Antony and Cleopatra

Now you’ll see, Lepidus, that I don’t disdain our noble ally because of a personal whim. Here’s the news from Alexandra: Antony fishes, drinks, and celebrates all night. He’s become as frivolous and self-indulgent as Ptolemy’s queen, Cleopatra. He rarely attends to his duties or acknowledges he has partners to be considered. Here’s a man who is the epitome of all the vices known to man.

I can’t believe there could be enough vice in the world to outshine all the good in him. His faults stand out because they must be compared to all his virtues, like stars that shine brightly against the dark night sky. They’re more likely to be the result of inherited weakness than independent choice.

You’re too forgiving. Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that it’s not improper to fool around with Ptolemy’s wife, or to trade a kingdom for a joke. That it’s fine to engage in drinking matches with inferiors, or stumble drunkenly through the streets in the middle of the day, or get into fist fights with sweaty servants. Even if we said that this behavior suits him—though only a man with a perfect character could avoid being disgraced by such antics—there’s no excuse for the extra work we’ve had to take on while he’s been off amusing himself. If he’s been spending his leisure time in lustful pursuits, then he’ll be punished with venereal diseases, and that’s his business. But he’s wasting time and resources vital to our cause and endangering both his position and ours. He should be chastised, like any boy who knows what’s right but chooses to satisfy his desires regardless.

Here’s more news.

We’ve followed your commands, lord Caesar. You shall have hourly updates regarding the situation at sea. Pompey has a strong navy. All the people who only stayed with you out of fear are gathering at the port to join him, in the opinion he’s been treated unfairly.

I should have known it. It’s been this way ever since the first government was organized. People will transfer their support to a strong figure until he becomes their actual leader. Then they will value their former leader, even though the loss of their support has made him powerless. The common crowd changes like the tide, to and fro, serving whoever is on the rise. Their power is worn away by their fickleness.

Caesar, I have news about Menecrates and Menas, notorious pirates who prowl the sea in a variety of ships. They’ve made many raids upon Italy—and the naval patrols go pale at even the thought of resisting them. The young, energetic men are joining Pompey. These pirates can capture a ship as soon as it leaves the harbor, since the simple mention of the name “Pompey” carries as much power as a fleet of troops in battle.

Antony, it’s time to stop your wild hedonism. When you were defeated at the battle of Modena—where you killed the consuls, Hirtius and Pansa—and then driven away, you had to face hunger and thirst. And even though you were brought up as a gentleman, you patiently tolerated more hardships than savages could withstand. You drank horses’ urine and water from scum-covered puddles that even animals would refuse. Though you were used to the finest foods, you didn’t turn up your nose at the bitterest berries on the thorniest bushes. You even ate bark from trees, as deer do in winter. Going over the Alps, you ate strange meat that some men would rather die than consume. And you went through all this—the comparison between then and now shames you—in such a soldier-like way that you didn’t seem to suffer at all.

It’s too bad.

Let’s hope his sense of shame will send him back to Rome quickly. It’s time that we brought our armies into the field. Let’s call a council of war immediately. Pompey is making the most of our absence.

Tomorrow, Caesar, I’ll be able to tell you what land and sea forces I can raise for this war.

I’ll be getting my own figures together in the meantime. Good-bye.

Good-bye, my lord. If you receive any more news, please share it with me.

Don’t worry, that goes without saying.