of Greece, the most holy time being profaned, and their greatest jubilee made the unlucky date of their most extreme calamity. Not many years before, they had a warning from the oracle at Dodona, that they should carefully guard the summits of Diana,† lest haply strangers should seize them. And about this very time, when they dyed the ribbons and garlands with which they adorn the couches and cars of the procession, instead of a purple, they received only a faint yellow color; and to make the omen yet greater, all the things that were dyed for common use, took the natural color. While a candidate for initiation was washing a young pig in the haven of Cantharus,‡ a shark seized him, bit off all his lower parts up to the belly, and devoured them, by which the god gave them manifestly to understand, that having lost the lower town and the sea-coast, they should keep only the upper city.

  Menyllus was sufficient security that the garrison should behave itself inoffensively. But those who were now excluded from the franchise by poverty, amounted to more than twelve thousand; so that both those that remained in the city thought themselves oppressed and shamefully used, and those who on this account left their homes and went away into Thrace, where Antipater offered them a town and some territory to inhabit, regarded themselves only as a colony of slaves and exiles. And when to this was added the deaths of Demosthenes at Calauria, and of Hyperides at Cleonæ, as we have elsewhere related, the citizens began to think with regret of Philip and Alexander, and almost to wish the return of those times. And as, after Antigonus was slain, when those that had taken him off were afflicting and oppressing the people, a countryman in Phrygia, digging in the fields, was asked what he was doing, “I am,” said he, fetching a deep sigh, “searching for Antigonus;” so said many that remembered those days, and the contests they had with those kings, whose anger, however great, was yet generous and placable; whereas Antipater, with the counterfeit humility of appearing like a private man, in the meanness of his dress* and his homely fare, merely belied his real love of that arbitrary power, which he exercised, as a cruel master and despot, to distress those under his command. Yet Phocion had interest with him to recall many from banishment by his intercession, and prevailed also for those who were driven out, that they might not, like others, be hurried beyond Tænarus, and the mountains of Ceraunia, but remain in Greece, and plant themselves in Peloponnesus, of which number was Agnonides, the sycophant. He was no less studious to manage the affairs within the city with equity and moderation, preferring constantly those that were men of worth and good education to the magistracies, and recommending the busy and turbulent talkers, to whom it was a mortal blow to be excluded from office and public debating, to learn to stay at home, and be content to till their land. And observing that Xenocrates paid his alien-tax as a foreigner, he offered him the freedom of the city, which he refused, saying he could not accept a franchise which he had been sent, as an ambassador, to deprecate.

  Menyllus wished to give Phocion a considerable present of money, who, thanking him, said, neither was Menyllus greater than Alexander, nor his own occasions more urgent to receive it now, than when he refused it from him. And on his pressing him to permit his son Phocus to receive it, he replied, “If my son returns to a right mind, his patrimony is sufficient; if not, all supplies will be insufficient.” But to Antipater he answered more sharply, who would have him engaged in something dishonorable. “Antipater,” said he, “cannot have me both as his friend and his flatterer.” And, indeed, Antipater was wont to say, he had two friends at Athens, Phocion and Demades; the one would never suffer him to gratify him at all, the other would never be satisfied. Phocion might well think that poverty a virtue, in which, after having so often been general of the Athenians, and admitted to the friendship of potentates and princes, he had now grown old. Demades, meantime, delighted in lavishing his wealth even in positive transgressions of the law. For there having been an order that no foreigner should be hired to dance in any chorus on the penalty of a fine of one thousand drachmas on the exhibitor, he had the vanity to exhibit an entire chorus of a hundred foreigners, and paid down the penalty of a thousand drachmas a head upon the stage itself. Marrying his son Demeas, he told him with the like vanity, “My son, when I married your mother, it was done so privately it was not known to the next neighbors, but kings and princes give presents at your nuptials.”

  The garrison in Munychia continued to be felt as a great grievance, and the Athenians did not cease to be importunate upon Phocion, to prevail with Antipater for its removal; but whether he despaired of effecting it, or perhaps observed the people to be more orderly, and public matters more reasonably conducted by the awe that was thus created, he constantly declined the office, and contented himself with obtaining from Antipater the postponement for the present of the payment of the sum of money in which the city was fined. So the people, leaving him off, applied themselves to Demades, who readily undertook the employment, and took along with him his son also into Macedonia; and some superior power, as it seems, so ordering it, he came just at that nick of time, when Antipater was already seized with his sickness, and Cassander, taking upon himself the command, had found a letter of Demades’s, formerly written by him to Antigonus in Asia, recommending him to come and possess himself of the empire of Greece and Macedon, now hanging, he said, (a scoff at Antipater,) “by an old and rotten thread.” So when Cassander saw him come, he seized him: and first brought out the son and killed him so close before his face, that the blood ran all over his clothes and person, and then, after bitterly taunting and upbraiding him with his ingratitude and treachery, despatched him himself.

  Antipater being dead, after nominating Polysperchon general-in-chief, and Cassander commander of the cavalry, Cassander at once set up for himself, and immediately despatched Nicanor to Menyllus, to succeed him in the command of the garrison, commanding him to possess himself of Munychia before the news of Antipater’s death should be heard; which being done, and some days after the Athenians hearing the report of it, Phocion was taxed as privy to it before, and censured heavily for dissembling it, out of friendship for Nicanor. But he slighted their talk, and making it his duty to visit and confer continually with Nicanor, he succeeded in procuring his good-will and kindness for the Athenians, and induced him even to put himself to trouble and expense to seek popularity with them, by undertaking the office of presiding at the games.

  In the mean time Polysperchon, who was intrusted with the charge of the king,* to countermine Cassander, sent a letter to the city, declaring in the name of the king, that he restored them their democracy, and that the whole Athenian people were at liberty to conduct their commonwealth according to their ancient customs and constitutions. The object of these pretences was merely the overthrow of Phocion’s influence, as the event manifested. For Polysperchon’s design being to possess himself of the city, he despaired altogether of bringing it to pass, whilst Phocion retained his credit; and the most certain way to ruin him, would be again to fill the city with a crowd of disfranchised citizens, and let loose the tongues of the demagogues and common accusers.

  With this prospect, the Athenians were all in excitement, and Nicanor, wishing to confer with them on the subject, at a meeting of the Council in Piræus, came himself, trusting for the safety of his person to Phocion. And when Dercyllus, who commanded the guard there, made an attempt to seize him, upon notice of it beforehand, he made his escape, and there was little doubt he would now lose no time in righting himself upon the city for the affront; and when Phocion was found fault with for letting him get off and not securing him, he defended himself by saying that he had no mistrust of Nicanor, nor the least reason to expect any mischief from him, but should it prove otherwise, for his part he would have them all know, he would rather receive than do the wrong. And so far as he spoke for himself alone, the answer was honorable and high-minded enough, but he who hazards his country’s safety, and that, too, when he is her magistrate and chief commander, can scarcely be acquitted, I fear, of transgressing a higher and more sacred obligation of justice, which he owed to his fellow-citizens. For it will not even do to say, that he dreaded the involving the city in war, by seizing Nicanor, and hoped by professions of confidence and just-dealing, to retain him in the observance of the like; but it was, indeed, his credulity and confidence in him, and an overweening opinion of his sincerity, that imposed upon him. So that notwithstanding the sundry intimations he had of his making preparations to attack Piræus, sending soldiers over into Salamis, and tampering with, and endeavoring to corrupt various residents in Piræus, he would, notwithstanding all this evidence, never be persuaded to believe it. And even when Philomedes of Lampra had got a decree passed, that all the Athenians should stand to their arms, and be ready to follow Phocion their general, he yet sat still and did nothing, until Nicanor actually led his troops out from Munychia, and drew trenches about Piræus; upon which, when Phocion at last would have led out the Athenians, they cried out against him, and slighted his orders.

  Alexander, the son of Polysperchon, was at hand with a considerable force, and professed to come to give them succor against Nicanor, but intended nothing less, if possible, than to surprise the city, whilst they were in tumult and divided among themselves. For all that had previously been expelled from the city, now coming back with him, made their way into it, and were joined by a mixed multitude of foreigners and disfranchised persons, and of these a motley and irregular public assembly came together, in which they presently divested Phocion of all power, and chose other generals; and if by chance Alexander had not been spied from the walls, alone in close conference with Nicanor, and had not this, which was often repeated, given the Athenians cause of suspicion, the city had not escaped the snare. The orator Agnonides, however, at once fell foul upon Phocion, and impeached him of treason; Callimedon and Charicles, fearing the worst, consulted their own security by flying from the city; Phocion, with a few of his friends that stayed with him, went over to Polysperchon, and out of respect for him, Solon of Platæa, and Dinarchus of Corinth, who were reputed friends and confidants of Polysperchon, accompanied him. But on account of Dinarchus falling ill, they remained several days in Elatea, during which time, upon the persuasion of Agnonides and on the motion of Archestratus, a decree passed that the people should send delegates thither to accuse Phocion. So both parties reached Polysperchon at the same time, who was going through the country with the king, and was then at a small village of Phocis, Pharygæ, under the mountain now called Galate, but then Acrurium.

  There Polysperchon, having set up the golden canopy and seated the king and his company under it, ordered Dinarchus at once to be taken, and tortured, and put to death; and that done, gave audience to the Athenians, who filled the place with noise and tumult, accusing and recriminating on one another, till at last Agnonides came forward, and requested they might all be shut up together in one cage, and conveyed to Athens, there to decide the controversy. At that the king could not forbear smiling, but the company that attended, for their own amusement, Macedonians and strangers, were eager to hear the altercation, and made signs to the delegates to go on with their case at once. But it was no sort of fair hearing. Polysperchon frequently interrupted Phocion, till at last Phocion struck his staff on the ground, and declined to speak further. And when Hegemon said, Polysperchon himself could bear witness to his affection for the people, Polysperchon called out fiercely, “Give over slandering me to the king,” and the king starting up was about to have run him through with his javelin, but Polysperchon interposed and hindered him; so that the assembly dissolved.

  Phocion, then, and those about him, were seized; those of his friends that were not immediately by him, on seeing this, hid their faces, and saved themselves by flight. The rest Clitus took and brought to Athens, to be submitted to trial; but, in truth, as men already sentenced to die. The manner of conveying them was indeed extremely moving; they were carried in chariots through the Ceramicus, straight to the place of judicature, where Clitus secured them till they had convoked an assembly of the people, which was open to all comers, neither foreigners, nor slaves, nor those who had been punished with disfranchisement, being refused admittance, but all alike, both men and women, being allowed to come into the court, and even upon the place of speaking. So having read the king’s letters, in which he declared he was satisfied himself that these men were traitors, however, they being a free city, he willingly accorded them the grace of trying and judging them according to their own laws, Clitus brought in his prisoners. Every respectable citizen, at the sight of Phocion, covered up his face, and stooped down to conceal his tears. And one of them had the courage to say, that since the king had committed so important a cause to the judgment of the people, it would be well that the strangers, and those of servile condition, should withdraw. But the populace would not endure it, crying out they were oligarchs, and enemies to the liberty of the people, and deserved to be stoned; after which no man durst offer any thing further in Phocion’s behalf. He was himself with difficulty heard at all, when he put the question, “Do you wish to put us to death lawfully, or unlawfully?” Some answered, “According to law.” He replied, “How can you, except we have a fair hearing?” But when they were deaf to all he said, approaching nearer, “As to myself,” said he, “I admit my guilt, and pronounce my public conduct to have deserved sentence of death. But why, O men of Athens, kill others who have offended in nothing?” The rabble cried out, they were his friends, that was enough. Phocion therefore drew back, and said no more.

  Then Agnonides read the bill, in accordance with which the people should decide by show of hands whether they judged them guilty, and if so it should be found, the penalty should be death. When this had been read out, some desired it might be added to the sentence, that Phocion should be tortured also, and that the rack should be produced with the executioners. But Agnonides perceiving even Clitus to dislike this, and himself thinking it horrid and barbarous, said, “When we catch that slave, Callimedon, men of Athens, we will put him to the rack, but I shall make no motion of the kind in Phocion’s case.” Upon which one of the better citizens remarked, he was quite right; “If we should torture Phocion, what could we do to you?” So the form of the bill was approved of, and the show of hands called for; upon which, not one man retaining his seat, but all rising up, and some with garlands on their heads, they condemned them all to death.

  There were present with Phocion, Nicocles, Thudippus, Hegemon, and Pythocles. Demetrius the Phalerian, Callimedon, Charicles, and some others, were included in the condemnation, being absent.

  After the assembly was dismissed, they were carried to the prison; the rest with cries and lamentations, their friends and relatives following and clinging about them, but Phocion looking (as men observed with astonishment at his calmness and magnanimity) just the same as when he had been used to return to his home attended, as general, from the assembly. His enemies ran along by his side, reviling and abusing him. And one of them coming up to him, spat in his face; at which Phocion, turning to the officers, only said, “You should stop this indecency.” Thudippus, on their reaching the prison, when he observed the executioner tempering the poison and preparing it for them, gave way to his passion, and began to bemoan his condition and the hard measure he received, thus unjustly to suffer with Phocion. “You cannot be contented,” said he, “to die with Phocion?” One of his friends that stood by, asked him if he wished to have any thing said to his son. “Yes, by all means,” said he, “bid him bear no grudge against the Athenians.” Then Nicocles, the dearest and most faithful of his friends, begged to be allowed to drink the poison first. “My friend,” said he, “you ask what I am loath and sorrowful to give, but as I never yet in all my life was so thankless as to refuse you, I must gratify you in this also.” After they had all drunk of it, the poison ran short; and the executioner refused to prepare more, except they would pay him twelve drachmas, to defray the cost of the quantity required. Some delay was made, and time spent, when Phocion called one of his friends, and observing that a man could not even die at Athens without paying for it, requested him to give the sum.

  It was the nineteenth day of the month Munychion, on which it was the usage to have a solemn procession in the city, in honor of Jupiter. The horsemen, as they passed by, some of them threw away their garlands, others stopped, weeping, and casting sorrowful looks towards the prison doors, and all the citizens whose minds were not absolutely debauched by spite and passion, or who had any humanity left, acknowledged it to have been most impiously done, not, at least, to let that day pass, and the city so be kept pure from death and a public execution at the solemn festival. But as if this triumph had been insufficient, the malice of Phocion’s enemies went yet further; his dead body was excluded from burial within the boundaries of the country, and none of the Athenians could light a funeral pile to burn the corpse; neither durst any of his friends venture to concern themselves about it. A certain Conopion, a man who used to do these offices for hire, took the body and carried it beyond Eleusis, and procuring fire from over the frontier of Megara,* burned it. Phocion’s wife, with her servantmaids, being present and assisting at the solemnity, raised there an empty tomb, and performed the customary libations, and gathering up the bones in her lap, and bringing them home by night, dug a place for them by the fireside in her house, saying, “Blessed hearth, to your custody I commit the remains of a good and brave man; and, I beseech you, protect and restore them to the sepulchre of his fathers, when the Athenians return to their right minds.”

  And, indeed, a very little time and their own sad experience soon informed them what an excellent governor, and how great an example and guardian of justice and of temperance they had bereft themselves of. And now they decreed him a statue of brass, and his bones to be buried honorably at the public charge; and for his accusers, Agnonides they took themselves, and caused him to be put to death. Epicurus and Demophilus, who fled from the city for fear, his son met with, and took his revenge upon them. This son of his, we are told, was in general of an indifferent character, and once, when enamoured of a slave girl kept by a common harlot merchant, happened to hear Theodorus, the atheist, arguing in the Lyceum, that if it were a good and honorable thing to buy the freedom of a friend in the masculine, why not also of a friend in the feminine, if, for example, a master, why not also a mistress? So putting the good argument and his passion together, he went off and purchased the girl’s freedom. The death which was thus suffered by Phocion, revived among the Greeks the memory of that of Socrates, the two cases being so similar, and both equally the sad fault and misfortune of the city.

  [* ]Abra was the Greek word for the favorite waiting-maid; and was, also, this girl’s own proper name. Clodius said he was waiting for Pompeia’s Abra, that being, also, as it happened, her name.

  [* ]The Usipetes and Tencteri of Cæsar’s own narrative. The Sugambri below are the same as the Sigambri or Sicambri in the neighborhood of the river Sieg. Tanusius was an historical writer, and is quoted by Suetonius. The bridge was probably a little below Coblens

  [* ]Quintus Cicero, the orator’s brother. Abriorix is Ambiorix of the Commentaries.

  [* ]The Arverni, the same people whom he presently calls the Aruveni, of the mountains of Auvergne, and the Carnutes of the country around Orleans. Vergentorix appears to be a Greek abbreviation of Vercingetorix, the full name given by Cæsar, which is itself conceived to have been not a proper name, but a title.

  [* ]Alesia is identified with Alise, or with the summit of Mount Auxois, near Flavigny, not far from Dijon. The course of Roman occupation, interposing between Central Gaul and the German competitors for its possession, seems to follow the line of the Rhone and Saone upwards, and the Meuse and Moselle downwards, from Marseilles and Lyons to Treves and the Rhine. Alesia is near the head waters of the Saone.

  [* ]Or basilica.

  [* ]The Aöus or Æas.

  [* ]Or, perhaps more probably, “raising fortifications,” which had been very much their occupation latterly. Up to this point the campaign had been a war of intrenchments.

  [* ]“Into Pharsalia,” is properly “into the territory of the town of Pharsalus,” and in other passages where the battle is mentioned in the translation by the name, as the Romans used it, of Pharsalia, the Greek is Pharsalus.

  [† ]Here follow the words, “He fancied he saw himself in the theatre, receiving the plaudits of the people.” Either the text is incomplete, and the remainder of the description has been lost, or else it is the imperfect explanation added in the margin by an annotator. The full account is given in the Life of Pompey.

  [* ]Cornificius.

  [* ]“Hoc voluerunt; tantis rebus gestis C. Cæsar condemnatus essem, nisi ab exercitu auxilium petissem,” quoted from Asinius Pollio, by Suetonius.

  [* ]By which Alexandria, there being no springs, was wholly supplied.

  [* ]Veni, Vidi, Vici. A tablet with this inscription was displayed in the triumph which was afterwards celebrated for this war. Amantius does not seem to be a true Roman name. It has been corrected into Caius Matius, a well-known friend of Cæsar’s.

  [* ]Brutus, in Latin, means heavy and stupid; and the Cumæans were for one reason or other proverbial for dulness.

  [*]

  • — Solem quis dicere falsum
  • Audeat? ille etiam cæcos instare tumultus
  • Sæpe monet, fraudemque et operta tumescere bella.
  • Ille etiam exstincto miseratus Cæsare Romam;
  • Cum caput obscura nitidum ferrugine texit,
  • Impiaque æternam timuerunt sæcula noctem.
  Virg. Georg. I. 463.

  [* ]The feast, the banquet, meat and drink, bread and wine, receive in Homer the epithet of měnosikes, “that meets and complies with the wishes and desires.”

  [* ]Literally, “after water on the hands,” the first of the several points enumerated in the two lines of Aristophanes describing dinner: —

  • Hudōr kata cheiros, tas trapezas eispherein,
  • Deipnoumen, aponenimmeth’, eita spendomen.
  • Water on the hands; the tables then come in,
  • We dine, we wash, we offer the libations.

  [* ]Chairein, to rejoice; the usual Greek term, used in the superscription of letters, like Salutem, in Latin. He wrote, not “Alexander to Phocion,” but “Alexander to Phocion greeting.”

  [* ]The south-west quarter of the city.

  [† ]The Choragus; see the note in the Life of Alexander, p. 196.

  [* ]Since the time of Aristophanes, it had been the standing jest to speak of the orators as the domestic servants or slaves, who flattered, plagued, and cheated Demus, the people, their master.

  [* ]Soon after crossing the Cephisus, says Pausanias, who does not mention the temple or sacred ground of Hermes, but calls the monument the most remarkable of all the antiquities of Greece.

  [* ]The stadium, or short foot-race, one course, say of two hundred yards, contrasted with the dolichos, which would be at least of five or six miles.

  [† ]The Bœotian towns whose local independence had been secured to them by the fall of Thebes, took in this war the side of the Macedonians.

  [* ]Antipater, at other times, showed considerable respect to Xenocrates.

  [* ]So called from the carabus, a sort of crab which he was fond of. “The fishmongers,” says the comic poet Alexis, “have passed a resotution for erecting a brazen statue of Callimedon in the fish-market, holding a roasted crab in the right hand, in consideration of the benefit he has been to their trade.”

  [* ]He alludes particularly to the appearances noticed at the battle of Salamis. See the life of Themistocles, Vol. I., p. 248. The 20th of Boedromion was the great day of the feast, on which they carried the image of the mystic Iacchus (Bacchus), son of Demeter (Earthmother), in solemn procession to Eleusis.

  [† ]To whom Munychia was dedicated.

  [‡ ]One of the small basins or recesses (cantharus means a cup) of the Piræus. It was part of the preliminaries performed by the mystæ, to wash a young pig in this piece of water.

  [* ]He was, said Alexander the Great, scornfully, holoporphuros, all over purple, within.

  [* ]Antipater, for whatever reason, had appointed Polysperchon, not his own son Cassander, to succeed him, as regent, in the charge of the two kings, Arrhidæus Philip, who was imbecile, (who is the king here,) and Roxana’s child, Alexander Ægus. The rescript was in the name of Arrhidæus, and he is the king who appears further on in the narrative.

  [* ]This is in accordance with a corrected reading. According to the usual text it is, “a Megarian woman.” Those who were condemned for treason, were burned in the waste ground left between the Athenian and the Megarian territories.

  Page 33 . — The site of Tegyrœ or Tegyra, where the Spartans were beaten by the Thebans in a set battle, more fully described in the life of Pelopidas, is placed above the marshes, on the heights that rise to the north of the lake. “In the time of Plutarch, all the part of Bœotia to the northward of the Lake Copais seems to have been no better inhabited than at present, for in one of his dialogues he introduces an assertion that about Tegyra and Mount Ptoum, two places formerly so much famed for their oracles, hardly a herdsman or shepherd was to be met with in a day’s journey.” (Leake’s Northern Greece, Vol. II., ch. xii., p. 159.) The passage referred to is in the Dialogue on the Cessation of Oracles, a phenomenon which one of the speakers, Ammonius the philosopher, explains by the general depopulation which former wars and factions have occasioned in pretty nearly all the habitable world, and more particularly in Greece, the whole of which could now scarcely furnish the three thousand men-at-arms whom the single town of Megara sent to fight at Platœa. With so few to consult him in these days, why should the deity keep up all his former oracles? (De Defectu Oraculorum, 8.)

  Life of Cæsar,page 258 . — Apollonius should not be called, as he is both here and in the Life of Cicero, Molon’s son, but Molon, or Molo, which was his additional name. It is Plutarch’s mistake.

  Page 262 . — High Priest is the Latin Pontifex Maximus. The highest religious dignities were held, at Rome, by laymen. Cæsar, as High Priest, had an official residence, the Regia, in which he lived to the day of his death.

  Page 271 . — The words whose glory went up at that time to heaven should have perhaps been placed between inverted commas. The form, if not the exact words of the phrase, is from the Odyssey; the nearest passage to it is in the answer made by Ulysses to the inquiry of the Cyclope: “We are Achaians on our way from Proy, driven by the winds, the people of Atrides Agamemnon, whose glory is at this time the greatest under heaven, so great a city he has taken, and so many people has destroyed.”

  Page 284 . — Returned the same way he went, and showed the barbarians — A better reading gives the following sense, returned, and showed the barbarians by the very roads he took.

  Page 287 . — The first basilica built in Rome was the Porcian, built by Cato the Elder; see his life, Vol. II., p. 240, and the life of the younger Cato, in this volume, p. 375. The Fulvian was the next, built by the joint censors Æmilius and Fulvius, adorned by subsequent members of the Æmilian family, and now restored with the help of Cæsar’s money. This was the Basilica Paulli.

  Page 309 . — Antony’s debauchery and Corfinius’s profuseness ought perhaps to change places, and to stand as Corfinius’s debauchery (or drunkenness) and Antony’s profuseness: it was certainly Antony who bought Pompey’s house; see his life, Vol. V., p. 164; and the statement there made is confirmed by Cicero in the second Philippic (c. 26).

  Page 315 . — Pomentium is Pometia, or Suessa Pometia, a town that had ceased to exist long before Cæsar’s time, which, however, gave its name to the Pomptine marshes.

  Page 328 . — To the top of a rock is a mistranslation; the Greek is merely to a rocky place; and the place which Brutus made his refuge seems, by the account in his life, to have been at the bottom rather than at the top.

  Page 332 . — The passage in Cicero is in the letters to Atticus (II., 1): “Dicit enim tanquam in Platonis politeiai, non tanquam in Romuli fæce, sententiam.” It does not, however, refer to his repulse as a candidate for the consulship.

  Page 336 . — The two elegiac verses from Archilochus are quoted also by Athenæus, as said by Archilochus of himself. They are the first fragment in Bergk.

  Page 338 . — Plutarch tells the story also in his essay on False Modesty (de Vitioso Pudore, c. 10), and again in his Political Precepts (Reipublicæ Gerendæ Præcepta, c. 31). These calls for subscriptions for public amusements and displays were snares to the unwise in his time also. From the turn he gives to Phocion’s answer in the latter passage, it seems to be that he declines to make a gift by incurring a debt, to offer the state a present by borrowing money which he will not be able to repay, not as if he was already in debt to his banker or money-lender.

  Page 345 . — The defeat is the battle of Chæronea.

  Page 353 . — A friend and old confidant should be a friend and old schoolfellow. Phocion in like manner replied, that they had not ever been at school together, nor had ever been acquainted or familiar with each other.

  Page 356 . — Diogenes Laertius, in his life of Xenocrates the philosopher, tells a pleasant story, which appears to belong to this occasion of his going as envoy with Phocion, and yet is quite inconsistent with Plutarch’s account of it, and must, in some way or other, be inaccurate. Antipater, says Diogenes, asked him to supper. Xenocrates replied to the invitation by repeating the words in the Odyssey used by Ulysses to Circe, when, showing him hospitality, she placed the table before him, and saw him neither eating or drinking, — “O Circe, what man of a right mind could let himself touch meat or drink before he had ransomed his companions, and beheld them with his eyes,” — with which Antipater was so well pleased, that he released them. Xenocrates paid the alien-tax at Athens (below, p. 360), being a native of Chalcedon, opposite Constantinople.

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  4: Session III: Continued

  Plutarch’s “Life of Brutus” is a case study of the philosopher in politics, the man of virtue and principle who turns against his protector (Caesar) for the cause of liberty. If he was (in Shakespeare’s words) “the noblest Roman of them all,” he was not the most astute: the death of Caesar could not have restored the republic, but served to hasten its demise. What then was the wisdom of the act? It is telling that Plutarch compares Brutus with Dion, Plato’s friend who rid Sicily of a tyrannt, but who was in turn struck down. Like Brutus, Dio was a man of culture and high ideals, but his struggle against tyranny ended in death.

  Plutarch, Plutarch’s Lives. The Translation called Dryden’s. Corrected from the Greek and Revised by A.H. Clough, in 5 volumes (Boston: Little Brown and Co., 1906). Chapter: MARCUS BRUTUS.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1775/93979 on 2008-08-21

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  MARCUS BRUTUS.

  Marcus Brutus was descended from that Junius Brutus to whom the ancient Romans erected a statue of brass in the capitol among the images of their kings with a drawn sword in his hand, in remembrance of his courage and resolution in expelling the Tarquins and destroying the monarchy. But that ancient Brutus was of a severe and inflexible nature, like steel of too hard a temper, and having never had his character softened by study and thought, he let himself be so far transported with his rage and hatred against tyrants, that, for conspiring with them, he proceeded to the execution even of his own sons. But this Brutus, whose life we now write, having to the goodness of his disposition added the improvements of learning and the study of philosophy, and having stirred up his natural parts, of themselves grave and gentle, by applying himself to business and public affairs, seems to have been of a temper exactly framed for virtue; insomuch that they who were most his enemies upon account of his conspiracy against Cæsar, if in that whole affair there was any honorable or generous part, referred it wholly to Brutus, and laid whatever was barbarous and cruel to the charge of Cassius, Brutus’s connection and familiar friend, but not his equal in honesty and pureness of purpose. His mother, Servilia, was of the family of Servilius Ahala, who, when Spurius Mælius worked the people into a rebellion and designed to make himself king, taking a dagger under his arm, went forth into the market-place, and, upon pretence of having some private business with him, came up close to him, and, as he bent his head to hear what he had to say, struck him with his dagger and slew him. And thus much, as concerns his descent by the mother’s side, is confessed by all; but as for his father’s family, they who for Cæsar’s murder bore any hatred or ill-will to Brutus say that he came not from that Brutus who expelled the Tarquins, there being none of his race left after the execution of his two sons; but that his ancestor was a plebeian, son of one Brutus, a steward, and only rose in the latest times to office or dignity in the commonwealth. But Posidonius the philosopher writes that it is true indeed what the history relates, that two of the sons of Brutus who were of men’s estate were put to death, but that a third, yet an infant, was left alive, from whom the family was propagated down to Marcus Brutus; and further, that there were several famous persons of this house in his time whose looks very much resembled the statue of Junius Brutus. But of this subject enough.

  Cato the philosopher was brother to Servilia, the mother of Brutus, and he it was whom of all the Romans his nephew most admired and studied to imitate, and he afterwards married his daughter Porcia. Of all the sects of the Greek philosophers, though there was none of which he had not been a hearer and in which he had not made some proficiency, yet he chiefly esteemed the Platonists; and, not much approving of the modern and middle Academy, as it is called, he applied himself to the study of the ancient. He was all his lifetime a great admirer of Antiochus of the city of Ascalon, and took his brother Aristus into his own house for his friend and companion, a man for his learning inferior indeed to many of the philosophers, but for the evenness of his temper and steadiness of his conduct equal to the best. As for Empylus, of whom he himself and his friends often make mention in their epistles, as one that lived with Brutus, he was a rhetorician, and has left behind him a short but well-written history of the death of Cæsar, entitled Brutus.

  In Latin, he had by exercise attained a sufficient skill to be able to make public addresses and to plead a cause; but in Greek, he must be noted for affecting the sententious and short Laconic way of speaking in sundry passages of his epistles; as when, in the beginning of the war, he wrote thus to the Pergamenians: “I hear you have given Dolabella money; if willingly, you must own you have injured me; if unwillingly, show it by giving willingly to me.” And another time to the Samians: “Your counsels are remiss and your performances slow: what think ye will be the end?” And of the Patareans thus: “The Xanthians, suspecting my kindness, have made their country the grave of their despair; the Patareans, trusting themselves to me, enjoy in all points their former liberty; it is in your power to choose the judgment of the Patareans or the fortune of the Xanthians.” And this is the style for which some of his letters are to be noted.*

  When he was but a very young man, he accompanied his uncle Cato, to Cyprus, when he was sent there against Ptolemy. But when Ptolemy killed himself, Cato, being by some necessary business detained in the isle of Rhodes, had already sent one of his friends, named Canidius, to take into his care and keeping the treasure of the king; but presently, not feeling sure of his honesty, he wrote to Brutus to sail immediately for Cyprus out of Pamphylia, where he then was staying to refresh himself, being but just recovered of a fit of sickness. He obeyed his orders, but with a great deal of unwillingness, as well out of respect to Canidius, who was thrown out of this employment by Cato with so much disgrace, as also because he esteemed such a commission mean, and unsuitable to him, who was in the prime of his youth, and given to books and study. Nevertheless, applying himself to the business, he behaved himself so well in it that he was highly commended by Cato, and, having turned all the goods of Ptolemy into ready money, he sailed with the greatest part of it in his own ship to Rome.

  But upon the general separation into two factions, when, Pompey and Cæsar taking up arms against one another, the whole empire was turned into confusion, it was commonly believed that he would take Cæsar’s side; for his father in past time had been put to death by Pompey. But he, thinking it his duty to prefer the interest of the public to his own private feelings, and judging Pompey’s to be the better cause, took part with him; though formerly he used not so much as to salute or take any notice of Pompey, if he happened to meet him, esteeming it a pollution to have the least conversation with the murderer of his father. But now, looking upon him as the general of his country, he placed himself under his command, and set sail for Cilicia in quality of lieutenant to Sestius, who had the government of that province. But finding no opportunity there of doing any great service, and hearing that Pompey and Cæsar were now near one another and preparing for the battle upon which all depended, he came of his own accord to Macedonia to partake in the danger. At his coming it is said that Pompey was so surprised and so pleased, that, rising from his chair in the sight of all who were about him, he saluted and embraced him, as one of the chiefest of his party. All the time that he was in the camp, excepting that which he spent in Pompey’s company, he employed in reading and in study, which he did not neglect even the day before the great battle. It was the middle of summer, and the heat was very great, the camp having been pitched near some marshy ground, and the people that carried Brutus’s tent were a long while before they came. Yet though upon these accounts he was extremely harassed and out of order, having scarcely by the middle of the day anointed himself and eaten a sparing meal, whilst most others were either laid to sleep or taken up with the thoughts and apprehensions of what would be the issue of the fight, he spent his time until the evening in writing an epitome of Polybius.

  It is said that Cæsar had so great a regard for him that he ordered his commanders by no means to kill Brutus in the battle, but to spare him, if possible, and bring him safe to him, if he would willingly surrender himself; but if he made any resistance, to suffer him to escape rather than do him any violence. And this he is believed to have done out of a tenderness to Servilia, the mother of Brutus; for Cæsar had, it seems, in his youth been very intimate with her, and she passionately in love with him; and, considering that Brutus was born about that time in which their loves were at the highest, Cæsar had a belief that he was his own child. The story is told, that when the great question of the conspiracy of Catiline, which had like to have been the destruction of the commonwealth, was debated in the senate, Cato and Cæsar were both standing up, contending together on the decision to be come to; at which time a little note was delivered to Cæsar from without, which he took and read silently to himself. Upon this, Cato cried out aloud, and accused Cæsar of holding correspondence with and receiving letters from the enemies of the commonwealth; and when many other senators exclaimed against it, Cæsar delivered the note as he had received it to Cato, who reading it found it to be a love-letter from his own sister Servilia, and threw it back again to Cæsar with the words, “Keep it, you drunkard,” and returned to the subject of the debate. So public and notorious was Servilia’s love to Cæsar.

  After the great overthrow at Pharsalia, Pompey himself having made his escape to the sea, and Cæsar’s army storming the camp, Brutus stole privately out by one of the gates leading to marshy ground full of water and covered with reeds, and, travelling through the night, got safe to Larissa. From Larissa he wrote to Cæsar, who expressed a great deal of joy to hear that he was safe, and, bidding him come, not only forgave him freely, but honored and esteemed him among his chiefest friends. Now when nobody could give any certain account which way Pompey had fled, Cæsar took a little journey alone with Brutus, and tried what was his opinion herein, and after some discussion which passed between them, believing that Brutus’s conjecture was the right one, laying aside all other thoughts, he set out directly to pursue him towards Egypt. But Pompey, having reached Egypt, as Brutus guessed his design was to do, there met his fate.

  Brutus in the mean time gained Cæsar’s forgiveness for his friend Cassius; and pleading also in defence of the king of the Lybians,* though he was overwhelmed with the greatness of the crimes alleged against him, yet by his entreaties and deprecations to Cæsar in his behalf, he preserved to him a great part of his kingdom. It is reported that Cæsar, when he first heard Brutus speak in public, said to his friends, “I know not what this young man intends, but, whatever he intends, he intends vehemently.”* For his natural firmness of mind, not easily yielding, or complying in favor of every one that entreated his kindness, once set into action upon motives of right reason and deliberate moral choice, whatever direction it thus took, it was pretty sure to take effectively, and to work in such a way as not to fail in its object. No flattery could ever prevail with him to listen to unjust petitions; and he held that to be overcome by the importunities of shameless and fawning entreaties, though some compliment it with the name of modesty and bashfulness, was the worst disgrace a great man could suffer. And he used to say, that he always felt as if they who could deny nothing could not have behaved well in the flower of their youth.

  Cæsar, being about to make his expedition into Africa against Cato and Scipio, committed to Brutus the government of Cisalpine Gaul, to the great happiness and advantage of that province. For while people in other provinces were in distress with the violence and avarice of their governors, and suffered as much oppression as if they had been slaves and captives of war, Brutus, by his easy government, actually made them amends for their calamities under former rulers, directing moreover all their gratitude for his good deeds to Cæsar himself; insomuch that it was a most welcome and pleasant spectacle to Cæsar, when in his return he passed through Italy, to see the cities that were under Brutus’s command and Brutus himself increasing his honor and joining agreeably in his progress.

  Now several prætorships being vacant, it was all men’s opinion, that that of the chiefest dignity, which is called the prætorship of the city, would be conferred either upon Brutus or Cassius; and some say that, there having been some little difference upon former accounts between them, this competition set them much more at variance, though they were connected in their families, Cassius having married Junia, the sister of Brutus. Others say that the contention was raised between them by Cæsar’s doing, who had privately given each of them such hopes of his favor as led them on, and provoked them at last into this open competition and trial of their interest. Brutus had only the reputation of his honor and virtue to oppose to the many and gallant actions performed by Cassius against the Parthians. But Cæsar, having heard each side, and deliberating about the matter among his friends, said, “Cassius has the stronger plea, but we must let Brutus be first prætor.” So another prætorship was given to Cassius; the gaining of which could not so much oblige him, as he was incensed for the loss of the other. And in all other things Brutus was partaker of Cæsar’s power as much as he desired; for he might, if he had pleased, have been the chief of all his friends, and had authority and command beyond them all, but Cassius and the company he met with him drew him off from Cæsar. Indeed, he was not yet wholly reconciled to Cassius, since that competition which was between them; but yet he gave ear to Cassius’s friends, who were perpetually advising him not to be so blind as to suffer himself to be softened and won upon by Cæsar, but to shun the kindness and favors of a tyrant, which they intimated that Cæsar showed him, not to express any honor to his merit or virtue, but to unbend his strength, and under mine his vigor of purpose.

  Neither was Cæsar wholly without suspicion of him, nor wanted informers that accused Brutus to him; but he feared, indeed, the high spirit and the great character and the friends that he had, but thought himself secure in his moral disposition. When it was told him that Antony and Dolabella designed some disturbance, “It is not,” said he, “the fat and the long-haired men that I fear, but the pale and the lean,” meaning Brutus and Cassius. And when some maligned Brutus to him, and advised him to beware of him, taking hold of his flesh with his hand, “What,” he said, “do you think that Brutus will not wait out the time of this little body?” as if he thought none so fit to succeed him in his power as Brutus. And indeed it seems to be without doubt that Brutus might have been the first man in the commonwealth, if he had had patience but a little time to be second to Cæsar, and would have suffered his power to decline after it was come to its highest pitch, and the fame of his great actions to die away by degrees. But Cassius, a man of a fierce disposition, and one that out of private malice, rather than love of the public, hated Cæsar, not the tyrant, continually fired and stirred him up. Brutus felt the rule an oppression, but Cassius hated the ruler; and, among other reasons on which he grounded his quarrel against Cæsar, the loss of his lions which he had procured when he was edile elect was one: for Cæsar, finding these in Megara, when that city was taken by Calenus, seized them to himself. These beasts, they say, were a great calamity to the Megarians; for, when their city was just taken, they broke open the lions’ dens, and pulled off their chains and let them loose, that they might run upon the enemy that was entering the city; but the lions turned upon them themselves, and tore to pieces a great many unarmed persons running about, so that it was a miserable spectacle even to their enemies to behold.

  And this, some say, was the chief provocation that stirred up Cassius to conspire against Cæsar; but they are much in the wrong. For Cassius had from his youth a natural hatred and rancor against the whole race of tyrants, which he showed when he was but a boy, and went to the same school with Faustus, the son of Sylla; for, on his boasting himself amongst the boys, and extolling the sovereign power of his father, Cassius rose up and struck him two or three boxes on the ear; which when the guardians and relations of Faustus designed to inquire into and to prosecute, Pompey forbade them, and, sending for both the boys together, examined the matter himself. And Cassius then is reported to have said thus, “Come, then, Faustus, dare to speak here those words that provoked me, that I may strike you again as I did before.” Such was the disposition of Cassius.

  But Brutus was roused up and pushed on to the undertaking by many persuasions of his familiar friends, and letters and invitations from unknown citizens. For under the statue of his ancestor Brutus, that overthrew the kingly government, they wrote the words, “O that we had a Brutus now!” and, “O that Brutus were alive!” And Brutus’s own tribunal, on which he sate as prætor, was filled each morning with writings such as these: “You are asleep, Brutus,” and, “You are not a true Brutus.” Now the flatterers of Cæsar were the occasion of all this, who, among other invidious honors which they strove to fasten upon Cæsar, crowned his statues by night with diadems, wishing to incite the people to salute him king instead of dictator. But quite the contrary came to pass, as I have more particularly related in the life of Cæsar.

  When Cassius went about soliciting friends to engage in this design against Cæsar, all whom he tried readily consented, if Brutus would be head of it; for their opinion was that the enterprise wanted not hands or resolution, but the reputation and authority of a man such as he was, to give as it were the first religious sanction, and by his presence, if by nothing else, to justify the undertaking; that without him they should go about this action with less heart, and should lie under greater suspicions when they had done it, for, if their cause had been just and honorable, people would be sure that Brutus would not have refused it. Cassius, having considered these things with himself, went to Brutus, and made him the first visit after their falling out; and after the compliments of reconciliation had passed, and former kindnesses were renewed between them, he asked him if he designed to be present in the senate on the Calends of March, for it was discoursed, he said, that Cæsar’s friends intended then to move that he might be made king. When Brutus answered, that he would not be there, “But what,” says Cassius, “if they should send for us?” “It will be my business then,” replied Brutus, “not to hold my peace, but to stand up boldly, and die for the liberty of my country.” To which Cassius with some emotion answered, “But what Roman will suffer you to die? What, do you not know yourself, Brutus? Or do you think that those writings that you find upon your prætor’s seat were put there by weavers and shopkeepers, and not by the first and most powerful men of Rome? From other prætors, indeed, they expect largesses and shows and gladiators, but from you they claim, as an hereditary debt, the extirpation of tyranny; they are all ready to suffer any thing on your account, if you will but show yourself such as they think you are and expect you should be.” Which said, he fell upon Brutus, and embraced him; and after this, they parted each to try their several friends.

  Among the friends of Pompey there was one Caius Ligarius, whom Cæsar had pardoned, though accused for having been in arms against him. This man, not feeling so thankful for having been forgiven as he felt oppressed by that power which made him need a pardon, hated Cæsar, and was one of Brutus’s most intimate friends. Him Brutus visited, and, finding him sick, “O Ligarius,” says he, “what a time have you found out to be sick in!” At which words Ligarius, raising himself and leaning on his elbow, took Brutus by the hand, and said, “But, O Brutus, if you are on any design worthy of yourself, I am well.”

  From this time, they tried the inclinations of all their acquaintance that they durst trust, and communicated the secret to them, and took into the design not only their familiar friends, but as many as they believed bold and brave and despisers of death. For which reason they concealed the plot from Cicero, though he was very much trusted and as well beloved by them all, lest, to his own disposition, which was naturally timorous, adding now the wariness and caution of old age, by his weighing, as he would do, every particular, that he might not make one step without the greatest security, he should blunt the edge of their forwardness and resolution in a business which required all the despatch imaginable. As indeed there were also two others that were companions of Brutus, Statilius the Epicurean, and Favonius the admirer of Cato, whom he left out for this reason: as he was conversing one day with them, trying them at a distance, and proposing some such question to be disputed of as among philosophers, to see what opinion they were of, Favonius declared his judgment to be that a civil war was worse than the most illegal monarchy; and Statilius held, that, to bring himself into troubles and danger upon the account of evil or foolish men, did not become a man that had any wisdom or discretion. But Labeo, who was present, contradicted them both; and Brutus, as if it had been an intricate dispute, and difficult to be decided, held his peace for that time, but afterwards discovered the whole design to Labeo, who readily undertook it. The next thing that was thought convenient, was to gain the other Brutus, surnamed Albinus, a man of himself of no great bravery or courage, but considerable for the number of gladiators that he was maintaining for a public show, and the great confidence that Cæsar put in him. When Cassius and Labeo spoke with him concerning the matter, he gave them no answer; but, seeking an interview with Brutus himself alone, and finding that he was their captain, he readily consented to partake in the action. And among the others, also, the most and best were gained by the name of Brutus. And, though they neither gave nor took any oath of secrecy, nor used any other sacred rite to assure their fidelity to each other, yet all kept their design so close, were so wary, and held it so silently among themselves, that, though by prophecies and apparitions and signs in the sacrifices the gods gave warning of it, yet could it not be believed.

  Now Brutus, feeling that the noblest spirits of Rome for virtue, birth, or courage were depending upon him, and surveying with himself all the circumstances of the dangers they were to encounter, strove indeed as much as possible, when abroad, to keep his uneasiness of mind to himself, and to compose his thoughts; but at home, and especially at night, he was not the same man, but sometimes against his will his working care would make him start out of his sleep, and other times he was taken up with further reflection and consideration of his difficulties, so that his wife that lay with him could not choose but take notice that he was full of unusual trouble, and had in agitation some dangerous and perplexing question. Porcia, as was said before, was the daughter of Cato, and Brutus, her cousin-german, had married her very young, though not a maid, but after the death of her former husband, by whom she had one son, that was named Bibulus; and there is a little book, called Memoirs of Brutus, written by him, yet extant. This Porcia, being addicted to philosophy, a great lover of her husband, and full of an understanding courage, resolved not to inquire into Brutus’s secrets before she had made this trial of herself. She turned all her attendants out of her chamber, and, taking a little knife, such as they use to cut nails with, she gave herself a deep gash in the thigh; upon which followed a great flow of blood, and, soon after, violent pains and a shivering fever, occasioned by the wound. Now when Brutus was extremely anxious and afflicted for her, she, in the height of all her pain, spoke thus to him: “I, Brutus, being the daughter of Cato, was given to you in marriage, not like a concubine, to partake only in the common intercourse of bed and board, but to bear a part in all your good and all your evil fortunes; and for your part, as regards your care for me, I find no reason to complain; but from me, what evidence of my love, what satisfaction can you receive, if I may not share with you in bearing your hidden griefs, nor be admitted to any of your counsels that require secrecy and trust? I know very well that women seem to be of too weak a nature to be trusted with secrets; but certainly, Brutus, a virtuous birth and education, and the company of the good and honorable, are of some force to the forming our manners; and I can boast that I am the daughter of Cato and the wife of Brutus, in which two titles though before I put less confidence, yet now I have tried myself, and find that I can bid defiance to pain.” Which words having spoken, she showed him her wound, and related to him the trial that she had made of her constancy; at which he being astonished, lifted up his hands to heaven, and begged the assistance of the gods in his enterprise, that he might show himself a husband worthy of such a wife as Porcia. So then he comforted his wife.

  But a meeting of the senate being appointed, at which it was believed that Cæsar would be present, they agreed to make use of that opportunity: for then they might appear all together without suspicion; and, besides, they hoped that all the noblest and leading men of the commonwealth, being then assembled, as soon as the great deed was done, would immediately stand forward, and assert the common liberty. The very place, too, where the senate was to meet, seemed to be by divine appointment favorable to their purpose. It was a portico, one of those joining the theatre, with a large recess,* in which there stood a statue of Pompey, erected to him by the commonwealth, when he adorned that part of the city with the porticos and the theatre. To this place it was that the senate was summoned for the middle of March (the Ides of March is the Roman name for the day); as if some more than human power were leading the man thither, there to meet his punishment for the death of Pompey.

  As soon as it was day, Brutus, taking with him a dagger, which none but his wife knew of, went out. The rest met together at Cassius’s house, and brought forth his son, that was that day to put on the manly gown, as it is called, into the forum; and from thence, going all to Pompey’s porch, stayed there, expecting Cæsar to come without delay to the senate. Here it was chiefly that any one who had known what they had purposed, would have admired the unconcerned temper and the steady resolution of these men in their most dangerous undertaking; for many of them, being prætors, and called upon by their office to judge and determine causes, did not only hear calmly all that made application to them and pleaded against each other before them, as if they were free from all other thoughts, but decided causes with as much accuracy and judgment as they had heard them with attention and patience. And when one person refused to stand to the award of Brutus, and with great clamor and many attestations appealed to Cæsar, Brutus, looking round about him upon those that were present, said, “Cæsar does not hinder me, nor will he hinder me, from doing according to the laws.”

  Yet there were many unusual accidents that disturbed them and by mere chance were thrown in their way. The first and chiefest was the long stay of Cæsar, though the day was far spent, and his being detained at home by his wife, and forbidden by the soothsayers to go forth, upon some defect that appeared in his sacrifice. Another was this: There came a man up to Casca, one of the company, and, taking him by the hand, “You concealed,” said he, “the secret from us, but Brutus has told me all.” At which words when Casca was surprised, the other said laughing, “How come you to be so rich of a sudden, that you should stand to be chosen edile?” So near was Casca to let out the secret, upon the mere ambiguity of the other’s expression. Then Popilius Lænas, a senator, having saluted Brutus and Cassius more earnestly than usual, whispered them softly in the ear and said, “My wishes are with you, that you may accomplish what you design, and I advise you to make no delay, for the thing is now no secret.” This said, he departed, and left them in great suspicion that the design had taken wind. In the mean while, there came one in all haste from Brutus’s house, and brought him news that his wife was dying. For Porcia, being extremely disturbed with expectation of the event, and not able to bear the greatness of her anxiety, could scarce keep herself within doors; and at every little noise or voice she heard, starting up suddenly, like those possessed with the bacchic frenzy, she asked every one that came in from the forum what Brutus was doing, and sent one messenger after another to inquire. At last, after long expectation, the strength of her body could hold out no longer; her mind was overcome with her doubts and fears, and she lost the control of herself, and began to faint away. She had not time to betake herself to her chamber, but, sitting as she was amongst her women, a sudden swoon and a great stupor seized her, and her color changed, and her speech was quite lost. At this sight, her women made a loud cry, and many of the neighbors running to Brutus’s door to know what was the matter, the report was soon spread abroad that Porcia was dead; though with her women’s help she recovered in a little while, and came to herself again. When Brutus received this news, he was extremely troubled, nor without reason, yet was not so carried away by his private grief as to quit his public purpose.

  For now news was brought that Cæsar was coming, carried in a litter. For, being discouraged by the ill omens that attended his sacrifice, he had determined to undertake no affairs of any great importance that day, but to defer them till another time, excusing himself that he was sick. As soon as he came out of his litter, Popilius Lænas, he who but a little before had wished Brutus good success in his undertaking, coming up to him, conversed a great while with him, Cæsar standing still all the while, and seeming to be very attentive. The conspirators, (to give them this name,) not being able to hear what he said, but guessing by what themselves were conscious of that this conference was the discovery of their treason, were again disheartened, and, looking upon one another, agreed from each other’s countenances that they should not stay to be taken, but should all kill themselves. And now when Cassius and some others were laying hands upon their daggers under their robes, and were drawing them out, Brutus, viewing narrowly the looks and gesture of Lænas, and finding that he was earnestly petitioning and not accusing, said nothing, because there were many strangers to the conspiracy mingled amongst them, but by a cheerful countenance encouraged Cassius. And after a little while, Lænas, having kissed Cæsar’s hand, went away, showing plainly that all his discourse was about some particular business relating to himself.

  Now when the senate was gone in before to the chamber where they were to sit, the rest of the company placed themselves close about Cæsar’s chair, as if they had some suit to make to him, and Cassius, turning his face to Pompey’s statue, is said to have invoked it, as if it had been sensible of his prayers. Trebonias, in the meanwhile, engaged Antony’s attention at the door, and kept him in talk outside. When Cæsar entered, the whole senate rose up to him. As soon as he was set down, the men all crowded round about him, and set Tillius Cimber, one of their own number, to intercede in behalf of his brother, that was banished; they all joined their prayers with his, and took Cæsar by the hand, and kissed his head and his breast. But he putting aside at first their supplications, and afterwards, when he saw they would not desist, violently rising up, Tillius with both hands caught hold of his robe and pulled it off from his shoulders, and Casca, that stood behind him, drawing his dagger, gave him the first, but a slight wound, about the shoulder. Cæsar snatching hold of the handle of the dagger, and crying out aloud in Latin, “Villain Casca, what do you?” he, calling in Greek to his brother, bade him come and help. And by this time, finding himself struck by a great many hands, and looking round about him to see if he could force his way out, when he saw Brutus with his dagger drawn against him, he let go Casca’s hand, that he had hold of, and, covering his head with his robe, gave up his body to their blows. And they so eagerly pressed towards the body, and so many daggers were hacking together, that they cut one another; Brutus, particularly, received a wound in his hand, and all of them were besmeared with the blood.

  Cæsar being thus slain, Brutus, stepping forth into the midst, intended to have made a speech, and called back and encouraged the senators to stay; but they all affrighted ran away in great disorder, and there was a great confusion and press at the door, though none pursued or followed. For they had come to an express resolution to kill nobody besides Cæsar, but to call and invite all the rest to liberty. It was indeed the opinion of all the others, when they consulted about the execution of their design, that it was necessary to cut off Antony with Cæsar, looking upon him as an insolent man, an affecter of monarchy, and one that, by his familiar intercourse, had gained a powerful interest with the soldiers. And this they urged the rather, because at that time to the natural loftiness and ambition of his temper there was added the dignity of being consul and colleague to Cæsar. But Brutus opposed this counsel, insisting first upon the injustice of it, and afterwards giving them hopes that a change might be worked in Antony. For he did not despair but that so highly gifted and honorable a man, and such a lover of glory as Antony, stirred up with emulation of their great attempt, might, if Cæsar were once removed, lay hold of the occasion to be joint restorer with them of the liberty of his country. Thus did Brutus save Antony’s life. But he, in the general consternation, put himself into a plebeian habit, and fled. But Brutus and his party marched up to the capitol, in their way showing their hands all bloody, and their naked swords, and proclaiming liberty to the people. At first all places were filled with cries and shouts; and the wild running to and fro, occasioned by the sudden surprise and passion that every one was in, increased the tumult in the city. But no other bloodshed following, and no plundering of the goods in the streets, the senators and many of the people took courage and went up to the men in the capitol; and, a multitude being gathered together, Brutus made an oration to them, very popular, and proper for the state that affairs were then in. Therefore, when they applauded his speech, and cried out to him to come down, they all took confidence and descended into the forum; the rest promiscuously mingled with one another, but many of the most eminent persons, attending Brutus, conducted him in the midst of them with great honor from the capitol, and placed him in the rostra. At the sight of Brutus, the crowd, though consisting of a confused mixture and all disposed to make a tumult, were struck with reverence, and expected what he would say with order and with silence, and, when he began to speak, heard him with quiet and attention. But that all were not pleased with this action they plainly showed when, Cinna beginning to speak and accuse Cæsar, they broke out into a sudden rage, and railed at him in such language, that the whole party thought fit again to withdraw to the capitol. And there Brutus, expecting to be besieged, dismissed the most eminent of those that had accompanied them thither, not thinking it just that they who were not partakers of the fact should share in the danger.

  But the next day, the senate being assembled in the temple of the Earth,* and Antony and Plancus and Cicero having made orations recommending concord in general and an act of oblivion, it was decreed, that the men should not only be put out of all fear or danger, but that the consuls should see what honors and dignities were proper to be conferred upon them. After which done, the senate broke up; and, Antony having sent his son as an hostage to the capitol, Brutus and his company came down, and mutual salutes and invitations passed amongst them, the whole of them being gathered together. Antony invited and entertained Cassius, Lepidus did the same to Brutus, and the rest were invited and entertained by others, as each of them had acquaintance or friends. And as soon as it was day, the senate met again and voted thanks to Antony for having stifled the beginning of a civil war; afterwards Brutus and his associates that were present received encomiums, and had provinces assigned and distributed among them. Crete was allotted to Brutus, Africa to Cassius, Asia to Trebonius, Bithynia to Cimber, and to the other Brutus Gaul about the Po.

  After these things, they began to consider of Cæsar’s will, and the ordering of his funeral. Antony desired that the will might be read, and that the body should not have a private or dishonorable interment, lest that should further exasperate the people. This Cassius violently opposed, but Brutus yielded to it, and gave leave; in which he seems to have a second time committed a fault. For as before in sparing the life of Antony he could not be without some blame from his party, as thereby setting up against the conspiracy a dangerous and difficult enemy, so now, in suffering him to have the ordering of the funeral, he fell into a total and irrecoverable error. For first, it appearing by the will that Cæsar had bequeathed to the Roman people seventy-five drachmas a man, and given to the public his gardens beyond Tiber (where now the temple of Fortune stands), the whole city was fired with a wonderful affection for him, and a passionate sense of the loss of him. And when the body was brought forth into the forum, Antony, as the custom was, making a funeral oration in the praise of Cæsar, and finding the multitude moved with his speech, passing into the pathetic tone, unfolded the bloody garment of Cæsar, showed them in how many places it was pierced, and the number of his wounds. Now there was nothing to be seen but confusion; some cried out to kill the murderers, others (as was formerly done when Clodius led the people) tore away the benches and tables out of the shops round about, and, heaping them all together, built a great funeral pile, and, having put the body of Cæsar upon it, set it on fire, the spot where this was done being moreover surrounded with a great many temples and other consecrated places, so that they seemed to burn the body in a kind of sacred solemnity. As soon as the fire flamed out, the multitude, flocking in some from one part and some from another, snatched the brands that were half burnt out of the pile, and ran about the city to fire the houses of the murderers of Cæsar. But they, having beforehand well fortified themselves, repelled this danger.

  There was however a kind of poet, one Cinna, not at all concerned in the guilt of the conspiracy, but on the contrary one of Cæsar’s friends. This man dreamed that he was invited to supper by Cæsar, and that he declined to go, but that Cæsar entreated and pressed him to it very earnestly; and at last, taking him by the hand, led him into a very deep and dark place, whither he was forced against his will to follow in great consternation and amazement. After this vision, he had a fever the most part of the night; nevertheless in the morning, hearing that the body of Cæsar was to be carried forth to be interred, he was ashamed not to be present at the solemnity, and came abroad and joined the people, when they were already infuriated by the speech of Antony. And perceiving him, and taking him not for that Cinna who indeed he was, but for him that a little before in a speech to the people had reproached and inveighed against Cæsar, they fell upon him and tore him to pieces.

  This action chiefly, and the alteration that Antony had wrought, so alarmed Brutus and his party, that for their safety they retired from the city. The first stay they made was at Antium, with a design to return again as soon as the fury of the people had spent itself and was abated, which they expected would soon and easily come to pass in an unsettled multitude, apt to be carried away with any sudden and impetuous passion, especially since they had the senate favorable to them; which, though it took no notice of those that had torn Cinna to pieces, yet made a strict search and apprehended in order to punishment those that had assaulted the houses of the friends of Brutus and Cassius. By this time, also, the people began to be dissatisfied with Antony, who they perceived was setting up a kind of monarchy for himself; they longed for the return of Brutus, whose presence they expected and hoped for at the games and spectacles which he, as prætor, was to exhibit to the public. But he, having intelligence that many of the old soldiers that had borne arms under Cæsar, by whom they had had lands and cities given them, lay in wait for him, and by small parties at a time had stolen into the city, would not Page 325 venture to come himself; however, in his absence there were most magnificent and costly shows exhibited to the people; for, having bought up a great number of all sorts of wild beasts, he gave order that not any of them should be returned or saved, but that all should be spent freely at the public spectacles. He himself made a journey to Naples to procure a considerable number of players, and hearing of one Canutius, that was very much praised for his acting upon the stage, he wrote to his friends to use all their entreaties to bring him to Rome (for, being a Grecian, he could not be compelled); he wrote also to Cicero, begging him by no means to omit being present at the shows.

  This was the posture of affairs when another sudden alteration was made upon the young Cæsar’s coming to Rome. He was son to the niece of Cæsar, who adopted him, and left him his heir by his will. At the time when Cæsar was killed, he was following his studies at Apollonia, where he was expecting also to meet Cæsar on his way to the expedition which he had determined on against the Parthians; but, hearing of his death, he immediately came to Rome, and, to ingratiate himself with the people, taking upon himself the name of Cæsar, and punctually distributing among the citizens the money that was left them by the will, he soon got the better of Antony; and by money and largesses, which he liberally dispersed amongst the soldiers, he gathered together and brought over to his party a great number of those that had served under Cæsar. Cicero himself, out of the hatred which he bore to Antony, sided with young Cæsar; which Brutus took so ill that he treated with him very sharply in his letters, telling him, that he perceived Cicero could well enough endure a tyrant, but was afraid that he who hated him should be the man; that in writing and speaking so well of Cæsar, he Page 326 showed that his aim was to have an easy slavery. “But our forefathers,” said Brutus, “could not brook even gentle masters.” Further he added, that for his own part he had not as yet fully resolved whether he should make war or peace; but that as to one point he was fixed and settled, which was, never to be a slave; that he wondered Cicero should fear the dangers of a civil war, and not be much more afraid of a dishonorable and infamous peace; that the very reward that was to be given him for subverting Antony’s tyranny was the privilege of establishing Cæsar as tyrant in his place. This is the tone of Brutus’s first letters to Cicero.

  The city being now divided into two factions, some betaking themselves to Cæsar and others to Antony, the soldiers selling themselves, as it were, by public outcry, and going over to him that would give them most, Brutus began to despair of any good event of such proceedings, and, resolving to leave Italy, passed by land through Lucania and came to Elea* by the sea-side. From hence it was thought convenient that Porcia should return to Rome. She was overcome with grief to part from Brutus, but strove as much as was possible to conceal it; but, in spite of all her constancy, a picture which she found there accidentally betrayed it. It was a Greek subject, Hector parting from Andromache when he went to engage the Greeks, giving his young son Astyanax into her arms, and she fixing her eyes upon him. When she looked at this piece, the resemblance it bore to her own condition made her burst into tears, and several times a day she went to see the picture, and wept before it. Upon this occasion, when Acilius, one of Brutus’s friends, repeated out of Homer the verses, where Andromache speaks to Hector: —

  • But Hector, you
  • To me are father and are mother too,
  • My brother, and my loving husband true,

  At length he began to act openly, and to appear in public business, and, being informed that there were several Roman ships full of treasure that in their course from Asia were to come that way, and that they were commanded by one of his friends, he went to meet him about Carystus. Finding him there, and having persuaded him to deliver up the ships, he made a more than usually splendid entertainment, for it happened also to be his birthday. Now when they came to drink, and were filling their cups with hopes for victory to Brutus and liberty to Rome, Brutus, to animate them the more, called for a larger bowl, and holding it in his hand, on a sudden upon no occasion or forethought pronounced aloud this verse: —

  But fate my death and Leto’s son have wrought.*

  And some writers add that in the last battle which he fought at Philippi the word that he gave to his soldiers was Apollo, and from thence conclude that this sudden unaccountable exclamation of his was a presage of the overthrow that he suffered there.

  Antistius, the commander of these ships, at his parting gave him fifty thousand myriads of the money that he was conveying to Italy; and all the soldiers yet remaining of Pompey’s army, who after their general’s defeat wandered about Thessaly, readily and joyfully flocked together to join him. Besides this, he took from Cinna five hundred horse that he was carrying to Dolabella into Asia. After that, he sailed to Demetrias, and there seized a great quantity of arms, that had been provided by the command of the deceased Cæsar for the Parthian war, and were now to be sent to Antony. Then Macedonia was put into his hands and delivered up by Hortensius the prætor, and all the kings and potentates round about came and offered their services. So when news was Page 329 brought that Caius, the brother of Antony, having passed over from Italy, was marching on directly to join the forces that Vatinius commanded in Dyrrhachium and Apollonia, Brutus resolved to anticipate him, and to seize them first, and in all haste moved forwards with those that he had about him. His march was very difficult, through rugged places and in a great snow, but so swift that he left those that were to bring his provisions for the morning meal a great way behind. And now, being very near to Dyrrhachium, with fatigue and cold he fell into the distemper called Bulimia. This is a disease that seizes both men and cattle after much labor, and especially in a great snow; whether it is caused by the natural heat, when the body is seized with cold, being forced all inwards, and consuming at once all the nourishment laid in, or whether the sharp and subtile vapor which comes from the snow as it dissolves, cuts the body, as it were, and destroys the heat which issues through the pores; for the sweatings seem to arise from the heat meeting with the cold, and being quenched by it on the surface of the body. But this I have in another place discussed more at large.

  Brutus growing very faint, and there being none in the whole army that had any thing for him to eat, his servants were forced to have recourse to the enemy, and, going as far as to the gates of the city, begged bread of the sentinels that were upon duty. As soon as they heard of the condition of Brutus, they came themselves, and brought both meat and drink along with them; in return for which, Brutus, when he took the city, showed the greatest kindness, not to them only, but to all the inhabitants, for their sakes. Caius Antonius, in the mean time, coming to Apollonia, summoned all the soldiers that were near that city to join him there; but finding that they nevertheless went all to Brutus, and suspecting that even those of Apollonia were inclined to the same party, he quitted that city, and came to Buthrotum, having first lost three cohorts of his men, that in their march thither were cut to pieces by Brutus. After this, attempting to make himself master of some strong places about Byllis which the enemy had first seized, he was overcome in a set battle by young Cicero, to whom Brutus gave the command, and whose conduct he made use of often and with much success. Caius himself was surprised in a marshy place, at a distance from his supports; and Brutus, having him in his power, would not suffer his soldiers to attack, but manœuvring about the enemy with his horse, gave command that none of them should be killed, for that in a little time they would all be of his side; which accordingly came to pass, for they surrendered both themselves and their general. So that Brutus had by this time a very great and considerable army. He showed all marks of honor and esteem to Caius for a long time, and left him the use of the ensigns of his office, though, as some report, he had several letters from Rome, and particularly from Cicero, advising him to put him to death. But at last, perceiving that he began to corrupt his officers, and was trying to raise a mutiny amongst the soldiers, he put him aboard a ship and kept him close prisoner. In the mean time the soldiers that had been corrupted by Caius retired to Apollonia, and sent word to Brutus, desiring him to come to them thither. He answered that this was not the custom of the Romans, but that it became those who had offended to come themselves to their general and beg forgiveness of their offences; which they did, and accordingly received their pardon.

  As he was preparing to pass into Asia, tidings reached him of the alteration that had happened at Rome; where the young Cæsar, assisted by the senate, in opposition to Antony, and having driven his competitor out of Italy, had begun himself to be very formidable, suing for the consulship contrary to law, and maintaining large bodies of troops of which the commonwealth had no manner of need. And then, perceiving that the senate, dissatisfied with his proceedings, began to cast their eyes abroad upon Brutus, and decreed and confirmed the government of several provinces to him, he had taken the alarm. Therefore despatching messengers to Antony, he desired that there might be a reconciliation, and a friendship between them. Then, drawing all his forces about the city, he made himself be chosen consul, though he was but a boy, being scarce twenty years old, as he himself writes in his memoirs. At his first entry upon the consulship he immediately ordered a judicial process to be issued out against Brutus and his accomplices for having murdered a principal man of the city, holding the highest magistracies of Rome, without being heard or condemned; and appointed Lucius Cornificius to accuse Brutus, and Marcus Agrippa to accuse Cassius. None appearing to the accusation, the judges were forced to pass sentence and condemn them both. It is reported, that when the crier from the tribunal, as the custom was, with a loud voice cited Brutus to appear, the people groaned audibly, and the noble citizens hung down their heads for grief. Publius Silicius was seen to burst out into tears, which was the cause that not long after he was put down in the list of those that were proscribed. After this, the three men, Cæsar, Antony, and Lepidus, being perfectly reconciled, shared the provinces among themselves, and made up the catalogue of proscription, wherein were set those that were designed for slaughter, amounting to two hundred men, in which number Cicero was slain.

  This news being brought to Brutus in Macedonia, he was under a compulsion, and sent orders to Hortensius that he should kill Caius Antonius in revenge of the death of Cicero his friend, and Brutus* his kinsman, who also was proscribed and slain. Upon this account it was that Antony, having afterwards taken Hortensius in the battle of Philippi, slew him upon his brother’s tomb. But Brutus expresses himself as more ashamed for the cause of Cicero’s death than grieved for the misfortune of it, and says he cannot help accusing his friends at Rome, that they were slaves more through their own doing than that of those who now were their tyrants; they could be present and see and yet suffer those things which even to hear related ought to them to have been insufferable.

  Having made his army, that was already very considerable, pass into Asia, he ordered a fleet to be prepared in Bithynia and about Cyzicus. But going himself through the country by land, he made it his business to settle and confirm all the cities, and gave audience to the princes of the parts through which he passed. And he sent orders into Syria to Cassius to come to him, and leave his intended journey into Egypt; letting him understand, that it was not to gain an empire for themselves, but to free their country, that they went thus wandering about and had got an army together whose business it was to destroy the tyrants; that therefore, if they remembered and resolved to persevere in their first purpose, they ought not to be too far from Italy, but make what haste they could thither, and endeavor to relieve their fellow-citizens from oppression.

  Cassius obeyed his summons, and returned, and Brutus went to meet him; and at Smyrna they met, which was the first time they had seen one another since they parted at the Piræus in Athens, one for Syria, and the other for Macedonia. They were both extremely joyful and had great confidence of their success at the sight of the forces that each of them had got together, since they who had fled from Italy, like the most despicable exiles, without money, without arms, without a ship or a soldier or a city to rely on, in a little time after had met together so well furnished with shipping and money, and an army both of horse and foot, that they were in a condition to contend for the empire of Rome.

  Cassius was desirous to show no less respect and honor to Brutus than Brutus did to him; but Brutus was still beforehand with him, coming for the most part to him, both because he was the elder man, and of a weaker constitution than himself. Men generally reckoned Cassius a very expert soldier, but of a harsh and angry nature, and one that desired to command rather by fear than love; though, on the other side, among his familiar acquaintance he would easily give way to jesting, and play the buffoon. But Brutus, for his virtue, was esteemed by the people, beloved by his friends, admired by the best men, and hated not by his enemies themselves. For he was a man of a singularly gentle nature, of a great spirit, insensible of the passions of anger or pleasure or covetousness; steady and inflexible to maintain his purpose for what he thought right and honest. And that which gained him the greatest affection and reputation was the entire faith in his intentions. For it had not ever been supposed that Pompey the Great himself, if he had overcome Cæsar, would have submitted his power to the laws, instead of taking the management of the state upon himself, soothing the people with the specious name of consul or dictator, or some other milder title than king. And they were well persuaded that Cassius, being a man governed by anger and passion and carried often, for his interest’s sake, beyond the bounds of justice, endured all these hardships of war and travel and danger most assuredly to obtain dominion to himself, and not liberty to the people. And as for the former disturbers of the peace of Rome, whether a Cinna, a Marius, or a Carbo, it is manifest that they, having set their country as a stake for him that should win, did almost own in express terms that they fought for empire. But even the enemies of Brutus did not, they tell us, lay this accusation to his charge; nay, many heard Antony himself say that Brutus was the only man that conspired against Cæsar out of a sense of the glory and the apparent justice of the action, but that all the rest rose up against the man himself, from private envy and malice of their own. And it is plain by what he writes himself, that Brutus did not so much rely upon his forces, as upon his own virtue. For thus he speaks in a letter to Atticus, shortly before he was to engage with the enemy: that his affairs were in the best state of fortune that he could wish; for that either he should overcome, and restore liberty to the people of Rome, or die, and be himself out of the reach of slavery; that other things being certain and beyond all hazard, one thing was yet in doubt, whether they should live or die free men. He adds further, that Mark Antony had received a just punishment for his folly, who, when he might have been numbered with Brutus and Cassius and Cato, would join himself to Octavius;* that though they should not now be both overcome, they soon would fight between themselves. And in this he seems to have been no ill prophet.

  Now when they were at Smyrna, Brutus desired of Cassius that he might have part of the great treasure that he had heaped up, because all his own was expended in furnishing out such a fleet of ships as was sufficient to keep the whole interior sea* in their power. But Cassius’s friends dissuaded him from this; “for,” said they, “it is not just that the money which you with so much parsimony keep and with so much envy have got, should be given to him to be disposed of in making himself popular, and gaining the favor of the soldiers.” Notwithstanding this, Cassius gave him a third part of all that he had; and then they parted each to their several commands. Cassius, having taken Rhodes, behaved himself there with no clemency; though at his first entry, when some had called him lord and king, he answered, that he was neither king nor lord, but the destroyer and punisher of a king and lord. Brutus, on the other part, sent to the Lycians to demand from them a supply of money and men; but Naucrates, their popular leader, persuaded the cities to resist, and they occupied several little mountains and hills, with a design to hinder Brutus’s passage. Brutus at first sent out a party of horse, which, surprising them as they were eating, killed six hundred of them; and afterwards, having taken all their small towns and villages round about, he set all his prisoners free without ransom, hoping to win the whole nation by good-will. But they continued obstinate, taking in anger what they had suffered, and despising his goodness and humanity; until, having forced the most warlike of them into the city of Xanthus, he besieged them there. They endeavored to make their escape by swimming and diving through the river that flows by the town, but were taken by nets let down for that purpose in the channel, which had little bells at the top, which gave present notice of any that were taken in them. After that, they made a sally in the night, and seizing several of the battering engines, set them on fire; but being perceived by the Romans, were beaten back to their walls, and, there being a strong wind, it carried the flames to the battlements of the city with such fierceness, that several of the adjoining houses took fire. Brutus, fearing lest the whole city should be destroyed, commanded his own soldiers to assist, and quench the fire.

  But the Lycians were on a sudden possessed with a strange and incredible desperation; such a frenzy as cannot be better expressed than by calling it a violent appetite to die, for both women and children, the bondmen and the free, those of all ages and of all conditions strove to force away the soldiers that came in to their assistance, from the walls; and themselves gathering together reeds and wood, and whatever combustible matter they found, spread the fire over the whole city, feeding it with whatever fuel they could, and by all possible means exciting its fury, so that the flame, having dispersed itself and encircled the whole city, blazed out in so terrible a manner, that Brutus, being extremely afflicted at their calamity, got on horseback and rode round the walls, earnestly desirous to preserve the city, and, stretching forth his hands to the Xanthians, begged of them that they would spare themselves and save their town. Yet none regarded his entreaties, but by all manner of ways strove to destroy themselves; not only men and women, but even boys and little children, with a hideous outcry, leaped, some into the fire, others from the walls, others fell upon their parents’ swords, baring their throats and desiring to be struck. After the destruction of the city, there was found a woman who had hanged herself with her young child hanging from her neck, and the torch in her hand, with which she had fired her own house. It was so tragical a sight, that Brutus could not endure to see it, but wept at the very relation of it, and proclaimed a reward to any soldier that could save a Xanthian. And it is said that an hundred and fifty only were found, to have their lives saved against their wills. Thus the Xanthians, after a long space of years, the fated period of their destruction having, as it were, run its course, repeated by their desperate deed the former calamity of their forefathers, who after the very same manner in the Persian war had fired their city and destroyed themselves.

  Brutus, after this, finding the Patareans resolved to make resistance and hold their city against him, was very unwilling to besiege it, and was in great perplexity lest the same frenzy might seize them too. But having in his power some of their women, who were his prisoners, he dismissed them all without any ransom; who, returning and giving an account to their husbands and fathers, who were of the greatest rank, what an excellent man Brutus was, how temperate and how just, persuaded them to yield themselves and put their city into his hands. From this time all the cities round about came into his power, submitting themselves to him, and found him good and merciful even beyond their hopes. For though Cassius at the same time had compelled the Rhodians to bring in all the silver and gold that each of them privately was possessed of, by which he raised a sum of eight thousand talents, and besides this had condemned the public to pay the sum of five hundred talents more, Brutus, not having taken above a hundred and fifty talents from the Lycians, and having done them no other manner of injury, parted from thence with his army to go into Ionia.

  Through the whole course of this expedition, Brutus did many memorable acts of justice in dispensing rewards and punishments to such as had deserved either; but one in particular I will relate, because he himself, and all the noblest Romans, were gratified with it above all the rest. When Pompey the Great, being overthrown from his great power by Cæsar, had fled to Egypt, and landed near Pelusium, the protectors of the young king consulted among themselves what was fit to be done on that occasion, nor could they all agree in the same opinion, some being for receiving him, others for driving him from Egypt. But Theodotus, a Chian by birth, and then attending upon the king as a paid teacher of rhetoric, and for want of better men admitted into the council, undertook to prove to them, that both parties were in the wrong, those that counselled to receive Pompey, and those that advised to send him away; that in their present case one thing only was truly expedient, to seize him and to kill him; and ended his argument with the proverb, that “dead men don’t bite.” The council agreed to his opinion, and Pompey the Great (an example of incredible and unforeseen events) was slain, as the sophister himself had the impudence to boast, through the rhetoric and cleverness of Theodotus. Not long after, when Cæsar came to Egypt, some of the murderers received their just reward and suffered the evil death they deserved. But Theodotus, though he had borrowed on from fortune a little further time for a poor despicable and wandering life, yet did not lie hid from Brutus as he passed through Asia; but being seized by him and executed, had his death made more memorable than was his life.

  About this time, Brutus sent to Cassius to come to him at the city of Sardis, and, when he was on his journey, went forth with his friends to meet him; and the whole army in array saluted each of them with the name of Imperator. Page 339 Now (as it usually happens in business of great concern and where many friends and many commanders are engaged), several jealousies of each other and matters of private accusation having passed between Brutus and Cassius, they resolved, before they entered upon any other business, immediately to withdraw into some apartment; where, the door being shut and they two alone, they began first to expostulate, then to dispute hotly, and accuse each other; and finally were so transported into passion as to fall to hard words, and at last burst out into tears. Their friends who stood without were amazed, hearing them loud and angry, and feared lest some mischief might follow, but yet durst not interrupt them, being commanded not to enter the room. However, Marcus Favonius, who had been an ardent admirer of Cato, and, not so much by his learning or wisdom as by his wild, vehement manner, maintained the character of a philosopher, was rushing in upon them, but was hindered by the attendants. But it was a hard matter to stop Favonius, wherever his wildness hurried him; for he was fierce in all his behavior, and ready to do any thing to get his will. And though he was a senator, yet, thinking that one of the least of his excellences, he valued himself more upon a sort of cynical liberty of speaking what he pleased, which sometimes, indeed, did away with the rudeness and unseasonableness of his addresses with those that would interpret it in jest. This Favonius, breaking by force through those that kept the doors, entered into the chamber, and with a set voice declaimed the verses that Homer makes Nestor use, —

  Be ruled, for I am older than ye both.*

  At this Cassius laughed; but Brutus thrust him out, calling him impudent dog and counterfeit Cynic; but yet for the present they let it put an end to their dispute, and parted. Cassius made a supper that night, and Brutus invited the guests; and when they were set down, Favonius, having bathed, came in among them. Brutus called out aloud and told him he was not invited, and bade him go to the upper couch; but he violently thrust himself in, and lay down on the middle one;* and the entertainment passed in sportive talk, not wanting either wit or philosophy.

  The next day after, upon the accusation of the Sardians, Brutus publicly disgraced and condemned Lucius Pella, one that had been censor of Rome, and employed in offices of trust by himself, for having embezzled the public money. This action did not a little vex Cassius; for but a few days before, two of his own friends being accused of the same crime, he only admonished them in private, but in public absolved them, and continued them in his service; and upon this occasion he accused Brutus of too much rigor and severity of justice in a time which required them to use more policy and favor. But Brutus bade him remember the Ides of March, the day when they killed Cæsar, who himself neither plundered nor pillaged mankind, but was only the support and strength of those that did; and bade him consider, that if there was any color for justice to be neglected, it had been better to suffer the injustice of Cæsar’s friends than to give impunity to their own; “for then,” said he, “we could have been accused of cowardice only; whereas now we are liable to the accusation of injustice, after all our pain and dangers which we endure.”* By which we may perceive what was Brutus’s purpose, and the rule of his actions.

  About the time that they were going to pass out of Asia into Europe, it is said that a wonderful sign was seen by Brutus. He was naturally given to much watching, and by practice and moderation in his diet had reduced his allowance of sleep to a very small amount of time. He never slept in the daytime, and in the night then only when all his business was finished, and when, every one else being gone to rest, he had nobody to discourse with him. But at this time, the war being begun, having the whole state of it to consider and being solicitous of the event, after his first sleep, which he let himself take after his supper, he spent all the rest of the night in settling his most urgent affairs; which if he could despatch early and so make a saving of any leisure, he employed himself in reading until the third watch, at which time the centurions and tribunes were used to come to him for orders. Thus one night before he passed out of Asia, he was very late all alone in his tent, with a dim light burning by him, all the rest of the camp being hushed and silent; and reasoning about something with himself and very thoughtful, he fancied some one came in, and, looking up towards the door, he saw a terrible and strange appearance of an unnatural and frightful body standing by him without speaking. Brutus boldly asked it, “What are you, of men or gods, and upon what business come to me?” The figure answered, “I am your evil genius, Brutus; you shall see me at Philippi.” To which Brutus, not at all disturbed, replied, “Then I shall see you.”

  As soon as the apparition vanished, he called his servants to him, who all told him that they had neither heard any voice nor seen any vision. So then he continued watching till the morning, when he went to Cassius, and told him of what he had seen. He, who followed the principles of Epicurus’s philosophy, and often used to dispute with Brutus concerning matters of this nature, spoke to him thus upon this occasion: “It is the opinion of our sect, Brutus, that not all that we feel or see is real and true; but that the sense is a most slippery and deceitful thing, and the mind yet more quick and subtle to put the sense in motion and affect it with every kind of change upon no real occasion of fact; just as an impression is made upon wax; and the soul of man, which has in itself both what imprints and what is imprinted on, may most easily, by its own operations, produce and assume every variety of shape and figure. This is evident from the sudden changes of our dreams; in which the imaginative principle,* once started by any trifling matter, goes through a whole series of most diverse emotions and appearances. It is its nature to be ever in motion, and its motion is fantasy or conception. But besides all this, in your case, the body, being tired and distressed with continual toil, naturally works upon the mind, and keeps it in an excited and unusual condition. But that there should be any such thing as supernatural beings,† or, if there were, that they should have human shape or voice or power that can reach to us, there is no reason for believing; though I confess I could wish that there were such beings, that we might not rely upon our arms only, and our horses and our navy, all which are so numerous and powerful, but might be confident of the assistance of gods also, in this our most sacred and honorable attempt.” With such discourses as these Cassius soothed the mind of Brutus. But just as the troops were going on board, two eagles flew and lighted on the first two ensigns, and crossed over the water with them, and never ceased following the soldiers and being fed by them till they came to Philippi, and there, but one day before the fight, they both flew away.

  Brutus had already reduced most of the places and people of these parts; but they now marched on as far as to the coast opposite Thasos, and, if there were any city or man of power that yet stood out, brought them all to subjection. At this point Norbanus was encamped, in a place called the Straits, near Symbolum. Him they surrounded in such sort that they forced him to dislodge and quit the place; and Norbanus narrowly escaped losing his whole army, Cæsar by reason of sickness being too far behind; only Antony came to his relief with such wonderful swiftness that Brutus and those with him did not believe when they heard he was come. Cæsar came up ten days after, and encamped over against Brutus, and Antony over against Cassius.

  The space between the two armies is called by the Romans the Campi Philippi. Never had two such large Roman armies come together to engage each other. That of Brutus was somewhat less in number than that of Cæsar, but in the splendidness of the men’s arms and richness of their equipage it wonderfully exceeded; for most of their arms were of gold and silver, which Brutus had lavishly bestowed among them. For though in other things he had accustomed his commanders to use all frugality and self-control, yet he thought that the riches which soldiers carried about them in their hands and on their bodies would add something of spirit to those that were desirous of glory, and would make those that were covetous and lovers of gain fight the more valiantly to preserve the arms which were their estate.

  Cæsar made a view and lustration* of his army within his trenches, and distributed only a little corn and but five drachmas to each soldier for the sacrifice they were to make. But Brutus, either pitying this poverty, or disdaining this meanness of spirit in Cæsar, first, as the custom was, made a general muster and lustration of the army in the open field, and then distributed a great number of beasts for sacrifice to every regiment, and fifty drachmas to every soldier; so that in the love of his soldiers and their readiness to fight for him Brutus had much the advantage. But at the time of lustration it is reported that an unlucky omen happened to Cassius; for his lictor, presenting him with a garland that he was to wear at sacrifice, gave it him the wrong way up. Further, it is said that some time before, at a certain solemn procession, a golden image of Victory, which was carried before Cassius, fell down by a slip of him that carried it. Besides this there appeared many birds of prey daily about the camp, and swarms of bees were seen in a place within the trenches, which place the sooth-sayers ordered to be shut out from the camp, to remove the superstition which insensibly began to infect even Cassius himself and shake him in his Epicurean philosophy, and had wholly seized and subdued the soldiers; from whence it was that Cassius was reluctant to put all to the hazard of a present battle, but advised rather to draw out the war until further time, considering that they were stronger in money and provisions, but in numbers of men and arms inferior. But Brutus, on the contrary, was still, as formerly, desirous to come with all speed to the decision of a battle; that so he might either restore his country to her liberty, or else deliver from their misery all those numbers of people whom they harassed with the expenses and the service and exactions of the war. And finding also his light-horse in several skirmishes still to have had the better, he was the more encouraged and resolved; and some of the soldiers having deserted and gone to the enemy, and others beginning to accuse and suspect one another, many of Cassius’s friends in the council changed their opinions to that of Brutus. But there was one of Brutus’s party, named Atellius, who opposed his resolution, advising rather that they should tarry over the winter. And when Brutus asked him in how much better a condition he hoped to be a year after, his answer was, “If I gain nothing else, yet I shall live so much the longer.” Cassius was much displeased at this answer; and among the rest, Atellius was had in much disesteem for it. And so it was presently resolved to give battle the next day.

  Brutus that night at supper showed himself very cheerful and full of hope, and reasoned on subjects of philosophy with his friends, and afterwards went to his rest. But Messala says that Cassius supped privately with a few of his nearest acquaintance, and appeared thoughtful and silent, contrary to his temper and custom; that after supper he took him earnestly by the hand, and speaking to him, as his manner was when he wished to show affection, in Greek, said, “Bear witness for me, Messala, that I am brought into the same necessity as Pompey the Great was before me, of hazarding the liberty of my country upon one battle; yet ought we to be of courage, relying on our good fortune, which it were unfair to mistrust, though we take evil counsels.” These, Messala says, were the last words that Cassius spoke before he bade him farewell; and that he was invited to sup with him the next night, being his birthday.*

  As soon as it was morning, the signal of battle, the scarlet coat, was set out in Brutus’s and Cassius’s camps, and they themselves met in the middle space between their two armies. There Cassius spoke thus to Brutus: “Be it as we hope, O Brutus, that this day we may overcome, and all the rest of our time may live a happy life together; but since the greatest of human concerns are the most uncertain, and since it may be difficult for us ever to see one another again, if the battle should go against us, tell me, what is your resolution concerning flight and death?” Brutus answered, “When I was young, Cassius, and unskilful in affairs, I was led, I know not how, into uttering a bold sentence in philosophy, and blamed Cato for killing himself, as thinking it an irreligious act, and not a valiant one among men, to try to evade the divine course of things, and not fearlessly to receive and undergo the evil that shall happen, but run away from it. But now in my own fortunes I am of another mind; for if Providence shall not dispose what we now undertake according to our wishes, I resolve to put no further hopes or warlike preparations to the proof, but will die contented with my fortune. For I already have given up my life to my country on the Ides of March; and have lived since then a second life for her sake, with liberty and honor.”* Cassius at these words smiled, and, embracing Brutus, said, “With these resolutions let us go on upon the enemy; for either we ourselves shall conquer, or have no cause to fear those that do.” After this they discoursed among their friends about the ordering of the battle; and Brutus desired of Cassius that he might command the right wing, though it was thought that this was more fit for Cassius, in regard both of his age and his experience. Yet even in this Cassius complied with Brutus, and placed Messala with the valiantest of all his legions in the same wing, so Brutus immediately drew out his horse, excellently well equipped, and was not long in bringing up his foot after them.

  Antony’s soldiers were casting trenches from the marsh by which they were encamped, across the plain, to cut off Cassius’s communications with the sea. Cæsar was to be at hand with his troops to support them, but he was not able to be present himself, by reason of his sickness; and his soldiers, not much expecting that the enemy would come to a set battle, but only make some excursions with their darts and light arms to disturb the men at work in the trenches, and not taking notice of the troops drawn up against them ready to give battle, were amazed when they heard the confused and great outcry that came from the trenches. In the meanwhile Brutus had sent his tickets, in which was the word of battle, to the officers; and himself riding about to all the troops, encouraged the soldiers; but there were but few of them that understood the word before they engaged; the most of them, not staying to have it delivered to them, with one impulse and cry ran upon the enemy. This disorder caused an unevenness in the line, and the legions got severed and divided one from another; that of Messala first, and afterwards the other adjoining, went beyond the left wing of Cæsar; and having just touched the extremity, without slaughtering any great number, passing round that wing, fell directly into Cæsar’s camp. Cæsar himself, as his own memoirs tell us, had but just before been conveyed away, Marcus Artorius, one of his friends, having had a dream bidding Cæsar be carried out of the camp. And it was believed that he was slain; for the soldiers had pierced his litter, which was left empty, in many places with their darts and pikes. There was a great slaughter in the camp that was taken, and two thousand Lacedæmonians that were newly come to the assistance of Cæsar were all cut off together.

  The rest of the army, that had not gone round but had engaged the front, easily overthrew them, finding them in great disorder, and slew upon the place three legions; and being carried on with the stream of victory, pursuing those that fled, fell into the camp with them, Brutus himself being there. But they that were conquered took the advantage in their extremity of what the conquerers did not consider. For they fell upon that part of the main body which had been left exposed and separated, where the right wing had broke off from them and hurried away in the pursuit; yet they could not break into the midst of their battle, but were received with strong resistance and obstinacy. Yet they put to flight the left wing, where Cassius commanded, being in great disorder, and ignorant of what had passed on the other wing; and, pursuing them to their camp, they pillaged and destroyed it, neither of their generals being present; for Antony, they say, to avoid the fury of the first onset, had retired into the marsh that was hard by; and Cæsar was nowhere to be found after his being conveyed out of the tents; though some of the soldiers showed Brutus their swords bloody, and declared that they had killed him, describing his person and his age. By this time also the centre of Brutus’s battle had driven back their opponents with great slaughter; and Brutus was everywhere plainly conqueror, as on the other side Cassius was conquered. And this one mistake was the ruin of their affairs, that Brutus did not come to the relief of Cassius, thinking that he, as well as himself, was conqueror; and that Cassius did not expect the relief of Brutus, thinking that he too was overcome. For as a proof that the victory was on Brutus’s side, Messala urges his taking three eagles and many ensigns of the enemy without losing any of his own. But now, returning from the pursuit after having plundered Cæsar’s camp, Brutus wondered that he could not see Cassius’s tent standing high, as it was wont, and appearing above the rest, nor other things appearing as they had been; for they had been immediately pulled down and pillaged by the enemy upon their first falling into the camp. But some that had a quicker and longer sight than the rest acquainted Brutus that they saw a great deal of shining armor and silver targets moving to and fro in Cassius’s camp, and that they thought, by their number and the fashion of their armor, they could not be those that they left to guard the camp; but yet that there did not appear so great a number of dead bodies thereabouts as it was probable there would have been after the actual defeat of so many legions. This first made Brutus suspect Cassius’s misfortune, and, leaving a guard in the enemy’s camp, he called back those that were in the pursuit, and rallied them together to lead them to the relief of Cassius, whose fortune had been as follows.

  First, he had been angry at the onset that Brutus’s soldiers made, without the word of battle or command to charge. Then, after they had overcome, he was as much displeased to see them rush on to the plunder and spoil, and neglect to surround and encompass the rest of the enemy. Besides this, letting himself act by delay and expectation, rather than command boldly and with a clear purpose, he got hemmed in by the right wing of the enemy, and, his horse making with all haste their escape and flying towards the sea, the foot also began to give way, which he perceiving labored as much as ever he could to hinder their flight and bring them back; and, snatching an ensign out of the hand of one that fled, he stuck it at his feet, though he could hardly keep even his own personal guard together. So that at last he was forced to fly with a few about him to a little hill that overlooked the plain. But he himself, being weak-sighted, discovered nothing, only the destruction of his camp, and that with difficulty. But they that were with him saw a great body of horse moving towards him, the same whom Brutus had sent. Cassius believed these were enemies, and in pursuit of him; however, he sent away Titinius, one of those that were with him, to learn what they were. As soon as Brutus’s horse saw him coming, and knew him to be a friend and a faithful servant of Cassius, those of them that were his more familiar acquaintance, shouting out for joy and alighting from their horses, shook hands and embraced him, and the rest rode round about him singing and shouting, through their excess of gladness at the sight of him. But this was the occasion of the greatest mischief that could be. For Cassius really thought that Titinius had been taken by the enemy, and cried out, “Through too much fondness of life, I have lived to endure the sight of my friend taken by the enemy before my face.” After which words he retired into an empty tent, taking along with him only Pindarus, one of his freedmen, whom he had reserved for such an occasion ever since the disasters in the expedition against the Parthians, when Crassus was slain. From the Parthians he came away in safety; but now, pulling up his mantle over his head, he made his neck bare, and held it forth to Pindarus, commanding him to strike. The head was certainly found lying severed from the body. But no man ever saw Pindarus after, from which some suspected that he had killed his master without his command. Soon after they perceived who the horsemen were, and saw Titinius, crowned with garlands, making what haste he could towards Cassius. But as soon as he understood by the cries and lamentations of his afflicted friends the unfortunate error and death of his general, he drew his sword, and having very much accused and upbraided his own long stay, that had caused it, he slew himself.

  Brutus, as soon as he was assured of the defeat of Cassius, made haste to him; but heard nothing of his death till he came near his camp. Then having lamented over his body, calling him “the last of the Romans,” it being impossible that the city should ever produce another man of so great a spirit, he sent away the body to be buried at Thasos, lest celebrating his funeral within the camp might breed some disorder. He then gathered the soldiers together and comforted them; and, seeing them destitute of all things necessary, he promised to every man two thousand drachmas in recompense of what he had lost. They at these words took courage, and were astonished at the magnificence of the gift; and waited upon him at his parting with shouts and praises, magnifying him for the only general of all the four who was not overcome in the battle. And indeed the action itself testified that it was not without reason he believed he should conquer; for with a few legions he overthrew all that resisted him; and if all his soldiers had fought, and the most of them had not passed beyond the enemy in pursuit of the plunder, it is very likely that he had utterly defeated every part of them.

  There fell of his side eight thousand men, reckoning the servants of the army, whom Brutus calls Briges; and on the other side, Messala says his opinion is that there were slain above twice that number. For which reason they were more out of heart than Brutus, until a servant of Cassius, named Demetrius, came in the evening to Antony, and brought to him the garment which he had taken from the dead body, and his sword; at the sight of which they were so encouraged, that, as soon as it was morning, they drew out their whole force into the field, and stood in battle array. But Brutus found both his camps wavering and in disorder; for his own, being filled with prisoners, required a guard more strict than ordinary over them; and that of Cassius was uneasy at the change of general, besides some envy and rancor, which those that were conquered bore to that part of the army which had been conquerors. Wherefore he thought it convenient to put his army in array, but to abstain from fighting. All the slaves that were taken prisoners, of whom there was a great number that were mixed up, not without suspicion, among the soldiers, he commanded to be slain; but of the freemen and citizens, some he dismissed, saying that among the enemy they were rather prisoners than with him, for with them they were captives and slaves, but with him freemen and citizens of Rome. But he was forced to hide and help them to escape privately, perceiving that his friends and officers were bent upon revenge against them. Among the captives there was one Volumnius, a player, and Sacculio, a buffoon; of these Brutus took no manner of notice, but his friends brought them before him, and accused them that even then in that condition they did not refrain from their jests and scurrilous language. Brutus, having his mind taken up with other affairs, said nothing to their accusation; but the judgment of Messala Corvinus was, that they should be whipped publicly upon a stage, and so sent naked to the captains of the enemy, to show them what sort of fellow drinkers and companions they took with them on their campaigns. At this some that were present laughed; and Publius Casca, he that gave the first wound to Cæsar, said, “We do ill to jest and make merry at the funeral of Cassius. But you, O Brutus,” he added, “will show what esteem you have for the memory of that general, according as you punish or preserve alive those who will scoff and speak shamefully of him.” To this Brutus, in great discomposure, replied, “Why then, Casca, do you ask me about it, and not do yourselves what you think fitting?” This answer of Brutus was taken for his consent to the death of these wretched men; so they were carried away and slain.

  After this he gave the soldiers the reward that he had promised them; and having slightly reproved them for having fallen upon the enemy in disorder without the word of battle or command, he promised them, that if they behaved themselves bravely in the next engagement, he would give them up two cities to spoil and plunder, Thessalonica and Lacedæmon. This is the one indefensible thing of all that is found fault with in the life of Brutus; though true it may be that Antony and Cæsar were much more cruel in the rewards that they gave their soldiers after victory; for they drove out, one might almost say, all the old inhabitants of Italy, to put their soldiers in possession of other men’s lands and cities. But indeed their only design and end in undertaking the war was to obtain dominion and empire, whereas Brutus, for the reputation of his virtue, could not be permitted either to overcome or save himself but with justice and honor, especially after the death of Cassius, who was generally accused of having been his adviser to some things that he had done with less clemency. But now, as in a ship, when the rudder is broken by a storm, the mariners fit and nail on some other piece of wood instead of it, striving against the danger not well, but as well as in that necessity they can, so Brutus, being at the head of so great an army, in a time of such uncertainty, having no commander equal to his need, was forced to make use of those that he had, and to do and to say many things according to their advice; which was, in effect, whatever might conduce to the bringing of Cassius’s soldiers into better order. For they were very headstrong and intractable, bold and insolent in the camp for want of their general, but in the field cowardly and fearful, remembering that they had been beaten.

  Neither were the affairs of Cæsar and Antony in any better posture; for they were straitened for provision, and, the camp being in a low ground, they expected to pass a very hard winter. For being driven close upon the marshes, and a great quantity of rain, as is usual in autumn, having fallen after the battle, their tents were all filled with mire and water, which through the coldness of the weather immediately froze. And while they were in this condition, there was news brought to them of their loss at sea. For Brutus’s fleet fell upon their ships, which were bringing a great supply of soldiers out of Italy, and so entirely defeated them, that but very few of the men escaped being slain, and they too were forced by famine to feed upon the sails and tackle of the ship. As soon as they heard this, they made what haste they could to come to the decision of a battle, before Brutus should have notice of his good success. For it had so happened that the fight both by sea and land was on the same day, but by some misfortune, rather than the fault of his commanders, Brutus knew not of his victory twenty days after. For had he been informed of this, he would not have been brought to a second battle, since he had sufficient provisions for his army for a long time, and was very advantageously posted, his camp being well sheltered from the cold weather, and almost inaccessible to the enemy, and his being absolute master of the sea, and having at land overcome on that side wherein he himself was engaged, would have made him full of hope and confidence. But it seems, the state of Rome not enduring any longer to be governed by many, but necessarily requiring a monarchy, the divine power, that it might remove out of the way the only man that was able to resist him that could control the empire, cut off his good fortune from coming to the ears of Brutus; though it came but a very little too late, for the very evening before the fight, Clodius, a deserter from the enemy, came and announced that Cæsar had received advice of the loss of his fleet, and for that reason was in such haste to come to a battle. But his story met with no credit, nor was he so much as seen by Brutus, being simply set down as one that had had no good information, or invented lies to bring himself into favor.

  The same night, they say, the vision appeared again to Brutus, in the same shape that it did before, but vanished without speaking. But Publius Volumnius, a philosopher, and one that had from the beginning borne arms with Brutus, makes no mention of this apparition, but says that the first eagle was covered with a swarm of bees, and that there was one of the captains whose arm of itself sweated oil of roses, and, though they often dried and wiped it, yet it would not cease; and that immediately before the battle, two eagles falling upon each other fought in the space between the two armies, that the whole field kept incredible silence and all were intent upon the spectacle, until at last that which was on Brutus’s side yielded and fled. But the story of the Ethiopian is very famous, who meeting the standardbearer at the opening the gate of the camp, was cut to pieces by the soldiers, that took it for an ill omen.

  Brutus, having brought his army into the field and set them in array against the enemy, paused a long while before he would fight; for, as he was reviewing the troops, suspicions were excited, and informations laid against some of them. Besides, he saw his horse not very eager to begin the action, and waiting to see what the foot would do. Then suddenly Camulatus, a very good soldier, and one whom for his valor he highly esteemed, riding hard by Brutus himself, went over to the enemy, the sight of which grieved Brutus exceedingly. So that partly out of anger, and partly out of fear of some greater treason and desertion, he immediately drew on his forces upon the enemy, the sun now declining, about three of the clock in the afternoon. Brutus on his side had the better, and pressed hard on the left wing, which gave way and retreated; and the horse too fell in together with the foot, when they saw the enemy in disorder. But the other wing, when the officers extended the line to avoid its being encompassed, the numbers being inferior, got drawn out too thin in the centre, and was so weak here that they could not withstand the charge, but at the first onset fled. After defeating these, the enemy at once took Brutus in the rear, who all the while performed all that was possible for an expert general and valiant soldier, doing every thing in the peril, by counsel and by hand, that might recover the victory. But that which had been his superiority in the former fight was to his prejudice in this second. For in the first fight, that part of the enemy which was beaten was killed on the spot; but of Cassius’s soldiers that fled few had been slain, and those that escaped, daunted with their defeat, infected the other and larger part of the army with their want of spirit and their disorder. Here Marcus, the son of Cato, was slain, fighting and behaving himself with great bravery in the midst of the youth of the highest rank and greatest valor. He would neither fly nor give the least ground, but, still fighting and declaring who he was and naming his father’s name, he fell upon a heap of dead bodies of the enemy. And of the rest, the bravest were slain in defending Brutus.

  There was in the field one Lucilius, an excellent man and a friend of Brutus, who, seeing some barbarian horse taking no notice of any other in the pursuit, but galloping at full speed after Brutus, resolved to stop them, though with the hazard of his life; and, letting himself fall a little behind, he told them that he was Brutus. They believed him the rather, because he prayed to be carried to Antony, as if he feared Cæsar, but durst trust him. They, overjoyed with their prey, and thinking themselves wonderfully fortunate, carried him along with them in the night, having first sent messengers to Antony of their coming. He was much pleased, and came to meet them; and all the rest that heard that Brutus was taken and brought alive, flocked together to see him some pitying his fortune, others accusing him of a meanness unbecoming his former glory, that out of too much love of life he would be a prey to barbarians. When they Page 358 came near together, Antony stood still, considering with himself in what manner he should receive Brutus. But Lucilius, being brought up to him, with great confidence said: “Be assured, Antony, that no enemy either has taken or ever shall take Marcus Brutus alive (forbid it, heaven, that fortune should ever so much prevail above virtue), but he shall be found, alive or dead, as becomes himself. As for me, I am come hither by a cheat that I put upon your soldiers, and am ready, upon this occasion, to suffer any severities you will inflict.” All were amazed to hear Lucilius speak these words. But Antony, turning himself to those that brought him, said: “I perceive, my fellow-soldiers, that you are concerned and take it ill that you have been thus deceived, and think yourselves abused and injured by it; but know that you have met with a booty better than that you sought. For you were in search of an enemy, but you have brought me here a friend. For indeed I am uncertain how I should have used Brutus, if you had brought him alive; but of this I am sure, that it is better to have such men as Lucilius our friends than our enemies.” Having said this, he embraced Lucilius, and for the present commended him to the care of one of his friends, and ever after found him a steady and a faithful friend.

  Brutus had now passed a little brook, running among trees and under steep rocks, and, it being night, would go no further, but sat down in a hollow place with a great rock projecting before it, with a few of his officers and friends about him. At first, looking up to heaven, that was then full of stars, he repeated two verses, one of which, Volumnius writes, was this: —

  Punish, great Jove, the author of these ills.

  The other he says he has forgot. Soon after, naming severally all his friends that had been slain before his face in the battle, he groaned heavily, especially at the mentioning of Flavius and Labeo, the latter his lieutenant, and the other chief officer of his engineers. In the mean time, one of his companions, that was very thirsty and saw Brutus in the same condition, took his helmet and ran to the brook for water, when, a noise being heard from the other side of the river, Volumnius, taking Dardanus, Brutus’s armor-bearer, with him, went out to see what it was. They returned in a short space, and enquired about the water. Brutus, smiling with much meaning, said to Volumnius, “It is all drunk; but you shall have some more fetched.” But he that had brought the first water, being sent again, was in great danger of being taken by the enemy, and, having received a wound, with much difficulty escaped.

  Now Brutus guessing that not many of his men were slain in the fight, Statyllius undertook to dash through the enemy (for there was no other way), and to see what was become of their camp; and promised, if he found all things there safe, to hold up a torch for a signal, and then return. The torch was held up, for Statyllius got safe to the camp; but when after a long time he did not return, Brutus said, “If Statyllius be alive, he will come back.” But it happened that in his return he fell into the enemy’s hands, and was slain.

  The night now being far spent, Brutus, as he was sitting, leaned his head towards his servant Clitus and spoke to him; he answered him not, but fell a weeping. After that, he drew aside his armor-bearer, Dardanus, and had some discourse with him in private. At last, speaking to Volumnius in Greek, he reminded him of their common studies and former discipline, and begged that he would take hold of his sword with him, and help him to thrust it through him. Volumnius put away his request, and several others did the like; and some one saying, that there was no staying there, but they needs must fly, Brutus, rising up, said, “Yes, indeed, we must fly, but not with our feet, but with our hands.” Then giving each of them his right hand, with a countenance full of pleasure, he said, that he found an infinite satisfaction in this, that none of his friends had been false to him; that as for fortune, he was angry with that only for his country’s sake; as for himself, he thought himself much more happy than they who had overcome, not only as he had been a little time ago, but even now in his present condition; since he was leaving behind him such a reputation of his virtue as none of the conquerors with all their arms and riches should ever be able to acquire, no more than they could hinder posterity from believing and saying, that, being unjust and wicked men, they had destroyed the just and the good, and usurped a power to which they had no right. After this, having exhorted and entreated all about him to provide for their own safety, he withdrew from them with two or three only of his peculiar friends; Strato was one of these, with whom he had contracted an acquaintance when they studied rhetoric together. Him he placed next to himself, and, taking hold of the hilt of his sword and directing it with both his hands, he fell upon it, and killed himself. But others say, that not he himself, but Strato, at the earnest entreaty of Brutus, turning aside his head, held the sword, upon which he violently throwing himself, it pierced his breast, and he immediately died. This same Strato, Messala, a friend of Brutus, being after reconciled to Cæsar, brought to him once at his leisure, and with tears in his eyes said, “This, O Cæsar, is the man that did the last friendly office to my beloved Brutus.” Upon which Cæsar received him kindly; and had good use of him in his labors and his battles at Actium, being one of the Greeks that proved their bravery in his service. It is reported of Messala himself, that, when Cæsar once gave him this commendation, that though he was his fiercest enemy at Philippi in the cause of Brutus, yet he had shown himself his most entire friend in the fight of Actium, he answered, “You have always found me, Cæsar, on the best and justest side.”

  Brutus’s dead body was found by Antony, who commanded the richest purple mantle that he had to be thrown over it, and afterwards the mantle being stolen, he found the thief, and had him put to death. He sent the ashes of Brutus to his mother Servilia. As for Porcia his wife, Nicolaus the philosopher and Valerius Maximus write, that, being desirous to die, but being hindered by her friends, who continually watched her, she snatched some burning charcoal out of the fire, and, shutting it close in her mouth, stifled herself, and died. Though there is a letter current from Brutus to his friends, in which he laments the death of Porcia, and accuses them for neglecting her so that she desired to die rather than languish with her disease. So that it seems Nicolaus was mistaken in the time; for this epistle (if it indeed is authentic, and truly Brutus’s) gives us to understand the malady and love of Porcia, and the way in which her death occurred.

  [* ]Noted, I believe he means, for their false style — as not to be imitated.

  [* ]Deiotarus, king of the Galatians of Asia Minor, is the person meant. The error is supposed to be Plutarch’s.

  [* ]Quidquid vult, valde vult; the words are recorded by Cicero in the Letters to Atticus, xiv., 1, — where Brutus’s speech in favor of Deiotarus is also mentioned.

  [* ]An exedra. These were chambers or saloons attached to colonnades and porticos, as, for example, to those which surrounded the great buildings for public amusements, called the thermæ, from the baths, which formed but one part of them. They might be said to correspond to modern reading-rooms, and were used by the lecturers in rhetoric and philosophy. For Pompey’s famous theatre, see his Life, in Vol. IV., p. 101, and a note at the end of the volume.

  [* ]The temple of Tellus, in the Carinæ.

  [* ]Velia, called Elea in Greek, a little south of Pæstum

  [* ]Leto is the Greek name of the mother of Apollo, for which Latona is the Latin form. The verse is from the sixteenth Iliad (849) part of the dying words of Patroclus.

  [* ]Decimus Brutus Albinus, who had been put to death by Antony’s orders in Cisalpine Gaul.

  [* ]Octavius is the name which Brutus studiously gives to the young Cæsar, afterwards called Augustus, who was indeed by birth and blood properly so named, and only as an adopted son had ceased to be Octavius, and had become Cæsar Octavianus.

  [* ]The interior sea is the Mediterranean, for which, as a whole, the Greeks and Romans had no distinguishing name.

  [* ]Nestor’s address to Agamemnon and Achilles in the midst of their quarrel, in the first book of the Iliad (I., 259). “Impudent Dog” is of course pointed at the derivation of the term Cynic. They had called Antisthenes Cyna, or dog, and Cynic was the epithet of those that copied his manner.

  [* ]Of the three couches or sofas (for their breadth more resembling beds) which formed the furniture of the Roman dining-room, the triclinium, the middle was the couch of honor, and the lower that of the master of the house. Brutus would be on the one, Cassius on the other.

  [* ]The last words are uncertain; the common reading seems in part to be derived from Amyot, whose translation has had for Plutarch’s translators an authority almost like that of the Vulgate.

  [* ]The Greek term for the imaginative principle is the phantasticon (phantasia and memory are, says Aristotle, what brutes have); it is imagination in its lowest sense of the faculty of reproducing images. It is always, says Cassius, in motion, and its motion consists in seeing, hearing, and perceiving things of its own making.

  [† ]Supernatural beings is, in the Greek, daimones, daimons, or, etymologically — dæmons, unseen, preterhuman agencies; gods is the proper word (theos, the Latin deus) usually so rendered.

  [* ]The lustration was a general cleaning, to which, as to many other disagreeable things, it was made a point to assign a sacred character. So in the Iliad (I., 312), while the ship is sailing, carrying back his daughter to Chryses and conveying the propitiation to Apollo, “Agamemnon bids the people clean themselves of their pollutions; they clean themselves, and cast their pollutions in the sea.”

  [* ]The text is a little ambiguous, but it appears, by another authority, that the birthday was that of Cassius, so that Messala was the invited guest, not vice versa.

  [* ]He means, I believe, that he considers himself to have given away his life once for all on the Ides of March; since then he did not regard himself to have, properly, any life of his own at all; he had, however, for his country’s sake, lived a subsequent, second, and as it were extra life, and this, too, honorably. “The divine course of things” just above is in the Greek the daimon, the word rendered by “Providence” is God, or a god.

  Life of Brutus,pages 325 , 326 . — Letters of Brutus to Cicero and to Atticus, in which the phrases quoted by Plutarch occur, have come down to us in a series from Cicero to Brutus (Epist. ad Brutum, I. 16, 17). But this whole collection also is regarded with suspicion.

  Page 329 . — Plutarch discusses the nature of this ravenous or famishing oxhunger (as the Greek word is), in the Symposiac Questions (VI. 8).

  Page 339 . — Favonius might very aptly quote the whole passage from Homer:

  • Ah me, truly great grief to the land of Achaia is coming,
  • Truly would Priam be glad and all the children of Priam,
  • And every Trojan else he greatly rejoiced in his spirit,
  • Should he be told the news of you contending together,
  • Who are in counsel best of the Danaans, and in the battle.
  • Be persuaded; you are, both of you, younger than I am.
  • I have consorted ere this with men much greater than you are — etc.

  Page 358 . — Punish, great Jove, Euripides, Medea, 332. It has been thought that by the verse which Volumnius says he forgot we may understand two which Dion Cassius gives. “Alas, poor Virtue, you were, it seems, a mere word, I practised you as a reality, but you were the slave of fortune.” This, however, was a very well-known commonplace on the subject, and Dion’s statement must be considered quite doubtful.

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  5: Session IV: Julius Ceasar II: Moral Virtue and Tragic Error

  Drawing on Plutarch, Shakespeare’s first great tragedy explores the perils of politics and conspiracy in the late Roman republic. The real tragic figure, however, is not Caesar (who is killed half-way through the play), but Brutus, whose noble nature and love of liberty lead to assassination, civil war, and his own death. That the envious Cassius has a better grasp of “means and ends” than the principled Brutus raises interesting questions about the methods required for success in politics. Is there a point where adherence to principle and moral integrity become a liability even in a good cause?

  William Shakespeare, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, ed. with a glossary by W.J. Craig M.A. (Oxford University Press, 1916).

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1616 on 2008-08-21

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  JULIUS CÆSAR

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

  JULIUS CæSAR. }	Triumvirs after the Death of Julius Cæsar.
  OCTAVIUS CæSAR, }
  MARCUS ANTONIUS, }
  M. ÆMILIUS LEPIDUS, }
  CICERO, }	Senators.
  PUBLIUS, }
  POPILIUS LENA, }
  MARCUS BRUTUS, }	Conspirators against Julius Cæsar.
  CASSIUS, }
  CASCA, }
  TREBONIUS, }
  LIGARIUS, }
  DECIUS BRUTUS, }
  METELLUS CIMBER, }
  CINNA, }
  FLAVIUS and MARULLUS,	Tribunes.
  ARTEMIDORUS,	a Sophist of Cnidos.
  A Soothsayer:
  CINNA,	a Poet.
  Another Poet.
  LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, Young CATO, and VOLUMNIUS; Friends to Brutus and Cassius.
  VARRO, CLITUS, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, LUCIUS, DARDANIUS; Servants to Brutus.
  PINDARUS,	Servant to Cassius.
  CALPHURNIA,	Wife to Cæsar.
  PORTIA,	Wife to Brutus.
  Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c.

  Scene.—During a great part of the Play, at Rome; afterwards, Sardis and near Philippi.

  ACT I.

  Scene I.—

  Rome. A Street.

  EnterFlavius, Marullus,and certain Commoners.

  Flav.

  Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home:

  Is this a holiday? What! know you not,

  Being mechanical, you ought not walk

  Upon a labouring day without the sign

  Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?

  First Com.

  Why, sir, a carpenter.

  Mar.

  Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule?

  What dost thou with thy best apparel on?

  You, sir, what trade are you?

  Second Com.

  Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

  Mar.

  But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.

  Sec. Com.

  A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.

  Mar.

  What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade?

  Sec. Com.

  Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

  Mar.

  What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!

  Sec. Com.

  Why, sir, cobble you.

  Flav.

  Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

  Sec. Com.

  Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman’s matters, nor women’s matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat’s leather have gone upon my handiwork.

  Flav.

  But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day?

  Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

  Sec. Com.

  Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Cæsar and to rejoice in his triumph.

  Mar.

  Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?

  What tributaries follow him to Rome

  To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?

  You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!

  O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,

  Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft

  Have you climb’d 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?

  Be gone!

  Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,

  Pray to the gods to intermit the plague

  That needs must light on this ingratitude.

  Flav.

  Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault

  Assemble all the poor men of your sort;

  Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears

  Into the channel, till the lowest stream

  Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

  [Exeunt all the Commoners.

  See whe’r their basest metal be not mov’d;

  They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.

  Go you down that way towards the Capitol;

  This way will I. Disrobe the images

  If you do find them deck’d with ceremonies.

  Mar.

  May we do so?

  You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

  Flav.

  It is no matter; let no images

  Be hung with Cæsar’s trophies. I’ll about

  And drive away the vulgar from the streets:

  So do you too where you perceive them thick.

  These growing feathers pluck’d from Cæsar’s wing

  Will make him fly an ordinary pitch,

  Who else would soar above the view of men

  And keep us all in servile fearfulness.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene II.—

  The Same. A Public Place.

  Enter, in procession, with music,Cæsar; Antony,for the course;Calphurnia, Portia, Decius, Cicero, Brutus, Cassius,andCasca;a great crowd following, among them a Soothsayer.

  Cæs.

  Calphurnia!

  Casca.

  Peace, ho! Cæsar speaks.

  [Music ceases.

  Cæs.

  Calphurnia!

  Cal.

  Here, my lord.

  Cæs.

  Stand you directly in Antonius’ way

  When he doth run his course. Antonius!

  Ant.

  Cæsar, my lord.

  Cæs.

  Forget not, in your speed, Antonius,

  To touch Calphurnia; for our elders say,

  The barren, touched in this holy chase,

  Shake off their sterile curse.

  Ant.

  I shall remember:

  When Cæsar says ‘Do this,’ it is perform’d.

  Cæs.

  Set on; and leave no ceremony out.

  [Music.

  Sooth.

  Cæsar!

  Cæs.

  Ha! Who calls?

  Casca.

  Bid every noise be still: peace yet again!

  [Music ceases.

  Cæs.

  Who is it in the press that calls on me?

  I hear a tongue, shriller than all the music,

  Cry ‘Cæsar.’ Speak; Cæsar is turn’d to hear.

  Sooth.

  Beware the ides of March.

  Cæs.

  What man is that?

  Bru.

  A soothsayer bids you beware the ides of March.

  Cæs.

  Set him before me; let me see his face.

  Cas.

  Fellow, come from the throng; look upon Cæsar.

  Cæs.

  What sayst thou to me now? Speak once again.

  Sooth.

  Beware the ides of March.

  Cæs.

  He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.

  [Sennet. Exeunt all butBrutusandCassius.

  Cas.

  Will you go see the order of the course?

  Bru.

  Not I.

  Cas.

  I pray you, do.

  Bru.

  I am not gamesome: I do lack some part

  Of that quick spirit that is in Antony.

  Let me not hinder, Cassius, your desires;

  I’ll leave you.

  Cas.

  Brutus, I do observe you now of late:

  I have not from your eyes that gentleness

  And show of love as I was wont to have:

  You bear too stubborn and too strange a hand

  Over your friend that loves you.

  Bru.

  Cassius,

  Be not deceiv’d: if I have veil’d my look,

  I turn the trouble of my countenance

  Merely upon myself. Vexed I am

  Of late with passions of some difference,

  Conceptions only proper to myself,

  Which give some soil perhaps to my behaviours;

  But let not therefore my good friends be griev’d,—

  Among which number, Cassius, be you one,—

  Nor construe any further my neglect,

  Than that poor Brutus, with himself at war,

  Forgets the shows of love to other men.

  Cas.

  Then, Brutus, I have much mistook your passion;

  By means whereof this breast of mine hath buried

  Thoughts of great value, worthy cogitations.

  Tell me, good Brutus, can you see your face?

  Bru.

  No, Cassius; for the eye sees not itself,

  But by reflection, by some other things.

  Cas.

  ’Tis just:

  And it is very much lamented, Brutus,

  That you have no such mirrors as will turn

  Your hidden worthiness into your eye,

  That you might see your shadow. I have heard,

  Where many of the best respect in Rome,—

  Except immortal Cæsar,—speaking of Brutus,

  And groaning underneath this age’s yoke,

  Have wish’d that noble Brutus had his eyes.

  Bru.

  Into what dangers would you lead me, Cassius,

  That you would have me seek into myself

  For that which is not in me?

  Cas.

  Therefore, good Brutus, be prepar’d to hear;

  And, since you know you cannot see yourself

  So well as by reflection, I, your glass,

  Will modestly discover to yourself

  That of yourself which you yet know not of.

  And be not jealous on me, gentle Brutus:

  Were I a common laugher, or did use

  To stale with ordinary oaths my love

  To every new protester; if you know

  That I do fawn on men and hug them hard,

  And after scandal them; or if you know

  That I profess myself in banqueting

  To all the rout, then hold me dangerous.

  [Flourish and shout.

  Bru.

  What means this shouting? I do fear the people

  Choose Cæsar for their king.

  Cas.

  Ay, do you fear it?

  Then must I think you would not have it so.

  Bru.

  I would not, Cassius; yet I love him well.

  But wherefore do you hold me here so long?

  What is it that you would impart to me?

  If it be aught toward the general good,

  Set honour in one eye and death i’ the other,

  And I will look on both indifferently;

  For let the gods so speed me as I love

  The name of honour more than I fear death.

  Cas.

  I know that virtue to be in you, Brutus,

  As well as I do know your outward favour.

  Well, honour 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 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,

  Accoutred as I was, I plunged in

  And bade him follow; so, indeed he did.

  The torrent roar’d, and we did buffet it

  With lusty sinews, throwing it aside

  And stemming it with hearts of controversy;

  But ere we could arrive the point propos’d,

  Cæsar cried, ‘Help me, Cassius, or I sink!’

  I, as Æneas, our great ancestor,

  Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder

  The old Anchises 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 colour 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.

  [Flourish. Shout.

  Bru.

  Another general shout!

  I do believe that these applauses are

  For some new honours that are heaped on Cæsar.

  Cas.

  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 dishonourable 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 ’em,

  ‘Brutus’ will start a spirit as soon as ‘Cæsar.’

  Now, in the names of all the gods at once,

  Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed,

  That he is grown so great? Age, thou art sham’d!

  Rome, thou hast lost the breed of noble bloods!

  When went there by an age, since the great flood,

  But it was fam’d with more than with one man?

  When could they say, till now, that talk’d of Rome,

  That her wide walls encompass’d but one man?

  Now is it Rome indeed and room enough,

  When there is in it but one only man.

  O! you and I have heard our fathers say,

  There was a Brutus once that would have brook’d

  Th’ eternal devil to keep his state in Rome

  As easily as a king.

  Bru.

  That you do love me, I am nothing jealous;

  What you would work me to, I have some aim:

  How I have thought of this and of these times,

  I shall recount hereafter; for this present,

  I would not, so with love I might entreat you,

  Be any further mov’d. What you have said

  I will consider; what you have to say

  I will with patience hear, and find a time

  Both meet to hear and answer such high things.

  Till then, my noble friend, chew upon this:

  Brutus had rather be a villager

  Than to repute himself a son of Rome

  Under these hard conditions as this time

  Is like to lay upon us.

  Cas.

  I am glad

  That my weak words have struck but thus much show

  Of fire from Brutus.

  Bru.

  The games are done and Cæsar is returning.

  Cas.

  As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve,

  And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you

  What hath proceeded worthy note to-day.

  Re-enterCæsarand his Train.

  Bru.

  I will do so. But, look you, Cassius,

  The angry spot doth glow on Cæsar’s brow,

  And all the rest look like a chidden train:

  Calphurnia’s cheek is pale, and Cicero

  Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes

  As we have seen him in the Capitol,

  Being cross’d in conference by some senators.

  Cas.

  Casca will tell us what the matter is.

  Cæs.

  Antonius!

  Ant.

  Cæsar.

  Cæs.

  Let me have men about me that are fat;

  Sleek-headed men and such as sleep o’ nights.

  Yond Cassius has a lean and hungry look;

  He thinks too much: such men are dangerous:

  Ant.

  Fear him not, Cæsar, he’s not dangerous;

  He is a noble Roman, and well given.

  Cæs.

  Would he were fatter! but I fear him not:

  Yet if my name were liable to fear,

  I do not know the man I should avoid

  So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;

  He is a great observer, and he looks

  Quite through the deeds of men; he loves no plays,

  As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music;

  Seldom he smiles, and smiles in such a sort

  As if he mock’d himself, and scorn’d his spirit

  That could be mov’d to smile at any thing.

  Such men as he be never at heart’s ease

  Whiles they behold a greater than themselves,

  And therefore are they very dangerous.

  I rather tell thee what is to be fear’d

  Than what I fear, for always I am Cæsar.

  Come on my right hand, for this ear is deaf,

  And tell me truly what thou think’st of him.

  [Sennet. ExeuntCæsarand his Train.Cascastays behind.

  Casca.

  You pull’d me by the cloak; would you speak with me?

  Bru.

  Ay, Casca; tell us what hath chanc’d to-day,

  That Cæsar looks so sad.

  Casca.

  Why, you were with him, were you not?

  Bru.

  I should not then ask Casca what had chanc’d.

  Casca.

  Why, there was a crown offered him; and, being offered him, he put it by with the back of his hand, thus; and then the people fell a-shouting.

  Bru.

  What was the second noise for?

  Casca.

  Why, for that too.

  Cas.

  They shouted thrice: what was the last cry for?

  Casca.

  Why, for that too.

  Bru.

  Was the crown offered him thrice?

  Casca.

  Ay, marry, was ’t, and he put it by thrice, everytime gentler than other; and at every putting-by mine honest neighbours shouted.

  Cas.

  Who offered him the crown?

  Casca.

  Why, Antony.

  Bru.

  Tell us the manner of it, gentle Casca.

  Casca.

  I can as well be hanged as tell the manner of it: it was mere foolery; I did not mark it. I saw Mark Antony offer him a crown; yet ’twas not a crown neither, ’twas one of these coronets; and, as I told you, he put it by once; but, for all that, to my thinking, he would fain have had it. Then he offered it to him again; then he put it by again; but, to my thinking, he was very loath to lay his fingers off it. And then he offered it the third time; he put it the third time by; and still as he refused it the rabblement shouted and clapped their chopped hands, and threw up their sweaty night-caps, and uttered such a deal of stinking breath because Cæsar refused the crown, that it had almost choked Cæsar; for he swounded and fell down at it: and for mine own part, I durst not laugh, for fear of opening my lips and receiving the bad air.

  Cas.

  But soft, I pray you: what! did Cæsar swound?

  Casca.

  He fell down in the market-place, and foamed at mouth, and was speechless.

  Bru.

  ’Tis very like: he hath the falling-sickness.

  Cas.

  No, Cæsar hath it not; but you, and I, And honest Casca, we have the falling-sickness.

  Casca.

  I know not what you mean by that; but I am sure Cæsar fell down. If the tag-rag people did not clap him and hiss him, according as he pleased and displeased them, as they use to do the players in the theatre, I am no true man.

  Bru.

  What said he, when he came unto himself?

  Casca.

  Marry, before he fell down, when he perceiv’d the common herd was glad he refused the crown, he plucked me ope his doublet and offered them his throat to cut. An I had been a man of any occupation, if I would not have taken him at a word, I would I might go to hell among the rogues. And so he fell. When he came to himself again, he said, if he had done or said any thing amiss, he desired their worships to think it was his infirmity. Three or four wenches, where I stood, cried, ‘Alas! good soul,’ and forgave him with all their hearts: but there’s no head to be taken of them; if Cæsar had stabbed their mothers, they would have done no less.

  Bru.

  And after that he came, thus sad, away?

  Casca.

  Ay.

  Cas.

  Did Cicero say any thing?

  Casca.

  Ay, he spoke Greek.

  Cas.

  To what effect?

  Casca.

  Nay, an I tell you that, I’ll ne’er look you i’ the face again; but those that understood him smiled at one another and shook their heads; but, for mine own part, it was Greek to me. I could tell you more news too; Marullus and Flavius, for pulling scarfs off Cæsar’s images, are put to silence. Fare you well. There was more foolery yet, if I could remember it.

  Cas.

  Will you sup with me to-night, Casca?

  Casca.

  No, I am promised forth.

  Cas.

  Will you dine with me to-morrow?

  Casca.

  Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the eating.

  Cas.

  Good; I will expect you.

  Casca.

  Do so. Farewell, both.

  [Exit.

  Bru.

  What a blunt fellow is this grown to be!

  He was quick mettle when he went to school.

  Cas.

  So is he now in execution

  Of any bold or noble enterprise,

  However he puts on this tardy form.

  This rudeness is a sauce to his good wit,

  Which gives men stomach to digest his words

  With better appetite.

  Bru.

  And so it is. For this time I will leave you:

  To-morrow, if you please to speak with me,

  I will come home to you; or, if you will,

  Come home to me, and I will wait for you.

  Cas.

  I will do so: till then, think of the world.

  [ExitBrutus.

  Well, Brutus, thou art noble; yet, I see,

  Thy honourable metal may be wrought

  From that it is dispos’d: therefore ’tis meet

  That noble minds keep ever with their likes;

  For who so firm that cannot be seduc’d?

  Cæsar doth bear me hard; but he loves Brutus:

  If I were Brutus now and he were Cassius

  He should not humour me. I will this night,

  In several hands, in at his windows throw,

  As if they came from several citizens,

  Writings all tending to the great opinion

  That Rome holds of his name; wherein obscurely

  Cæsar’s ambition shall be glanced at:

  And after this let Cæsar seat him sure;

  For we will shake him, or worse days endure.

  [Exit.

  Scene III.—

  The Same. A Street.

  Thunder and lightning. Enter, from opposite sides,Casca,with his sword drawn, andCicero.

  Cic.

  Good even, Casca: brought you Cæsar home?

  Why are you breathless? and why stare you so?

  Casca.

  Are not you mov’d, when all the sway of earth

  Shakes like a thing unfirm? O Cicero!

  I have seen tempests, when the scolding winds

  Have riv’d the knotty oaks; and I have seen

  The ambitious ocean swell and rage and foam,

  To be exalted with the threat’ning clouds:

  But never till to-night, never till now,

  Did I go through a tempest dropping fire.

  Either there is a civil strife in heaven,

  Or else the world, too saucy with the gods,

  Incenses them to send destruction.

  Cic.

  Why, saw you any thing more wonderful?

  Casca.

  A common slave—you know him well by sight—

  Held up his left hand, which did flame and burn

  Like twenty torches join’d; and yet his hand,

  Not sensible of fire, remain’d unscorch’d.

  Besides,—I have not since put up my sword,—

  Against the Capitol I met a hon,

  Who glar’d upon me, and went surly by,

  Without annoying me; and there were drawn

  Upon a heap a hundred ghastly women,

  Transformed with their fear, who swore they saw

  Men all in fire walk up and down the streets.

  And yesterday the bird of night did sit,

  Even at noon-day, upon the market-place,

  Hooting and shrieking. When these prodigies

  Do so conjointly meet, let not men say

  ‘These are their reasons, they are natural;’

  For, I believe, they are portentous things

  Unto the climate that they point upon.

  Cic.

  Indeed, it is a strange-disposed time:

  But men may construe things after their fashion,

  Clean from the purpose of the things themselves.

  Comes Cæsar to the Capitol to-morrow?

  Casca.

  He doth; for he did bid Antonius

  Send word to you he would be there to-morrow.

  Cic.

  Good-night then, Casca: this disturbed sky

  Is not to walk in.

  Casca.

  Farewell, Cicero.

  [ExitCicero.

  EnterCassius.

  Cas.

  Who’s there?

  Casca.

  A Roman.

  Cas.

  Casca, by your voice.

  Casca.

  Your ear is good. Cassius, what night is this!

  Cas.

  A very pleasing night to honest men.

  Casca.

  Who ever knew the heavens menace so?

  Cas.

  Those that have known the earth so full of faults.

  For my part, I have walk’d about the streets,

  Submitting me unto the perilous night,

  And, thus unbraced, Casca, as you see,

  Have bar’d my bosom to the thunder-stone;

  And, when the cross blue lightning seem’d to open

  The breast of heaven, I did present myself

  Even in the aim and very flash of it.

  Casca.

  But wherefore did you so much tempt the heavens?

  It is the part of men to fear and tremble

  When the most mighty gods by tokens send

  Such dreadful heralds to astonish us.

  Cas.

  You are dull, Casca, and those sparks of life

  That should be in a Roman you do want,

  Or else you use not. You look pale, and gaze,

  And put on fear, and cast yourself in wonder,

  To see the strange impatience of the heavens;

  But if you would consider the true cause

  Why all these fires, why all these gliding ghosts,

  Why birds and beasts, from quality and kind;

  Why old men, fools, and children calculate;

  Why all these things change from their ordinance,

  Their natures, and pre-formed faculties,

  To monstrous quality, why, you shall find

  That heaven hath infus’d them with these spirits

  To make them instruments of fear and warning

  Unto some monstrous state.

  Now could I, Casca, name to thee a man

  Most like this dreadful night,

  That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars

  As doth the lion in the Capitol,

  A man no mightier than thyself or me

  In personal action, yet prodigious grown

  And fearful as these strange eruptions are.

  Casca.

  ’Tis Cæsar that you mean; is it not, Cassius?

  Cas.

  Let it be who it is: for Romans now

  Have thews and limbs like to their ancestors;

  But, woe the while! our fathers’ minds are dead,

  And we are govern’d with our mothers’ spirits;

  Our yoke and sufferance show us womanish.

  Casca.

  Indeed, they say the senators to-morrow

  Mean to establish Cæsar as a king;

  And he shall wear his crown by sea and land,

  In every place, save here in Italy.

  Cas.

  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 those worldly bars,

  Never lacks power to dismiss itself.

  If I know this, know all the world besides,

  That part of tyranny that I do bear

  I can shake off at pleasure.

  [Thunder still.

  Casca.

  So can I:

  So every bondman in his own hand bears

  The power to cancel his captivity.

  Cas.

  And why should Cæsar be a tyrant then?

  Poor man! I know he would not be a wolf

  But that he sees the Romans are but sheep;

  He were no lion were not Romans hinds.

  Those that with haste will make a mighty fire

  Begin it with weak straws; what trash is Rome,

  What rubbish, and what offal, when it serves

  For the base matter to illuminate

  So vile a thing as Cæsar! But, O grief!

  Where hast thou led me? I, perhaps, speak this

  Before a willing bondman; then I know

  My answer must be made: but I am arm’d,

  And dangers are to me indifferent.

  Casca.

  You speak to Casca, and to such a man

  That is no fleering tell-tale. Hold, my hand:

  Be factious for redress of all these griefs,

  And I will set this foot of mine as far

  As who goes furthest.

  Cas.

  There’s a bargain made.

  Now know you, Casca, I have mov’d already

  Some certain of the noblest-minded Romans

  To undergo with me an enterprise

  Of honourable-dangerous consequence;

  And I do know by this they stay for me

  In Pompey’s porch: for now, this fearful night,

  There is no stir, or walking in the streets;

  And the complexion of the element

  In favour’s like the work we have in hand,

  Most bloody, fiery, and most terrible.

  Casca.

  Stand close awhile, for here comes one in haste.

  Cas.

  ’Tis Cinna; I do know him by his gait:

  He is a friend.

  EnterCinna.

  Cinna, where haste you so?

  Cin.

  To find out you. Who’s that? Metellus Cimber?

  Cas.

  No, it is Casca; one incorporate

  To our attempts. Am I not stay’d for, Cinna?

  Cin.

  I am glad on ’t. What a fearful night is this!

  There’s two or three of us have seen strange sights.

  Cas

  Am I not stay’d for? Tell me.

  Cin.

  Yes, you are.

  O Cassius! if you could

  But win the noble Brutus to our party—

  Cas.

  Be you content. Good Cinna, take this paper,

  And look you lay it in the prætor’s chair,

  Where Brutus may but find it; and throw this

  In at his window; set this up with wax

  Upon old Brutus’ statue: all this done,

  Repair to Pompey’s porch, where you shall find us.

  Is Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?

  Cin.

  All but Metellus Cimber; and he’s gone

  To seek you at your house. Well, I will hie,

  And so bestow these papers as you bade me.

  Cas.

  That done, repair to Pompey’s theatre.

  [ExitCinna.

  Come, Casca, you and I will yet ere day

  See Brutus at his house: three parts of him

  Is ours already, and the man entire

  Upon the next encounter yields him ours.

  Casca.

  O! he sits high in all the people’s hearts:

  And that which would appear offence in us,

  His countenance, like richest alchemy,

  Will change to virtue and to worthiness.

  Cas.

  Him and his worth and our great need of him

  You have right well conceited. Let us go,

  For it is after midnight; and ere day

  We will awake him and be sure of him.

  [Exeunt.

  ACT II.

  Scene I.—

  Rome.Brutus’ Orchard.

  EnterBrutus.

  Bru.

  What, Lucius! ho!

  I cannot, by the progress of the stars,

  Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say!

  I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.

  When, Lucius, when! Awake, I say! what, Lucius!

  EnterLucius.

  Luc.

  Call’d you, my lord?

  Bru.

  Get me a taper in my study, Lucius:

  When it is lighted, come and call me here.

  Luc.

  I will, my lord.

  [Exit.

  Bru.

  It must be by his death: and, for my part,

  I know no personal cause to spurn at him,

  But for the general. He would be crown’d:

  How that might change his nature, there’s the question:

  It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;

  And that craves wary walking. Crown him?—that!

  And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,

  That at his will he may do danger with.

  The abuse of greatness is when it disjoins

  Remorse from power; and, to speak truth of Cæsar,

  I have not known when his affections sway’d

  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. So Cæsar may:

  Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel

  Will bear no colour for the thing he is,

  Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,

  Would run to these and these extremities;

  And therefore think him as a serpent’s egg

  Which, hatch’d, would, as his kind, grow mischievous,

  And kill him in the shell.

  Re-enterLucius.

  Luc.

  The taper burneth in your closet, sir.

  Searching the window for a flint, I found

  This paper, thus seal’d up; and I am sure

  It did not lie there when I went to bed.

  Bru.

  Get you to bed again; it is not day.

  Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March?

  Luc.

  I know not, sir.

  Bru.

  Look in the calendar, and bring me word.

  Luc.

  I will, sir.

  [Exit.

  Bru.

  The exhalations whizzing in the air

  Give so much light that I may read by them.

  [Opens the letter.

  Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake and see thyself.

  Shall Rome, &c. Speak, strike, redress!

  Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake!

  Such instigations have been often dropp’d

  Where I have took them up.

  ‘Shall Rome, &c.’ Thus must I piece it out:

  Shall Rome stand under one man’s awe? What, Rome?

  My ancestors did from the streets of Rome

  The Tarquin drive, when he was call’d a king.

  ‘Speak, strike, redress!’ Am I entreated

  To speak, and strike? O Rome! I make thee promise;

  If the redress will follow, thou receiv’st

  Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!

  Re-enterLucius.

  Luc.

  Sir, March is wasted fourteen days.

  [Knocking within.

  Bru.

  ’Tis good. Go to the gate: somebody knocks.

  [ExitLucius.

  Since Cassius first did whet me against Cæsar,

  I have not slept.

  Between the acting of a dreadful thing

  And the first motion, all the interim is

  Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:

  The genius and the mortal instruments

  Are then in council; and the state of man,

  Like to a little kingdom, suffers then

  The nature of an insurrection.

  Re-enterLucius.

  Luc.

  Sir, ’tis your brother Cassius at the door,

  Who doth desire to see you.

  Bru.

  Is he alone?

  Luc.

  No, sir, there are more with him.

  Bru.

  Do you know them?

  Luc.

  No, sir; their hats are pluck’d about their ears,

  And half their faces buried in their cloaks,

  That by no means I may discover them

  By any mark of favour.

  Bru.

  Let ’em enter.

  [ExitLucius.

  They are the faction. O conspiracy!

  Sham’st thou to show thy dangerous brow by night,

  When evils are most free? O! then by day

  Where wilt thou find a cavern dark enough

  To mask thy monstrous visage? Seek none, conspiracy;

  Hide it in smiles and affability:

  For if thou path, thy native semblance on,

  Not Erebus itself were dim enough

  To hide thee from prevention.

  Enter the Conspirators,Cassius, Casca, Decius, Cinna, Metellus Cimber,andTrebonius.

  Cas.

  I think we are too bold upon your rest:

  Good morrow, Brutus; do we trouble you?

  Bru.

  I have been up this hour, awake all night.

  Know I these men that come along with you?

  Cas.

  Yes, every man of them; and no man here

  But honours you; and every one doth wish

  You had but that opinion of yourself

  Which every noble Roman bears of you.

  This is Trebonius.

  Bru.

  He is welcome hither.

  Cas.

  This, Decius Brutus.

  Bru.

  He is welcome too.

  Cas.

  This, Casca; this, Cinna;

  And this, Metellus Cimber.

  Bru.

  They are all welcome.

  What watchful cares do interpose themselves

  Betwixt your eyes and night?

  Cas.

  Shall I entreat a word?

  [BrutusandCassiuswhisper.

  Dec.

  Here lies the east: doth not the day break here?

  Casca.

  No.

  Cin.

  O! pardon, sir, it doth; and yon grey lines

  That fret the clouds are messengers of day.

  Casca.

  You shall confess that you are both deceiv’d.

  Here, as I point my sword, the sun arises;

  Which is a great way growing on the south,

  Weighing the youthful season of the year.

  Some two months hence up higher toward the north

  He first presents his fire; and the high east

  Stands, as the Capitol, directly here.

  Bru.

  Give me your hands all over, one by one.

  Cas.

  And let us swear our resolution.

  Bru.

  No, not an oath: if not the face of men,

  The sufferance of our souls, the time’s abuse,

  If these be motives weak, break off betimes,

  And every man hence to his idle bed;

  So let high-sighted tyranny range on,

  Till each man-drop by lottery. But if these,

  As I am sure they do, bear fire enough

  To kindle cowards and to steel with valour

  The melting spirits of women, then, countrymen,

  What need we any spur but our own cause

  To prick us to redress? what other bond

  Than secret Romans, that have spoke the word

  And will not palter? and what other oath

  Than honesty to honesty engag’d,

  That this shall be, or we will fall for it?

  Swear priests and cowards and men cautelous,

  Old feeble carrions and such suffering souls

  That welcome wrongs; unto bad causes swear

  Such creatures as men doubt; but do not stain

  The even virtue of our enterprise,

  Nor th’ insuppressive mettle of our spirits,

  To think that or our cause or our performance

  Did need an oath; when every drop of blood

  That every Roman bears, and nobly bears,

  Is guilty of a several bastardy,

  If he do break the smallest particle

  Of any promise that hath pass’d from him.

  Cas.

  But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?

  I think he will stand very strong with us.

  Casca.

  Let us not leave him out.

  Cin.

  No, by no means.

  Met.

  O! let us have him; for his silver hairs

  Will purchase us a good opinion

  And buy men’s voices to commend our deeds:

  It shall be said his judgment rul’d our hands;

  Our youths and wildness shall no whit appear,

  But all be buried in his gravity.

  Bru.

  O! name him not: let us not break with him;

  For he will never follow any thing

  That other men begin.

  Cas.

  Then leave him out.

  Casca.

  Indeed he is not fit.

  Dec.

  Shall no man else be touch’d but only Cæsar?

  Cas.

  Decius, well urg’d. I think it is not meet,

  Mark Antony, so well belov’d of Cæsar,

  Should outlive Cæsar: we shall find of him

  A shrewd contriver; and, you know, his means,

  If he improve them, may well stretch so far

  As to annoy us all; which to prevent,

  Let Antony and Cæsar fall together.

  Bru.

  Our course will seem too bloody, Caius Cassius,

  To cut the head off and then hack the limbs,

  Like wrath in death and envy afterwards;

  For Antony is but a limb of Cæsar.

  Let us be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.

  We all stand up against the spirit of Cæsar;

  And in the spirit of men there is no blood:

  O! then that we could come by Cæsar’s spirit,

  And not dismember Cæsar. But, alas!

  Cæsar must bleed for it. And, gentle friends,

  Let’s kill him boldly, 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 ’em. This shall make

  Our purpose necessary and not envious;

  Which so appearing to the common eyes,

  We shall be call’d purgers, not murderers.

  And, for Mark Antony, think not of him;

  For he can do no more than Cæsar’s arm

  When Cæsar’s head is off.

  Cas.

  Yet I fear him;

  For in the engrafted love he bears to Cæsar—

  Bru.

  Alas! good Cassius, do not think of him:

  If he love Cæsar, all that he can do

  Is to himself, take thought and die for Cæsar:

  And that were much he should; for he is given

  To sports, to wildness, and much company.

  Treb.

  There is no fear in him; let him not die:

  For he will live, and laugh at this hereafter.

  [Clock strikes.

  Bru.

  Peace! count the clock.

  Cas.

  The clock hath stricken three.

  Treb.

  ’Tis time to part.

  Cas.

  But it is doubtful yet

  Whether Cæsar will come forth to-day or no;

  For he is superstitious grown of late,

  Quite from the main opinion he held once

  Of fantasy, of dreams, and ceremonies.

  It may be, these apparent prodigies,

  The unaccustom’d terror of this night,

  And the persuasion of his augurers,

  May hold him from the Capitol to-day.

  Dec.

  Never fear that: if he be so resolv’d,

  I can o’ersway him; for he loves to hear

  That unicorns may be betray’d with trees,

  And bears with glasses, elephants with holes,

  Lions with toils, and men with flatterers;

  But when I tell him he hates flatterers,

  He says he does, being then most flattered.

  Let me work;

  For I can give his humour the true bent,

  And I will bring him to the Capitol.

  Cas.

  Nay, we will all of us be there to fetch him.

  Bru.

  By the eighth hour: is that the uttermost?

  Cin.

  Be that the uttermost, and fail not then.

  Met.

  Caius Ligarius doth bear Cæsar hard,

  Who rated him for speaking well of Pompey:

  I wonder none of you have thought of him.

  Bru.

  Now, good Metellus, go along by him:

  He loves me well, and I have given him reasons;

  Send him but hither, and I’ll fashion him.

  Cas.

  The morning comes upon ’s: we’ll leave you, Brutus.

  And, friends, disperse yourselves; but all remember

  What you have said, and show yourselves true Romans.

  Bru.

  Good gentlemen, look fresh and merrily;

  Let not our looks put on our purposes,

  But bear it as our Roman actors do,

  With untir’d spirits and formal constancy:

  And so good morrow to you every one.

  [Exeunt all exceptBrutus.

  Boy! Lucius! Fast asleep? It is no matter;

  Enjoy the honey-heavy dew of slumber:

  Thou hast no figures nor no fantasies

  Which busy care draws in the brains of men;

  Therefore thou sleep’st so sound.

  EnterPortia.

  Por.

  Brutus, my lord!

  Bru.

  Portia, what mean you? Wherefore rise you now?

  It is not for your health thus to commit

  Your weak condition to the raw cold morning.

  Por.

  Nor for yours neither. You’ve ungently, Brutus,

  Stole from my bed; and yesternight at supper

  You suddenly arose, and walk’d about,

  Musing and sighing, with your arms across,

  And when I ask’d you what the matter was,

  You star’d upon me with ungentle looks.

  I urg’d you further; then you scratch’d your head,

  And too impatiently stamp’d with your foot;

  Yet I insisted, yet you answer’d not,

  But, with an angry wafture of your hand.

  Gave sign for me to leave you. So I did,

  Fearing to strengthen that impatience

  Which seem’d too much enkindled, and withal

  Hoping it was but an effect of humour,

  Which sometime hath his hour with every man.

  It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep,

  And could it work so much upon your shape

  As it hath much prevail’d on your condition,

  I should not know you, Brutus. Dear my lord,

  Make me acquainted with your cause of grief.

  Bru.

  I am not well in health, and that is all.

  Por.

  Brutus is wise, and were he not in health,

  He would embrace the means to come by it.

  Bru.

  Why, so I do. Good Portia, go to bed.

  Por.

  Is Brutus sick, and is it physical

  To walk unbraced and suck up the humours

  Of the dank morning? What! is Brutus sick,

  And will he steal out of his wholesome bed

  To dare the vile contagion of the night,

  And tempt the rheumy and unpurged air

  To add unto his sickness? No, my Brutus;

  You have some sick offence within your mind,

  Which, by the right and virtue of my place,

  I ought to know of; and, upon my knees,

  I charm you, by my once-commended beauty,

  By all your vows of love, and that great vow

  Which did incorporate and make us one,

  That you unfold to me, your self, your half,

  Why are you heavy, and what men to-night

  Have had resort to you; for here have been

  Some six or seven, who did hide their faces

  Even from darkness.

  Bru.

  Kneel not, gentle Portia.

  Por.

  I should not need, if you were gentle Brutus.

  Within the bond of marriage, tell me, Brutus,

  Is it excepted, I should know no secrets

  That appertain to you? Am I yourself

  But, as it were, in sort of limitation,

  To keep with you at meals, comfort your bed,

  And talk to you sometimes? Dwell I but in the suburbs

  Of your good pleasure? If it be no more,

  Portia is Brutus’ harlot, not his wife.

  Bru.

  You are my true and honourable wife,

  As dear to me as are the ruddy drops

  That visit my sad heart.

  Por.

  If this were true then should I know this secret.

  I grant I am a woman, but, withal,

  A woman that Lord Brutus took to wife;

  I grant I am a woman, but, withal,

  A woman well-reputed, Cato’s daughter.

  Think you I am no stronger than my sex,

  Being so father’d and so husbanded?

  Tell me your counsels, I will not disclose ’em.

  I have made strong proof of my constancy,

  Giving myself a voluntary wound

  Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience

  And not my husband’s secrets?

  Bru.

  O ye gods!

  Render me worthy of this noble wife.

  [Knocking within.

  Hark, hark! one knocks. Portia, go in awhile;

  And by and by thy bosom shall partake

  The secrets of my heart.

  All my engagements I will construe to thee,

  All the charactery of my sad brows.

  Leave me with haste.

  [ExitPortia.

  Lucius, who’s that knocks?

  Re-enterLuciuswithLigarius.

  Luc.

  Here is a sick man that would speak with you.

  Bru.

  Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spoke of.

  Boy, stand aside. Caius Ligarius! how?

  Lig.

  Vouchsafe good morrow from a feeble tongue.

  Bru.

  O! what a time have you chose out, brave Caius,

  To wear a kerchief. Would you were not sick.

  Lig.

  I am not sick if Brutus have in hand

  Any exploit worthy the name of honour.

  Bru.

  Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius,

  Had you a healthful ear to hear of it.

  Lig.

  By all the gods that Romans bow before

  I here discard my sickness. Soul of Rome!

  Brave son, deriv’d from honourable loins!

  Thou, like an exorcist, hast conjur’d up

  My mortified spirit. Now bid me run,

  And I will strive with things impossible;

  Yea, get the better of them. What’s to do?

  Bru.

  A piece of work that will make sick men whole.

  Lig.

  But are not some whole that we must make sick?

  Bru.

  That must we also. What it is, my Caius,

  I shall unfold to thee as we are going

  To whom it must be done.

  Lig.

  Set on your foot,

  And with a heart new-fir’d I follow you,

  To do I know not what; but it sufficeth

  That Brutus leads me on.

  Bru.

  Follow me then.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene II.—

  The Same.Cæsar’sHouse.

  Thunder and lightning. EnterCæsarin his night-gown.

  Cæs.

  Nor heaven nor earth have been at peace to-night:

  Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out,

  ‘Help, ho! They murder Cæsar!’ Who’s within?

  Enter a Servant.

  Serv.

  My lord!

  Cæs.

  Go bid the priests do present sacrifice,

  And bring me their opinions of success.

  Serv.

  I will, my lord.

  [Exit.

  EnterCalphurnia.

  Cal.

  What mean you, Cæsar? Think you to walk forth?

  You shall not stir out of your house to-day.

  Cæs.

  Cæsar shall forth: the things that threaten’d me

  Ne’er look’d but on my back; when they shall see

  The face of Cæsar, they are vanished.

  Cal.

  Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies,

  Yet now they fright me. There is one within,

  Besides the things that we have heard and seen,

  Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch.

  A lioness hath whelped in the streets;

  And graves have yawn’d and yielded up their dead;

  Fierce fiery warriors fought upon the clouds,

  In ranks and squadrons and right form of war,

  Which drizzled blood upon the Capitol;

  The noise of battle hurtled in the air,

  Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan,

  And ghosts did shriek and squeal about the streets.

  O Cæsar! these things are beyond all use,

  And I do fear them.

  Cæs.

  What can be avoided

  Whose end is purpos’d by the mighty gods?

  Yet Cæsar shall go forth; for these predictions

  Are to the world in general as to Cæsar.

  Cal.

  When beggars die there are no comets seen;

  The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

  Cæs.

  Cowards die many times before their deaths;

  The valiant never taste of death but once.

  Of all the wonders that I yet have heard,

  It seems to me most strange that men should fear;

  Seeing that death, a necessary end,

  Will come when it will come.

  Re-enter Servant.

  What say the augurers?

  Serv.

  They would not have you to stir forth to-day.

  Plucking the entrails of an offering forth,

  They could not find a heart within the beast.

  Cæs.

  The gods do this in shame of cowardice:

  Cæsar should be a beast without a heart

  If he should stay at home to-day for fear.

  No, Cæsar shall not; danger knows full well

  That Cæsar is more dangerous than he:

  We are two lions litter’d in one day,

  And I the elder and more terrible:

  And Cæsar shall go forth.

  Cal.

  Alas! my lord,

  Your wisdom is consum’d in confidence.

  Do not go forth to-day: call it my fear

  That keeps you in the house, and not your own.

  We’ll send Mark Antony to the senate-house,

  And he shall say you are not well to-day:

  Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this.

  Cæs.

  Mark Antony shall say I am not well;

  And, for thy humour, I will stay at home.

  EnterDecius.

  Here’s Decius Brutus, he shall tell them so.

  Dec.

  Cæsar, all hail! Good morrow, worthy Cæsar:

  I come to fetch you to the senate-house.

  Cæs.

  And you are come in very happy time

  To bear my greeting to the senators,

  And tell them that I will not come to-day:

  Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser;

  I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius.

  Cal.

  Say he is sick.

  Cæs.

  Shall Cæsar send a lie?

  Have I in conquest stretch’d mine arm so far

  To be afeard to tell greybeards the truth?

  Decius, go tell them Cæsar will not come.

  Dec.

  Most mighty Cæsar, let me know some cause,

  Lest I be laugh’d at when I tell them so.

  Cæs.

  The cause is in my will: I will not come;

  That is enough to satisfy the senate:

  But for your private satisfaction,

  Because I love you, I will let you know:

  Calphurnia here, my wife, stays me at home:

  She dreamt to-night she saw my statua,

  Which, like a fountain with a hundred spouts,

  Did run pure blood; and many lusty Romans

  Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it:

  And these does she apply for warnings and portents,

  And evils imminent; and on her knee

  Hath begg’d that I will stay at home to-day.

  Dec.

  This dream is all amiss interpreted;

  It was a vision fair and fortunate:

  Your statue spouting blood in many pipes,

  In which so many smiling Romans bath’d,

  Signifies that from you great Rome shall suck

  Reviving blood, and that great men shall press

  For tinctures, stains, relics, and cognizance.

  This by Calphurnia’s dream is signified.

  Cæs.

  And this way have you well expounded it.

  Dec.

  I have, when you have heard what I can say:

  And know it now: the senate have concluded

  To give this day a crown to mighty Cæsar.

  If you shall send them word you will not come,

  Their minds may change. Besides, it were a mock

  Apt to be render’d, for some one to say

  ‘Break up the senate till another time,

  When Cæsar’s wife shall meet with better dreams.’

  If Cæsar hide himself, shall they not whisper

  ‘Lo! Cæsar is afraid?’

  Pardon me, Cæsar; for my dear dear love

  To your proceeding bids me tell you this,

  And reason to my love is liable.

  Cæs.

  How foolish do your fears seem now, Calphurnia!

  I am ashamed I did yield to them.

  Give me my robe, for I will go:

  EnterPublius, Brutus, Ligarius, Metellus, Casca, Trebonius,andCinna.

  And look where Publius is come to fetch me.

  Pub.

  Good morrow, Cæsar.

  Cæs.

  Welcome, Publius.

  What! Brutus, are you stirr’d so early too?

  Good morrow, Casca. Caius Ligarius,

  Cæsar was ne’er so much your enemy

  As that same ague which hath made you lean.

  What is’t o’clock?

  Bru.

  Cæsar, ’tis strucken eight.

  Cæs.

  I thank you for your pains and courtesy.

  EnterAntony.

  See! Antony, that revels long o’ nights,

  Is notwithstanding up. Good morrow, Antony.

  Ant.

  So to most noble Cæsar.

  Cæs.

  Bid them prepare within:

  I am to blame to be thus waited for.

  Now, Cinna; now, Metellus; what, Trebonius!

  I have an hour’s talk in store for you;

  Remember that you call on me to-day:

  Be near me, that I may remember you.

  Treb.

  Cæsar, I will:—[Aside.] and so near will I be,

  That your best friends shall wish I had been further.

  Cæs.

  Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me;

  And we, like friends, will straightway go together.

  Bru.

  [Aside.] That every like is not the same, O Cæsar!

  The heart of Brutus yearns to think upon.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene III.—

  The Same. A Street near the Capitol.

  EnterArtemidorus,reading a paper.

  Art.

  Cæsar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Casca; have an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius; mark well Metellus Cimber; Decius Brutus loves thee not; thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius. There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Cæsar. If thou be’st not immortal, look about you: security gives way to conspiracy. The mighty gods defend thee! Thy lover,

  Artemidorus.

  Here will I stand till Cæsar pass along,

  And as a suitor will I give him this.

  My heart laments that virtue cannot live

  Out of the teeth of emulation.

  If thou read this, O Cæsar! thou mayst live;

  If not, the Fates with traitors do contrive.

  [Exit.

  Scene IV.—

  The Same. Another Part of the same Street, before the House ofBrutus.

  EnterPortiaandLucius.

  Por.

  I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house;

  Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone.

  Why dost thou stay?

  Luc.

  To know my errand, madam.

  Por.

  I would have had thee there, and here again,

  Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.

  O constancy! be strong upon my side;

  Set a huge mountain ’tween my heart and tongue;

  I have a man’s mind, but a woman’s might.

  How hard it is for women to keep counsel!

  Art thou here yet?

  Luc.

  Madam, what shall I do?

  Run to the Capitol, and nothing else?

  And so return to you, and nothing else?

  Por.

  Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well,

  For he went sickly forth; and take good note

  What Cæsar doth, what suitors press to him.

  Hark, boy! what noise is that?

  Luc.

  I hear none, madam.

  Por.

  Prithee, listen well:

  I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray,

  And the wind brings it from the Capitol.

  Luc.

  Sooth, madam, I hear nothing.

  Enter the Soothsayer.

  Por.

  Come hither, fellow: which way hast thou been?

  Sooth.

  At mine own house, good lady.

  Por.

  What is ’t o’clock?

  Sooth.

  About the ninth hour, lady.

  Por.

  Is Cæsar yet gone to the Capitol?

  Sooth.

  Madam, not yet: I go to take my stand,

  To see him pass on to the Capitol.

  Por.

  Thou hast some suit to Cæsar, hast thou not?

  Sooth.

  That I have, lady: if it will please Cæsar

  To be so good to Cæsar as to hear me,

  I shall beseech him to befriend himself.

  Por.

  Why, know’st thou any harm’s intended towards him?

  Sooth.

  None that I know will be, much that I fear may chance.

  Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow:

  The throng that follows Cæsar at the heels,

  Of senators, of prætors, common suitors,

  Will crowd a feeble man almost to death:

  I’ll get me to a place more void, and there

  Speak to great Cæsar as he comes along.

  [Exit.

  Por.

  I must go in. Ay me! how weak a thing

  The heart of woman is. O Brutus!

  The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise.

  Sure, the boy heard me: Brutus hath a suit

  That Cæsar will not grant. O! I grow faint.

  Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord;

  Say I am merry: come to me again,

  And bring me word what he doth say to thee.

  [Exeunt, severally.

  ACT III.

  Scene I.—

  Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting above.

  A crowd of People; among themArtemidorusand the Soothsayer. Flourish. EnterCæsar, Brutus, Cassius, Casca, Decius, Metellus, Trebonius, Cinna, Antony, Lepidus, Popilius, Publius,and Others.

  Cæs.

  [To the Soothsayer.] The idea of March are come.

  Sooth.

  Ay, Cæsar; but not gone.

  Art.

  Hail, Cæsar! Read this schedule.

  Dec.

  Trebonius doth desire you to o’er-read,

  At your best leisure, this his humble suit.

  Art.

  O Cæsar! read mine first; for mine’s a suit

  That touches Cæsar nearer. Read it, great Cæsar.

  Cæs.

  What touches us ourself shall be last serv’d

  Art.

  Delay not, Cæsar; read it instantly.

  Cæs.

  What! is the fellow mad?

  Pub.

  Sirrah, give place.

  Cæs.

  What! urge you your petitions in the street?

  Come to the Capitol.

  Cæsargoes up to the Senate-House, the rest following. All the Senators rise.

  Pop.

  I wish your enterprise to-day may thrive.

  Cas.

  What enterprise, Popilius?

  Pop.

  Fare you well.

  [Advances toCæsar.

  Bru.

  What said Popilius Lena?

  Cas.

  He wish’d to-day our enterprise might thrive.

  I fear our purpose is discovered.

  Bru.

  Look, how he makes to Cæsar: mark him.

  Cas.

  Casca, be sudden, for we fear prevention.

  Brutus, what shall be done? If this be known,

  Cassius or Cæsar never shall turn back,

  For I will slay myself.

  Bru.

  Cassius, be constant:

  Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes;

  For, look, he smiles, and Cæsar doth not change.

  Cas.

  Trebonius knows his time; for, look you, Brutus,

  He draws Mark Antony out of the way.

  [ExeuntAntonyandTrebonius. Cæsarand the Senators take their seats.

  Dec.

  Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go,

  And presently prefer his suit to Cæsar.

  Bru.

  He is address’d; press near and second him.

  Cin.

  Casca, you are the first that rears your hand.

  Casca.

  Are we all ready? What is now amiss,

  That Cæsar and his senate must redress?

  Met.

  Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Cæsar,

  Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat

  A humble heart,—

  [Kneeling.

  Cæs.

  I must prevent thee, Cimber.

  These couchings and these lowly courtesies,

  Might fire the blood of ordinary men,

  And turn pre-ordinance and first decree

  Into the law of children. Be not fond,

  To think that Cæsar bears such rebel blood

  That will be thaw’d from the true quality

  With that which melteth fools; I mean sweet words,

  Low-crooked curtsies, 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.

  Met.

  Is there no voice more worthy than my own,

  To sound more sweetly in great Cæsar’s ear

  For the repealing of my banish’d brother?

  Bru.

  I kiss thy hand, but not in flattery, Cæsar;

  Desiring thee, that Publius Cimber may

  Have an immediate freedom of repeal.

  Cæs.

  What, Brutus!

  Cas.

  Pardon, Cæsar; Cæsar, pardon:

  As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall,

  To beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.

  Cæs.

  I could be well mov’d if I were as you;

  If I could pray to move, prayers would move me;

  But I am constant as the northern star,

  Of whose true-fix’d and resting quality

  There is no fellow in the firmament.

  The skies are painted with unnumber’d sparks,

  They are all fire and every one doth shine,

  But there’s but one in all doth hold his place:

  So, in the world; ’tis furnish’d well with men,

  And men are flesh and blood, and apprehensive;

  Yet in the number I do know but one

  That unassailable holds on his rank,

  Unshak’d of motion: and that I am he,

  Let me a little show it, even in this,

  That I was constant Cimber should be banish’d,

  And constant do remain to keep him so.

  Cin.

  O Cæsar,—

  Cæs.

  Hence! Wilt thou lift up Olympus!

  Dec.

  Great Cæsar,—

  Cæs.

  Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?

  Casca.

  Speak, hands, for me!

  [They stab Cæsar.

  Cæs.

  Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Cæsar!

  [Dies.

  Cin.

  Liberty! Freedom! Tyranny is dead!

  Run hence, proclaim, cry it about the streets.

  Cas.

  Some to the common pulpits, and cry out,

  ‘Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!’

  Bru.

  People and senators be not affrighted;

  Fly not; stand still; ambition’s debt is paid.

  Casca.

  Go to the pulpit, Brutus.

  Dec.

  And Cassius too.

  Bru.

  Where’s Publius?

  Cin.

  Here, quite confounded with this mutiny.

  Met.

  Stand fast together, lest some friend of Cæsar’s

  Should chance—

  Bru.

  Talk not of standing. Publius, good cheer;

  There is no harm intended to your person,

  Nor to no Roman else; so tell them, Publius.

  Cas.

  And leave us, Publius; lest that the people,

  Rushing on us, should do your age some mischief.

  Bru.

  Do so; and let no man abide this deed

  But we the doers.

  Re-enterTrebonius.

  Cas.

  Where’s Antony?

  Tre.

  Fled to his house amaz’d.

  Men, wives and children stare, cry out and run

  As it were doomsday.

  Bru.

  Fates, we will know your pleasures.

  That we shall die, we know; ’tis but the time

  And drawing days out, that men stand upon.

  Casca.

  Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life

  Cuts off so many years of fearing death.

  Bru.

  Grant that, and then is death a benefit:

  So are we Cæsar’s friends, that have abridg’d

  His time of fearing death. Stoop, Romans, stoop,

  And let us bathe our hands in Cæsar’s blood

  Up to the elbows, and besmear our swords:

  Then walk we forth, even to the market-place;

  And waving our red weapons o’er our heads,

  Let’s all cry, ‘Peace, freedom, and liberty!’

  Cas.

  Stoop, then, and wash. How many ages hence

  Shall this our lofty scene be acted o’er,

  In states unborn and accents yet unknown!

  Bru.

  How many times shall Cæsar bleed in sport,

  That now on Pompey’s basis lies along

  No worthier than the dust!

  Cas.

  So oft as that shall be,

  So often shall the knot of us be call’d

  The men that gave their country liberty.

  Dec.

  What! shall we forth?

  Cas.

  Ay, every man away:

  Brutus shall lead; and we will grace his heels

  With the most boldest and best hearts of Rome.

  Enter a Servant.

  Bru.

  Soft! who comes here? A friend of Antony’s.

  Serv.

  Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel;

  Thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down;

  And, being prostrate, thus he bade me say:

  Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest;

  Cæsar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving:

  Say I love Brutus, and I honour him;

  Say I fear’d Cæsar, honour’d him, and lov’d him.

  If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony

  May safely come to him, and be resolv’d

  How Cæsar hath deserv’d to lie in death,

  Mark Antony shall not love Cæsar dead

  So well as Brutus living; but will follow

  The fortunes and affairs of noble Brutus

  Thorough the hazards of this untrod state

  With all true faith. So says my master Antony.

  Bru.

  Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman;

  I never thought him worse.

  Tell him, so please him come unto this place,

  He shall be satisfied; and, by my honour,

  Depart untouch’d.

  Serv.

  I’ll fetch him presently.

  [Exit.

  Bru.

  I know that we shall have him well to friend.

  Cas.

  I wish we may: but yet have I a mind

  That fears him much; and my misgiving still

  Falls shrewdly to the purpose.

  Re-enterAntony.

  Bru.

  But here comes Antony. Welcome, Mark Antony.

  Ant.

  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’s 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 ye bear me hard,

  Now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smoke,

  Fulfil 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 spirits of this age.

  Bru.

  O Antony! beg not your death of us.

  Though now we must appear bloody and cruel,

  As, by our hands and this our present act,

  You see we do, yet see you but our hands

  And this the bleeding business they have done:

  Our hearts you see not; they are pitiful;

  And pity to the general wrong of Rome—

  As fire drives out fire, so pity pity—

  Hath done this deed on Cæsar. For your part,

  To you our swords have leaden points, Mark Antony;

  Our arms, in strength of malice, and our hearts

  Of brothers’ temper, do receive you in

  With all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence.

  Cas.

  Your voice shall be as strong as any man’s

  In the disposing of new dignities.

  Bru.

  Only be patient till we have appeas’d

  The multitude, beside themselves with fear,

  And then we will deliver you the cause

  Why I, that did love Cæsar when I struck him,

  Have thus proceeded.

  Ant.

  I doubt not of your wisdom.

  Let each man render me his bloody hand:

  First, Marcus Brutus, will I shake with you;

  Next, Caius Cassius, do I take your hand;

  Now, Decius Brutus, yours; now yours, Metellus;

  Yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Casca, yours;

  Though last, not least in love, yours, good Trebonius.

  Gentlemen all,—alas! what shall I say?

  My credit now stands on such slippery ground,

  That one of two bad ways you must conceit me,

  Either a coward or a flatterer.

  That I did love thee, Cæsar, O! ’tis true:

  If then thy spirit look upon us now,

  Shall it not grieve thee dearer than thy death,

  To see thy Antony making his peace,

  Shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes,

  Most noble! in the presence of thy corse?

  Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds,

  Weeping as fast as they stream forth thy blood,

  It would become me better than to close

  In terms of friendship with thine enemies.

  Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bay’d, brave hart;

  Here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand,

  Sign’d in thy spoil, and crimson’d in thy leth

  O world! thou wast the forest to this hart;

  And this, indeed, O world! the heart of thee.

  How like a deer, strucken by many princes,

  Dost thou here lie!

  Cas.

  Mark Antony,—

  Ant.

  Pardon me, Caius Cassius:

  The enemies of Cæsar shall say this;

  Then, in a friend, it is cold modesty.

  Cas.

  I blame you not for praising Cæsar so;

  But what compact mean you to have with us?

  Will you be prick’d in number of our friends,

  Or shall we on, and not depend on you?

  Ant.

  Therefore I took your hands, but was indeed

  Sway’d from the point by looking down on Cæsar.

  Friends am I with you all, and love you all,

  Upon this hope, that you shall give me reasons

  Why and wherein Cæsar was dangerous.

  Bru.

  Or else were this a savage spectacle.

  Our reasons are so full of good regard

  That were you, Antony, the son of Cæsar,

  You should be satisfied.

  Ant.

  That’s all I seek:

  And am moreover suitor that I may

  Produce his body to the market place;

  And in the pulpit, as becomes a friend,

  Speak in the order of his funeral.

  Bru.

  You shall, Mark Antony.

  Cas.

  Brutus, a word with you.

  [Aside toBrutus.] You know not what you do; do not consent

  That Antony speak in his funeral:

  Know you how much the people may be mov’d

  By that which he will utter?

  Bru.

  By your pardon;

  I will myself into the pulpit first,

  And show the reason of our Cæsar’s death:

  What Antony shall speak, I will protest

  He speaks by leave and by permission,

  And that we are contented Cæsar shall

  Have all true rites and lawful ceremonies.

  It shall advantage more than do us wrong.

  Cas.

  I know not what may fall; I like it not.

  Bru.

  Mark Antony, here, take you Cæsar’s body.

  You shall not in your funeral speech blame us,

  But speak all good you can devise of Cæsar,

  And say you do ’t by our permission;

  Else shall you not have any hand at all

  About his funeral; and you shall speak

  In the same pulpit whereto I am going,

  After my speech is ended.

  Ant.

  Be it so;

  I do desire no more.

  Bru.

  Prepare the body then, and follow us.

  [Exeunt all butAntony.

  Ant.

  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 quarter’d with the hands of war;

  All pity chok’d with custom of fell deeds:

  And Cæsar’s spirit, ranging for revenge,

  With Ate by his side come hot from hell,

  Shall in these confines with a monarch’s voice

  Cry ‘Havoc!’ and let slip the dogs of war;

  That this foul deed shall smell above the earth

  With carrion men, groaning for burial.

  Enter a Servant.

  You serve Octavius Cæsar, do you not?

  Serv.

  I do, Mark Antony.

  Ant.

  Cæsar did write for him to come to Rome.

  Serv.

  He did receive his letters, and is coming;

  And bid me say to you by word of mouth—

  [Seeing the body.

  O Cæsar!—

  Ant.

  Thy heart is big, get thee apart and weep.

  Passion, I see, is catching; for mine eyes,

  Seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine,

  Began to water. Is thy master coming?

  Serv.

  He lies to-night within seven leagues of Rome.

  Ant.

  Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanc’d:

  Hare is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome,

  No Rome of safety for Octavius yet;

  Hie hence and tell him so. Yet, stay awhile;

  Thou shalt not back till I have borne this corpse

  Into the market-place; there shall I try,

  In my oration, how the people take

  The cruel issue of these bloody men;

  According to the which thou shalt discourse

  To young Octavius of the state of things.

  Lead me your hand.

  [Exeunt, withCæsar’sbody.

  Scene II.—

  The Same. The Forum.

  EnterBrutusandCassius,and a throng of Citizens.

  Citizens.

  We will be satisfied: let us be satisfied.

  Bru.

  Then follow me, and give me audience, friends.

  Cassius, go you into the other street,

  And part the numbers.

  Those that will hear me speak, let ’em stay here;

  Those that will follow Cassius, go with him;

  And public reasons shall be rendered

  Of Cæsar’s death.

  First Cit.

  I will hear Brutus speak.

  Sec. Cit.

  I will hear Cassius; and compare their reasons,

  When severally we hear them rendered.

  [ExitCassius,with some of the Citizens; Brutusgoes into the pulpit.

  Third Cit.

  The noble Brutus is ascended: silence!

  Bru.

  Be patient till the last.

  Romans, countrymen, and lovers! hear me for my cause; and be silent, that you may hear: believe me for mine honour, and have respect to mine honour, 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 that 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 honour him; but, as he was ambitious, I slew him. There is tears for his love; joy for his fortune; honour for his valour; 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 not 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.

  Citizens.

  None, Brutus, none.

  Bru.

  Then none have I offended. I have done no more to Cæsar, than you shall do to Brutus. The question of his death is enrolled in the Capitol; his glory not extenuated, wherein he was worthy, nor his offences enforced, for which he suffered death.

  EnterAntonyand Others, withCæsar’sbody.

  Here comes his body, mourned by Mark Antony: who, though he had no hand in his death, shall receive the benefit of his dying, a place in the commonwealth; as which of you shall not? With this I depart: that, as I slew my best lover for the good of Rome, I have the same dagger for myself, when it shall please my country to need my death.

  Citizens.

  Live, Brutus! live! live!

  First Cit.

  Bring him with triumph home unto his house.

  Sec. Cit.

  Give him a statue with his ancestors.

  Third Cit.

  Let him be Cæsar.

  Fourth Cit.

  Cæsar’s better parts

  Shall be crown’d in Brutus.

  First Cit.

  We’ll bring him to his house with shouts and clamours.

  Bru.

  My countrymen,—

  Sec. Cit.

  Peace! silence! Brutus speaks.

  First Cit.

  Peace, ho!

  Bru.

  Good countrymen, let me depart alone,

  And, for my sake, stay here with Antony.

  Do grace to Cæsar’s corpse, and grace his speech

  Tending to Cæsar’s glories, which Mark Antony,

  By our permission, is allow’d to make.

  I do entreat you, not a man depart,

  Save I alone, till Antony have spoke.

  [Exit.

  First Cit.

  Stay, ho! and let us hear Mark Antony.

  Third Cit.

  Let him go up into the public chair;

  We’ll hear him. Noble Antony, go up.

  Ant.

  For Brutus’ sake, I am beholding to you.

  [Goes up.

  Fourth Cit.

  What does he say of Brutus?

  Third Cit.

  He says, for Brutus’ sake,

  He finds himself beholding to us all.

  Fourth Cit.

  ’Twere best he speak no harm of Brutus here.

  First Cit.

  This Cæsar was a tyrant.

  Third Cit.

  Nay, that’s certain:

  We are bless’d that Rome is rid of him.

  Sec. Cit.

  Peace! let us hear what Antony can say.

  Ant.

  You gentle Romans,—

  Citizens.

  Peace, ho! let us hear him.

  Ant.

  Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;

  I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.

  The evil that men do lives 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 answer’d it.

  Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest,—

  For Brutus is an honourable man;

  So are they all, all honourable 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 honourable 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 have cried, Cæsar hath wept;

  Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

  Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;

  And Brutus is an honourable 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 honourable man.

  I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,

  But here I am to speak what I do 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 till it come back to me.

  First Cit.

  Methinks there is much reason in his sayings.

  Sec. Cit.

  If thou consider rightly of the matter,

  Cæsar has had great wrong.

  Third Cit.

  Has he, masters?

  I fear there will a worse come in his place.

  Fourth Cit.

  Mark’d ye his words? He would not take the crown;

  Therefore ’tis certain he was not ambitious.

  First Cit.

  If it be found so, some will dear abide it.

  Sec. Cit.

  Poor soul! his eyes are red as fire with weeping.

  Third Cit.

  There’s not a nobler man in Rome than Antony.

  Fourth Cit.

  Now mark him; he begins again to speak.

  Ant.

  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 dispos’d to stir

  Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,

  I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,

  Who, you all know, are honourable men.

  I will not do them wrong; I rather choose

  To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you,

  Than I will wrong such honourable 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 testament—

  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.

  Fourth Cit.

  We’ll hear the will: read it, Mark Antony.

  Citizens.

  The will, the will! we will hear Cæsar’s will.

  Ant.

  Have patience, gentle friends; I must not read it:

  It is not meet you know how Cæsar lov’d you.

  You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;

  And, being men, hearing the will of Cæsar,

  It will inflame you, it will make you mad.

  ’Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;

  For if you should, O! what would come of it.

  Fourth Cit.

  Read the will! we’ll hear it, Antony;

  You shall read us the will, Cæsar’s will.

  Ant.

  Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile?

  I have o’ershot myself to tell you of it.

  I fear I wrong the honourable men

  Whose daggers have stabb’d Cæsar; I do fear it.

  Fourth Cit.

  They were traitors: honourable men!

  Citizens.

  The will! the testament!

  Sec. Cit.

  They were villains, murderers. The will! read the will.

  Ant.

  You will compel me then to read the will?

  Then make a ring about the corpse of Cæsar,

  And let me show you him that made the will.

  Shall I descend? and will you give me leave?

  Citizens.

  Come down.

  Sec. Cit.

  Descend.

  [Antonycomes down.

  Third Cit.

  You shall have leave.

  Fourth Cit.

  A ring; stand round.

  First Cit.

  Stand from the hearse; stand from the body.

  Sec. Cit.

  Room for Antony; most noble Antony.

  Ant.

  Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.

  Citizens.

  Stand back! room! bear back!

  Ant.

  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 stabb’d;

  And, as he pluck’d his cursed steel away,

  Mark how the blood of Cæsar follow’d it,

  As rushing out of doors, to be resolv’d

  If Brutus so unkindly knock’d or no;

  For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar’s angel:

  Judge, O you gods! how dearly Cæsar lov’d him.

  This was the most unkindest cut of all;

  For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,

  Ingratitude, more strong than traitors’ arms,

  Quite vanquish’d him: then burst his mighty heart;

  And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

  Even at the base of Pompey’s status,

  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 flourish’d over us.

  O! now you weep, and I perceive you feel

  The dint 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, marr’d, as you see, with traitors.

  First Cit.

  O piteous spectacle!

  Sec. Cit.

  O noble Cæsar!

  Third Cit.

  O woeful day!

  Fourth Cit.

  O traitors! villains!

  First Cit.

  O most bloody sight!

  Sec. Cit.

  We will be revenged.

  Citizens.

  Revenge!—About!—Seek!—Burn!

  Fire!—Kill!—Slay! Let not a traitor live.

  Ant.

  Stay, countrymen!

  First Citizen.

  Peace there! Hear the noble Antony.

  Sec. Cit.

  We’ll hear him, we’ll follow him, we’ll die with him.

  Ant.

  Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up

  To such a sudden flood of mutiny.

  They that have done this deed are honourable:

  What private griefs they have, alas! I know not,

  That made them do it; they are wise and honourable,

  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 friend; 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.

  Citizens.

  We’ll mutiny.

  First Cit.

  We’ll burn the house of Brutus.

  Third Cit.

  Away, then! come, seek the conspirators.

  Ant.

  Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.

  Citizens.

  Peace, ho!—Hear Antony,—most noble Antony.

  Ant.

  Why, friends, you go to do you know not what.

  Wherein hath Cæsar thus deserv’d your loves?

  Alas! you know not: I must tell you then.

  You have forgot the will I told you of.

  Citizens.

  Most true. The will! let’s stay and hear the will.

  Ant.

  Here is the will, and under Cæsar’s seal.

  To every Roman citizen he gives,

  To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.

  Sec. Cit.

  Most noble Cæsar! we’ll revenge his death.

  Third Cit.

  O royal Cæsar!

  Ant.

  Hear me with patience.

  Citizens.

  Peace, ho!

  Ant.

  Moreover, he hath left you all his walks,

  His private arbours, and new-planted orchards,

  On this side Tiber; he hath left them you,

  And to your heirs for ever; common pleasures,

  To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves.

  Here was a Cæsar! when comes such another?

  First Cit.

  Never, never! Come, away, away!

  We’ll burn his body in the holy place,

  And with the brands fire the traitors’ houses.

  Take up the body.

  Sec. Cit.

  Go fetch fire.

  Third Cit.

  Pluck down benches.

  Fourth Cit.

  Pluck down forms, windows, any thing.

  [Exeunt Citizens, with the body.

  Ant.

  Now let it work: mischief, thou art afoot,

  Take thou what course thou wilt!

  Enter a Servant.

  How now, fellow!

  Serv.

  Sir, Octavius is already come to Rome.

  Ant.

  Where is he?

  Serv.

  He and Lepidus are at Cæsar’s house.

  Ant.

  And thither will I straight to visit him.

  He comes upon a wish. Fortune is merry,

  And in this mood will give us any thing.

  Serv.

  I heard him say Brutus and Cassius

  Are rid like madmen through the gates of Rome.

  Ant.

  Belike they had some notice of the people,

  How I had mov’d them. Bring me to Octavius.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene III.—

  The Same. A Street.

  EnterCinna,the Poet.

  Cin.

  I dreamt to-night that I did feast with Cæsar,

  And things unlucky charge my fantasy:

  I have no will to wander forth of doors,

  Yet something leads me forth.

  Enter Citizens.

  First Cit.

  What is your name?

  Sec. Cit.

  Whither are you going?

  Third Cit.

  Where do you dwell?

  Fourth Cit.

  Are you a married man, or a bachelor?

  Sec. Cit.

  Answer every man directly.

  First Cit.

  Ay, and briefly.

  Fourth Cit.

  Ay, and wisely.

  Third Cit.

  Ay, and truly, you were best.

  Cin.

  What is my name? Whither am I going? Where do I dwell? Am I a married man, or a bachelor? Then, to answer every man directly and briefly, wisely and truly: wisely I say, I am a bachelor.

  Sec. Cit.

  That’s as much as to say, they are fools that marry; you’ll bear me a bang for that, I fear. Proceed; directly.

  Cin.

  Directly, I am going to Cæsar’s funeral.

  First Cit.

  As a friend or an enemy?

  Cin.

  As a friend.

  Sec. Cit.

  That matter is answered directly.

  Fourth Cit.

  For your dwelling, briefly.

  Cin.

  Briefly, I dwell by the Capitol.

  Third Cit.

  Your name, sir, truly.

  Cin.

  Truly, my name is Cinna.

  Sec. Cit.

  Tear him to pieces; he’s a conspirator.

  Cin.

  I am Cinna the poet, I am Cinna the poet.

  Fourth Cit.

  Tear him for his bad verses, tear him for his bad verses.

  Cin.

  I am not Cinna the conspirator.

  Sec. Cit.

  It is no matter, his name’s Cinna; pluck but his name out of his heart, and turn him going.

  Third Cit.

  Tear him, tear him! Come, brands, ho! firebrands! To Brutus’, to Cassius’; burn all. Some to Decius’ house, and some to Casca’s; some to Ligarius’. Away! go!

  [Exeunt.

  ACT IV.

  Scene I.—

  Rome. A Room inAntony’sHouse.

  Antony, Octavius,andLepidus,seated at a table.

  Ant.

  These many then shall die; their names are prick’d.

  Oct.

  Your brother too must die; consent you, Lepidus?

  Lep.

  I do consent.

  Oct.

  Prick him down, Antony.

  Lep.

  Upon condition Publius shall not live,

  Who is your sister’s son, Mark Antony.

  Ant.

  He shall not live; look, with a spot I damn him.

  But, Lepidus, go you to Cæsar’s house;

  Fetch the will hither, and we shall determine

  How to cut off some charge in legacies.

  Lep.

  What! shall I find you here?

  Oct.

  Or here or at the Capitol.

  [ExitLepidus.

  Ant.

  This is a slight unmeritable man,

  Meet to be sent on errands: is it fit,

  The three-fold world divided, he should stand

  One of the three to share it?

  Oct.

  So you thought him;

  And took his voice who should be prick’d to die,

  In our black sentence and proscription.

  Ant.

  Octavius, I have seen more days than you:

  And though we lay these honours on this man,

  To ease ourselves of divers slanderous loads,

  He shall but bear them as the ass bears gold,

  To groan and sweat under the business,

  Either led or driven, as we point the way;

  And having brought our treasure where we will,

  Then take we down his load, and turn him off,

  Like to the empty ass, to shake his ears,

  And graze in commons.

  Oct.

  You may do your will;

  But he’s a tried and valiant soldier.

  Ant.

  So is my horse, Octavius; and for that

  I do appoint him store of provender.

  It is a creature that I teach to fight,

  To wind, to stop, to run directly on,

  His corporal motion govern’d by my spirit.

  And, in some taste, is Lepidus but so;

  He must be taught, and train’d, and bid go forth;

  A barren-spirited fellow; one that feeds

  On abject orts, and imitations,

  Which, out of use and stal’d by other men,

  Begin his fashion: do not talk of him

  But as a property. And now, Octavius,

  Listen great things: Brutus and Cassius

  Are levying powers; we must straight make head;

  Therefore let our alliance be combin’d,

  Our best friends made, and our best means stretch’d out;

  And let us presently go sit in council,

  How covert matters may be best disclos’d,

  And open perils surest answered.

  Oct.

  Let us do so: for we are at the stake,

  And bay’d about with many enemies;

  And some that smile have in their hearts, I fear,

  Millions of mischiefs.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene II.—

  Camp near Sardis. BeforeBrutus’Tent.

  Drum. EnterBrutus, Lucilius, Lucius,and Soldiers: TitiniusandPindarusmeet them.

  Bru.

  Stand, ho!

  Lucil.

  Give the word, ho! and stand.

  Bru.

  What now, Lucilius! is Cassius near?

  Lucil.

  He is at hand; and Pindarus is come

  To do you salutation from his master.

  [Pindarusgives a letter toBrutus.

  Bru.

  He greets me well. Your master, Pindarus,

  In his own change, or by ill officers,

  Hath given me some worthy cause to wish

  Things done, undone; but, if he be at hand,

  I shall be satisfied.

  Pin.

  I do not doubt

  But that my noble master will appear

  Such as he is, full of regard and honour.

  Bru.

  He is not doubted. A word, Lucilius;

  How he receiv’d you, let me be resolv’d.

  Lucil.

  With courtesy and with respect enough;

  But not with such familiar instances,

  Nor with such free and friendly conference,

  As he hath us’d of old.

  Bru.

  Thou hast describ’d

  A hot friend cooling. Ever note, Lucilius,

  When love begins to sicken and decay,

  It useth an enforced ceremony.

  There are no tricks in plain and simple faith;

  But hollow men, like horses hot at hand,

  Make gallant show and promise of their mettle;

  But when they should endure the bloody spur,

  They fall their crests, and, like deceitful jades,

  Sink in the trial. Comes his army on?

  Lucil.

  They mean this night in Sardis to be quarter’d;

  The greater part, the horse in general,

  Are come with Cassius.

  Bru.

  Hark! he is arriv’d.

  [Low march within.

  March gently on to meet him.

  EnterCassiusand Soldiers.

  Cas.

  Stand, ho!

  Bru.

  Stand, ho! Speak the word along.

  First Sold.

  Stand!

  Sec. Sold.

  Stand!

  Third Sold.

  Stand!

  Cas.

  Most noble brother, you have done me wrong.

  Bru.

  Judge me, you gods! Wrong I mine enemies?

  And, if not so, how should I wrong a brother?

  Cas.

  Brutus, this sober form of yours hides wrongs;

  And when you do them—

  Bru.

  Cassius, be content;

  Speak your griefs softly: I do know you well.

  Before the eyes of both our armies here,

  Which should perceive nothing but love from us,

  Let us not wrangle: bid them move away;

  Then in my tent, Cassius, enlarge your griefs,

  And I will give you audience.

  Cas.

  Pindarus,

  Bid our commanders lead their charges off

  A little from this ground.

  Bru.

  Lucilius, do you the like; and let no man

  Come to our tent till we have done our conference.

  Let Lucius and Titinius guard our door.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene III.—

  Within the Tent ofBrutus.

  EnterBrutusandCassius.

  Cas.

  That you have wrong’d me doth appear in this:

  You have condemn’d and noted Lucius Pella

  For taking bribes here of the Sardians;

  Wherein my letters, praying on his side,

  Because I knew the man, were slighted off.

  Bru.

  You wrong’d yourself to write in such a case.

  Cas.

  In such a time as this it is not meet

  That every nice offence should bear his comment.

  Bru.

  Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself

  Are much condemn’d to have an itching palm;

  To sell and mart your offices for gold

  To undeservera.

  Cas.

  I an itching palm!

  You know that you are Brutus that speak this,

  Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.

  Bru.

  The name of Cassius honours this corruption,

  And chastisement doth therefore hide his head.

  Cas.

  Chastisement!

  Bru.

  Remember March, the ides of March remember:

  Did not great Julius bleed for justice’ sake?

  What villain touch’d his body, that did stab,

  And not for justice? What! shall one of us,

  That struck the foremost man of all this world

  But for supporting robbers, shall we now

  Contaminate our fingers with base bribes,

  And sell the mighty space of our large honours

  For so much trash as may be grasped thus?

  I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon,

  Than such a Roman.

  Cas.

  Brutus, bay not me;

  I’ll not endure it: you forget yourself,

  To hedge me in. I am a soldier, I,

  Older in practice, abler than yourself

  To make conditions.

  Bru.

  Go to; you are not, Cassius.

  Cas.

  I am.

  Bru.

  I say you are not.

  Cas.

  Urge me no more, I shall forget myself;

  Have mind upon your health; tempt me no further.

  Bru.

  Away, slight man!

  Cas.

  Is ’t possible?

  Bru.

  Hear me, for I will speak.

  Must I give way and room to your rash choler?

  Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?

  Cas.

  O ye gods! ye gods! Must I endure all this?

  Bru.

  All this! ay, more: fret till your proud heart break;

  Go show your slaves how choleric you are,

  And make your bondmen tremble. Must I budge?

  Must I observe you? Must I stand and crouch

  Under your testy humour? By the gods,

  You shall digest the venom of your spleen,

  Though it do split you; for, from this day forth,

  I’ll use you for my mirth, yea, for my laughter,

  When you are waspish.

  Cas.

  Is it come to this?

  Bru.

  You say you are a better soldier:

  Let it appear so; make your vaunting true,

  And it shall please me well. For mine own part,

  I shall be glad to learn of noble men.

  Cas.

  You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Brutus;

  I said an elder soldier, not a better:

  Did I say, ‘better?’

  Bru.

  If you did, I care not.

  Cas.

  When Cæsar liv’d, he durst not thus have mov’d me.

  Bru.

  Peace, peace! you durst not so have tempted him.

  Cas.

  I durst not!

  Bru.

  No.

  Cas.

  What! durst not tempt him!

  Bru.

  For your life you durst not.

  Cas.

  Do not presume too much upon my love;

  I may do that I shall be sorry for.

  Bru.

  You have done that you should be sorry for.

  There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats;

  For I am arm’d so strong in honesty

  That they pass by me as the idle wind,

  Which I respect not. I did send to you

  For certain sums of gold, which you denied me;

  For I can raise no money by vile means:

  By heaven, I had rather coin my heart,

  And drop my blood for drachmas, than to wring

  From the hard hands of peasants their vile trash

  By any indirection. I did send

  To you for gold to pay my legions,

  Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius?

  Should I have answer’d Caius Cassius so?

  When Marcus Brutus grows so covetous,

  To lock such rascal counters from his friends,

  Be ready, gods, with all your thunderbolts;

  Dash him to pieces!

  Cas.

  I denied you not.

  Bru.

  You did.

  Cas.

  I did not: he was but a fool

  That brought my answer back. Brutus hath riv’d my heart.

  A friend should bear his friend’s infirmities,

  But Brutus makes mine greater than they are.

  Bru.

  I do not, till you practise them on me.

  Cas.

  You love me not.

  Bru.

  I do not like your faults.

  Cas.

  A friendly eye could never see such faults.

  Bru.

  A flatterer’s would not, though they do appear

  As huge as high Olympus.

  Cas.

  Come, Antony, and young Octavius, come,

  Revenge yourselves alone on Cassius,

  For Cassius is aweary of the world;

  Hated by one he loves; brav’d by his brother;

  Check’d like a bondman; all his faults observ’d,

  Set in a note-book, learn’d, and conn’d by rote,

  To cast into my teeth. O! I could weep

  My spirit from mine eyes. There is my dagger,

  And here my naked breast; within, a heart

  Dearer than Plutus’ mine, richer than gold:

  If that thou be’st a Roman, take it forth;

  I, that denied thee gold, will give my heart:

  Strike, as thou didst at Cæsar; for, I know,

  When thou didst hate him worst, thou lov’dst him better

  Than ever thou lov’dst Cassius.

  Bru.

  Sheathe your dagger:

  Be angry when you will, it shall have scope;

  Do what you will, dishonour shall be humour.

  O Cassius! you are yoked with a lamb

  That carries anger as the flint bears fire,

  Who, much enforced, shows a hasty spark,

  And straight is cold again.

  Cas.

  Hath Cassius liv’d

  To be but mirth and laughter to his Brutus,

  When grief and blood ill-temper’d vexeth him?

  Bru.

  When I spoke that I was ill-temper’d too.

  Cas.

  Do you confess so much? Give me your hand.

  Bru.

  And my heart too.

  Cas.

  O Brutus!

  Bru.

  What’s the matter?

  Cas.

  Have not you love enough to bear with me,

  When that rash humour which my mother gave me

  Makes me forgetful?

  Bru.

  Yes, Cassius; and from henceforth

  When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,

  He’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

  [Noise within.

  Poet.

  [Within.] Let me go in to see the generals;

  There is some grudge between ’em, ’tis not meet

  They be alone.

  Lucil.

  [Within.] You shall not come to them.

  Poet.

  [Within.] Nothing but death shall stay me.

  Enter Poet, followed byLucilius, Titinius,andLucius.

  Cas.

  How now! What’s the matter?

  Poet.

  For shame, you generals! What do you mean?

  Love, and be friends, as two such men should be;

  For I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye.

  Cas.

  Ha, ha! how vilely doth this cynic rime!

  Bru.

  Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence!

  Cas.

  Bear with him, Brutus; ’tis his fashion.

  Bru.

  I’ll know his humour, when he knows his time:

  What should the wars do with these jigging fools?

  Companion, hence!

  Cas.

  Away, away! be gone.

  [Exit Poet.

  Bru.

  Lucilius and Titinius, bid the commanders

  Prepare to lodge their companies to-night.

  Cas.

  And come yourselves, and bring Messala with you,

  Immediately to us.

  [ExeuntLuciliusandTitinius.

  Bru.

  Lucius, a bowl of wine!

  [ExitLucius.

  Cas.

  I did not think you could have been so angry.

  Bru.

  O Cassius! I am sick of many griefs.

  Cas.

  Of your philosophy you make no use

  If you give place to accidental evils.

  Bru.

  No man bears sorrow better: Portia is dead.

  Cas.

  Ha! Portia!

  Bru.

  She is dead.

  Cas.

  How ’scap’d I killing when I cross’d you so?

  O insupportable and touching loss!

  Upon what sickness?

  Bru.

  Impatient of my absence,

  And grief that young Octavius with Mark Antony

  Have made themselves so strong;—for with her death

  That tidings came:—with this she fell distract,

  And, her attendants absent, swallow’d fire.

  Cas.

  And died so?

  Bru.

  Even so.

  Cas.

  O ye immortal gods!

  EnterLucius,with wine and tapers.

  Bru.

  Speak no more of her. Give me a bowl of wine.

  In this I bury all unkindness, Cassius.

  [Drinks.

  Cas.

  My heart is thirsty for that noble pledge.

  Fill, Lucius, till the wine o’erswell the cup;

  I cannot drink too much of Brutus’ love.

  [Drinks.

  Bru.

  Come in, Titinius.

  [ExitLucius.

  Re-enterTitinius,withMessala.

  Welcome, good Messala.

  Now sit we close about this taper here,

  And call in question our necessities.

  Cas.

  Portia, art thou gone?

  Bru.

  No more, I pray you.

  Messala, I have here received letters,

  That young Octavius and Mark Antony

  Come down upon us with a mighty power,

  Bending their expedition towards Philippi.

  Mes.

  Myself have letters of the self-same tenour.

  Bru.

  With what addition?

  Mes.

  That by proscription and bills of outlawry,

  Octavius, Antony, and Lepidus,

  Have put to death an hundred senators.

  Bru.

  Therein our letters do not well agree;

  Mine speak of seventy senators that died

  By their proscriptions, Cicero being one.

  Cas.

  Cicero one!

  Mes.

  Cicero is dead,

  And by that order of proscription.

  Had you your letters from your wife, my lord?

  Bru.

  No, Messala.

  Mes.

  Nor nothing in your letters writ of her?

  Bru.

  Nothing, Messala.

  Mes.

  That, methinks, is strange.

  Bru.

  Why ask you? Hear you aught of her in yours?

  Mes.

  No, my lord.

  Bru.

  Now, as you are a Roman, tell me true.

  Mes.

  Then like a Roman bear the truth I tell:

  For certain she is dead, and by strange manner.

  Bru.

  Why, farewell, Portia. We must die, Messala:

  With meditating that she must die once,

  I have the patience to endure it now.

  Mes.

  Even so great men great losses should endure.

  Cas.

  I have as much of this in art as you,

  But yet my nature could not bear it so.

  Bru.

  Well, to our work alive. What do you think

  Of marching to Philippi presently?

  Cas.

  I do not think it good.

  Bru.

  Your reason?

  Cas.

  This is it:

  ’Tis better that the enemy seek us:

  So shall he waste his means, weary his soldiers,

  Doing himself offence; whilst we, lying still,

  Are full of rest, defence, and nimbleness.

  Bru.

  Good reasons must, of force, give place to better,

  The people ’twixt Philippi and this ground

  Do stand but in a forc’d affection;

  For they have grudg’d us contribution:

  The enemy, marching along by them,

  By them shall make a fuller number up,

  Come on refresh’d, new-added, and encourag’d;

  From which advantage shall we cut him off,

  If at Philippi we do face him there,

  These people at our back.

  Cas.

  Hear me, good brother.

  Bru.

  Under your pardon. You must note beside,

  That we have tried the utmost of our friends,

  Our legions are brim-full, our cause is ripe:

  The enemy increaseth every day;

  We, at the height, are ready to decline.

  There is a tide in the affairs of men,

  Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

  Omitted, all the voyage of their life

  Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

  On such a full sea are we now afloat;

  And we must take the current when it serves,

  Or lose our ventures.

  Cas.

  Then, with your will, go on;

  We’ll along ourselves, and meet them at Philippi.

  Bru.

  The deep of night is crept upon our talk,

  And nature must obey necessity,

  Which we will niggard with a little rest.

  There is no more to say?

  Cas.

  No more. Good-night:

  Early to-morrow will we rise, and hence.

  Bru.

  Lucius!

  Re-enterLucius.

  My gown.

  [ExitLucius.

  Farewell, good Messala:

  Good-night, Titinius. Noble, noble Cassius,

  Good-night, and good repose.

  Cas.

  O my dear brother!

  This was an ill beginning of the night:

  Never come such division ’tween our souls!

  Let it not, Brutus.

  Bru.

  Every thing is well.

  Cas.

  Good-night, my lord.

  Bru.

  Good-night, good brother.

  Tit.

  Good-night, Lord Brutus.

  Mes.

  Good-night, Lord Brutus.

  Bru.

  Farewell, every one.

  [ExeuntCassius, Titinius,andMessala.

  Re-enterLucius,with the gown.

  Give me the gown. Where is thy instrument?

  Luc.

  Here in the tent.

  Bru.

  What! thou speak’st drowsily?

  Poor knave, I blame thee not; thou art o’erwatch’d.

  Call Claudius and some other of my men;

  I’ll have them sleep on cushions in my tent.

  Luc.

  Varro! and Claudius!

  EnterVarroandClaudius.

  Var.

  Calls my lord?

  Bru.

  I pray you, sirs, lie in my tent and sleep:

  It may be I shall raise you by and by

  On business to my brother Cassius.

  Var.

  So please you, we will stand and watch your pleasure.

  Bru.

  I will not have it so; lie down, good sirs;

  It may be I shall otherwise bethink me.

  Look, Lucius, here’s the book I sought for so;

  I put it in the pocket of my gown.

  [VarroandClaudiuslie down.

  Luc.

  I was sure your lordship did not give it me.

  Bru.

  Bear with me, good boy, I am much forgetful.

  Canst thou hold up thy heavy eyes awhile,

  And touch thy instrument a strain or two?

  Luc.

  Ay, my lord, an ’t please you.

  Bru.

  It does, my boy:

  I trouble thee too much, but thou art willing.

  Luc.

  It is my duty, sir.

  Bru.

  I should not urge thy duty past thy might;

  I know young bloods look for a time of rest.

  Luc.

  I have slept, my lord, already.

  Bru.

  It was well done, and thou shalt sleep again;

  I will not hold thee long: if I do live,

  I will be good to thee.

  [Music, and a Song.

  This is a sleepy tune: O murderous slumber!

  Lay’st thou thy leaden mace upon my boy,

  That plays thee music? Gentle knave, good-night;

  I will not do thee so much wrong to wake thee.

  If thou dost nod, thou break’st thy instrument;

  I’ll take it from thee; and, good boy, good-night.

  Let me see, let me see; is not the leaf turn’d down

  Where I left reading? Here it is, I think.

  Enter the Ghost ofCæsar.

  How ill this taper burns! Ha! who comes here?

  I think it is the weakness of mine eyes

  That shapes this monstrous apparition.

  It comes upon me. Art thou any thing?

  Art thou some god, some angel, or some devil,

  That mak’st my blood cold and my hair to stare?

  Speak to me what thou art.

  Ghost.

  Thy evil spirit, Brutus.

  Bru.

  Why com’st thou?

  Ghost.

  To tell thee thou shalt see me at Philippi.

  Bru.

  Well; then I shall see thee again?

  Ghost.

  Ay, at Philippi.

  Bru.

  Why, I will see thee at Philippi then.

  [Ghost vanishes.

  Now I have taken heart thou vanishest:

  Ill spirit, I would hold more talk with thee.

  Boy, Lucius! Varro! Claudius! Sirs, awake!

  Claudius!

  Luc.

  The strings, my lord, are false.

  Bru.

  He thinks he still is at his instrument.

  Lucius, awake!

  Luc.

  My lord!

  Bru.

  Didst thou dream, Lucius, that thou so criedst out?

  Luc.

  My lord, I do not know that I did cry.

  Bru.

  Yes, that thou didst. Didst thou see any thing?

  Luc.

  Nothing, my lord.

  Bru.

  Sleep again, Lucius. Sirrah, Claudius!

  Fellow thou! awake!

  Var.

  My lord!

  Clau.

  My lord!

  Bru.

  Why did you so cry out, sirs, in your sleep?

  Var.

  Did we, my lord?

  Clau.

  Did we, my lord?

  Bru.

  Ay: saw you any thing?

  Var.

  No, my lord, I saw nothing.

  Clau.

  Nor I, my lord.

  Bru.

  Go, and commend me to my brother Cassius.

  Bid him set on his powers betimes before,

  And we will follow.

  Var.

  It shall be done, my lord.

  Clau.

  It shall be done, my lord.

  [Exeunt.

  ACT V.

  Scene I.—

  The Plains of Philippi.

  EnterOctavius, Antony,and their Army.

  Oct.

  Now, Antony, our hopes are answered:

  You said the enemy would not come down,

  But keep the hills and upper regions;

  It proves not so; their battles are at hand;

  They mean to warn us at Philippi here,

  Answering before we do demand of them.

  Ant.

  Tut! I am in their bosoms, and I know

  Wherefore they do it: they could be content

  To visit other places; and come down

  With fearful bravery, thinking by this face

  To fasten in our thoughts that they have courage;

  But ’tis not so.

  Enter a Messenger.

  Mess.

  Prepare you, generals:

  The enemy comes on in gallant show;

  Their bloody sign of battle is hung out,

  And something to be done immediately.

  Ant.

  Octavius, lead your battle softly on,

  Upon the left hand of the even field.

  Oct.

  Upon the right hand I; keep thou the left.

  Ant.

  Why do you cross me in this exigent?

  Oct.

  I do not cross you; but I will do so.

  [March.

  Drum. EnterBrutus, Cassius,and their Army;Lucilius, Titinius, Messala,and Others.

  Bru.

  They stand, and would have parley.

  Cas.

  Stand fast, Titinius: we must out and talk.

  Oct.

  Mark Antony, shall we give sign of battle?

  Ant.

  No, Cæsar, we will answer on their charge.

  Make forth; the generals would have some words.

  Oct.

  Stir not until the signal.

  Bru.

  Words before blows: is it so, countrymen?

  Oct.

  Not that we love words better, as you do.

  Bru.

  Good words are better than bad strokes, Octavius.

  Ant.

  In your bad strokes, Brutus, you give good words:

  Witness the hole you made in Cæsar’s heart,

  Crying, ‘Long live! hail, Cæsar!’

  Cas.

  Antony,

  The posture of your blows are yet unknown;

  But for your words, they rob the Hybla bees,

  And leave them honeyless.

  Ant.

  Not stingless too.

  Bru.

  O! yes, and soundless too;

  For you have stol’n their buzzing, Antony,

  And very wisely threat before you sting.

  Ant.

  Villains! you did not so when your vile daggers

  Hack’d one another in the sides of Cæsar:

  How show’d your teeth like apes, and fawn’d like hounds,

  And bow’d like bondmen, kissing Cæsar’s feet;

  Whilst damned Casca, like a cur, behind

  Struck Cæsar on the neck. O you flatterers!

  Cas.

  Flatterers! Now, Brutus, thank yourself:

  This tongue had not offended so to-day,

  If Cassius might have rul’d.

  Oct.

  Come, come, the cause: if arguing make us sweat,

  The proof of it will turn to redder drops.

  Look;

  I draw a sword against conspirators;

  When think you that the sword goes up again?

  Never, till Cæsar’s three-and-thirty wounds

  Be well aveng’d; or till another Cæsar

  Have added slaughter to the sword of traitors.

  Bru.

  Cæsar, thou canst not die by traitors’ hands,

  Unless thou bring’st them with thee.

  Oct.

  So I hope;

  I was not born to die on Brutus’ sword.

  Bru.

  O! if thou wert the noblest of thy strain,

  Young man, thou couldst not die more honourable.

  Cas.

  A peevish schoolboy, worthless of such honour,

  Join’d with a masquer and a reveller.

  Ant.

  Old Cassius still!

  Oct.

  Come, Antony; away!

  Defiance, traitors, hurl we in your teeth.

  If you dare fight to-day, come to the field;

  If not, when you have stomachs.

  [ExeuntOctavius, Antony,and their Army.

  Cas.

  Why now, blow wind, swell billow, and swim bark!

  The storm is up, and all is on the hazard.

  Bru.

  Ho!

  Lucilius! hark, a word with you.

  Lucil.

  My lord?

  [BrutusandLuciliustalk apart.

  Cas.

  Messala!

  Mes.

  What says my general?

  Cas.

  Messala,

  This is my birth-day; as this very day

  Was Cassius born. Give me thy hand, Messala:

  Be thou my witness that against my will,

  As Pompey was, am I compell’d to set

  Upon one battle all our liberties.

  You know that I held Epicurus strong,

  And his opinion; now I change my mind,

  And partly credit things that do presage.

  Coming from Sardis, on our former ensign

  Two mighty eagles fell, and there they perch’d,

  Gorging and feeding from our soldiers’ hands;

  Who to Philippi here consorted us:

  This morning are they fled away and gone,

  And in their stead do ravens, crows, and kites

  Fly o’er our heads, and downward look on us,

  As we were sickly prey: their shadows seem

  A canopy most fatal, under which

  Our army lies, ready to give up the ghost.

  Mes.

  Believe not so.

  Cas.

  I but believe it partly,

  For I am fresh of spirit and resolv’d

  To meet all perils very constantly.

  Bru.

  Even so, Lucilius.

  Cas.

  Now, most noble Brutus,

  The gods to-day stand friendly, that we may,

  Lovers in peace, lead on our days to age!

  But since the affairs of men rest still incertain,

  Let’s reason with the worst that may befall.

  If we do lose this battle, then is this

  The very last time we shall speak together:

  What are you then, determined to do?

  Bru.

  Even by the rule of that philosophy

  By which I did blame Cato for the death

  Which he did give himself; I know not how,

  But I do find it cowardly and vile,

  For fear of what might fall, so to prevent

  The time of life: arming myself with patience,

  To stay the providence of some high powers

  That govern us below.

  Cas.

  Then, if we lose this battle,

  You are contented to be led in triumph

  Thorough the streets of Rome?

  Bru.

  No, Cassius, no: think not, thou noble Roman,

  That ever Brutus will go bound to Rome;

  He bears too great a mind: but this same day

  Must end that work the ides of March begun;

  And whether we shall meet again I know not.

  Therefore our everlasting farewell take:

  For ever, and for ever, farewell, Cassius!

  If we do meet again, why, we shall smile;

  If not, why then, this parting was well made.

  Cas.

  For ever, and for ever, farewell, Brutus!

  If we do meet again, we’ll smile indeed;

  If not, ’tis true this parting was well made.

  Bru.

  Why, then, lead on. O! that a man might know

  The end of this day’s business, ere it come;

  But it sufficeth that the day will end,

  And then the end is known. Come, ho! away!

  [Exeunt.

  Scene II.—

  The Same. The Field of Battle.

  Alarum. EnterBrutusandMessala.

  Bru.

  Ride, ride, Messala, ride, and give these bills

  Unto the legions on the other side.

  [Loud alarum.

  Let them set on at once, for I perceive

  But cold demeanour in Octavius’ wing,

  And sudden push gives them the overthrow.

  Ride, ride, Messala: let them all come down.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene III.—

  Another Part of the Field.

  Alarum. EnterCassiusandTitinius.

  Cas.

  O! look, Titinius, look, the villains fly:

  Myself have to mine own turn’d enemy;

  This ensign here of mine was turning back;

  I slew the coward, and did take it from him.

  Tit.

  O Cassius! Brutus gave the word too early;

  Who, having some advantage on Octavius,

  Took it too eagerly: his soldiers fell to spoil,

  Whilst we by Antony are all enclos’d.

  EnterPindarus.

  Pin.

  Fly further off, my lord, fly further off;

  Mark Antony is in your tents, my lord:

  Fly, therefore, noble Cassius, fly far off.

  Cas.

  This hill is far enough. Look, look, Titinius;

  Are those my tents where I perceive the fire?

  Tit.

  They are, my lord.

  Cas.

  Titinius, if thou lov’st me,

  Mount thou my horse, and hide thy spurs in him,

  Till he have brought thee up to yonder troops

  And here again; that I may rest assur’d

  Whether yond troops are friend or enemy.

  Tit.

  I will be here again, even with a thought.

  [Exit.

  Cas.

  Go, Pindarus, get higher on that hill;

  My sight was ever thick; regard Titinius,

  And tell me what thou not’st about the field.

  [Pindarusascends the hill.

  This day I breathed first; time is come round,

  And where I did begin, there shall I end;

  My life is run his compass. Sirrah, what news?

  Pin.

  [Above.] O my lord!

  Cas.

  What news?

  Pin.

  Titinius is enclosed round about

  With horsemen, that make to him on the spur;

  Yet he spurs on: now they are almost on him;

  Now, Titinius! now some light; O! he lights too:

  He’s ta’en; [Shout.] and, hark! they shout for joy.

  Cas.

  Come down; behold no more.

  O, coward that I am, to live so long,

  To see my best friend ta’en before my face!

  Pindarusdescends.

  Come hither, sirrah:

  In Parthia did I take thee prisoner;

  And then I swore thee, saving of thy life,

  That whatsoever I did bid thee do,

  Thou shouldst attempt it. Come now, keep thine oath;

  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 hilts;

  And, when my face is cover’d, as ’tis now,

  Guide thou the sword. Cæsar, thou art reveng’d,

  Even with the sword that kill’d thee.

  [Dies.

  Pin.

  So, I am free; yet would not so have been;

  Durst I have done my will. O Cassius,

  Far from this country Pindarus shall run,

  Where never Roman shall take note of him.

  [Exit.

  Re-enterTitiniuswithMessala.

  Mes.

  It is but change, Titinius; for Octavius

  Is overthrown by noble Brutus’ power,

  As Cassius’ legions are by Antony.

  Tit.

  These tidings will well comfort Cassius.

  Mes.

  Where did you leave him?

  Tit.

  All disconsolate,

  With Pindarus his bondman, on this hill.

  Mes.

  Is not that he that lies upon the ground?

  Tit.

  He lies not like the living. O my heart!

  Mes.

  Is not that he?

  Tit.

  No, this was he, Messala,

  But Cassius is no more. O setting sun!

  As in thy red rays thou dost sink to-night,

  So in his red blood Cassius’ day is set;

  The sun of Rome is set. Our day is gone;

  Clouds, dews, and dangers come; our deeds are done.

  Mistrust of my success hath done this deed.

  Mes.

  Mistrust of good success hath done this deed.

  O hateful error, melancholy’s child!

  Why dost thou show to the apt thoughts of men

  The things that are not? O error! soon conceiv’d,

  Thou never com’st unto a happy birth,

  But kill’st the mother that engender’d thee.

  Tit.

  What, Pindarus! Where art thou, Pindarus?

  Mes.

  Seek him, Titinius, whilst I go to meet

  The noble Brutus, thrusting this report

  Into his ears; I may say, thrusting it;

  For piercing steel and darts envenomed

  Shall be as welcome to the ears of Brutus

  As tidings of this sight.

  Tit.

  Hie you, Messala,

  And I will seek for Pindarus the while.

  [ExitMessala.

  Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?

  Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they

  Put on my brows this wreath of victory,

  And bid me give it thee? Didst thou not hear their shouts?

  Alas! thou hast misconstru’d every thing.

  But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;

  Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I

  Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,

  And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.

  By your leave, gods: this is a Roman’s part:

  Come, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart.

  [Kills himself.

  Alarum. Re-enterMessala,withBrutus,YoungCato, Strato, Volumnius,andLucilius.

  Bru.

  Where, where, Messala, doth his body lie?

  Mes.

  Lo, yonder: and Titinius mourning it.

  Bru.

  Titinius’ face is upward.

  Cato.

  He is slain.

  Bru.

  O Julius Cæsar! thou art mighty yet!

  Thy spirit walks abroad, and turns our swords

  In our own proper entrails.

  [Low alarums.

  Cato.

  Brave Titinius!

  Look whe’r he have not crown’d dead Cassius!

  Bru.

  Are yet two Romans living such as these?

  The last of all the Romans, fare thee well!

  It is impossible that ever Rome

  Should breed thy fellow. Friends, I owe more tears

  To this dead man than you shall see me pay.—

  I shall find time, Cassius, I shall find time.—

  Come therefore, and to Thassos send his body:

  His funerals shall not be in our camp,

  Lest it discomfort us. Lucilius, come;

  And come, young Cato;—let us to the field.

  Labeo and Flavius, set our battles on:—

  ’Tis three o’clock; and, Romans, yet ere night

  We shall try fortune in a second fight.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene IV.—

  Another Part of the Field.

  Alarum. Enter fighting, Soldiers of both armies; thenBrutus,YoungCato, Lucilius,and Others.

  Bru.

  Yet, countrymen, O! yet hold up your heads!

  Cato.

  What bastard doth not? Who will go with me?

  I will proclaim my name about the field:

  I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

  A foe to tyrants, and my country’s friend;

  I am the son of Marcus Cato, ho!

  Bru.

  And I am Brutus, Marcus Brutus, I;

  Brutus, my country’s friend; know me for Brutus!

  [Exit, charging the enemy.Catois overpowered, and falls.

  Lucil.

  O young and noble Cato, art thou down?

  Why, now thou diest as bravely as Titinius,

  And mayst be honour’d being Cato’s son.

  First Sold.

  Yield, or thou diest.

  Lucil.

  Only I yield to die:

  There is so much that thou wilt kill me straight.

  [Offering money.

  Kill Brutus, and be honour’d in his death.

  First Sold.

  We must not. A noble prisoner!

  Sec. Sold.

  Room, ho! Tell Antony, Brutus is ta’en.

  First Sold

  I’ll tell the news: here comes the general.

  EnterAntony.

  Brutus is ta’en, my lord.

  Ant.

  Where is he?

  Lucil.

  Safe, Antony; Brutus is safe enough:

  I dare assure thee that no enemy

  Shall ever take alive the noble Brutus:

  The gods defend him from so great a shame!

  When you do find him, or alive or dead,

  He will be found like Brutus, like himself.

  Ant.

  This is not Brutus, friend; but, I assure you,

  A prize no less in worth. Keep this man safe,

  Give him all kindness: I had rather have

  Such men my friends than enemies. Go on,

  And see whe’r Brutus be alive or dead;

  And bring us word unto Octavius’ tent,

  How every thing is chanc’d.

  [Exeunt.

  Scene V.—

  Another Part of the Field.

  EnterBrutus, Dardanius, Clitus, Strato,andVolumnius.

  Bru.

  Come, poor remains of friends, rest on this rock.

  Cli.

  Statilius show’d the torch-light; but, my lord,

  He came not back: he is or ta’en or slain.

  Bru.

  Sit thee down, Clitus: slaying is the word;

  It is a deed in fashion. Hark thee, Clitus.

  [Whispers.

  Cli.

  What, I, my lord? No, not for all the world.

  Bru.

  Peace, then! no words.

  Cli.

  I’ll rather kill myself.

  Bru.

  Hark thee, Dardanius.

  [Whispers.

  Dar.

  Shall I do such a deed?

  Cli.

  O, Dardanius!

  Dar

  O, Clitus!

  Cli.

  What ill request did Brutus make to thee?

  Dar.

  To kill him, Clitus. Look, he meditates.

  Cli.

  Now is that noble vessel full of grief,

  That it runs over even at his eyes.

  Bru.

  Come hither, good Volumnius: list a word.

  Vol.

  What says my lord?

  Bru.

  Why this, Volumnius:

  The ghost of Cæsar hath appear’d to me

  Two several times by night; at Sardis once,

  And this last night here in Philippi fields.

  I know my hour is come.

  Vol.

  Not so, my lord.

  Bru.

  Nay, I am sure it is, Volumnius.

  Thou seest the world, Volumnius, how it goes;

  Our enemies have beat us to the pit:

  It is more worthy to leap in ourselves,

  Than tarry till they push us. Good Volumnius,

  Thou know’st that we two went to school together:

  Even for that our love of old, I prithee,

  Hold thou my sword-hilts, whilst I run on it.

  Vol.

  That’s not an office for a friend, my lord.

  [Alarum still.

  Cli.

  Fly, fly, my lord! there is no tarrying here.

  Bru.

  Farewell to you; and you; and you, Volumnius.

  Strato, thou hast been all this while asleep;

  Farewell to thee too, Strato. Countrymen,

  My heart doth joy that yet, in all my life,

  I found no man but he was true to me.

  I shall have glory by this losing day,

  More than Octavius and Mark Antony

  By this vile conquest shall attain unto.

  So fare you well at once; for Brutus’ tongue

  Hath almost ended his life’s history:

  Night hangs upon mine eyes; my bones would rest,

  That have but labour’d to attain this hour.

  [Alarum. Cry within, ‘Fly, fly, fly!’

  Cli.

  Fly, my lord, fly.

  Bru.

  Hence! I will follow.

  [ExeuntClitus, Dardanius,andVolumnius.

  I prithee, Strato, stay thou by thy lord:

  Thou art a fellow of a good respect;

  Thy life hath had some smatch of honour in it:

  Hold then my sword, and turn away thy face,

  While I do run upon it. Wilt thou, Strato?

  Stra.

  Give me your hand first: fare you well, my lord.

  Bru.

  Farewell, good Strato.—[He runs on his sword.] Cæsar, now be still;

  I kill’d not thee with half so good a will.

  [Dies.

  Alarum. Retreat. EnterOctavius, Antony, Messala, Lucilius,and Army.

  Oct.

  What man is that?

  Mes.

  My master’s man. Strato, where is thy master?

  Stra.

  Free from the bondage you are in, Messala;

  The conquerors can but make a fire of him;

  For Brutus only overcame himself,

  And no man else hath honour by his death.

  Lucil.

  So Brutus should be found. I thank thee, Brutus,

  That thou hast prov’d Lucilius’ saying true.

  Oct.

  All that serv’d Brutus, I will entertain them.

  Fellow, wilt thou bestow thy time with me?

  Stra.

  Ay, if Messala will prefer me to you.

  Oct.

  Do so, good Messala.

  Mes.

  How died my master, Strato?

  Stra.

  I held the sword, and he did run on it.

  Mes.

  Octavius, then take him to follow thee,

  That did the latest service to my master.

  Ant.

  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 mix’d in him that Nature might stand up

  And say to all the world, ‘This was a man!’

  Oct.

  According to his virtue let us use him,

  With all respect and rites of burial.

  Within my tent his bones to-night shall lie,

  Most like a soldier, order’d honourably.

  So, call the field to rest; and let’s away,

  To part the glories of this happy day.

  [Exeunt.

• Back to Top

  6: Session V: Antony and Cleopatra I: War and the Shift in Power from Republic to Empire

  As a tragic figure, Antony stands somewhere between Caesar and Brutus. While rightly critical of Antony’s faults — his inconstancy and dissipations — Plutarch is not blinded to his virtues — courage, generosity, humanity. These very contradictions in character make Antony a compelling study. His love affair with the “irresistible” Cleopatra is among history’s best examples of the dangers of mixing the personal with the political. Bereft of his judgment by the lady pharaoh, Antony becomes the pawn of events instead of the master of his destiny. His fate largely speaks for itself.

  Plutarch, Plutarch’s Lives. The Translation called Dryden’s. Corrected from the Greek and Revised by A.H. Clough, in 5 volumes (Boston: Little Brown and Co., 1906). Chapter: ANTONY.

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1775/93976 on 2008-08-21

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  ANTONY.

  The grandfather of Antony was the famous pleader, whom Marius put to death for having taken part with Sylla. His father was Antony, surnamed of Crete, not very famous or distinguished in public life, but a worthy, good man, and particularly remarkable for his liberality, as may appear from a single example. He was not very rich, and was for that reason checked in the exercise of his good-nature by his wife. A friend that stood in need of money came to borrow of him. Money he had none, but he bade a servant bring him water in a silver basin, with which, when it was brought, he wetted his face, as if he meant to shave; and, sending away the servant upon another errand, gave his friend the basin, desiring him to turn it to his purpose. And when there was, afterwards, a great inquiry for it in the house, and his wife was in a very ill humor, and was going to put the servants one by one to the search, he acknowledged what he had done, and begged her pardon.

  His wife was Julia, of the family of the Cæsars, who, for her discretion and fair behavior, was not inferior to any of her time. Under her, Antony received his education, she being, after the death of his father, remarried to Cornelius Lentulus, who was put to death by Cicero for having been of Catiline’s conspiracy. This, probably, was the first ground and occasion of that mortal grudge that Antony bore Cicero. He says, even, that the body of Lentulus was denied burial, till, by application made to Cicero’s wife, it was granted to Julia. But this seems to be a manifest error, for none of those that suffered in the consulate of Cicero had the right of burial denied them. Antony grew up a very beautiful youth, but, by the worst of misfortunes, he fell into the acquaintance and friendship of Curio, a man abandoned to his pleasures; who, to make Antony’s dependence upon him a matter of greater necessity, plunged him into a life of drinking and dissipation, and led him through a course of such extravagance, that he ran, at that early age, into debt to the amount of two hundred and fifty talents. For this sum, Curio became his surety; on hearing which, the elder Curio, his father, drove Antony out of his house. After this, for some short time, he took part with Clodius, the most insolent and outrageous demagogue of the time, in his course of violence and disorder; but, getting weary, before long, of his madness, and apprehensive of the powerful party forming against him, he left Italy, and travelled into Greece, where he spent his time in military exercises and in the study of eloquence. He took most to what was called the Asiatic taste in speaking, which was then at its height, and was, in many ways, suitable to his ostentatious, vaunting temper, full of empty flourishes and unsteady efforts for glory.

  After some stay in Greece, he was invited by Gabinius, who had been consul, to make a campaign with him in Syria, which at first he refused, not being willing to serve in a private character, but, receiving a commission to command the horse, he went along with him. His first service was against Aristobulus, who had prevailed with the Jews to rebel. Here he was himself the first man to scale the largest of the works, and beat Aristobulus out of all of them; after which he routed, in a pitched battle, an army many times over the number of his, killed almost all of them, and took Aristobulus and his son prisoners. This war ended, Gabinius was solicited by Ptolemy to restore him to his kingdom of Egypt, and a promise made of ten thousand talents reward. Most of the officers were against this enterprise, and Gabinius himself did not much like it, though sorely tempted by the ten thousand talents. But Antony, desirous of brave actions, and willing to please Ptolemy, joined in persuading Gabinius to go. And whereas all were of opinion that the most dangerous thing before them was the march to Pelusium, in which they would have to pass over a deep sand, where no fresh water was to be hoped for, along the Ecregma and the Serbonian marsh (which the Egyptians call Typhon’s breathing-hole, and which is, in probability, water left behind by, or making its way through from, the Red Sea, which is here divided from the Mediterranean by a narrow isthmus), Antony, being ordered thither with the horse, not only made himself master of the passes, but won Pelusium itself, a great city, took the garrison prisoners, and, by this means, rendered the march secure to the army, and the way to victory not difficult for the general to pursue. The enemy, also, reaped some benefit of his eagerness for honor. For when Ptolemy, after he had entered Pelusium, in his rage and spite against the Egyptians, designed to put them to the sword, Antony withstood him, and hindered the execution. In all the great and frequent skirmishes and battles, he gave continual proofs of his personal valor and military conduct; and once in particular, by wheeling about and attacking the rear of the enemy, he gave the victory to the assailants in the front, and received for this service signal marks of distinction. Nor was his humanity towards the deceased Archelaus less taken notice of. He had been formerly his guest and acquaintance, and, as he was now compelled, he fought him bravely while alive, but, on his death, sought out his body and buried it with royal honors. The consequence was that he left behind him a great name among the Alexandrians, and all who were serving in the Roman army looked upon him as a most gallant soldier.

  He had also a very good and noble appearance; his beard was well grown, his forehead large, and his nose aquiline, giving him altogether a bold, masculine look, that reminded people of the faces of Hercules in paintings and sculptures. It was, moreover, an ancient tradition, that the Antonys were descended from Hercules, by a son of his called Anton; and this opinion he thought to give credit to, by the similarity of his person just mentioned, and also by the fashion of his dress. For, whenever he had to appear before large numbers, he wore his tunic girt low about the hips, a broadsword on his side, and over all a large, coarse mantle. What might seem to some very insupportable, his vaunting, his raillery, his drinking in public, sitting down by the men as they were taking their food, and eating, as he stood, off the common soldiers’ tables, made him the delight and pleasure of the army. In love affairs, also, he was very agreeable; he gained many friends by the assistance he gave them in theirs, and took other people’s raillery upon his own with good-humor. And his generous ways, his open and lavish hand in gifts and favors to his friends and fellow-soldiers, did a great deal for him in his first advance to power, and, after he had become great, long maintained his fortunes, when a thousand follies were hastening their overthrow. One instance of his liberality I must relate. He had ordered payment to one of his friends of twenty-five myriads of money, or decies, as the Romans call it, and his steward, wondering at the extravagance of the sum, laid all the silver in a heap, as he should pass by. Antony, seeing the heap, asked what it meant; his steward replied, “The money you have ordered to be given to your friend.” So, perceiving the man’s malice, said he, “I thought the decies had been much more; ’t is too little; let it be doubled.” This, however, was at a later time.

  When the Roman state finally broke up into two hostile factions, the aristocratical party joining Pompey, who was in the city, and the popular side seeking help from Cæsar, who was at the head of an army in Gaul, Curio, the friend of Antony, having changed his party and devoted himself to Cæsar, brought over Antony also to his service. And the influence which he gained with the people by his eloquence and by the money which was supplied by Cæsar enabled him to make Antony, first, tribune of the people, and then, augur. And Antony’s accession to office was at once of the greatest advantage to Cæsar. In the first place, he resisted the consul Marcellus, who was putting under Pompey’s orders the troops who were already collected, and was giving him power to raise new levies; he, on the other hand, making an order that they should be sent into Syria to reinforce Bibulus, who was making war with the Parthians, and that no one should give in his name to serve under Pompey. Next, when the senators would not suffer Cæsar’s letters to be received or read in the senate, by virtue of his office he read them publicly, and succeeded so well, that many were brought to change their mind; Cæsar’s demands, as they appeared in what he wrote, being but just and reasonable. At length, two questions being put in the senate, the one, whether Pompey should dismiss his army, the other, if Cæsar his, some were for the former, for the latter all, except some few, when Antony stood up Page 160 and put the question, if it would be agreeable to them that both Pompey and Cæsar should dismiss their armies. This proposal met with the greatest approval, they gave him loud acclamations, and called for it to be put to the vote. But when the consuls would not have it so, Cæsar’s friends again made some new offers, very fair and equitable, but were strongly opposed by Cato, and Antony himself was commanded to leave the senate by the consul Lentulus. So, leaving them with execrations, and disguising himself in a servant’s dress, hiring a carriage with Quintus Cassius, he went straight away to Cæsar, declaring at once, when they reached the camp, that affairs at Rome were conducted without any order or justice, that the privilege of speaking in the senate was denied the tribunes, and that he who spoke for common fair dealing was driven out and in danger of his life.

  Upon this, Cæsar set his army in motion, and marched into Italy; and for this reason it is that Cicero writes in his Philippies, that Antony was as much the cause of the civil war, as Helen was of the Trojan. But this is but a calumny. For Cæsar was not of so slight or weak a temper as to suffer himself to be carried away, by the indignation of the moment, into a civil war with his country, upon the sight of Antony and Cassius seeking refuge in his camp, meanly dressed and in a hired carriage, without ever having thought of it or taken any such resolution long before. This was to him, who wanted a pretence of declaring war, a fair and plausible occasion; but the true motive that led him was the same that formerly led Alexander and Cyrus against all mankind, the unquenchable thirst of empire, and the distracted ambition of being the greatest man in the world, which was impracticable for him, unless Pompey were put down. So soon, then, as he had advanced and occupied Rome, and driven Pompey out of Italy, he purposed first to go against the legions that Pompey had in Spain, and then cross over and follow him with the fleet that should be prepared during his absence, in the mean time leaving the government of Rome to Lepidus, as prætor, and the command of the troops and of Italy to Antony, as tribune of the people. Antony was not long in getting the hearts of the soldiers, joining with them in their exercises, and for the most part living amongst them, and making them presents to the utmost of his abilities; but with all others he was unpopular enough. He was too lazy to pay attention to the complaints of persons who were injured; he listened impatiently to petitions; and he had an ill name for familiarity with other people’s wives. In short, the government of Cæsar (which, so far as he was concerned himself, had the appearance of any thing rather than a tyranny), got a bad repute through his friends. And of these friends, Antony, as he had the largest trust, and committed the greatest errors, was thought the most deeply in fault.

  Cæsar, however, at his return from Spain, overlooked the charges against him, and had no reason ever to complain, in the employments he gave him in the war, of any want of courage, energy, or military skill. He himself, going aboard at Brundusium, sailed over the Ionian Sea with a few troops, and sent back the vessels with orders to Antony and Gabinius to embark the army, and come over with all speed into Macedonia. Gabinius, having no mind to put to sea in the rough, dangerous weather of the winter season, was for marching the army round by the long land route; but Antony, being more afraid lest Cæsar might suffer from the number of his enemies, who pressed him hard, beat back Libo, who was watching with a fleet at the mouth of the haven of Brundusium, by attacking his galleys with a number of small boats, and, gaining thus an opportunity, put on board twenty thousand foot and eight hundred horse, and so set out to sea. And, being espied by the enemy and pursued, from this danger he was rescued by a strong south wind, which sprang up and raised so high a sea, that the enemy’s galleys could make little way. But his own ships were driving before it upon a lee shore of cliffs and rocks running sheer to the water, where there was no hope of escape, when all of a sudden the wind turned about to south-west, and blew from land to the main sea, where Antony, now sailing in security, saw the coast all covered with the wreck of the enemy’s fleet. For hither the galleys in pursuit had been carried by the gale, and not a few of them dashed to pieces. Many men and much property fell into Antony’s hands; he took also the town of Lissus, and, by the seasonable arrival of so large a reinforcement, gave Cæsar great encouragement.

  There was not one of the many engagements that now took place one after another in which he did not signalize himself; twice he stopped the army in its full flight, led them back to a charge, and gained the victory. So that not without reason his reputation, next to Cæsar’s, was greatest in the army. And what opinion Cæsar himself had of him well appeared when for the final battle in Pharsalia, which was to determine every thing, he himself chose to lead the right wing, committing the charge of the left to Antony, as to the best officer of all that served under him. After the battle, Cæsar, being created dictator, went in pursuit of Pompey, and sent Antony to Rome, with the character of Master of the Horse, who is in office and power next to the dictator, when present, and in his absence is the first, and pretty nearly indeed the sole magistrate. For on the appointment of a dictator, with the one exception of the tribunes, all other magistrates cease to exercise any authority in Rome.

  Dolabella, however, who was tribune, being a young man and eager for change, was now for bringing in a general measure for cancelling debts, and wanted Antony, who was his friend, and forward enough to promote any popular project, to take part with him in this step. Asinius and Trebellius were of the contrary opinion, and it so happened, at the same time, Antony was crossed by a terrible suspicion that Dolabella was too familiar with his wife; and in great trouble at this, he parted with her (she being his cousin, and daughter to Caius Antonius, the colleague of Cicero), and, taking part with Asinius, came to open hostilities with Dolebella, who had seized on the forum, intending to pass his law by force. Antony, backed by a vote of the senate that Dolabella should be put down by force of arms, went down and attacked him, killing some of his, and losing some of his own men; and by this action lost his favor with the commonalty, while with the better class and with all well conducted people his general course of life made him, as Cicero says, absolutely odious, utter disgust being excited by his drinking bouts at all hours, his wild expenses, his gross amours, the day spent in sleeping or walking off his debauches, and the night in banquets and at theatres, and in celebrating the nuptials of some comedian or buffoon. It is related that, drinking all night at the wedding of Hippias, the comedian, on the morning, having to harangue the people, he came forward, overcharged as he was, and vomited before them all, one of his friends holding his gown for him. Sergius, the player, was one of the friends who could do most with him; also Cytheris, a woman of the same trade, whom he made much of, and who, when he went his progress, accompanied him in a litter, and had her equipage, not in any thing inferior to his mother’s; while every one, moreover, was scandalized at the sight of the golden cups that he took with him, fitter for the ornaments of a procession than the uses of a journey, at his having pavilions set up, and sumptuous morning repasts laid out by river sides and in groves, at his having chariots drawn by lions, and common women and singing girls quartered upon the houses of serious fathers and mothers of families. And it seemed very unreasonable that Cæsar, out of Italy, should lodge in the open field, and, with great fatigue and danger, pursue the remainder of a hazardous war, whilst others, by favor of his authority, should insult the citizens with their impudent luxury.

  All this appears to have aggravated party quarrels in Rome, and to have encouraged the soldiers in acts of license and rapacity. And, accordingly, when Cæsar came home, he acquitted Dolabella, and, being created the third time consul, took, not Antony, but Lepidus, for his colleague. Pompey’s house being offered for sale, Antony bought it, and, when the price was demanded of him, loudly complained. This, he tells us himself, and because he thought his former services had not been recompensed as they deserved, made him not follow Cæsar with the army into Libya. However, Cæsar, by dealing gently with his errors, seems to have succeeded in curing him of a good deal of his folly and extravagance. He gave up his former courses, and took a wife, Fulvia, the widow of Clodius the demagogue, a woman not born for spinning or housewifery, nor one that could be content with ruling a private husband, but prepared to govern a first magistrate, or give orders to a commander-in-chief. So that Cleopatra had great obligations to her for having taught Antony to be so good a servant, he coming to her hands tame and broken into entire obedience to the commands of a mistress. He used to play all sorts of sportive, boyish tricks, to keep Fulvia in good-humor. As, for example, when Cæsar, after his victory in Spain, was on his return, Antony, among the rest, went out to meet him; and, a rumor being spread that Cæsar was killed and the enemy marching into Italy, he returned to Rome, and, disguising himself, came to her by night muffled up as a servant that brought letters from Antony. She, with great impatience, before she received the letter, asks if Antony were well, and instead of an answer he gives her the letter; and, as she was opening it, took her about the neck and kissed her. This little story of many of the same nature, I give as a specimen.

  There was nobody of any rank in Rome that did not go some days’ journey to meet Cæsar on his return from Spain; but Antony was the best received of any, admitted to ride the whole journey with him in his carriage, while behind came Brutus Albinus, and Octavian, his niece’s son, who afterwards bore his name and reigned so long over the Romans. Cæsar being created, the fifth time, consul, without delay chose Antony for his colleague, but, designing himself to give up his own consulate to Dolabella, he acquainted the senate with his resolution. But Antony opposed it with all his might, saying much that was bad against Dolabella, and receiving the like language in return, till Cæsar could bear with the indecency no longer, and deferred the matter to another time. Afterwards, when he came before the people to proclaim Dolabella, Antony cried out that the auspices were unfavorable, so that at last Cæsar, much to Dolabella’s vexation, yielded and gave it up. And it is credible that Cæsar was about as much disgusted with the one as the other. When some one was accusing them both to him, “It is not,” said he, “these well fed, long haired men that I fear, but the pale and the hungry looking;” meaning Brutus and Cassius, by whose conspiracy he afterwards fell.

  And the fairest pretext for that conspiracy was furnished, without his meaning it, by Antony himself. The Romans were celebrating their festival, called the Lupercalia, when Cæsar, in his triumphal habit, and seated above the Rostra in the market-place, was a spectator of the sports. The custom is, that many young noblemen and of the magistracy, anointed with oil and having straps of hide in their hands, run about and strike, in sport, at every one they meet. Antony was running with the rest; but, omitting the old ceremony, twining a garland of bay round a diadem, he ran up to the Rostra, and, being lifted up by his companions, would have put it upon the head of Cæsar, as if by that ceremony he were declared king. Cæsar seemingly refused, and drew aside to avoid it, and was applauded by the people with great shouts. Again Antony pressed it, and again he declined its acceptance. And so the dispute between them went on for some time, Antony’s solicitations receiving but little encouragement from the shouts of a few friends, and Cæsar’s refusal being accompanied with the general applause of the people; a curious thing enough, that they should submit with patience to the fact, and yet at the same time dread the name as the destruction of their liberty. Cæsar, very much discomposed at what had past, got up from his seat, and, laying bare his neck, said, he was ready to receive the stroke, if any one of them desired to give it. The crown was at last put on one of his statues, but was taken down by some of the tribunes, who were followed home by the people with shouts of applause. Cæsar, however, resented it, and deposed them.

  These passages gave great encouragement to Brutus and Cassius, who, in making choice of trusty friends for such an enterprise, were thinking to engage Antony. The rest approved, except Trebonius, who told them that Antony and he had lodged and travelled together in the last journey they took to meet Cæsar, and that he had let fall several words, in a cautious way, on purpose to sound him; that Antony very well understood him, but did not encourage it; however, he had said nothing of it to Cæsar, but had kept the secret faithfully. The conspirators then proposed that Antony should die with him, which Brutus would not consent to, insisting that an action undertaken in defence of right and the laws must be maintained unsullied, and pure of injustice. It was settled that Antony, whose bodily strength and high office made him formidable, should, at Cæsar’s entrance into the senate, when the deed was to be done, be amused outside by some of the party in a conversation about some pretended business.

  So when all was proceeded with, according to their plan, and Cæsar had fallen in the senate-house, Antony, at the first moment, took a servant’s dress, and hid himself. But, understanding that the conspirators had assembled in the Capitol, and had no further design upon any one, he persuaded them to come down, giving them his son as a hostage. That night Cassius supped at Antony’s house, and Brutus with Lepidus. Antony then convened the senate, and spoke in favor of an act of oblivion, and the appointment of Brutus and Cassius to provinces. These measures the senate passed; and resolved that all Cæsar’s acts should remain in force. Thus Antony went out of the senate with the highest possible reputation and esteem; for it was apparent that he had prevented a civil war, and had composed, in the wisest and most statesmanlike way, questions of the greatest difficulty and embarrassment. But these temperate counsels were soon swept away by the tide of popular applause, and the prospects, if Brutus were overthrown, of being without doubt the ruler-in-chief. As Cæsar’s body was conveying to the tomb, Antony, according to the custom, was making his funeral oration in the market-place, and, perceiving the people to be infinitely affected with what he had said, he began to mingle with his praises language of commiseration, and horror at what had happened, and, as he was ending his speech, he took the under-clothes of the dead, and held them up, shewing them stains of blood and the holes of the many stabs, calling those that had done this act villains and bloody murderers. All which excited the people to such indignation, that they would not defer the funeral, but, making a pile of tables and forms in the very market-place, set fire to it; and every one, taking a brand, ran to the conspirators’ houses, to attack them.

  Upon this, Brutus and his whole party left the city, and Cæsar’s friends joined themselves to Antony. Calpurnia, Cæsar’s wife, lodged with him the best part of the property, to the value of four thousand talents; he got also into his hands all Cæsar’s papers, wherein were contained journals of all he had done, and draughts of what he designed to do, which Antony made good use of; for by this means he appointed what magistrates he pleased, brought whom he would into the senate, recalled some from exile, freed others out of prison, and all this as ordered so by Cæsar. The Romans, in mockery, gave those who were thus benefited the name of Charonites,* since, if put to prove their patents, they must have recourse to the papers of the dead. In short, Antony’s behavior in Rome was very absolute, he himself being consul, and his two brothers in great place; Caius, the one, being prætor, and Lucius, the other, tribune of the people.

  While matters went thus in Rome, the young Cæsar, Cæsar’s niece’s son, and by testament left his heir, arrived at Rome from Apollonia, where he was when his uncle was killed. The first thing he did was to visit Antony, as his father’s friend. He spoke to him concerning the money that was in his hands, and reminded him of the legacy Cæsar had made of seventy-five drachmas to every Roman citizen. Antony, at first, laughing at such discourse from so young a man, told him he wished he were in his health, and that he wanted good counsel and good friends, to tell him the burden of being executor to Cæsar would sit very uneasily upon his young shoulders. This was no answer to him; and, when he persisted in demanding the property, Antony went on treating him injuriously both in word and deed, opposed him when he stood for the tribune’s office, and, when he was taking steps for the dedication of his father’s golden chair, as had been enacted, he threatened to send him to prison if he did not give over soliciting the people. This made the young Cæsar apply himself to Cicero, and all those that hated Antony; by them he was recommended to the senate, while he himself courted the people, and drew together the soldiers from their settlements, till Antony got alarmed, and gave him a meeting in the Capitol, where, after some words, they came to an accommodation.

  That night Antony had a very unlucky dream, fancying that his right hand was thunderstruck. And, some few days after, he was informed that Cæsar was plotting to take his life. Cæsar explained, but was not believed, so that the breach was now made as wide as ever; each of them hurried about all through Italy to engage, by great offers, the old soldiers that lay scattered in their settlements, and to be the first to secure the troops that still remained undischarged.

  Cicero was at this time the man of greatest influence in Rome. He made use of all his art to exasperate people against Antony, and at length persuaded the senate to declare him a public enemy, to send Cæsar the rods and axes and other marks of honor usually given to prætors, and to issue orders to Hirtius and Pansa, who were the consuls, to drive Antony out of Italy. The armies engaged near Modena, and Cæsar himself was present and took part in the battle. Antony was defeated, but both the consuls were slain. Antony, in his flight, was overtaken by distresses of every kind, and the worst of all of them was famine. But it was his character in calamities to be better than at any other time. Antony, in misfortune, was most nearly a virtuous man. It is common enough for people, when they fall into great disasters, to discern what is right, and what they ought to do; but there are but few who in such extremities have the strength to obey their judgment, either in doing what it approves or avoiding what it condemns; and a good many are so weak as to give way to their habits all the more, and are incapable of using their minds. Antony, on this occasion, was a most wonderful example to his soldiers. He, who had just quitted so much luxury and sumptuous living, made no difficulty now of drinking foul water and feeding on wild fruits and roots. Nay, it is related they ate the very bark of trees, and, in passing over the Alps, lived upon creatures that no one before had ever been willing to touch.

  The design was to join the army on the other side the Alps, commanded by Lepidus, who he imagined would stand his friend, he having done him many good offices with Cæsar. On coming up and encamping near at hand, finding he had no sort of encouragement offered him, he resolved to push his fortune and venture all. His hair was long and disordered, nor had he shaved his beard since his defeat; in this guise, and with a dark colored cloak flung over him, he came into the trenches of Lepidus, and began to address the army. Some were moved at his habit, others at his words, so that Lepidus, not liking it, ordered the trumpets to sound, that he might be heard no longer. This raised in the soldiers yet a greater pity, so that they resolved to confer secretly with him, and dressed Lælius and Clodius in women’s clothes, and sent them to see him. They advised him without delay to attack Lepidus’s trenches, assuring him that a strong party would receive him, and, if he wished it, would kill Lepidus. Antony, however, had no wish for this, but next morning marched his army to pass over the river that parted the two camps. He was himself the first man that stepped in, and, as he went through towards the other bank, he saw Lepidus’s soldiers in great numbers reaching out their hands to help him, and beating down the works to make him way. Being entered into the camp, and finding himself absolute master, he nevertheless treated Lepidus with the greatest civility, and gave him the title of Father, when he spoke to him, and, though he had every thing at his own command, he left him the honor of being called the general. This fair usage brought over to him Munatius Plancus, who was not far off with a considerable force. Thus in great strength he repassed the Alps, leading with him into Italy seventeen legions and ten thousand horse, besides six legions which he left in garrison under the command of Varius, one of his familiar friends and boon companions, whom they used to call by the nickname of Cotylon.*

  Cæsar, perceiving that Cicero’s wishes were for liberty had ceased to pay any further regard to him, and was now employing the mediation of his friends to come to a good understanding with Antony. They both met together with Lepidus in a small island, where the conference lasted three days. The empire was soon determined of, it being divided amongst them as if it had been their paternal inheritance. That which gave them all the trouble was to agree who should be put to death, each of them desiring to destroy his enemies and to save his friends. But, in the end, animosity to those they hated carried the day against respect for relations and affection for friends; and Cæsar sacrificed Cicero to Antony, Antony gave up his uncle Lucius Cæsar, and Lepidus received permission to murder his brother Paulus, or, as others say, yielded his brother to them. I do not believe any thing ever took place more truly savage or barbarous than this composition, for, in this exchange of blood for blood, they were equally guilty of the lives they surrendered and of those they took; or, indeed, more guilty in the case of their friends, for whose deaths they had not even the justification of hatred. To complete the reconciliation, the soldiery, coming about them, demanded that confirmation should be given to it by some alliance of marriage; Cæsar should marry Clodia, the daughter of Fulvia, wife to Antony. This also being agreed to, three hundred persons were put to death by proscription. Antony gave orders to those that were to kill Cicero, to cut off his head and right hand, with which he had written his invectives against him; and, when they were brought before him, he regarded them joyfully, actually bursting out more than once into laughter, and, when he had satiated himself with the sight of them, ordered them to be hung up above the speaker’s place in the forum, thinking thus to insult the dead, while in fact he only exposed his own wanton arrogance, and his unworthiness to hold the power that fortune had given him. His uncle Lucius Cæsar, being closely pursued, took refuge with his sister, who, when the murderers had broken into her house and were pressing into her chamber, met them at the door, and, spreading out her hands, cried out several times, “You shall not kill Lucius Cæsar till you first despatch me, who gave your general his birth;” and in this manner she succeeded in getting her brother out of the way, and saving his life.

  This triumvirate was very hateful to the Romans, and Antony most of all bore the blame, because he was older than Cæsar, and had greater authority than Lepidus, and withal he was no sooner settled in his affairs, but he returned to his luxurious and dissolute way of living. Besides the ill reputation he gained by his general behavior, it was some considerable disadvantage to him his living in the house of Pompey the Great, who had been as much admired for his temperance and his sober, citizen-like habits of life, as ever he was for having triumphed three times. They could not without anger see the doors of that house shut against magistrates, officers, and envoys, who were shamefully refused admittance, while it was filled inside with players, jugglers, and drunken flatterers, upon whom were spent the greatest part of the wealth which violence and cruelty procured. For they did not limit themselves to the forfeiture of the estates of such as were proscribed, defrauding the widows and families, nor were they contented with laying on every possible kind of tax and imposition; but, hearing that several sums of money were, as well by strangers as citizens of Rome, deposited in the hands of the vestal virgins, they went and took the money away by force. When it was manifest that nothing would ever be enough for Antony, Cæsar at last called for a division of property. The army was also divided between them, upon their march into Macedonia to make war with Brutus and Cassius, Lepidus being left with the command of the city.

  However, after they had crossed the sea and engaged in operations of war, encamping in front of the enemy, Antony opposite Cassius, and Cæsar opposite Brutus, Cæsar did nothing worth relating, and all the success and victory were Antony’s. In the first battle, Cæsar was completely routed by Brutus, his camp taken, he himself very narrowly escaping by flight. As he himself writes in his Memoirs, he retired before the battle, on account of a dream which one of his friends had. But Antony, on the other hand, defeated Cassius; though some have written that he was not actually present in the engagement, and only joined afterwards in the pursuit. Cassius was killed, at his own entreaty and order, by one of his most trusted freedmen, Pindarus, not being aware of Brutus’s victory. After a few days’ interval, they fought another battle, in which Brutus lost the day, and slew himself; and Cæsar being sick, Antony had almost all the honor of the victory. Standing over Brutus’s dead body, he uttered a few words of reproach upon him for the death of his brother Caius, who had been executed by Brutus’s order in Macedonia in revenge of Cicero; but, saying presently that Hortensius was most to blame for it, he gave order for his being slain upon his brother’s tomb, and, throwing his own scarlet mantle, which was of great value, upon the body of Brutus, he gave charge to one of his own freedmen to take care of his funeral. This man, as Antony came to understand, did not leave the mantle with the corpse, but kept both it and a good part of the money that should have been spent in the funeral for himself; for which he had him put to death.

  But Cæsar was conveyed to Rome, no one expecting that he would long survive. Antony, proposing to go to Page 175 the eastern provinces to lay them under contribution, entered Greece with a large force. The promise had been made that every common soldier should receive for his pay five thousand drachmas; so it was likely there would be need of pretty severe taxing and levying to raise money. However, to the Greeks he showed at first reason and moderation enough; he gratified his love of amusement by hearing the learned men dispute, by seeing the games, and undergoing initiation; and in judicial matters he was equitable, taking pleasure in being styled a lover of Greece, but, above all, in being called a lover of Athens, to which city he made very considerable presents The people of Megara wished to let him know that they also had something to show him, and invited him to come and see their senate-house. So he went and examined it, and on their asking him how he liked it, told them it was “not very large, but extremely ruinous.” At the same time, he had a survey made of the temple of the Pythian Apollo, as if he had designed to repair it, and indeed he had declared to the senate his intention so to do.

  However, leaving Lucius Censorinus in Greece, he crossed over into Asia, and there laid his hands on the stores of accumulated wealth, while kings waited at his door, and queens were rivalling one another, who should make him the greatest presents or appear most charming in his eyes. Thus, whilst Cæsar in Rome was wearing out his strength amidst seditions and wars, Antony, with nothing to do amidst the enjoyments of peace, let his passions carry him easily back to the old course of life that was familiar to him. A set of harpers and pipers, Anaxenor and Xuthus, the dancing-man Metrodorus, and a whole Bacchic rout of the like Asiatic exhibitors, far outdoing in license and buffoonery the pests that had followed out of Italy, came in and possessed the court; the thing was past patience, wealth of all kinds being Page 176 wasted on objects like these. The whole of Asia was like the city in Sophocles, loaded, at one time,

  • — with incense in the air,
  • Jubilant songs, and outcries of despair.

  When he made his entry into Ephesus, the women met him dressed up like Bacchantes, and the men and boys like Satyrs and Fauns, and throughout the town nothing was to be seen but spears wreathed about with ivy, harps, flutes, and psaltries, while Antony in their songs was Bacchus the Giver of Joy and the Gentle. And so indeed he was to some, but to far more the Devourer and the Savage;* for he would deprive persons of worth and quality of their fortunes to gratify villains and flatterers, who would sometimes beg the estates of men yet living, pretending they were dead, and, obtaining a grant, take possession. He gave his cook the house of a Magnesian citizen, as a reward for a single highly successful supper, and, at last, when he was proceeding to lay a second whole tribute on Asia, Hybreas, speaking on behalf of the cities, took courage, and told him broadly, but aptly enough for Antony’s taste, “If you can take two yearly tributes, you can doubtless give us a couple of summers, and a double harvest time;” and put it to him in the plainest and boldest way, that Asia had raised two hundred thousand talents for his service: “If this has not been paid to you, ask your collectors for it; if it has, and is all gone, we are ruined men.” These words touched Antony to the quick, who was simply ignorant of most things that were done in his name; not that he was so indolent, as he was prone to trust frankly in all about him. For there was much simplicity in his character; he was slow to see his faults, but, when he did see them, was extremely repentant, and ready to ask pardon of those he had injured; prodigal in his acts of reparation, and severe in his punishments, but his generosity was much more extravagant than his severity; his raillery was sharp and insulting, but the edge of it was taken off by his readiness to submit to any kind of repartee; for he was as well contented to be rallied, as he was pleased to rally others. And this freedom of speech was, indeed, the cause of many of his disasters. He never imagined that those who used so much liberty in their mirth would flatter or deceive him in business of consequence, not knowing how common it is with parasites to mix their flattery with boldness, as confectioners do their sweetmeats with something biting, to prevent the sense of satiety. Their freedoms and impertinences at table were designed expressly to give to their obsequiousness in council the air of being not complaisance, but conviction.

  Such being his temper, the last and crowning mischief that could befall him came in the love of Cleopatra, to awaken and kindle to fury passions that as yet lay still and dormant in his nature, and to stifle and finally corrupt any elements that yet made resistance in him, of goodness and a sound judgment. He fell into the snare thus. When making preparation for the Parthian war, he sent to command her to make her personal appearance in Cilicia, to answer an accusation, that she had given great assistance, in the late wars, to Cassius. Dellius, who was sent on this message, had no sooner seen her face, and remarked her adroitness and subtlety in speech, but he felt convinced that Antony would not so much as think of giving any molestation to a woman like this; on the contrary, she would be the first in favor with him. So he set himself at once to pay his court to the Egyptian, and gave her his advice, “to go,” in the Homerie style, to Cilicia, “in her best attire,”* and bade her fear nothing from Antony, the gentlest and kindest of soldiers. She had some faith in the words of Dellius, but more in her own attractions, which, having formerly recommended her to Cæsar and the young Cnæus Pompey, she did not doubt might prove yet more successful with Antony. Their acquaintance was with her when a girl, young, and ignorant of the world, but she was to meet Antony in the time of life when women’s beauty is most splendid, and their intellects are in full maturity.† She made great preparation for her journey, of money, gifts, and ornaments of value, such as so wealthy a kingdom might afford, but she brought with her her surest hopes in her own magic arts and charms.

  She received several letters, both from Antony and from his friends, to summon her, but she took no account of these orders; and at last, as if in mockery of them, she came sailing up the river Cydnus, in a barge with gilded stern and outspread sails of purple, while oars of silver beat time to the music of flutes and fifes and harps. She herself lay all along, under a canopy of cloth of gold, dressed as Venus in a picture, and beautiful young boys, like painted Cupids, stood on each side to fan her. Her maids were dressed like Sea Nymphs and Graces, some steering at the rudder, some working at the ropes. The perfumes diffused themselves from the vessel to the shore, which was covered with multitudes, part following the galley up the river on either bank, part running out of the city to see the sight. The market-place was quite emptied, and Antony at last was left alone sitting upon the tribunal; while the word went through all the multitude, that Venus was come to feast with Bacchus, for the common good of Asia. On her arrival, Antony sent to invite her to supper. She thought it fitter he should come to her; so, willing to show his good-humor and courtesy, he complied, and went. He found the preparations to receive him magnificent beyond expression, but nothing so admirable as the great number of lights; for on a sudden there was let down altogether so great a number of branches with lights in them so ingeniously disposed, some in squares, and some in circles, that the whole thing was a spectacle that has seldom been equalled for beauty.

  The next day, Antony invited her to supper, and was very desirous to outdo her as well in magnificence as contrivance; but he found he was altogether beaten in both, and was so well convinced of it, that he was himself the first to jest and mock at his poverty of wit, and his rustic awkwardness. She, perceiving that his raillery was broad and gross, and savored more of the soldier than the courtier, rejoined in the same taste, and fell into it at once, without any sort of reluctance or reserve. For her actual beauty, it is said, was not in itself so remarkable that none could be compared with her, or that no one could see her without being struck by it, but the contact of her presence, if you lived with her, was irresistible; the attraction of her person, joining with the charm of her conversation, and the character that attended all she said or did, was something bewitching. It was a pleasure merely to hear the sound of her voice, with which, like an instrument of many strings, she could pass from one language to another; so that there were few of the barbarian nations that she answered by an interpreter; to most of them she spoke herself, as to the Æthiopians, Troglodytes, Hebrews, Arabians, Syrians, Medes, Parthians, and many others, whose language she had learnt; which was all the more surprising, because most of the kings her predecessors scarcely gave themselves the trouble to acquire the Egyptian tongue, and several of them quite abandoned the Macedonian.

  Antony was so captivated by her, that, while Fulvia his wife maintained his quarrels in Rome against Cæsar by actual force of arms, and the Parthian troops, commanded by Labienus (the king’s generals having made him commander-in-chief), were assembled in Mesopotamia, and ready to enter Syria, he could yet suffer himself to be carried away by her to Alexandria, there to keep holiday, like a boy, in play and diversion, squandering and fooling away in enjoyments that most costly, as Antiphon says, of all valuables, time. They had a sort of company, to which they gave a particular name, calling it that of the Inimitable Livers. The members entertained one another daily in turn, with an extravagance of expenditure beyond measure or belief. Philotas, a physician of Amphissa, who was at that time a student of medicine in Alexandria, used to tell my grandfather Lamprias, that, having some acquaintance with one of the royal cooks, he was invited by him, being a young man, to come and see the sumptuous preparations for supper. So he was taken into the kitchen, where he admired the prodigious variety of all things; but particularly, seeing eight wild boars roasting whole, says he, “Surely you have a great number of guests.” The cook laughed at his simplicity, and told him there were not above twelve to sup, but that every dish was to be served up just roasted to a turn, and if any thing was but one minute ill-timed, it was spoiled; “And,” said he, “maybe Antony will sup just now, maybe not this hour, maybe he will call for wine, or begin to talk, and will put it off. So that,” he continued, “it is not one, but many suppers must be had in readiness, as it is impossible to guess at his hour.” This was Philotas’s story; who related besides, that he afterwards came to be one of the medical attendants of Antony’s eldest son by Fulvia, and used to be invited pretty often, among other companions, to his table, when he was not supping with his father. One day another physician had talked loudly, and given great disturbance to the company, whose mouth Philotas stopped with this sophistical syllogism: “In some states of fever the patient should take cold water; every one who has a fever is in some state of fever; therefore in a fever cold water should always be taken.” The man was quite struck dumb, and Antony’s son, very much pleased, laughed aloud, and said, “Philotas, I make you a present of all you see there,” pointing to a sideboard covered with plate. Philotas thanked him much, but was far enough from ever imagining that a boy of his age could dispose of things of that value. Soon after, however, the plate was all brought to him, and he was desired to set his mark upon it; and when he put it away from him, and was afraid to accept the present, “What ails the man?” said he that brought it; “do you know that he who gives you this is Antony’s son, who is free to give it, if it were all gold? but if you will be advised by me, I would counsel you to accept of the value in money from us; for there may be amongst the rest some antique or famous piece of workmanship, which Antony would be sorry to part with.” These anecdotes my grandfather told us Philotas used frequently to relate.

  To return to Cleopatra; Plato admits four sorts of flattery,* but she had a thousand. Were Antony serious or disposed to mirth, she had at any moment some new delight or charm to meet his wishes; at every turn she was upon him, and let him escape her neither by day nor by night. She played at dice with him, drank with him, hunted with him; and when he exercised in arms, she was there to see. At night she would go rambling with him to disturb and torment people at their doors and windows, dressed like a servant-woman, for Antony also went in servant’s disguise, and from these expeditions he often came home very scurvily answered, and sometimes even beaten severely, though most people guessed who it was. However, the Alexandrians in general liked it all well enough, and joined good humoredly and kindly in his frolic and play, saying they were much obliged to Antony for acting his tragic parts at Rome, and keeping his comedy for them. It would be trifling without end to be particular in his follies, but his fishing must not be forgotten. He went out one day to angle with Cleopatra, and, being so unfortunate as to catch nothing in the presence of his mistress, he gave secret orders to the fishermen to dive under water, and put fishes that had been already taken upon his hooks; and these he drew so fast that the Egyptian perceived it. But, feigning great admiration, she told everybody how dexterous Antony was, and invited them next day to come and see him again. So, when a number of them had come on board the fishing boats, as soon as he had let down his hook, one of her servants was beforehand with his divers, and fixed upon his hook a salted fish from Pontus. Antony, feeling his line give, drew up the prey, and when, as may be imagined, great laughter ensued, “Leave,” said Cleopatra, ‘the fishing-rod, general, to us poor sovereigns of Pharos and Canopus; your game is cities, provinces, and kingdoms.”

  Whilst he was thus diverting himself and engaged in this boys’ play, two despatches arrived; one from Rome, that his brother Lucius and his wife Fulvia, after many quarrels among themselves, had joined in war against Cæsar, and, having lost all, had fled out of Italy; the other bringing little better news, that Labienus, at the head of the Parthians, was overrunning Asia, from Euphrates and Syria as far as Lydia and Ionia. So, scarcely at last rousing himself from sleep, and shaking off the fumes of wine, he set out to attack the Parthians, and went as far as Phœnicia; but, upon the receipt of lamentable letters from Fulvia, turned his course with two hundred ships to Italy. And, in his way, receiving such of his friends as fled from Italy, he was given to understand that Fulvia was the sole cause of the war, a woman of a restless spirit and very bold, and withal her hopes were that commotions in Italy would force Antony from Cleopatra. But it happened that Fulvia, as she was coming to meet her husband, fell sick by the way, and died at Sicyon, so that an accommodation was the more easily made. For when he reached Italy, and Cæsar showed no intention of laying any thing to his charge, and he on his part shifted the blame of every thing on Fulvia, those that were friends to them would not suffer that the time should be spent in looking narrowly into the plea, but made a reconciliation first, and then a partition of the empire between them, taking as their boundary the Ionian Sea, the eastern provinces falling to Antony, to Cæsar the western, and Africa being left to Lepidus. And an agreement was made, that every one in their turn, as they thought fit, should make their friends consuls, when they did not choose to take the offices themselves.

  These terms were well approved of, but yet it was thought some closer tie would be desirable; and for this, fortune offered occasion. Cæsar had an elder sister, not of the whole blood, for Attia was his mother’s name, hers Ancharia. This sister, Octavia, he was extremely attached to, as, indeed, she was, it is said, quite a wonder of a woman. Her husband, Caius Marcellus, had died not long before, and Antony was now a widower by the death of Fulvia; for, though he did not disavow the passion he had for Cleopatra, yet he disowned any thing of marriage, reason, as yet, upon this point, still maintaining the debate against the charms of the Egyptian. Everybody concurred in promoting this new alliance, fully expecting that with the beauty, honor, and prudence of Octavia, when her company should, as it was certain it would, have engaged his affections, all would be kept in the safe and happy course of friendship. So, both parties being agreed, they went to Rome to celebrate the nuptials, the senate dispensing with the law by which a widow was not permitted to marry till ten months after the death of her husband.

  Sextus Pompeius was in possession of Sicily, and with his ships, under the command of Menas, the pirate, and Menecrates, so infested the Italian coast, that no vessels durst venture into those seas. Sextus had behaved with much humanity towards Antony, having received his mother when she fled with Fulvia, and it was therefore judged fit that he also should be received into the peace. They met near the promontory of Misenum, by the mole of the port, Pompey having his fleet at anchor close by, and Antony and Cæsar their troops drawn up all along the shore. There it was concluded that Sextus should quietly enjoy the government of Sicily and Sardinia, he conditioning to scour the seas of all pirates, and to send so much corn every year to Rome.

  This agreed on, they invited one another to supper, and by lot it fell to Pompey’s turn to give the first entertainment, and Antony, asking where it was to be, “There,” said he, pointing to the admiral-galley, a ship of six banks of oars, “that is the only house that Pompey is heir to of his father’s.”* And this he said, reflecting upon Antony, who was then in possession of his father’s house. Having fixed the ship on her anchors, and formed a bridgeway from the promontory to conduct on board of her, he gave them a cordial welcome. And when they began to grow warm, and jests were passing freely on Antony and Cleopatra’s loves, Menas, the pirate, whispered Pompey in the ear, “Shall I,” said he, “cut the cables, and make you master not of Sicily only and Sardinia, but of the whole Roman empire?” Pompey, having considered a little while, returned him answer, “Menas, this might have been done without acquainting me; now we must rest content; I do not break my word.” And so, having been entertained by the other two in their turns, he set sail for Sicily.

  After the treaty was completed, Antony despatched Ventidius into Asia, to check the advance of the Parthians, while he, as a compliment to Cæsar, accepted the office of priest to the deceased Cæsar. And in any state affair and matter of consequence, they both behaved themselves with much consideration and friendliness for each other. But it annoyed Antony, that in all their amusements, on any trial of skill or fortune, Cæsar should be constantly victorious. He had with him an Egyptian diviner, one of those who calculate nativities, who, either to make his court to Cleopatra, or that by the rules of his art he found it to be so, openly declared to him, that though the fortune that attended him was bright and glorious, yet it was overshadowed by Cæsar’s; and advised him to keep himself as far distant as he could from that young man; “for your Genius,” said he, “dreads his; when absent from him yours is proud and brave, but in his presence unmanly and dejected;” and incidents that occurred appeared to show that the Egyptian spoke truth. For whenever they cast lots for any playful purpose, or threw dice, Antony was still the loser; and repeatedly, when they fought game-cocks or quails, Cæsar’s had the victory. This gave Antony a secret displeasure, and made him put the more confidence in the skill of his Egyptian. So, leaving the management of his home affairs to Cæsar, he left Italy, and took Octavia, who had lately borne him a daughter, along with him into Greece.

  Here, whilst he wintered in Athens, he received the first news of Ventidius’s successes over the Parthians, of his having defeated them in a battle, having slain Labienus and Pharnapates, the best general their king, Hyrodes, possessed. For the celebrating of which he made a public feast through Greece, and for the prizes which were contested at Athens he himself acted as steward, and, leaving at home the ensigns that are carried before the general, he made his public appearance in a gown and white shoes, with the steward’s wands marching before; and he performed his duty in taking the combatants by the neck, to part them, when they had fought enough.

  When the time came for him to set out for the war, he took a garland from the sacred olive, and, in obedience to some oracle, he filled a vessel with the water of the Clepsydra,* to carry along with him. In this interval, Pacorus, the Parthian king’s son, who was marching into Syria with a large army, was met by Ventidius, who gave him battle in the country of Cyrrhestica, slew a large number of his men, and Pacorus among the first. This victory was one of the most renowned achievements of the Romans, and fully avenged their defeats under Crassus, the Parthians being obliged, after the loss of three battles successively, to keep themselves within the bounds of Media and Mesopotamia. Ventidius was not willing to push his good fortune further, for fear of raising some jealousy in Antony, but, turning his arms against those that had quitted the Roman interest, he reduced them to their former obedience. Among the rest, he besieged Antiochus, king of Commagene, in the city of Samosata, who made an offer of a thousand talents for his pardon, and a promise of submission to Antony’s commands. But Ventidius told him that he must send to Antony, who was already on his march, and had sent word to Ventidius to make no terms with Antiochus, wishing that at any rate this one exploit might be ascribed to him, and that people might not think that all his successes were won by his lieutenants. The siege, however, was long protracted; for when those within found their offers refused, they defended themselves stoutly, till, at last, Antony, finding he was doing nothing, in shame and regret for having refused the first offer, was glad to make an accommodation with Antiochus for three hundred talents. And, having given some orders for the affairs of Syria, he returned to Athens; and, paying Ventidius the honors he well deserved, dismissed him to receive his triumph. He is the only man that has ever yet triumphed for victories obtained over the Parthians; he was of obscure birth, but, by means of Antony’s friendship, obtained an opportunity of showing his capacity, and doing great things; and his making such glorious use of it gave new credit to the current observation about Cæsar and Antony, that they were more fortunate in what they did by their lieutenants than in their own persons. For Sossius, also, had great success, and Canidius, whom he left in Armenia, defeated the people there, and also the kings of the Albanians and Iberians, and marched victorious as far as Caucasus, by which means the fame of Antony’s arms had become great among the barbarous nations.

  He, however, once more, upon some unfavorable stories, taking offence against Cæsar, set sail with three hundred ships for Italy, and, being refused admittance to the port of Brundusium, made for Tarentum. There his wife Octavia, who came from Greece with him, obtained leave to visit her brother, she being then great with child, having already borne her husband a second daughter; and as she was on her way, she met Cæsar, with his two friends Agrippa and Mæcenas, and, taking these two aside, with great entreaties and lamentations she told them, that of the most fortunate woman upon earth, she was in danger of becoming the most unhappy; for as yet every one’s eyes were fixed upon her as the wife and sister of the two great commanders, but, if rash counsels should prevail, and war ensue, “I shall be miserable,” said she, “without redress; for on what side soever victory falls, I shall be sure to be a loser.” Cæsar was overcome by these entreaties, and advanced in a peaceable temper to Tarentum, where those that were present beheld a most stately spectacle; a vast army drawn up by the shore, and as great a fleet in the harbor, all without the occurrence of any act of hostility; nothing but the salutations of friends, and other expressions of joy and kindness, passing from one Page 189 armament to the other. Antony first entertained Cæsar, this also being a concession on Cæsar’s part to his sister; and when at length an agreement was made between them, that Cæsar should give Antony two of his legions to serve him in the Parthian war, and that Antony should in return leave with him a hundred armed galleys, Octavia further obtained of her husband, besides this, twenty light ships for her brother, and of her brother, a thousand foot for her husband. So, having parted good friends, Cæsar went immediately to make war with Pompey to conquer Sicily. And Antony, leaving in Cæsar’s charge his wife and children, and his children by his former wife Fulvia, set sail for Asia.

  But the mischief that thus long had lain still, the passion for Cleopatra, which better thoughts had seemed to have lulled and charmed into oblivion, upon his approach to Syria, gathered strength again, and broke out into a flame. And, in fine, like Plato’s restive and rebellious horse of the human soul,* flinging off all good and wholesome counsel, and breaking fairly loose, he sends Fonteius Capito to bring Cleopatra into Syria. To whom at her arrival he made no small or trifling present, Phœnicia, Cœle-Syria, Cyprus, great part of Cilicia, that side of Judæa which produces balm, that part of Arabia where the Nabathæans extend to the outer sea; profuse gifts, which much displeased the Romans. For, although he had invested several private persons in great governments and kingdoms, and bereaved many kings of theirs, as Antigonus of Judæa, whose head he caused to be struck off (the first example of that punishment being inflicted on a king), yet nothing stung the Romans like the shame of these honors paid to Cleopatra. Their dissatisfaction was augmented also by his acknowledging as his own the twin children he had by her, giving them the name of Alexander and Cleopatra, and adding, as their surnames, the titles of Sun and Moon. But he, who knew how to put a good color on the most dishonest action, would say, that the greatness of the Roman empire consisted more in giving than in taking kingdoms, and that the way to carry noble blood through the world was by begetting in every place a new line and series of kings; his own ancestor had thus been born of Hercules; Hercules had not limited his hopes of progeny to a single womb, nor feared any law like Solon’s, or any audit of procreation, but had freely let nature take her will in the foundation and first commencement of many families.

  After Phraates had killed his father Hyrodes, and taken possession of his kingdom, many of the Parthians left their country; among the rest, Monæses, a man of great distinction and authority, sought refuge with Antony, who, looking on his case as similar to that of Themistocles, and likening his own opulence and magnanimity to those of the former Persian kings, gave him three cities, Larissa, Arethusa, and Hierapolis, which was formerly called Bambyce. But when the king of Parthia soon recalled him, giving him his word and honor for his safety, Antony was not unwilling to give him leave to return, hoping thereby to surprise Phraates, who would believe that peace would continue; for he only made the demand of him, that he should send back the Roman ensigns which were taken when Crassus was slain, and the prisoners that remained yet alive. This done, he sent Cleopatra into Egypt, and marched through Arabia and Armenia; and, when his forces came together, and were joined by those of his confederate kings (of whom there were very many, and the most considerable, Artavasdes, king of Armenia, who came at the head of six thousand horse and seven thousand foot), he made a general muster. There appeared sixty thousand Roman foot, ten thousand horse, Spaniards and Gauls, who counted as Romans; and, of other nations, horse and foot, thirty thousand. And these great preparations, that put the Indians beyond Bactria into alarm, and made all Asia shake, were all, we are told, rendered useless to him because of Cleopatra. For, in order to pass the winter with her, the war was pushed on before its due time; and all he did was done without perfect consideration, as by a man who had no proper control over his faculties, who, under the effects of some drug or magic, was still looking back elsewhere, and whose object was much more to hasten his return than to conquer his enemies.

  For, first of all, when he should have taken up his winter-quarters in Armenia, to refresh his men, who were tired with long marches, having come at least eight thousand furlongs, and then have taken the advantage in the beginning of the spring to invade Media, before the Parthians were out of winter-quarters, he had not patience to expect his time, but marched into the province of Atropatene, leaving Armenia on the left hand, and laid waste all that country. Secondly, his haste was so great, that he left behind the engines absolutely required for any siege, which followed the camp in three hundred wagons, and, among the rest, a ram eighty feet long; none of which was it possible, if lost or damaged, to repair or to make the like, as the provinces of the upper Asia produce no trees long or hard enough for such uses. Nevertheless, he left them all behind, as a mere impediment to his speed, in the charge of a detachment under the command of Statianus, the wagon-officer. He himself laid siege to Phraata, a principal city of the king of Media, wherein were that king’s wife and children. And when actual need proved the greatness of his error in leaving the siege train behind him, he had nothing for it but to come up and raise a mound against the walls, with infinite labor and great loss of time. Meantime Phraates, coming down with a large army, and hearing that the wagons were left behind with the battering engines, sent a strong party of horse, by which Statianus was surprised, he himself and ten thousand of his men slain, the engines all broken in pieces, many taken prisoners, and, among the rest, king Polemon.

  This great miscarriage in the opening of the campaign much discouraged Antony’s army, and Artavasdes, king of Armenia, deciding that the Roman prospects were bad, withdrew with all his forces from the camp, although he had been the chief promoter of the war. The Parthians, encouraged by their success, came up to the Romans at the siege, and gave them many affronts; upon which Antony, fearing that the despondency and alarm of his soldiers would only grow worse if he let them lie idle, taking all the horse, ten legions, and three prætorian cohorts of heavy infantry, resolved to go out and forage, designing by this means to draw the enemy with more advantage to a battle. To effect this, he marched a day’s journey from his camp, and, finding the Parthians hovering about, in readiness to attack him while he was in motion, he gave orders for the signal of battle to be hung out in the encampment, but, at the same time, pulled down the tents, as if he meant not to fight, but to lead his men home again; and so he proceeded to lead them past the enemy, who were drawn up in a half-moon, his orders being that the horse should charge as soon as the legions were come up near enough to second them. The Parthians, standing still while the Romans marched by them, were in great admiration of their army, and of the exact discipline it observed, rank after rank passing on at equal distances in perfect order and silence, their pikes all ready in their hands. But when the signal was given, and the horse turned short upon the Parthians, and with loud cries charged them, they bravely received them, though they were at once too near for bowshot; but the legions, coming up with loud shouts and rattling of their arms, so frightened their horses and indeed the men themselves, that they kept their ground no longer. Antony pressed them hard, in great hopes that this victory should put an end to the war; the foot had them in pursuit for fifty furlongs, and the horse for thrice that distance, and yet, the advantage summed up, they had but thirty prisoners, and there were but fourscore slain. So that they were all filled with dejection and discouragement, to consider, that when they were victorious, their advantage was so small, and that when they were beaten, they lost so great a number of men as they had done when the carriages were taken.

  The next day, having put the baggage in order, they marched back to the camp before Phraata, in the way meeting with some scattering troops of the enemy, and, as they marched further, with greater parties, at length with the body of the enemy’s army, fresh and in good order, who defied them to battle, and charged them on every side, and it was not without great difficulty that they reached the camp. There Antony, finding that his men had in a panic deserted the defence of the mound, upon a sally of the Medes, resolved to proceed against them by decimation, as it is called, which is done by dividing the soldiers into tens, and, out of every ten, putting one to death, as it happens by lot. The rest he gave orders should have, instead of wheat, their rations of corn in barley.

  The war was now become grievous to both parties, and the prospect of its continuance yet more fearful to Antony, in respect that he was threatened with famine; for he could no longer forage without wounds and slaughter. And Phraates, on the other side, was full of apprehension that, if the Romans were to persist in carrying on the siege, the autumnal equinox being past and the air already closing in for cold, he should be deserted by his soldiers, who would suffer any thing rather than wintering in open field. To prevent which, he had recourse to the following deceit: he gave order to those of his men who had made most acquaintance among the Roman soldiers, not to pursue too close when they met them foraging, but to suffer them to carry off some provision; moreover, that they should praise their valor, and declare that it was not without just reason that their king looked upon the Romans as the bravest men in the world. This done, upon further opportunity they rode nearer in, and, drawing up their horses by the men, began to revile Antony for his obstinacy; that whereas Phraates desired nothing more than peace, and an occasion to show how ready he was to save the lives of so many brave soldiers, he, on the contrary, gave no opening to any friendly offers, but sat awaiting the arrival of the two fiercest and worst enemies, winter and famine, from whom it would be hard for them to make their escape, even with all the good-will of the Parthians to help them. Antony, having these reports from many hands, began to indulge the hope; nevertheless, he would not send any message to the Parthian till he had put the question to these friendly talkers, whether what they said was said by order of their king. Receiving answer that it was, together with new encouragement to believe them, he sent some of his friends to demand once more the standards and prisoners, lest, if he should ask nothing, he might be supposed to be too thankful to have leave to retreat in quiet. The Parthian king made answer, that as for the standards and prisoners, he need not trouble himself; but if he thought fit to retreat, he might do it when he pleased, in peace and safety. Some few days, therefore, being spent in collecting the baggage, he set out upon his march. On which occasion, though there was no man of his time like him for addressing a multitude, or for carrying soldiers with him by the force of words, out of shame and sadness he could not find in his heart to speak himself, but employed Domitius Ænobarbus. And some of the soldiers resented it, as an undervaluing of them; but the greater number saw the true cause, and pitied it, and thought it rather a reason why they on their side should treat their general with more respect and obedience than ordinary.

  Antony had resolved to return by the same way he came, which was through a level country clear of all trees; but a certain Mardian came to him (one that was very conversant with the manners of the Parthians, and whose fidelity to the Romans had been tried at the battle where the machines were lost), and advised him to keep the mountains close on his right hand, and not to expose his men, heavily armed, in a broad, open, riding country, to the attacks of a numerous army of light-horse and archers; that Phraates with fair promises had persuaded him from the siege on purpose that he might with more ease cut him off in his retreat; but, if so he pleased, he would conduct him by a nearer route, on which moreover he should find the necessaries for his army in greater abundance. Antony upon this began to consider what was best to be done; he was unwilling to seem to have any mistrust of the Parthians after their treaty; but, holding it to be really best to march his army the shorter and more inhabited way, he demanded of the Mardian some assurance of his faith, who offered himself to be bound until the army came safe into Armenia. Two days he conducted the army bound, and, on the third, when Antony had given up all thought of the enemy, and was marching at his ease in no very good order, the Mardian, perceiving the bank of a river broken down, and the water let out and overflowing the road by which they were to pass, saw at once that this was the handiwork of the Parthians, done out of mischief, and to hinder their march; so he advised Antony to be upon his guard, for that the enemy was nigh at hand. And no sooner had he begun to put his men in order, disposing the slingers and dart-men in convenient intervals for sallying out, but the Parthians came pouring in on all sides, fully expecting to encompass them, and throw the whole army into disorder. They were at once attacked by the light troops, whom they galled a good deal with their arrows; but, being themselves as warmly entertained with the slings and darts, and many wounded, they made their retreat. Soon after, rallying up afresh, they were beat back by a battalion of Gallic horse, and appeared no more that day.

  By their manner of attack Antony seeing what to do, not only placed the slings and darts as a rear guard, but also lined both flanks with them, and so marched in a square battle, giving order to the horse to charge and beat off the enemy, but not to follow them far as they retired. So that the Parthians, not doing more mischief for the four ensuing days than they received, began to abate in their zeal, and, complaining that the winter season was much advanced, pressed for returning home.

  But, on the fifth day, Flavius Gallus, a brave and active officer, who had a considerable command in the army, came to Antony, desiring of him some light-infantry out of the rear, and some horse out of the front, with which he would undertake to do some considerable service. Which when he had obtained, he beat the enemy back, not withdrawing, as was usual, at the same time, and retreating upon the mass of the heavy infantry, but maintaining his own ground, and engaging boldly. The officers who commanded in the rear, perceiving how far he was getting from the body of the army, sent to warn him back, but he took no notice of them. It is said that Titius the quæstor snatched the standards and turned them round, upbraiding Gallus with thus leading so many brave men to destruction. But when he on the other side reviled him again, and commanded the men that were about him to stand firm, Titius made his retreat, and Gallus, charging the enemies in the front, was encompassed by a party that fell upon his rear, which at length perceiving, he sent a messenger to demand succor. But the commanders of the heavy infantry, Canidius amongst others, a particular favorite of Antony’s, seem here to have committed a great oversight. For, instead of facing about with the whole body, they sent small parties, and, when they were defeated, they still sent out small parties, so that by their bad management the rout would have spread through the whole army, if Antony himself had not marched from the van at the head of the third legion, and, passing this through among the fugitives, faced the enemies, and hindered them from any further pursuit.

  In this engagement were killed three thousand, five thousand were carried back to the camp wounded, amongst the rest Gallus, shot through the body with four arrows, of which wounds he died. Antony went from tent to tent to visit and comfort the rest of them, and was not able to see his men without tears and a passion of grief. They, however, seized his hand with joyful faces, bidding him go and see to himself and not be concerned about them, calling him their emperor and their general, and saying that if he did well they were safe. For in short, never in all these times can history make mention of a general at the head of a more splendid army; whether you consider strength and youth, or patience and sufferance in labors and fatigues; but as for the obedience and affectionate respect they bore their general, and the unanimous feeling amongst small and great alike, officers and common soldiers, to prefer his good opinion of them to their very lives and being, in this part of military excellence it was not possible that they could have been surpassed by the very Romans of old. For this devotion, as I have said before, there were many reasons, as the nobility of his family, his eloquence, his frank and open manners, his liberal and magnificent habits, his familiarity in talking with everybody, and, at this time particularly, his kindness in assisting and pitying the sick, joining in all their pains, and furnishing them with all things necessary, so that the sick and wounded were even more eager to serve than those that were whole and strong.

  Nevertheless, this last victory had so encouraged the enemy, that, instead of their former impatience and weariness, they began soon to feel contempt for the Romans, staying all night near the camp, in expectation of plundering their tents and baggage, which they concluded they must abandon; and in the morning new forces arrived in large masses, so that their number was grown to be not less, it is said, than forty thousand horse; and the king had sent the very guards that attended upon his own person, as to a sure and unquestioned victory. For he himself was never present in any fight. Antony, designing to harangue the soldiers, called for a mourning habit, that he might move them the more, but was dissuaded by his friends; so he came forward in the general’s scarlet cloak, and addressed them, praising those that had gained the victory, and reproaching those that had fled, the former answering him with promises of success, and the latter excusing themselves, and telling him they were ready to undergo decimation, or any other punishment he should please to inflict upon them, only entreating that he would forget and not discompose himself with their faults. At which he lifted up his hands to heaven, and prayed the gods, that if to balance the great favors he had received of them any judgment lay in store, they would pour it upon his head alone, and grant his soldiers victory.

  The next day they took better order for their march, and the Parthians, who thought they were marching rather to plunder than to fight, were much taken aback, when they came up and were received with a shower of missiles, to find the enemy not disheartened, but fresh and resolute. So that they themselves began to lose courage. But at the descent of a hill where the Romans were obliged to pass, they got together, and let fly their arrows upon them as they moved slowly down. But the full-armed infantry, facing round, received the light troops within; and those in the first rank knelt on one knee, holding their shields before them, the next rank holding theirs over the first, and so again others over these, much like the tiling of a house, or the rows of seats in a theatre, the whole affording sure defence against arrows, which glance upon them without doing any harm. The Parthians, seeing the Romans down upon their knees, could not imagine but that it must proceed from weariness; so that they laid down their bows, and, taking their spears, made a fierce onset, when the Romans, with a great cry, leapt upon their feet, striking hand to hand with their javelins, slew the foremost, and put the rest to flight. After this rate it was every day, and the trouble they gave made the marches short; in addition to which famine began to be felt in the camp, for they could get but little corn, and that which they got they were forced to fight for; and, besides this, they were in want of implements to grind it and make bread. For they had left almost all behind, the baggage horses being dead or otherwise employed in carrying the sick and wounded. Provision was so scarce in the army that an Attic quart of wheat sold for fifty drachmas, and barley loaves for their weight in silver. And when they tried vegetables and roots, they found such as are commonly eaten very scarce, so that they were constrained to venture upon any they could get, and, among others, they chanced upon an herb that was mortal, first taking away all sense and understanding. He that had eaten of it remembered nothing in the world, and employed himself only in moving great stones from one place to another, which he did with as much earnestness and industry as if it had been a business of the greatest consequence. Through all the camp there was nothing to be seen but men grubbing upon the ground at stones, which they carried from place to place. But in the end they threw up bile and died, as wine, moreover, which was the one antidote, failed. When Antony saw them die so fast, and the Parthian still in pursuit, he was heard to exclaim several times over, “O, the Ten Thousand!” as if in admiration of the retreat of the Greeks with Xenophon, who, when they had a longer journey to make from Babylonia, and a more powerful enemy to deal with, nevertheless came home safe.

  The Parthians, finding that they could not divide the Roman army, nor break the order of their battle, and that withal they had been so often worsted, once more began to treat the foragers with professions of humanity; they came up to them with their bows unbended, telling them that they were going home to their houses; that this was the end of their retaliation, and that only some Median troops would follow for two or three days, not with any design to annoy them, but for the defence of some of the villages further on. And, saying this, they saluted them and embraced them with a great show of friendship This made the Romans full of confidence again, and Antony, on hearing of it, was more disposed to take the road through the level country, being told that no water was to be hoped for on that through the mountains. But while he was preparing thus to do, Mithridates came into the camp, a cousin to Monæses, of whom we related that he sought refuge with the Romans, and received in gift from Antony the three cities. Upon his arrival, he desired somebody might be brought to him that could speak Syriac or Parthian. One Alexander, of Antioch, a friend of Antony’s, was brought to him, to whom the stranger, giving his name, and mentioning Monæses as the person who desired to do the kindness, put the question, did he see that high range of hills, pointing at some distance. He told him, yes. “It is there,” said he, “the whole Parthian army lie in wait for your passage; for the great plains come immediately up to them, and they expect that, confiding in their promises, you will leave the way of the mountains, and take the level route. It is true that in passing over the mountains you will suffer the want of water, and the fatigue to which you have become familiar, but if you pass through the plains, Antony must expect the fortune of Crassus.”

  This said, he departed. Antony, in alarm, calling his friends in council, sent for the Mardian guide, who was of the same opinion. He told them that, with or without enemies, the want of any certain track in the plain, and the likelihood of their losing their way, were quite objection enough; the other route was rough and without water, but then it was but for a day. Antony, therefore, changing his mind, marched away upon this road that night, commanding that every one should carry water sufficient for his own use; but most of them being unprovided with vessels, they made shift with their helmets, and some with skins. As soon as they started, the news of it was carried to the Parthians, who followed them, contrary to their custom, through the night, and at sunrise attacked the rear, which was tired with marching and want of sleep, and not in condition to make any considerable defence. For they had got through two hundred and forty furlongs that night, and at the end of such a march to find the enemy at their heels, put them out of heart. Besides, having to fight for every step of the way increased their distress from thirst. Those that were in the van came up to a river, the water of which was extremely cool and clear, but brackish and medicinal, and, on being drunk, produced immediate pains in the bowels and a renewed thirst. Of this the Mardian had forewarned them, but they could not forbear, and, beating back those that opposed them, they drank of it. Antony ran from one place to another, begging they would have a little patience, that not far off there was a river of wholesome water, and that the rest of the way was so difficult for the horse, that the enemy could pursue them no further; and, saying this, he ordered to sound a retreat to call those back that were engaged, and commanded the tents should be set up, that the soldiers might at any rate refresh themselves in the shade.

  But the tents were scarce well put up, and the Parthians beginning, according to their custom, to withdraw, when Mithridates came again to them, and informed Alexander, with whom he had before spoken, that he would do well to advise Antony to stay where he was no longer than needs he must, that, after having refreshed his troops, he should endeavor with all diligence to gain the next river, that the Parthians would not cross it, but so far they were resolved to follow them. Alexander made his report to Antony, who ordered a quantity of gold plate to be carried to Mithridates, who, taking as much as he could well hide under his clothes, went his way. And, upon this advice, Antony, while it was yet day, broke up his camp, and the whole army marched forward without receiving any molestation from the Parthians, though that night by their own doing was in effect the most wretched and terrible that they passed. For some of the men began to kill and plunder those whom they suspected to have any money, ransacked the baggage, and seized the money there. In the end, they laid hands on Antony’s own equipage, and broke all his rich tables and cups, dividing the fragments amongst them. Antony, hearing such a noise and such a stirring to and fro all through the army, the belief prevailing that the enemy had routed and cut off a portion of the troops, called for one of his freedmen, then serving as one of his guards, Rhamnus by name, and made him take an oath that, whenever he should give him orders, he would run his sword through his body and cut off his head, that he might not fall alive into the hands of the Parthians, nor, when dead, be recognized as the general. While he was in this consternation, and all his friends about him in tears, the Mardian came up, and gave them all new life. He convinced them, by the coolness and humidity of the air, which they could feel in breathing it, that the river which he had spoken of was now not far off, and the calculation of the time that had been required to reach it came, he said, to the same result, for the night was almost spent. And, at the same time, others came with information that all the confusion in the camp proceeded only from their own violence and robbery among themselves To compose this tumult, and bring them again into some order after their distraction, he commanded the signal to be given for a halt.

  Day began to break, and quiet and regularity were just reappearing, when the Parthian arrows began to fly among the rear, and the light armed troops were ordered out to battle. And, being seconded by the heavy infantry, who covered one another as before described with their shields, they bravely received the enemy, who did not think convenient to advance any further, while the van of the army, marching forward leisurely in this manner came in sight of the river, and Antony, drawing up the cavalry on the banks to confront the enemy, first passed over the sick and wounded. And, by this time, even those who were engaged with the enemy had opportunity to drink at their ease; for the Parthians, on seeing the river, unbent their bows, and told the Romans they might pass over freely, and made them great compliments in praise of their valor. Having crossed without molestation, they rested themselves awhile, and presently went forward, not giving perfect credit to the fair words of their enemies. Six days after this last battle, they arrived at the river Araxes, which divides Media and Armenia, and seemed, both by its deepness and the violence of the current, to be very dangerous to pass. A report, also, had crept in amongst them, that the enemy was in ambush, ready to set upon them as soon as they should be occupied with their passage. But when they were got over on the other side, and found themselves in Armenia, just as if land was now sighted after a storm at sea, they kissed the ground for joy, shedding tears and embracing each other in their delight. But taking their journey through a land that abounded in all sorts of plenty, they ate, after their long want, with that excess of every thing they met with, that they suffered from dropsies and dysenteries.

  Here Antony, making a review of his army, found that he had lost twenty thousand foot and four thousand horse, of which the better half perished, not by the enemy, but by diseases. Their march was of twenty-seven days from Phraata, during which they had beaten the Parthians in eighteen battles, though with little effect or lasting result, because of their being so unable to pursue. By which it is manifest that it was Artavasdes who lost Antony the benefit of the expedition. For had the sixteen thousand horsemen whom he led away out of Media, armed in the same style as the Parthians and accustomed to their manner of fight, been there to follow the pursuit when the Romans put them to flight, it is impossible they could have rallied so often after their defeats, and reappeared again as they did to renew their attacks. For this reason, the whole army was very earnest with Antony to march into Armenia to take revenge. But he, with more reflection, forbore to notice the desertion, and continued all his former courtesies, feeling that the army was wearied out, and in want of all manner of necessaries. Afterwards, however, entering Armenia, with invitations and fair promises he prevailed upon Artavasdes to meet him, when he seized him, bound him, and carried him to Alexandria, and there led him in a triumph; one of the things which most offended the Romans, who felt as if all the honors and solemn observances of their country were, for Cleopatra’s sake, handed over to the Egyptians.

  This, however, was at an after time. For the present, marching his army in great haste in the depth of winter through continual storms of snow, he lost eight thousand of his men, and came with much diminished numbers to a place called the White Village, between Sidon and Berytus, on the sea-coast, where he waited for the arrival of Cleopatra. And, being impatient of the delay she made, he bethought himself of shortening the time in wine and drunkenness, and yet could not endure the tediousness of a meal, but would start from table and run to see if she were coming. Till at last she came into port, and brought with her clothes and money for the soldiers. Though some say that Antony only received the clothes from her and distributed his own money in her name.

  A quarrel presently happened between the king of Media and Phraates of Parthia, beginning, it is said, about the division of the booty that was taken from the Romans, and creating great apprehension in the Median lest he should lose his kingdom. He sent, therefore, ambassadors to Antony, with offers of entering into a confederate war against Phraates. And Antony, full of hopes at being thus asked, as a favor, to accept that one thing, horse and archers, the want of which had hindered his beating the Parthians before, began at once to prepare for a return to Armenia, there to join the Medes on the Araxes, and begin the war afresh. But Octavia, in Rome, being desirous to see Antony, asked Cæsar’s leave to go to him; which he gave her, not so much, say most authors, to gratify his sister, as to obtain a fair pretence to begin the war upon her dishonorable reception. She no sooner arrived at Athens, but by letters from Antony she was informed of his new expedition, and his will that she should await him there. And, though she were much displeased, not being ignorant of the real reason of this usage, yet she wrote to him to know to what place he would be pleased she should send the things she had brought with her for his use; for she had brought clothes for his soldiers, baggage, cattle, money, and presents for his friends and officers, and two thousand chosen soldiers sumptuously armed, to form prætorian cohorts. This message was brought from Octavia to Antony by Niger, one of his friends, who added to it the praises she deserved so well. Cleopatra, feeling her rival already, as it were, at hand, was seized with fear, lest if to her noble life and her high alliance, she once could add the charm of daily habit and affectionate intercourse, she should become irresistible, and be his absolute mistress for ever. So she feigned to be dying for love of Antony, bringing her body down by slender diet; when he entered the room, she fixed her eyes upon him in a rapture, and when he left, seemed to languish and half faint away. She took great pains that he should see her in tears, and, as soon as he noticed it, hastily dried them up and turned away, as if it were her wish that he should know nothing of it. All this was acting while he prepared for Media; and Cleopatra’s creatures were not slow to forward the design, upbraiding Antony with his unfeeling, hard-hearted temper, thus letting a woman perish whose soul depended upon him and him alone. Octavia, it was true, was his wife, and had been married to him because it was found convenient for the affairs of her brother that it should be so, and she had the honor of the title; but Cleopatra, the sovereign queen of many nations, had been contented with the name of his mistress, nor did she shun or despise the character whilst she might see him, might live with him, and enjoy him; if she were bereaved of this, she would not survive the loss. In fine, they so melted and unmanned him, that, fully believing she would die if he forsook her, he put off the war and returned to Alexandria, deferring his Median expedition until next summer, though news came of the Parthians being all in confusion with intestine disputes. Nevertheless, he did some time after go into that country, and made an alliance with the king of Media, by marriage of a son of his by Cleopatra to the king’s daughter, who was yet very young; and so returned, with his thoughts taken up about the civil war.

  When Octavia returned from Athens, Cæsar, who considered she had been injuriously treated, commanded her to live in a separate house; but she refused to leave the house of her husband, and entreated him, unless he had already resolved, upon other motives, to make war with Antony, that he would on her account let it alone; it would be intolerable to have it said of the two greatest commanders in the world, that they had involved the Roman people in a civil war, the one out of passion for the other out of resentment about, a woman. And her behavior proved her words to be sincere. She remained in Antony’s house as if he were at home in it, and took the noblest and most generous care, not only of his children by her, but of those by Fulvia also. She received all the friends of Antony that came to Rome to seek office or upon any business, and did her utmost to prefer their requests to Cæsar; yet this her honorable deportment did but, without her meaning it, damage the reputation of Antony; the wrong he did to such a woman made him hated. Nor was the division he made among his sons at Alexandria less unpopular; it seemed a theatrical piece of insolence and contempt of his country. For, assembling the people in the exercise ground, and causing two golden thrones to be placed on a platform of silver, the one for him and the other for Cleopatra, and at their feet lower thrones for their children, he proclaimed Cleopatra queen of Egypt, Cyprus, Libya, and Cœle-Syria, and with her conjointly Cæsarion, the reputed son of the former Cæsar, who left Cleopatra with child. His own sons by Cleopatra were to have the style of kings of kings; to Alexander he gave Armenia and Media, with Parthia, so soon as it should be overcome; to Ptolemy, Phœnicia, Syria, and Cilicia. Alexander was brought out before the people in the Median costume, the tiara and upright peak, and Ptolemy, in boots and mantle and Macedonian cap done about with the diadem; for this was the habit of the successors of Alexander, as the other was of the Medes and Armenians. And, as soon as they had saluted their parents, the one was received by a guard of Macedonians, the other by one of Armenians. Cleopatra was then, as at other times when she appeared in public, dressed in the habit of the goddess Isis, and gave audience to the people under the name of the New Isis.

  Cæsar, relating these things in the senate, and often complaining to the people, excited men’s minds against Antony. And Antony also sent messages of accusation against Cæsar. The principal of his charges were these: first, that he had not made any division with him of Sicily, which was lately taken from Pompey; secondly, that he had retained the ships he had lent him for the war; thirdly, that after deposing Lepidus, their colleague, he had taken for himself the army, governments, and revenues formerly appropriated to him; and, lastly, that he had parcelled out almost all Italy amongst his own soldiers, and left nothing for his. Cæsar’s answer was as follows: that he had put Lepidus out of government because of his own misconduct; that what he had got in war he would divide with Antony, so soon as Antony gave him a share of Armenia; that Antony’s soldiers had no claims in Italy, being in possession of Media and Parthia, the acquisitions which their brave actions under their general had added to the Roman empire.

  Antony was in Armenia when this answer came to him, and immediately sent Canidius with sixteen legions towards the sea; but he, in the company of Cleopatra, went to Ephesus, whither ships were coming in from all quarters to form the navy, consisting, vessels of burden included, of eight hundred vessels, of which Cleopatra furnished two hundred, together with twenty thousand talents, and provision for the whole army during the war. Antony, on the advice of Domitius and some others, bade Cleopatra return into Egypt, there to expect the event of the war; but she, dreading some new reconciliation by Octavia’s means, prevailed with Canidius, by a large sum of money, to speak in her favor with Antony, pointing out to him that it was not just that one that bore so great a part in the charge of the war should be robbed of her share of glory in the carrying it on; nor would it be politic to disoblige the Egyptians, who were so considerable a part of his naval forces; nor did he see how she was inferior in prudence to any one of the kings that were serving with him; she had long governed a great kingdom by herself alone, and long lived with him, and gained experience in public affairs. These arguments (so the fate that destined all to Cæsar would have it), prevailed; and when all their forces had met, they sailed together to Samos, and held high festivities. For, as it was ordered that all kings, princes, and governors, all nations and cities within the limits of Syria, the Mæotid Lake, Armenia, and Illyria, should bring or cause to be brought all munitions necessary for war, so was it also proclaimed that all stage-players should make their appearance at Samos; so that, while pretty nearly the whole world was filled with groans and lamentations, this one island for some days resounded with piping and harping, theatres filling, and choruses playing. Every city sent an ox as its contribution to the sacrifice, and the kings that accompanied Antony competed who should make the most magnificent feasts and the greatest presents; and men began to ask themselves, what would be done to celebrate the victory, when they went to such an expense of festivity at the opening of the war.

  This over, he gave Priene to his players for a habitation,* and set sail for Athens, where fresh sports and play-acting employed him. Cleopatra, jealous of the honors Octavia had received at Athens (for Octavia was much beloved by the Athenians), courted the favor of the people with all sorts of attentions. The Athenians, in requital, having decreed her public honors, deputed several of the citizens to wait upon her at her house; amongst whom went Antony as one, he being an Athenian citizen, and he it was that made the speech. He sent orders to Rome to have Octavia removed out of his house. She left it, we are told, accompanied by all his children, except the eldest by Fulvia, who was then with his father, weeping and grieving that she must be looked upon as one of the causes of the war. But the Romans pitied, not so much her, as Antony himself, and more particularly those who had seen Cleopatra, whom they could report to have no way the advantage of Octavia either in youth or in beauty.

  The speed and extent of Antony’s preparations alarmed Cæsar, who feared he might be forced to fight the decisive battle that summer. For he wanted many necessaries, and the people grudged very much to pay the taxes; freemen being called upon to pay a fourth part of their incomes, and freed slaves an eighth of their property, so that there were loud outcries against him, and disturbances throughout all Italy. And this is looked upon as one of the greatest of Antony’s oversights, that he did not then press the war. For he allowed time at once for Cæsar to make his preparations, and for the commotions to pass over. For while people were having their money called for, they were mutinous and violent; but, having paid it, they held their peace. Titius and Plancus, men of consular dignity and friends to Antony, having been ill used by Cleopatra, whom they had most resisted in her design of being present in the war came over to Cæsar, and gave information of the contents of Antony’s will, with which they were acquainted. It was deposited in the hands of the vestal virgins, who refused to deliver it up, and sent Cæsar word, if he pleased, he should come and seize it himself, which he did. And, reading it over to himself, he noted those places that were most for his purpose, and, having summoned the senate, read them publicly. Many were scandalized at the proceeding, thinking it out of reason and equity to call a man to account for what was not to be until after his death. Cæsar specially pressed what Antony said in his will about his burial; for he had ordered that even if he died in the city of Rome, his body, after being carried in state through the forum, should be sent to Cleopatra at Alexandria. Calvisius, a dependant of Cæsar’s, urged other charges in connection with Cleopatra against Antony; that he had given her the library of Pergamus, containing two hundred thousand distinct volumes; that at a great banquet, in the presence of many guests, he had risen up and rubbed her feet, to fulfil some wager or promise; that he had suffered the Ephesians to salute her as their queen; that he had frequently at the public audience of kings and princes received amorous messages written in tablets made of onyx and crystal, and read them openly on the tribunal; that when Furnius, a man of great authority and eloquence among the Romans, was pleading, Cleopatra happening to pass by in her chair, Antony started up and left them in the middle of their cause, to follow at her side and attend her home.

  Calvisius, however, was looked upon as the inventor of most of these stories. Antony’s friends went up and down the city to gain him credit, and sent one of themselves, Geminius, to him, to beg him to take heed and not allow himself to be deprived by vote of his authority, and proclaimed a public enemy to the Roman state. But Geminius no sooner arrived in Greece but he was looked upon as one of Octavia’s spies; at their suppers he was made a continual butt for mockery, and was put to sit in the least honorable places; all which he bore very well, seeking only an occasion of speaking with Antony. So, at supper, being told to say what business he came about, he answered he would keep the rest for a soberer hour, but one thing he had to say, whether full or fasting, that all would go well if Cleopatra would return to Egypt. And on Antony showing his anger at it, “You have done well, Geminius,” said Cleopatra, “to tell your secret without being put to the rack.” So Geminius, after a few days, took occasion to make his escape and go to Rome. Many more of Antony’s friends were driven from him by the insolent usage they had from Cleopatra’s flatterers, amongst whom were Marcus Silanus and Dellius the historian. And Dellius says he was afraid of his life, and that Glaucus, the physician, informed him of Cleopatra’s design against him. She was angry with him for having said that Antony’s friends were served with sour wine, while at Rome Sarmentus, Cæsar’s little page (his delicia, as the Romans call it), drank Falernian.*

  As soon as Cæsar had completed his preparations, he had a decree made, declaring war on Cleopatra, and depriving Antony of the authority which he had let a woman exercise in his place. Cæsar added that he had drunk potions that had bereaved him of his senses, and that the generals they would have to fight with would be Mardion the eunuch, Pothinus, Iras, Cleopatra’s hair-dressing girl, and Charmion, who were Antony’s chief state-councillors.

  These prodigies are said to have announced the war. Pisaurum, where Antony had settled a colony, on the Adriatic sea, was swallowed up by an earthquake; sweat ran from one of the marble statues of Antony at Alba for many days together, and, though frequently wiped off, did not stop. When he himself was in the city of Patræ, the temple of Hercules was struck by lightning, and, at Athens, the figure of Bacchus was torn by a violent wind out of the Battle of the Giants, and laid flat upon the theatre;* with both which deities Antony claimed connection, professing to be descended from Hercules, and from his imitating Bacchus in his way of living having received the name of Young Bacchus. The same whirlwind at Athens also brought down, from amongst many others which were not disturbed, the colossal statues of Eumenes and Attalus, which were inscribed with Antony’s name. And in Cleopatra’s admiral-galley, which was called the Antonias, a most inauspicious omen occurred. Some swallows had built in the stern of the galley, but other swallows came, beat the first away, and destroyed their nests.

  When the armaments gathered for the war, Antony had no less than five hundred ships of war, including numerous galleys of eight and ten banks of oars, as richly ornamented as if they were meant for a triumph. He had a hundred thousand foot and twelve thousand horse. He had vassal kings attending, Bocchus of Libya, Tarcondemus of the Upper Cilicia, Archelaus of Cappadocia, Philadelphus of Paphlagonia, Mithridates of Commagene, and Sadalas of Thrace; all these were with him in person. Out of Pontus Polemon sent him considerable forces, as did also Malchus from Arabia, Herod the Jew, and Amyntas, king of Lycaonia and Galatia; also the Median king sent some troops to join him. Cæsar had two hundred and fifty galleys of war, eighty thousand foot, and horse about equal to the enemy. Antony’s empire extended from Euphrates and Armenia to the Ionian sea and the Illyrians; Cæsar’s, from Illyria to the westward ocean, and from the ocean all along the Tuscan and Sicilian sea. Of Africa, Cæsar had all the coast opposite to Italy, Gaul, and Spain, as far as the Pillars of Hercules, and Antony the provinces from Cyrene to Æthiopia.

  But so wholly was he now the mere appendage to the person of Cleopatra, that, although he was much superior to the enemy in land-forces, yet, out of complaisance to his mistress, he wished the victory to be gained by sea, and that, too, when he could not but see how, for want of sailors, his captains, all through unhappy Greece, were pressing every description of men, common travellers and ass-drivers, harvest laborers and boys, and for all this the vessels had not their complements, but remained, most of them, ill-manned and badly rowed. Cæsar, on the other side, had ships that were built not for size or show, but for service, not pompous galleys, but light, swift, and perfectly manned; and from his head-quarters at Tarentum and Brundusium he sent messages to Antony not to protract the war, but come out with his forces; he would give him secure roadsteads and ports for his fleet, and, for his land army to disembark and pitch their camp, he would leave him as much ground in Italy, inland from the sea, as a horse could traverse in a single course. Antony, on the other side, with the like bold language, challenged him to a single combat, though he were much the older; and, that being refused, proposed to meet him in the Pharsalian fields, where Cæsar and Pompey had fought before. But whilst Antony lay with his fleet near Actium, where now stands Nicopolis, Cæsar seized his opportunity, and crossed the Ionian sea, securing himself at a place in Epirus called the Ladle.* And when those about Antony were much disturbed, their land-forces being a good way off, “Indeed,” said Cleopatra, in mockery, “we may well be frightened if Cæsar has got hold of the Ladle!”

  On the morrow, Antony, seeing the enemy sailing up, and fearing lest his ships might be taken for want of the soldiers to go on board of them, armed all the rowers, and made a show upon the decks of being in readiness to fight; the oars were mounted as if waiting to be put in motion, and the vessels themselves drawn up to face the enemy on either side of the channel of Actium, as though they were properly manned, and ready for an engagement. And Cæsar, deceived by this stratagem, retired. He was also thought to have shown considerable skill in cutting off the water from the enemy by some lines of trenches and forts, water not being plentiful anywhere else, nor very good. And again, his conduct to Domitius was generous, much against the will of Cleopatra. For when he had made his escape in a little boat to Cæsar, having then a fever upon him, although Antony could not but resent it highly, yet he sent after him his whole equipage, with his friends and servants; and Domitius, as if he would give a testimony to the world how repentant he had become on his desertion and treachery being thus manifest, died soon after. Among the kings, also, Amyntas and Deiotarus went over to Cæsar. And the fleet was so unfortunate in every thing that was undertaken, and so unready on every occasion, that Antony was driven again to put his confidence in the land-forces. Canidius, too, who commanded the legions, when he saw how things stood, changed his opinion, and now was of advice that Cleopatra should be sent back, and that, retiring into Thrace or Macedonia, the quarrel should be decided in a land fight. For Dicomes, also, the king of the Getæ, promised to come and join him with a great army, and it would not be any kind of disparagement to him to yield the sea to Cæsar, who, in the Sicilian wars, had had such long practice in ship-fighting; on the contrary, it would be simply ridiculous for Antony, who was by land the most experienced commander living, to make no use of his well-disciplined and numerous infantry, scattering and wasting his forces by parcelling them out in the ships. But for all this, Cleopatra prevailed that a sea-fight should determine all, having already an eye to flight, and ordering all her affairs, not so as to assist in gaining a victory, but to escape with the greatest safety from the first commencement of a defeat.

  There were two long walls, extending from the camp to the station of the ships, between which Antony used to pass to and fro without suspecting any danger. But Cæsar, upon the suggestion of a servant that it would not be difficult to surprise him, laid an ambush, which, rising up somewhat too hastily, seized the man that came just before him, he himself escaping narrowly by flight.

  When it was resolved to stand to a fight at sea, they set fire to all the Egyptian ships except sixty; and of these the best and largest, from ten banks down to three, he manned with twenty thousand full-armed men, and two thousand archers. Here it is related that a foot captain, one that had fought often under Antony, and had his body all mangled with wounds, exclaimed, “O, my general, what have our wounds and swords done to displease you, that you should give your confidence to rotten timbers? Let Egyptians and Phœnicians contend at sea, give us the land, where we know well how to die upon the spot or gain the victory.” To which he answered nothing, but, by his look and motion of his hand seeming to bid him be of good courage, passed forwards, having already, it would seem, no very sure hopes, since when the masters proposed leaving the sails behind them, he commanded they should be put aboard, “For we must not,” said he, “let one enemy escape.”

  That day and the three following the sea was so rough they could not engage. But on the fifth there was a calm, and they fought; Antony commanding with Publicola the right, and Cœlius the left squadron, Marcus Octavius and Marcus Insteius the centre. Cæsar gave the charge of the left to Agrippa, commanding in person on the right. As for the land-forces, Canidius was general for Antony, Taurus for Cæsar; both armies remaining drawn up in order along the shore. Antony in a small boat went from one ship to another, encouraging his soldiers, and bidding them stand firm, and fight as steadily on their large ships as if they were on land. The masters he ordered that they should receive the enemy lying still as if they were at anchor, and maintain the entrance of the port, which was a narrow and difficult passage. Of Cæsar they relate, that, leaving his tent and going round, while it was yet dark, to visit the ships, he met a man driving an ass, and asked him his name. He answered him that his own name was “Fortunate, and my ass,” says he, “is called Conqueror.”* And afterwards, when he disposed the beaks of the ships in that place in token of his victory, the statue of this man and his ass in bronze were placed amongst them. After examining the rest of his fleet, he went in a boat to the right wing, and looked with much admiration at the enemy lying perfectly still in the straits, in all appearance as if they had been at anchor. For some considerable length of time he actually thought they were so, and kept his own ships at rest, at a distance of about eight furlongs from them. But about noon a breeze sprang up from the sea, and Antony’s men, weary of expecting the enemy so long, and trusting to their large tall vessels, as if they had been invincible, began to advance the left squadron. Cæsar was overjoyed to see them move, and ordered his own right squadron to retire, that he might entice them out to sea as far as he could, his design being to sail round and round, and so with his light and well-manned galleys to attack these huge vessels, which their size and their want of men made slow to move and difficult to manage.

  When they engaged, there was no charging or striking of one ship by another, because Antony’s, by reason of their great bulk, were incapable of the rapidity required to make the stroke effectual, and, on the other side, Cæsar’s durst not charge head to head on Antony’s, which were all armed with solid masses and spikes of brass; nor did they like even to run in on their sides, which were so strongly built with great squared pieces of timber, fastened together with iron bolts, that their vessels’ beaks would easily have been shattered upon them. So that the engagement resembled a land fight, or, to speak yet more properly, the attack and defence of a fortified place; for there were always three or four vessels of Cæsar’s about one of Antony’s, pressing them with spears, javelins, poles, and several inventions of fire, which they flung among them, Antony’s men using catapults also, to pour down missiles from wooden towers. Agrippa drawing out the squadron under his command to outflank the enemy, Publicola was obliged to observe his motions, and gradually to break off from the middle squadron, where some confusion and alarm ensued, while Arruntius* engaged them. But the fortune of the day was still undecided, and the battle equal, when on a sudden Cleopatra’s sixty ships were seen hoisting sail and making out to sea in full flight, right through the ships that were engaged. For they were placed behind the great ships, which, in breaking through, they put into disorder. The enemy was astonished to see them sailing off with a fair wind towards Peloponnesus. Here it was that Antony showed to all the world that he was no longer actuated by the thoughts and motives of a commander or a man, or indeed by his own judgment at all, and what was once said as a jest, that the soul of a lover lives in some one else’s body, he proved to be a serious truth. For, as if he had been born part of her, and must move with her wheresoever she went, as soon as he saw her ship sailing away, he abandoned all that were fighting and spending their lives for him, and put himself aboard a galley of five ranks of oars, taking with him only Alexander of Syria and Scellias, to follow her that had so well begun his ruin and would hereafter accomplish it.

  She, perceiving him to follow, gave the signal to come aboard. So, as soon as he came up with them, he was taken into the ship. But without seeing her or letting himself be seen by her, he went forward by himself, and sat alone, without a word, in the ship’s prow, covering his face with his two hands. In the meanwhile, some of Cæsar’s light Liburnian ships, that were in pursuit, came in sight. But on Antony’s commanding to face about, they all gave back except Eurycles the Laconian, who pressed on, shaking a lance from the deck, as if he meant to hurl it at him. Antony, standing at the prow, demanded of him, “Who is this that pursues Antony?” “I am,” said he, “Eurycles, the son of Lachares, armed with Cæsar’s fortune to revenge my father’s death.” Lachares had been condemned for a robbery, and beheaded by Antony’s orders. However, Eurycles did not attack Antony, but ran with his full force upon the other admiral-galley (for there were two of them), and with the blow turned her round, and took both her and another ship, in which was a quantity of rich plate and furniture. So soon as Eurycles was gone, Antony returned to his posture, and sate silent, and thus he remained for three days, either in anger with Cleopatra, or wishing not to upbraid her, at the end of which they touched at Tænarus. Here the women of their company succeeded first in bringing them to speak, and afterwards to eat and sleep together. And, by this time, several of the ships of burden and some of his friends began to come in to him from the rout, bringing news of his fleet’s being quite destroyed, but that the land-forces, they thought, still stood firm. So that he sent messengers to Canidius to march the army with all speed through Macedonia into Asia. And, designing himself to go from Tænarus into Africa, he gave one of the merchant ships, laden with a large sum of money, and vessels of silver and gold of great value, belonging to the royal collections, to his friends, desiring them to share it amongst them, and provide for their own safety. They refusing his kindness with tears in their eyes, he comforted them with all the goodness and humanity imaginable, entreating them to leave him, and wrote letters in their behalf to Theophilus, his steward, at Corinth, that he would provide for their security, and keep them concealed till such time as they could make their peace with Cæsar. This Theophilus was the father of Hipparchus, who had such interest with Antony, who was the first of all his freedmen that went over to Cæsar, and who settled afterwards at Corinth. In this posture were affairs with Antony.

  But at Actium, his fleet, after a long resistance to Cæsar, and suffering the most damage from a heavy sea that set in right ahead, scarcely, at four in the afternoon, gave up the contest, with the loss of not more than five thousand men killed, but of three hundred ships taken, as Cæsar himself has recorded. Only few had known of Antony’s flight; and those who were told of it could not at first give any belief to so incredible a thing, as that a general who had nineteen entire legions and twelve thousand horse upon the sea-shore, could abandon all and fly away; and he, above all, who had so often experienced both good and evil fortune, and had in a thousand wars and battles been inured to changes. His soldiers, however, would not give up their desires and expectations, still fancying he would appear from some part or other, and showed such a generous fidelity to his service, that, when they were thoroughly assured that he was fled in earnest, they kept themselves in a body seven days, making no account of the messages that Cæsar sent to them. But at last, seeing that Canidius himself, who commanded them, was fled from the camp by night, and that all their officers had quite abandoned them, they gave way, and made their submission to the conqueror. After this, Cæsar set sail for Athens, where he made a settlement with Greece, and distributed what remained of the provision of corn that Antony had made for his army among the cities, which were in a miserable condition, despoiled of their money, their slaves, their horses, and beasts of service. My great-grandfather Nicarchus used to relate, that the whole body of the people of our city were put in requisition to carry each one a certain measure of corn upon their shoulders to the sea-side near Anticyra, men standing by to quicken them with the lash. They had made one journey of the kind, but when they had just measured out the corn and were putting it on their backs for a second, news came of Antony’s defeat, and so saved Chæronea, for all Antony’s purveyors and soldiers fled upon the news, and left them to divide the corn among themselves.

  When Antony came into Africa, he sent on Cleopatra from Parætonium into Egypt, and staid himself in the most entire solitude that he could desire, roaming and wandering about with only two friends, one a Greek, Aristocrates, a rhetorician, and the other a Roman, Lucilius, of whom we have elsewhere spoken, how, at Philippi, to give Brutus time to escape, he suffered himself to be taken by the pursuers, pretending he was Brutus. Antony gave him his life, and on this account he remained true and faithful to him to the last.

  But when also the officer who commanded for him in Africa, to whose care he had committed all his forces there, took them over to Cæsar, he resolved to kill himself, but was hindered by his friends. And coming to Alexandria, he found Cleopatra busied in a most bold and wonderful enterprise. Over the small space of land which divides the Red Sea from the sea near Egypt, which may be considered also the boundary between Asia and Africa, and in the narrowest place is not much above three hundred furlongs across, over this neck of land Cleopatra had formed a project of dragging her fleet, and setting it afloat in the Arabian Gulf, thus with her soldiers and her treasure to secure herself a home on the other side, where she might live in peace, far away from war and slavery. But the first galleys which were carried over being burnt by the Arabians of Petra, and Antony not knowing but that the army before Actium still held together, she desisted from her enterprise, and gave orders for the fortifying all the approaches to Egypt. But Antony, leaving the city and the conversation of his friends, built him a dwelling-place in the water, near Pharos, upon a little mole which he cast up in the sea, and there, secluding himself from the company of mankind, said he desired nothing but to live the life of Timon; as, indeed, his case was the same, and the ingratitude and Page 224 injuries which he suffered from those he had esteemed his friends, made him hate and mistrust all mankind.

  This Timon was a citizen of Athens, and lived much about the Peloponnesian war, as may be seen by the comedies of Aristophanes and Plato, in which he is ridiculed as the hater and enemy of mankind. He avoided and repelled the approaches of every one, but embraced with kisses and the greatest show of affection Alcibiades, then in his hot youth. And when Apemantus was astonished, and demanded the reason, he replied that he knew this young man would one day do infinite mischief to the Athenians. He never admitted any one into his company, except at times this Apemantus, who was of the same sort of temper, and was an imitator of his way of life. At the celebration of the festival of flagons,* these two kept the feast together, and Apemantus saying to him, “What a pleasant party, Timon!” “It would be,” he answered, “if you were away.” One day he got up in a full assembly on the speaker’s place, and when there was a dead silence and great wonder at so unusual a sight, he said, “Ye men of Athens, I have a little plot of ground, and in it grows a fig-tree, on which many citizens have been pleased to hang themselves; and now, having resolved to build in that place, I wished to announce it publicly, that any of you who may be desirous may go and hang yourselves before I cut it down.” He died and was buried at Halæ, near the sea, where it so happened that, after his burial, a land-slip took place on the point of the shore, and the sea, flowing in, surrounded his tomb, and made it inaccessible to the foot of man. It bore this inscription: —

  • Here am I laid, my life of misery done.
  • Ask not my name, I curse you every one.

  And this epitaph was made by himself while yet alive; that which is more generally known is by Callimachus: —

  • Timon, the misanthrope, am I below.
  • Go, and revile me, traveller, only go.

  Thus much of Timon, of whom much more might be said. Canidius now came, bringing word in person of the loss of the army before Actium. Then he received news that Herod of Judæa was gone over to Cæsar with some legions and cohorts, and that the other kings and princes were in like manner deserting him, and that, out of Egypt, nothing stood by him. All this, however, seemed not to disturb him, but, as if he were glad to put away all hope, that with it he might be rid of all care, and leaving his habitation by the sea, which he called the Timoneum, he was received by Cleopatra in the palace, and set the whole city into a course of feasting, drinking, and presents. The son of Cæsar and Cleopatra was registered among the youths, and Antyllus, his own son by Fulvia, received the gown without the purple border, given to those that are come of age; in honor of which the citizens of Alexandria did nothing but feast and revel for many days. They themselves broke up the Order of the Inimitable Livers, and constituted another in its place, not inferior in splendor, luxury, and sumptuosity, calling it that of the Diers together.* For all those that said they would die with Antony and Cleopatra gave in their names, for the present passing their time in all manner of pleasures and a regular succession of banquets. But Cleopatra was busied in making a collection of all varieties of poisonous drugs, and, in order to see which of them were the least painful in the operation, she had them tried upon prisoners condemned to die. But, finding that the quick poisons always worked with sharp pains, and that the less painful were slow, she next tried venomous animals, and watched with her own eyes whilst they were applied, one creature to the body of another. This was her daily practice, and she pretty well satisfied herself that nothing was comparable to the bite of the asp, which, without convulsion or groaning, brought on a heavy drowsiness and lethargy, with a gentle sweat on the face, the senses being stupefied by degrees; the patient, in appearance, being sensible of no pain, but rather troubled to be disturbed or awakened, like those that are in a profound natural sleep.

  At the same time, they sent ambassadors to Cæsar into Asia, Cleopatra asking for the kingdom of Egypt for her children, and Antony, that he might have leave to live as a private man in Egypt, or, if that were thought too much, that he might retire to Athens. In lack of friends, so many having deserted, and others not being trusted, Euphronius, his son’s tutor, was sent on this embassy. For Alexas of Laodicea, who, by the recommendation of Timagenes, became acquainted with Antony at Rome, and had been more powerful with him than any Greek, and was, of all the instruments which Cleopatra made use of to persuade Antony, the most violent, and the chief subverter of any good thoughts that, from time to time, might rise in his mind in Octavia’s favor, had been sent before to dissuade Herod from desertion; but, betraying his master, stayed with him, and, confiding in Herod’s interest, had the boldness to come into Cæsar’s presence. Herod, however, was not able to help him, for he was immediately put in chains, and sent into his own country, where, by Cæsar’s order, he was put to death. This reward of his treason Alexas received while Antony was yet alive

  Cæsar would not listen to any proposals for Antony, but he made answer to Cleopatra, that there was no reasonable favor which she might not expect, if she put Antony to death, or expelled him from Egypt. He sent back with the ambassadors his own freedman Thyrsus, a man of understanding, and not at all ill-qualified for conveying the messages of a youthful general to a woman so proud of her charms and possessed with the opinion of the power of her beauty. But by the long audiences he received from her, and the special honors which she paid him, Antony’s jealousy began to be awakened; he had him seized, whipped, and sent back; writing Cæsar word that the man’s busy, impertinent ways had provoked him; in his circumstances he could not be expected to be very patient: “But if it offend you,” he added, “you have got my freedman, Hipparchus, with you; hang him up and scourge him to make us even.” But Cleopatra, after this, to clear herself, and to allay his jealousies, paid him all the attentions imaginable. When her own birthday came, she kept it as was suitable to their fallen fortunes; but his was observed with the utmost prodigality of splendor and magnificence, so that many of the guests sate down in want, and went home wealthy men. Meantime, continual letters came to Cæsar from Agrippa, telling him his presence was extremely required at Rome.

  And so the war was deferred for a season. But, the winter being over, he began his march; he himself by Syria, and his captains through Africa. Pelusium being taken, there went a report as if it had been delivered up to Cæsar by Seleucus not without the consent of Cleopatra; but she, to justify herself, gave up into Antony’s hands the wife and children of Seleucus to be put to death. She had caused to be built, joining to the temple of Isis, several tombs and monuments of wonderful height, and very remarkable for the workmanship; thither she removed her treasure, her gold, silver, emeralds, pearls, ebony, ivory, cinnamon, and, after all, a great quantity of torchwood and tow. Upon which Cæsar began to fear lest she should, in a desperate fit, set all these riches on fire; and, therefore, while he was marching towards the city with his army, he omitted no occasion of giving her new assurances of his good intentions. He took up his position in the Hippodrome, where Antony made a fierce sally upon him, routed the horse, and beat them back into their trenches, and so returned with great satisfaction to the palace, where, meeting Cleopatra, armed as he was, he kissed her, and commended to her favor one of his men, who had most signalized himself in the fight, to whom she made a present of a breastplate and helmet of gold; which he having received, went that very night and deserted to Cæsar.

  After this, Antony sent a new challenge to Cæsar, to fight him hand to hand; who made him answer that he might find several other ways to end his life; and he, considering with himself that he could not die more honorably than in battle, resolved to make an effort both by land and sea. At supper, it is said, he bade his servants help him freely, and pour him out wine plentifully, since to-morrow, perhaps, they should not do the same, but be servants to a new master, whilst he should lie on the ground, a dead corpse, and nothing. His friends that were about him wept to hear him talk so; which he perceiving, told them he would not lead them to a battle in which he expected rather an honorable death than either safety or victory. That night, it is related, about the middle of it, when the whole city was in a deep silence and general sadness, expecting the event of the next day, on a sudden was heard the sound of all sorts of instruments, and voices singing in tune, and the cry of a crowd of people shouting and dancing, like a troop of bacchanals on its way. This tumultuous procession seemed to take its course right through the middle of the city to the gate nearest the enemy; here it became loudest, and suddenly passed out. People who reflected considered this to signify that Bacchus, the god whom Antony had always made it his study to copy and imitate, had now forsaken him.

  As soon as it was light, he marched his infantry out of the city, and posted them upon a rising ground, from whence he saw his fleet make up to the enemy. There he stood in expectation of the event; but, as soon as the fleets came near to one another, his men saluted Cæsar’s with their oars; and, on their responding, the whole body of the ships, forming into a single fleet, rowed up direct to the city. Antony had no sooner seen this, but the horse deserted him, and went over to Cæsar; and his foot being defeated, he retired into the city, crying out that Cleopatra had betrayed him to the enemies he had made for her sake. She, being afraid lest in his fury and despair he might do her a mischief, fled to her monument, and letting down the falling doors, which were strong with bars and bolts, she sent messengers who should tell Antony she was dead. He, believing it, cried out, “Now, Antony, why delay longer? Fate has snatched away the only pretext for which you could say you desired yet to live.” Going into his chamber, and there loosening and opening his coat of armor, “I am not,” said he, “troubled, Cleopatra, to be at present bereaved of you, for I shall soon be with you; but it distresses me that so great a general should be found of a tardier courage than a woman.” He had a faithful servant, whose name was Eros; he had engaged him formerly to kill him when he should think it necessary, and now he put him to his promise. Eros drew his sword, as designing to kill him, but, suddenly turning round, he slew himself. And as he fell dead at his feet, “It is well done, Eros,” said Antony; “you show your master how to do what you had not the heart to do yourself;” and so he ran himself into the belly, and laid himself upon the couch. The wound, however, was not immediately mortal; and the flow of blood ceasing when he lay down, presently he came to himself, and entreated those that were about him to put him out of his pain; but they all fled out of the chamber, and left him crying out and struggling, until Diomede, Cleopatra’s secretary, came to him, having orders from her to bring him into the monument.

  When he understood she was alive, he eagerly gave order to the servants to take him up, and in their arms was carried to the door of the building. Cleopatra would not open the door, but, looking from a sort of window, she let down ropes and cords, to which Antony was fastened; and she and her two women, the only persons she had allowed to enter the monument, drew him up. Those that were present say that nothing was ever more sad than this spectacle, to see Antony, covered all over with blood and just expiring, thus drawn up, still holding up his hands to her, and lifting up his body with the little force he had left. As, indeed, it was no easy task for the women; and Cleopatra, with all her force, clinging to the rope, and straining with her head to the ground, with difficulty pulled him up, while those below encouraged her with their cries, and joined in all her effort and anxiety. When she had got him up, she laid him on the bed, tearing all her clothes, which she spread upon him; and, beating her breasts with her hands, lacerating herself, and disfiguring her own face with the blood from his wounds, she called him her lord, her husband, her emperor, and seemed to have pretty nearly forgotten all her own evils, she was so intent upon his misfortunes. Antony, stopping her lamentations as well as he could, called for wine to drink, either that he was thirsty, or that he imagined that it might put him the sooner out of pain. When he had drunk, he advised her to bring her own affairs, so far as might be honorably done, to a safe conclusion, and that, among all the friends of Cæsar, she should rely on Proculeius; that she should not pity him in this last turn of fate, but rather rejoice for him in remembrance of his past happiness, who had been of all men the most illustrious and powerful, and, in the end, had fallen not ignobly, a Roman by a Roman overcome.

  Just as he breathed his last, Proculeius arrived from Cæsar; for when Antony gave himself his wound, and was carried in to Cleopatra, one of his guards, Dercetæus, took up Antony’s sword and hid it; and, when he saw his opportunity, stole away to Cæsar, and brought him the first news of Antony’s death, and withal showed him the bloody sword. Cæsar, upon this, retired into the inner part of his tent, and, giving some tears to the death of one that had been nearly allied to him in marriage, his colleague in empire, and companion in so many wars and dangers, he came out to his friends, and, bringing with him many letters, he read to them with how much reason and moderation he had always addressed himself to Antony, and in return what overbearing and arrogant answers he received. Then he sent Proculeius to use his utmost endeavors to get Cleopatra alive into his power; for he was afraid of losing a great treasure, and, besides, she would be no small addition to the glory of his triumph. She, however, was careful not to put herself in Proculeius’s power; but from within her monument, he standing on the outside of a door, on the level of the ground, which was strongly barred, but so that they might well enough hear one another’s voice, she held a conference with him; she demanding that her kingdom might be given to her children, and he bidding her be of good courage, and trust Cæsar for every thing.

  Having taken particular notice of the place, he returned to Cæsar, and Gallus was sent to parley with her the second time; who, being come to the door, on purpose prolonged the conference, while Proculeius fixed his scaling-ladders in the window through which the women had pulled up Antony. And so entering, with two men to follow him, he went straight down to the door where Cleopatra was discoursing with Gallus. One of the two women who were shut up in the monument with her cried out, “Miserable Cleopatra, you are taken prisoner!” Upon which she turned quick, and, looking at Proculeius, drew out her dagger, which she had with her to stab herself. But Proculeius ran up quickly, and, seizing her with both his hands, “For shame,” said he, “Cleopatra; you wrong yourself and Cæsar much, who would rob him of so fair an occasion of showing his clemency, and would make the world believe the most gentle of commanders to be a faithless and implacable enemy.” And so, taking the dagger out of her hand, he also shook her dress to see if there were any poison hid in it. After this, Cæsar sent Epaphroditus, one of his freedmen, with orders to treat her with all the gentleness and civility possible, but to take the strictest precautions to keep her alive.

  In the meanwhile, Cæsar made his entry into Alexandria, with Areius the philosopher at his side, holding him by the hand and talking with him; desiring that all his fellow-citizens should see what honor was paid to him, and should look up to him accordingly from the very first moment. Then, entering the exercise-ground, he mounted a platform erected for the purpose, and from thence commanded the citizens (who, in great fear and consternation, fell prostrate at his feet) to stand up, and told them, that he freely acquitted the people of all blame, first, for the sake of Alexander, who built their city; then, for the city’s sake itself, which was so large and beautiful; and, thirdly, to gratify his friend Areius.

  Such great honor did Areius receive from Cæsar; and by his intercession many lives were saved, amongst the rest that of Philostratus, a man, of all the professors of logic that ever were, the most ready in extempore speaking, but quite destitute of any right to call himself one of the philosophers of the Academy. Cæsar, out of disgust at his character, refused all attention to his entreaties. So, growing a long, white beard, and dressing himself in black, he followed behind Areius, shouting out the verse,

  The wise, if they are wise, will save the wise.

  Which Cæsar hearing, gave him his pardon, to prevent rather any odium that might attach to Areius, than any harm that Philostratus might suffer.

  Of Antony’s children, Antyllus, his son by Fulvia, being betrayed by his tutor, Theodorus, was put to death; and while the soldiers were cutting off his head, his tutor contrived to steal a precious jewel which he wore about his neck, and put it into his pocket, and afterwards denied the fact, but was convicted and crucified. Cleopatra’s children, with their attendants, had a guard set on them, and were treated very honorably. Cæsarion, who was reputed to be the son of Cæsar the Dictator, was sent by his mother, with a great sum of money, through Æthiopia, to pass into India; but his tutor, a man named Rhodon, about as honest as Theodorus, persuaded him to turn back, for that Cæsar designed to make him king. Cæsar consulting what was best to be done with him, Areius, we are told said,

  Too many Cæsars are not well.*

  So, afterwards, when Cleopatra was dead, he was killed.

  • Too many leaders are not well; the way
  • Is to have one commander to obey,
  • One king, of Zeus appointed for the sway

  ouk agathon polukaisarie being a slight variation upon ouk agathon polukoiranie. Kaisar is the Greek form of Cæsar; and Koiran, or Koiranos, is a captain or chief.

  Many kings and great commanders made petition to Cæsar for the body of Antony, to give him his funeral rites; but he would not take away his corpse from Cleopatra, by whose hands he was buried with royal splendor and magnificence, it being granted to her to employ what she pleased on his funeral. In this extremity of grief and sorrow, and having inflamed and ulcerated her breasts with beating them, she fell into a high fever, and was very glad of the occasion, hoping, under this pretext, to abstain from food, and so to die in quiet without interference. She had her own physician, Olympus, to whom she told the truth, and asked his advice and help to put an end to herself, as Olympus himself has told us, in a narrative which he wrote of these events. But Cæsar, suspecting her purpose, took to menacing language about her children, and excited her fears for them, before which engines her purpose shook and gave way, so that she suffered those about her to give her what meat or medicine they pleased.

  Some few days after, Cæsar himself came to make her a visit and comfort her. She lay then upon her palletbed in undress, and, on his entering in, sprang up from off her bed, having nothing on but the one garment next her body, and flung herself at his feet, her hair and face looking wild and disfigured, her voice quivering, and her eyes sunk in her head. The marks of the blows she had given herself were visible about her bosom, and altogether her whole person seemed no less afflicted than her soul. But, for all this, her old charm, and the boldness of her youthful beauty had not wholly left her, and, in spite of her present condition, still sparkled from within, and let itself appear in all the movements of her countenance. Cæsar, desiring her to repose herself, sat down by her; and, on this opportunity, she said something to justify her actions, attributing what she had done to the necessity she was under, and to her fear of Antony; and when Cæsar, on each point, made his objections, and she found herself confuted, she broke off at once into language of entreaty and deprecation, as if she desired nothing more than to prolong her life. And at last, having by her a list of her treasure, she gave it into his hands; and when Seleucus, one of her stewards, who was by, pointed out that various articles were omitted, and charged her with secreting them, she flew up and caught him by the hair, and struck him several blows on the face. Cæsar smiling and withholding her, “Is it not very hard, Cæsar,” said she, “when you do me the honor to visit me in this condition I am in, that I should be accused by one of my own servants of laying by some women’s toys, not meant to adorn, be sure, my unhappy self, but that I might have some little present by me to make your Octavia and your Livia, that by their intercession I might hope to find you in some measure disposed to mercy?” Cæsar was pleased to hear her talk thus, being now assured that she was desirous to live. And, therefore, letting her know that the things she had laid by she might dispose of as she pleased, and his usage of her should be honorable above her expectation, he went away, well satisfied that he had overreached her, but, in fact, was himself deceived.

  There was a young man of distinction among Cæsar’s companions, named Cornelius Dolabella. He was not without a certain tenderness for Cleopatra, and sent her word privately, as she had besought him to do, that Cæsar was about to return through Syria, and that she and her children were to be sent on within three days. When she understood this, she made her request to Cæsar that he would be pleased to permit her to make oblations to the departed Antony; which being granted, she ordered herself to be carried to the place where he was buried, and there, accompanied by her women, she embraced his tomb with tears in her eyes, and spoke in this manner: “O, dearest Antony,” said she, “it is not long since that with these hands I buried you; then they were free, now I am a captive, and pay these last duties to you with a guard upon me, for fear that my just griefs and sorrows should impair my servile body, and make it less fit to appear in their triumph over you. No further offerings or libations expect from me; these are the last honors that Cleopatra can pay your memory, for she is to be hurried away far from you. Nothing could part us whilst we lived, but death seems to threaten to divide us. You, a Roman born, have found a grave in Egypt; I, an Egyptian, am to seek that favor, and none but that, in your country. But if the gods below, with whom you now are, either can or will do any thing (since those above have betrayed us), suffer not your living wife to be abandoned; let me not be led in triumph to your shame, but hide me and bury me here with you, since, amongst all my bitter misfortunes, nothing has afflicted me like this brief time that I have lived away from you.”

  Having made these lamentations, crowning the tomb with garlands and kissing it, she gave orders to prepare her a bath, and, coming out of the bath, she lay down and made a sumptuous meal. And a country fellow brought her a little basket, which the guards intercepting and asking what it was, the fellow put the leaves which lay uppermost aside, and showed them it was full of figs; and on their admiring the largeness and beauty of the figs, he laughed, and invited them to take some, which they refused, and, suspecting nothing, bade him carry them in. After her repast, Cleopatra sent to Cæsar a letter which she had written and sealed; and, putting everybody out of the monument but her two women, she shut the doors. Cæsar, opening her letter, and finding pathetic prayers and entreaties that she might be buried in the same tomb with Antony, soon guessed what was doing. At first he was going himself in all haste, but, changing his mind, he sent others to see. The thing had been quickly done. The messengers came at full speed, and found the guards apprehensive of nothing; but on opening the doors, they saw her stone-dead, lying upon a bed of gold, set out in all her royal ornaments. Iras, one of her women, lay dying at her feet, and Charmion, just ready to fall, scarce able to hold up her head, was adjusting her mistress’s diadem. And when one that came in said angrily, “Was this well done of your lady, Charmion?” “Extremely well,” she answered, “and as became the descendant of so many kings”; and as she said this, she fell down dead by the bedside.

  Some relate that an asp was brought in amongst those figs and covered with the leaves, and that Cleopatra had arranged that it might settle on her before she knew, but, when she took away some of the figs and saw it, she said, “So here it is,” and held out her bare arm to be bitten. Others say that it was kept in a vase, and that she vexed and pricked it with a golden spindle till it seized her arm. But what really took place is known to no one. Since it was also said that she carried poison in a hollow bodkin, about which she wound her hair; yet there was not so much as a spot found, or any symptom of poison upon her body, nor was the asp seen within the monument; only something like the trail of it was said to have been noticed on the sand by the sea, on the part towards which the building faced and where the windows were. Some relate that two faint puncture-marks were found on Cleopatra’s arm, and to this account Cæsar seems to have given credit; for in his triumph there was carried a figure of Cleopatra, with an asp clinging to her. Such are the various accounts. But Cæsar, though much disappointed by her death, yet could not but admire the greatness of her spirit, and gave order that her body should be buried by Antony with royal splendor and magnificence. Her women, also, received honorable burial by his directions. Cleopatra had lived nine and thirty years, during twenty-two of which she had reigned as queen, and for fourteen had been Antony’s partner in his empire. Antony, according to some authorities, was fifty-three, according to others, fifty-six years old. His statues were all thrown down, but those of Cleopatra were left untouched; for Archibius, one of her friends, gave Cæsar two thousand talents to save them from the fate of Antony’s.

  Antony left by his three wives seven children, of whom only Antyllus, the eldest, was put to death by Cæsar; Octavia took the rest, and brought them up with her own. Cleopatra, his daughter by Cleopatra, was given in marriage to Juba, the most accomplished of kings; and Antony, his son by Fulvia, attained such high favor, that whereas Agrippa was considered to hold the first place with Cæsar, and the sons of Livia the second, the third, without dispute, was possessed by Antony. Octavia, also, having had by her first husband, Marcellus, two daughters, and one son named Marcellus, this son Cæsar adopted, and gave him his daughter in marriage; as did Octavia one of the daughters to Agrippa. But Marcellus dying almost immediately after his marriage, she, perceiving that her brother was at a loss to find elsewhere any sure friend to be his son-in-law, was the first to recommend that Agrippa should put away her daughter and marry Julia. To this Cæsar first, and then Agrippa himself, gave assent; so Agrippa married Julia, and Octavia, receiving her daughter, married her to the young Antony. Page 239 Of the two daughters whom Octavia had borne to Antony, the one was married to Domitius Ahenobarbus; and the other, Antonia, famous for her beauty and discretion, was married to Drusus, the son of Livia, and step-son to Cæsar. Of these parents were born Germanicus and Claudius. Claudius reigned later; and of the children of Germanicus, Caius, after a reign of distinction, was killed with his wife and child; Agrippina, after bearing a son, Lucius Domitius, to Ahenobarbus, was married to Claudius Cæsar, who adopted Domitius, giving him the name of Nero Germanicus. He was emperor in our time, and put his mother to death, and with his madness and folly came not far from ruining the Roman empire, being Antony’s descendant in the fifth generation.

  [* ]Suetonius says Orcini; which was the common name given, even in the law-books, to slaves manumitted by their owner, after his death, by his will. Charonitæ, freedmen of Charon, may have been a Greek translation of the Latin Orcini, freedmen of Orcus, or the world below; or it was perhaps a more familiar word for the same thing.

  [* ]From Cotyls, a cup.

  [* ]“Charidotes and Meilichius in their songs, but too often, in reality, Omestes and Agrionius.” These are all epithets applied in various forms of worship to the Greek Dionysus or Bacchus. It was to Bacchus Omestes, the Devourer, that the Greeks, in the battle of Salamis, offered the Persian princes. See the story in the lives of Themistocles and Aristides.

  [* ]“To go to Ida in her best attire” is the verse, in which Plutarch merely substitutes Cilicia for Ida. See the Iliad, Book XIV. 162, where Juno is described as setting forth to beguile Jupiter from his watch on Mount Ida, while Neptune shall check the Trojans.

  [† ]She was now about twenty-eight years old.

  [* ]See the Gorgias, chapter 19. The four Flatteries are the four Counterfeit Arts, which profess to do good to men’s bodies and souls, and in reality only gratify their pleasures. The legislator’s place is thus usurped by the sophist, the false reasoner, in deliberative assemblies; that of the judge by the rhetorician or pleader; the medical adviser is supplanted by the purveyor of luxuries; and the gymnastic teacher by the adorner of the person. The four genuine Arts are nomothetike, dicanike, iatrike, and gumnastike; the four corresponding Flatteries are sophistike, rhetorike, opsopoiike, and kommotike.

  [* ]“In Carinis,” according to Dion Cassius, was the answer. “In the Carinæ,” which might mean either the ships, or the quarter called the Carinæ, at Rome, in which stood his father’s house.

  [* ]The Clepsydra was a sacred spring, still to be found, inclosed in a chapel in the rock, on the north side of the Acropolis, near the cave of Apollo and Pan.

  [* ]The soul of man has in it a driver and two horses, the one strong and willing, quick to obey, and eager for applause and for honorable praise; the other unruly and ill-conditioned, greedy and violent, whom only flogging and the goad can control. Do what the driver within us will, our better horse may be seduced at times from his duty, his evil yoke-fellow may obtain the mastery, and bear away all to destruction.

  [* ]It seems to have been usual for the guild or company of performers in this part of Asia (“Ionia, as far as the Hellespont”), to have a city of their own, a sort of headquarters, whence they went out, and where once a year they held a festival of their own. Formerly, says Strabo, it had been Teos; intestine troubles drove them thence to Ephesus; king Attalus gave them Myonnesus; and afterwards Lebedus, in Roman times, a half abandoned town, “Gabiis desertior atque Fidenis vicus” was only too glad to receive them. See Strabo, XIV., 29.

  [* ]Suetonius tells us that it was one of the habitual amusements of Augustus to play and talk with children of this kind, who were sought out for him chiefly in Syria and Mauritania. They were specially selected for their smallness; but he had no liking for dwarfs or deformed children, who were often kept by other great people in Rome as their playthings, so called, delicia or deliciæ, much in the same sense as the pet-bird of Catullus’s mistress, “Passer, deliciæ meæ puellæ.”

  [* ]The Battle of the Giants with the Gods was a piece of sculpture in the south wall of the Acropolis, just above the Dionysiac theatre in the side of the rock underneath.

  [* ]Toryne is the name which has this meaning.

  [* ]Eutychus the name of the man, and Nicon that of the ass.

  [* ]Arruntius commanded in Cæsar’s centre.

  [* ]“The Flagons,” or Choës, was the second day of the Anthesterian feast of Bacchus, and was observed by the Athenians as a special day of conviviality, when they met in parties, and drank together.

  [* ]It was a name well known on the stage. There were two, if not three, comedies, called the Synapothneskontes, and one of them had been translated into Latin by Plautus, as the Commorientes.

  [* ]A parody on Homer’s famous words,

  Life of Antony,page 160 . — The passage of Cicero in his Philippics is in the twenty-second chapter of the famous second Philippic; — “Ut Helena Trojanis, sic iste huic reipublicæ causa belli, causa pestis atque exitii fuit.”

  Page 175 . — Antony’s reply, Not very large but extremely ruinous, is meant for a jest in the manner which the Greeks called a surprise, — rather a favorite piece of pleasantry with them. Antony begins in the tone of compliment, The building certainly could not be called large, but it was exceedingly — beautiful, he seemed to be going to say, and for this he substitutes rotten or ruinous. The Senate in the next sentence must, I think, be the Senate, or Council, of Delphi.

  Page 176 . — The City in Sophocles is Thebes in the time of the pestilence, described at the beginning of the Œdipus Tyrannus.

  Page 189 . — The mischief that thus long had lain still or slept has a metrical run in the Greek, and sounds like a tragic fragment. Plato’s restive and rebellious horse is depicted in the Phædrus about the middle of the dialogue (pp 254-256).
  
  Pages 190 to 205. — It may add interest to the details of Antony’s Parthian campaign to know that they are very likely taken from the narrative of an eye-witness. Strabo (XI. p. 523) tells us, that a history of the campaign was drawn up by Antony’s friend and officer, Dellius, who served in it himself, and Plutarch, a little further on, speaks of Dellius as the historical writer, so that it is certain that he knew of his history. This is apparently the same Dellius who before (p. 179) was sent to summon Cleopatra to appear before Antony, and gave her the advice to go to Cilicia in her best attire. He deserted Antony before the battle of Actium, and he is generally identified with the moriture Delli, addressed in the third ode of the second book by Horace as a rich man living at his ease.

  Page 224 . — Two passages are extant in the comedies of Aristophanes in which Timon is mentioned, — the 1549th line of the Birds, in which Prometheus calls himself a Timon, a sort of god-misanthrope among the deities, and lines 805-820 of the Lysistrata, where his solitary, man-hating life is briefly depicted. Plato, the comic poet, was another contemporary. So also was Phrynichus, a fragment of whom, describing Timon’s habits, is preserved by a grammarian. But it seems to have been in the next century by Antiphanes, one of the two great leaders of the second or Middle Attic Comedy (quoted by Plutarch, Vol. V. p. 10, as ridiculing Demosthenes), that Timon was elevated to be the ideal of the misanthrope, and made the vehicle for general invective on mankind. Antiphanes wrote a play called Timon. This passage in Plutarch is the most historical account that we have of Timon, though it is from Lucian’s dialogue in the century following Plutarch that the modern representations have been chiefly derived. Some have thought that Lucian probably copied Antiphanes, but this is quite conjectural.

  Page 239 . — Ahenobarbus, in the second line, is the son of Domitius who deserted before Actium (p. 216), and is the father of Ahenobarbus in the ninth line. The stem, showing the three emperors of Antony’s race, is as follows: —

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  7: Session VI: Antony and Cleopatra II: Dying Honor, Actium and its Aftermath

  If the Roman republic died before Ceasar’s death, the Roman empire was well advanced before the triumph of Octavian at Actium. In Antony and Cleopatra, Shakespeare rounds off the cycle of events that began with the Ides of March and concluded with the unification of the empire under Augustus. The period of calm that followed — the pax Romana — suggests that Rome could no longer be governed as a republic, but required an emperor, armies, and administrators. For some time, however, the forms of the republic remained. How does this apply to the current American republic and its government?

  William Shakespeare, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare (The Oxford Shakespeare), ed. with a glossary by W.J. Craig M.A. (Oxford University Press, 1916).

  Accessed from oll.libertyfund.org/title/1635 on 2008-08-21

  The text is in the public domain.

  ---

  ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA

  DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

  MARK ANTONY, }	Triumvirs.
  OCTAVIUS CæSAR, }
  M. ÆMILIUS LEPIDUS, }
  SEXTUS POMPEIUS.
  DOMITIUS ENOBARBUS, }	Friends to Antony.
  VENTIDIUS, }
  EROS, }
  SCARUS, }
  DERCETAS, }
  DEMETRIUS, }
  PHILO, }
  MECæNAS, }	Friends to Cæsar.
  AGRIPPA, }
  DOLABELLA, }
  PROCULEIUS, }
  THYREUS, }
  GALLUS, }
  MENAS, }	Friends to Pompey.
  MENECRATES, }
  VARRIUS, }
  TAURUS,	Lieutenant-General to Cæsar.
  CANIDIUS,	Lieutenant-General to Antony.
  SILIUS,	an Officer under Ventidius.
  EUPHRONIUS,	Ambassador from Antony to Cæsar.
  ALEXAS, }	Attendants on Cleopatra.
  MARDIAN, }
  SELEUCUS, }
  DIOMEDES, }
  A Soothsayer.
  A Clown.
  CLEOPATRA,	Queen of Egypt.
  OCTAVIA,	sister to Cæsar, and wife to Antony.
  CHARMIAN, }	Attendants on Cleopatra.
  IRAS, }
  Officers, Soldiers, Messengers, and other Attendants.

  Scene.—In several parts of the Roman Empire.

  ACT I.

  Scene I.—

  Alexandria. A Room inCleopatra’sPalace.

  EnterDemetriusandPhilo.

  P