Julius Caesar

Good evening, Casca. Did you accompany Caesar home? Why are you breathless, and why are you staring like that?

Aren’t you disturbed when the earth itself is shaking and swaying as if it were a flimsy thing? Cicero, I’ve seen storms in which the angry winds split old oak trees, and I’ve seen the ocean swell, rage, and foam, as if it wanted to reach the storm clouds, but never before tonight, never until now, have I experienced a storm that drops fire. Either there are wars in heaven, or else the world, too insolent toward the gods, provokes them to send destruction.

What—have you seen something so strange that it is clearly an omen from the gods?

A common slave—you’d know him if you saw him—held up his left hand, which flamed and burned like twenty torches together. And yet his hand was immune to the fire and didn’t get burned. Also—I’ve kept my sword unsheathed since I saw this—in front of the Capitol I met a lion who looked at me and strutted by without bothering to attack me. And there were a hundred spooked women huddled together in fear who swore they saw men on fire walk up and down the streets. And yesterday the night owl sat hooting and shrieking in the marketplace at noon. When all these extraordinary things happen at once, we shouldn’t say, “These happenings can be explained rationally. They’re natural enough.” I think these things are omens of things to come in our country.

Indeed, it’s a strange time. But men tend to interpret things however suits them and totally miss the actual meaning of the things themselves. Is Caesar visiting the Capitol tomorrow?

He is, because he told Antonius to tell you he’d be there tomorrow.

Good night then, Casca. This bad weather isn’t good to walk around in.

Farewell, Cicero

Who’s there?

A Roman.

It’s Casca—I know your voice.

Your ear is good. Cassius, what a night this is!

It’s a very pleasing night to honest men.

Who ever saw the heavens threaten like this?

Those who have known how bad things are here on earth. I have walked around the streets, exposing myself to the perilous night, unbuttoned like this, as you see, Casca, baring my chest to the thunderbolt. When the forked blue lightning seemed to break open the sky, I put myself right where I thought it would hit.

But why did you tempt the heavens like that? Mankind’s role is to fear and tremble when the almighty gods send warning signals.

You’re acting stupid, Casca, and you lack the quick wits that a Roman should have—or else you don’t use them. You go pale, you stare, and you act in awe of the strange disturbance in the heavens. But if you thought about the real reason for all these fires, all these gliding ghosts, for why birds and animals abandon their natural behavior, why old men, fools, and children make predictions, why all sorts of things have departed from the usual course of their natures and become monstrosities, then you’d understand that heaven had them act this way so they would serve as frightening warnings of an unnatural state to come. Right this minute, Casca, I could name a man who’s just like this dreadful night. A man who thunders, throws lightning, splits open graves, and roars like the lion in the Capitol. A man no mightier than you or I in ability, yet grown as huge and frightening as tonight’s strange happenings.

You’re talking about Caesar, right, Cassius?

Let it be who it is. Romans today still have the powerful bodies of their ancestors, but, unfortunately, we don’t have their manly spirits, and instead we take after our mothers. Our tolerance for slavery and oppression shows us to be weak, like women.

Indeed, they say that the senators plan to establish Caesar as a king tomorrow, and he’ll wear his crown at sea and on land everywhere except here in Italy.

I know where I’ll wear this dagger, then. I’ll kill myself to save myself from slavery. In suicide, gods make the weak strong. In suicide, gods allow tyrants to be defeated. No stony tower, no brass walls, no airless dungeon, no iron chains can contain a strong mind. But if a man becomes weary of these obstacles, he can always kill himself. Let everyone beware: I can shake off the tyranny that now oppresses me whenever I choose.

So can I. In fact, every imprisoned man holds in his own hand the tool to free himself.

How can Caesar be a tyrant then? Poor man! I know he wouldn’t be a wolf if the Romans didn’t act like sheep. He couldn’t be a lion if the Romans weren’t such easy prey. People who want to start a big fire quickly start with little twigs. Rome becomes complete trash, nothing but rubbish and garbage, when it works to light up the ambitions of someone as worthless as Caesar. But, oh no! What have I said in my grief? I might be speaking to someone who wants to be a slave, in which case I’ll be held accountable for my words. But I’m armed and I don’t care about danger.

You’re talking to Casca, not to some smiling, two-faced tattletale. Say no more. Shake my hand. If you’re joining together to right these wrongs, I’ll go as far as any one of you.

That’s a deal. Now let me tell you, Casca, I have already convinced some of the noblest Romans to join me in an honorable but dangerous mission. And I know that by now they’re waiting for me on the porch outside Pompey’s theater. We’re meeting on this fearful night because no one is out on the streets. The sky tonight looks bloody, fiery, and terrible, just like the work we have to do.

Hide for a minute—someone’s approaching fast.

It’s Cinna. I recognize his walk. He’s a friend. Cinna, where are you going in such a hurry?

To find you. Who’s that? Metellus Cimber?

No, it’s Casca, someone who’s going to work with us. Aren’t the others waiting for me, Cinna?

I’m glad Casca is with us. What a fearful night this is! Two or three of us have seen strange things.

Are the others waiting? Tell me.

Yes, they are. Oh, Cassius, if you could only convince Brutus to join us—

Don’t worry. Good Cinna, take this paper and be sure to lay it in the judge’s chair where Brutus sits, so he’ll find it. And throw this one in his window, and attach this one with wax to the statue of Brutus’ ancestor, old Brutus. When you’ve finished all this, return to the porch of Pompey’s theater, where you’ll find us. Are Decius Brutus and Trebonius there?

Everyone’s there except Metellus Cimber, and he’s gone to look for you at your house. Well, I’ll hurry and put these papers where you told me.

When you’ve finished, go back to Pompey’s theater.

Come on, Casca, you and I will go see Brutus at his house before sunrise. He’s three-quarters on our side already, and we’ll win him over entirely at this meeting.

Oh, the people love him well. Things that would look bad if we did them, Brutus could do and look virtuous—just like an alchemist turns worthless tin to gold.

Yes, you’re absolutely right about how worthy Brutus is and how much we need him. Let’s go, because it’s already after midnight, and we want him on our side before daylight.