Adds a completely new adaptation of Julius Caesar, this time with a Christmas twist! Experience the tale of Julius Caesar, only now he's Santa Claus! Witness the internal turmoil of Brutus, only now they are Krampus! Listen as Robin Puck tells the tale of your secret mission to assassinate the Spirit of Christmas, as only Shakespeare could tell it! Julius Caesar Macbeth The Handmaid's Tale The Taming of the Shrew Menu. No Fear Shakespeare. Witchcraft in Shakespeare’s England Movie Adaptations Full Book Quiz. He sees a floating dagger pointing him to Duncan’s chamber. Shakespeare's Julius Caesar Act 1, scene 3 with explanatory notes and classroom discussion for teachers.
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The Sleepless
Brutus, alone again, paces, thinking further. Manifold concerns compete for the nobleman’s attention as he contemplates the day ahead. “Boy! Lucius!” There is no answer. 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.
“Brutus, my lord…” says a woman’s voice.
He turns, and goes to kiss his wife. “Portia, what mean you?—wherefore rise you now? It is not good for your health thus to commit your weak condition to the raw, cold morning.” She has been feeble for several days.
“Nor neither for yours! You urgently, Brutus, stole from my bed,” she notes, “and yesternight, at supper, you suddenly arose and walked about, musing and sighing, with your arms across. And when I asked you what the matter was, you stared upon me with un-gentle looks! I urged you further; then you scratched your head, and impatiently stepped away.
“Yet I insisted; yet you answered 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 seemed too much enkindled—and withal hoping it was but an effect of mood, which sometime hath its hour with every man.”
Worried, she touches his arm tenderly. “It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep—and could it work so much upon your shape as it hath much prevailed on your condition, I should not know you, Brutus!
Worried, she touches his arm tenderly. “It will not let you eat, nor talk, nor sleep—and could it work so much upon your shape as it hath much prevailed on your condition, I should not know you, Brutus!
“Dear my lord, make me acquainted with your cause of grief.”
“I am not well in health, and that is all.”
She shakes her head. “Brutus is wise—and were he not in health, he would embrace the means to come by it.”
She shakes her head. “Brutus is wise—and were he not in health, he would embrace the means to come by it.”
“Why, so I do,” he tells her, mindful of the scheme. “Good Portia, go to bed.”
“Is Brutus sick? And is it healthful to walk unbracèd, 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 unpurgèd 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!”
She beseeches: “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 you are heavy-hearted, and what men tonight have had to resort to you! For here have been some six or seven who did hide their faces even from darkness!”
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He takes her hands, helps her to rise. “Kneel not, gentle Portia.”
“I should not need, if you were gentle, Brutus, within the bond of marriage! Tell me, Brutus, is it expected I should know no secrets that appertain to you?—am I your self, but, as it were, in a 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?” Her eyes flash. “If it be no more, Portia is Brutus’s harlot, not his wife!”
“You are my true and honourablewife, as dear to me as are the ruddy drops that visit my solemn heart!”
“If that were true, then should I know this secret!” she argues. “I grant I am a woman—but withal, the woman that LordBrutus 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 fathered and so husbanded? Tell me your counsels; I will not disclose them!”
She reveals to him a votaress’s incision. “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?”
Brutus is moved: “O ye gods, render me worthy of this noble wife!”
But a sound at the gate interrupts them.
“Hark, hark! One knocks!” he says. “Portia, go in a while—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!” he promises earnestly. “Leave me, with haste!”
She accepts his kiss on the cheek, and hurries into the house, frowning and biting her lip.
“Lucius, who’s that knocking?”
The boy comes to him, helping an unsteady old lord to walk. “He is a sick man, that would speak with you.”
Brutus is pleased. “Caius Ligarius, that Metellus spake of! Boy, stand aside.” He takes the visitor’s hand gently. “Caius Ligarius! How—”
“Vouchsafe ‘good morrow’ from a feeble tongue,” says Ligarius, his voice reedy. Once prosecuted for fighting on the side of Pompey, defended by Cicero, and pardoned by Caesar, he has been in a long convalescence. He holds a cloth intended to protect his lungs.
“Oh, what a time have you chosen out, brave Caius, to wear a kerchief!” It looks like a mask. “I would you were not sick!”
“I am not sick,” declares Ligarius, “if Brutus have in hand any exploit worthy the name of honour!”
Brutus smiles. “Such an exploit have I in hand, Ligarius, had you a healthy ear to hear of it!”
“By all the gods that Romans bow before,” says Ligarius, “I here discard my sickness!
“Soul of Rome!—brave son, derived from honourable loins!—thou like an exorcist hast conjured up my mortifièd spirit! Now bid me run, and I will strive with thingsimpossible—yea, get the better of them!” says the creaking voice. “What’s to do?”
“A piece of work that will make sick men whole.”
“But are not some whole that we must make sick?”
“That must we also,” Brutus admits. “What it is, my Caius, I shall unfold to thee as we are going to whom it must be done.”
Ligarius motions him forward. “Seton your foot, and with a heart new-fired I follow you, to do I know not what! But it sufficeth that Brutus leads me on!”
“Follow me, then!”
Lightning and thunder have interrupted Caesar’s sleep, and he has risen quite early. A difficult day lies ahead: despite some patrician politicians’ continuing opposition to his popular reforms, the Senate is poised to crown him—to make him emperor of Rome’s many territories.
As dawn approaches, deep rumblings trouble the sky over the capital.
Neither heaven nor earth has been at peace tonight! he muses. His wife has been disturbed by the storm, vexed with a night of evil dreams. Thrice hath Calphurnia in her sleep cried out, ‘Help, ho! They murder Caesar!’
The general is hardly a credulous man, but he dislikes foul omens. He calls into the next room, “Who’s within?”
“My lord,” says a servant, entering and bowing.
“Go bid the priests do immediate sacrifice, and bring me their opinions of success.” In the augural reading, the entrails may offer assurance—or warning.
“I will, my lord.”
Calphurnia passes the man as he leaves. She sees that her husband is dressing—and she frowns. “What mean you, Caesar?—think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house today!”
“Caesar shall forth,” he says calmly. “The things that threatened me ne’er looked but on my back. When they shall see the face of Caesar, they are vanished.”
“Caesar, I never balked at circumstances, yet now they fright me,” says Calphurnia. “There is one within who recounts, besides the things that we have heard and seen, most horridsights seen by the watch!”
She paces, wringing her hands, again pondering an unnerving admixture of her nightmares and commoners’ wry reports: “A lioness hath whelpèd in the streets!—and graves have yawned, and yielded up their dead! Fierce, fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, in ranks and squadrons and right form of war 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!
She paces, wringing her hands, again pondering an unnerving admixture of her nightmares and commoners’ wry reports: “A lioness hath whelpèd in the streets!—and graves have yawned, and yielded up their dead! Fierce, fiery warriors fought upon the clouds, in ranks and squadrons and right form of war 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!
“Oh, Caesar!” she moans, “these things are beyond all we are used to, and I do fear them!”
He shrugs. “What can be avoided whose end is purposed by the mighty gods? Yet Caesar shall go forth,” he says, undisturbed, “for these predictions are to the world in general as to Caesar.”
“When beggars die there are no comets seen; the heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes!”
The soldier is stoical. “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.”
His servant has returned from the temple. “What say the augurers?” asks Caesar, as he buckles on his sword.
“They would not have you to stir forth today!” warns the artless young man, wide-eyed and pale. He pauses. “Plucking the entrails of an offering forth, they could not find a heart within the beast!”
But Caesar, sending him away, is privately amused; the reading—from priests awakened well after midnight—is not surprising: heartless. And he, too, can employ divination’s ambiguity. “The gods do this in shame of cowardice: Caesar should be a beast without a heart, if he should stay at home today for fear! No, Caesar shall not.
“Danger knows full well that Caesar is more dangerous than he!” says the ruler, with mock ferocity. “We are two lions littered in one day—and I the elder and more terrible! And Caesar shall go forth!”
But Calphurnia’s concern is genuine—and deep. “Alas, my lord, your wisdom is consumed by confidence! Do not go forth today—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 today. Let me, upon my knee, prevail in this!”
Now Caesar is surprised: his wife often pretends direct the dictator, but she never implores.
He relents. “Mark Antony shall say I am not well, and, for thy concern, I will stay at home.” He sees a senator arriving. “Here’s Decius; he shall tell them so.”
“Caesar, all hail!” cries the visitor. “Good morrow, worthy Caesar! I come to fetch you to the Senate-house!”
“And you are come just in time to bear my greeting to the senators, and tell them that I will not come today,” Caesar replies. He considers that wording. “Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser… I will not come today—tell them so, Decius.”
He objects: “Shall Caesar send a lie? Have I in conquest stretched mine arm so far, to be afraid to tell graybeards the truth? Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come.”
“Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause,” pleads Decius, “lest I be laughed at when I tell them so!”
“The cause is 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:. My wife, Calphurnia here, stays me at home; she dreamt tonight she saw my statue, which, like a fountain with a hundred spouts, did run pureblood!—and many lusty Romans came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it!
“And these does she apply as warnings, and portents, as evils imminent, and on her knee hath begged that I will stay at home today.”
“This dream is all amiss interpreted,” Decius contends. “It was a vision fair and fortunate!--your statue’s spouting blood from many pipes, in which so many smiling Romans laved, signifies that from you great Rome shall draw reviving blood!—and that great men shall press for tinctures, stains, relics—in recognition! That by Calphurnia’s dream is signified!”
Caesar is flattered—but unmoved. “And that way have you well expounded it.”
Decius persists. “I willhave, when you have heard what I can say! And, know it now: the Senate have concluded to give this day a crown to mighty Caesar!” He stares expectantly. “If you shall send them word you will not come, their minds may change!
Caesar is flattered—but unmoved. “And that way have you well expounded it.”
Decius persists. “I willhave, when you have heard what I can say! And, know it now: the Senate have concluded to give this day a crown to mighty Caesar!” He stares expectantly. “If you shall send them word you will not come, their minds may change!
“Besides, it were a mock apt to be rendered for someone to say, ‘Break up the Senate till another time, when Caesar’s wife shall meet with better dreams!’
“If Caesar hide himself, shall they not whisper, ‘Lo, Caesar is afraid’?” He sees that the frowning ruler is disturbed by the idea. “Pardon me, Caesar; my dear dear love for our proceeding bids me tell you this—and reason is liable to my love.”
As more visitors arrive, a window reveals that dawn’s light is growing. Brutus and Ligarius have come; with them are Caska, Trebonius, Cinna, and Metellus.
Faced with so many, the general is loath to disappoint. “How foolish do your fears seem now, Calphurnia! I am ashamed I did yield to them! Give me my cloak, for I will go!”
A long-bearded senator unaware of the conspiracy arrives as well; he hopes to witness today the crowning of an emperor.
As more visitors arrive, a window reveals that dawn’s light is growing. Brutus and Ligarius have come; with them are Caska, Trebonius, Cinna, and Metellus.
Faced with so many, the general is loath to disappoint. “How foolish do your fears seem now, Calphurnia! I am ashamed I did yield to them! Give me my cloak, for I will go!”
A long-bearded senator unaware of the conspiracy arrives as well; he hopes to witness today the crowning of an emperor.
“And look where Publius is come to fetch me!” cries Caesar, quite pleased, as his wife brings the white ceremonial vestment. He drapes it over his shoulders.
Publius beams. “Good morrow, Caesar!”
“Welcome, Publius! What, Brutus, are you stirred so early, too?” He smiles at the guests. “Good morrow, Caska!” And he pats the ailing old man’s shoulder. “Caius Ligarius, Caesar was ne’er so much your enemy as that same ague which hath made you lean!”
“What is the hour?”
“Caesar, ’tis strucken eight,” says Brutus.
“I thank you for your pains and courtesy,” Caesar tells the noblemen, adjusting his cloak as Mark Antony joins them. “See! Antony, who revels long o’ nights, is notwithstanding up! Good morrow, Antony!”
“So to most noble Caesar!” Screen shot app.
He turns to Calphurnia. “Bid them prepare within; I am toblame, to be thus waited for!” She hurries to tell servants to set out food and drink. “Now, Cinna—now, Metellus!
“What, Trebonius!” He recalls that they are scheduled to meet in the afternoon. “I have an hour’s talk in store for you; remember that you call on me today. Be near me, so that I may remember you.”
“Caesar, I will,” says Trebonius. And so near will I be that your best friends shall wish I had been further!
Caesar motions his companions into the corridor leading to the dining hall. “Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me; and we, like friends, will straightway go together.”
Brutus follows him. That not every ‘like’ is the same, O Caesar, the heart of Brutus learns to think upon!
Chapter Four
One Day in Rome
On a street near the Capitol, a teacher of Greek rhetoric—who has recently overheard some alarming private conversations—unfolds the letter of warning he has written.
As fearful Artemidorus reads it again, his hands tremble. ‘Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Caska; have an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius! Mark well Metellus Cimber! Decius loves thee not; thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius!
Caesar motions his companions into the corridor leading to the dining hall. “Good friends, go in, and taste some wine with me; and we, like friends, will straightway go together.”
Brutus follows him. That not every ‘like’ is the same, O Caesar, the heart of Brutus learns to think upon!
Chapter Four
One Day in Rome
On a street near the Capitol, a teacher of Greek rhetoric—who has recently overheard some alarming private conversations—unfolds the letter of warning he has written.
As fearful Artemidorus reads it again, his hands tremble. ‘Caesar, beware of Brutus; take heed of Cassius; come not near Caska; have an eye to Cinna; trust not Trebonius! Mark well Metellus Cimber! Decius loves thee not; thou hast wronged Caius Ligarius!
‘There is but one mind in all these men, and it is bent against Caesar! If thou beest not immortal, look about you! Security gives way to conspiracy!
‘May the mighty gods defend thee!
‘Thy admirer, Artemidorus.’
He folds the paper carefully. Here will I stand till Caesar pass along, and as a petitioner will I give him this. He will pretend he has an ordinary request. My heart laments that virtue cannot live beyond the teeth of envy!
If thou read this, O Caesar, thou mayst live; if not, the Fates with traitors do connive!
Not far away down the same long avenue, at Brutus’s door his worried wife, Portia, urgently calls young Lucius. “I prithee, boy, run to the Senate-house!—stay not to answer me, but get thee gone!” He stares. “Why dost thou stay?” she demands.
“To know my errand, madam.”
“I would have had thee there and hereagain, ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there!” She glances back into the house, distraught. 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!
She turns—and sees Lucius. “Art thou here yet?”
She turns—and sees Lucius. “Art thou here yet?”
“Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else?—and so return to you, and nothing else?”
“Yes!”Then: “Bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well… for he went sickly forth!—and take good note what Caesar doth—what suitors press to him!” Suddenly she looks up, startled: “Hark, boy!—what noise is that?”
“I hear none, madam….”
“Prithee, listen well!” she insists, highly agitated, seizing his arm. “I heard a bustling rumour—like a fray!—and the wind brings it from the Capitol!”
“’Sooth, madam, I hear nothing!”
She spots the frail old seer on the street. “Come hither, fellow! Which way hast thou been?”
“At mine own house, good lady.”
“What is the time?”
“About the ninth hour, lady.”
“Is Caesar yet gone to the Capitol?”
“Madam, not yet; I go to take my stand to see him pass on to the Capitol.”
“Thou hast some suit to Caesar, hast thou not?”
“That I have, lady. If it will please Caesar to be so good to Caesar as to hear me, I shall beseech him to befriend himself.”
“Why?—know’st thou any harm that’s intended towards him?”
“None that I know will be—much that I fear may chance.” The soothsayer bows. “Good morrow to you. Here the street is narrow,” he says, stating on his way. “The throng that follows Caesar at the heels—of senators, of praetors, common suitors—will crowd a feeble man almost to death! I’ll get me to a place more void, and there speak to great Caesar as he comes along.”
Portia watches him amble away. I must go in! Ay, me! How weak a thing the heart of woman is! Oh, Brutus, the heavens speed thee in thine enterprise!
She notices Lucius, rubbing his arm gingerly and watching her curiously. Surely the boy heard me!
Brutus hath a suit that Caesar will not grant! Oh!—I grow faint!
“Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord!—say I am merry!” The lad bows, glad to leave her, and trots away.
“Come to me again,” she calls, growing frantic, “and bring me word what he doth say to thee!”
Near the Capitol a crowd gathers as morning sunshine dissipates the mist and warms the tall marble columns, still damp from the storm. A burst of cheering greets the great leader of the Roman Republic, arriving on his way to the Senate. Trumpets blare out a flourish to herald the guarded procession led by a jovial Julius Caesar, who is accompanied today by senators.
Caesar spots, among those waiting to welcome him, a silent onlooker. “The ides of March are come,” he dryly reminds the soothsayer in passing.
Near the Capitol a crowd gathers as morning sunshine dissipates the mist and warms the tall marble columns, still damp from the storm. A burst of cheering greets the great leader of the Roman Republic, arriving on his way to the Senate. Trumpets blare out a flourish to herald the guarded procession led by a jovial Julius Caesar, who is accompanied today by senators.
Caesar spots, among those waiting to welcome him, a silent onlooker. “The ides of March are come,” he dryly reminds the soothsayer in passing.
“Aye, Caesar; but not gone,” says the old man—unheard, as the noblemen brush by amid the loud applause.
“Hail, Caesar!” cries Artemidorus, waving his list. “Read this list!”
But Decius hands Caesar another document. “Trebonius doth desire you to o’erread, at your best leisure, this his humble suit.”
The teacher pushes forward, thrusting out his letter. “O Caesar, read mine first!—for mine’s a suit that touches Caesar nearer! Read it, great Caesar!”
The general accepts the folded paper. “What touches us ourself shall be last served,” he tells the onlookers humbly, sliding it into a pocket.
Artemidorus is alarmed. “Delaynot, Caesar!” he cries. “Read it instantly!”
Caesar turns away; his other petitioners are calmly obsequious. “What, is the fellow mad?” he asks Decius.
Publius pushes Artemidorus away. “Sirrah, give place!”
And Cassius glares at him. “What, urge you your petition in the street?” he demands. “Come to the Capitol,” he tells the man gruffly, as Caesar moves on, with all the rest following.
In the Senate-house, Popilius Lena, a silver-haired legislator, has approached Cassius. “I wish your enterprise today may thrive!” he says, with a broad smile. Then he sees that Caesar is motioning for him to come near.
Cassius pales. “What enterprise, Popilius?”
But Decius hands Caesar another document. “Trebonius doth desire you to o’erread, at your best leisure, this his humble suit.”
The teacher pushes forward, thrusting out his letter. “O Caesar, read mine first!—for mine’s a suit that touches Caesar nearer! Read it, great Caesar!”
The general accepts the folded paper. “What touches us ourself shall be last served,” he tells the onlookers humbly, sliding it into a pocket.
Artemidorus is alarmed. “Delaynot, Caesar!” he cries. “Read it instantly!”
Caesar turns away; his other petitioners are calmly obsequious. “What, is the fellow mad?” he asks Decius.
Publius pushes Artemidorus away. “Sirrah, give place!”
And Cassius glares at him. “What, urge you your petition in the street?” he demands. “Come to the Capitol,” he tells the man gruffly, as Caesar moves on, with all the rest following.
In the Senate-house, Popilius Lena, a silver-haired legislator, has approached Cassius. “I wish your enterprise today may thrive!” he says, with a broad smile. Then he sees that Caesar is motioning for him to come near.
Cassius pales. “What enterprise, Popilius?”
“Fare you well,” says the aging lord, nodding to Caesar and going to join him.
Brutus is immediately at Cassius’ side. “What said Popilius Lena?” he asks, urgently but quietly.
Only Brutus hears the hushed reply: “He wished today our enterprise might thrive! I fear our purpose is discoverèd!”
“Look how he makes toward Caesar,” says Brutus. “Mark him….”
Cassius turns as another conspirator joins them. “Caska, be sudden,” he whispers, “for we fear prevention!” Caska nods, and walks more quickly toward Caesar.
Cassius is alarmed. “Brutus, what shall be done? If this be
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“Cassius, be constant,” warns Brutus firmly, watching the dictator. “Popilius Lena speaks not of our purposes—for, look, he smiles; and Caesar doth not change.”
Seeing that for himself, Cassius calms, and looks around. “Trebonius knows his time, for, look you, Brutus….” Trebonius, smiling in animated conversation with Mark Antony, throws an arm around his shoulder and draws him into a side hall, away from the large chamber.
Decius comes to Brutus. “Where is Metellus Cimber? Let him go immediately and prefer his suit to Caesar!”
Brutus sees that their accomplice is already petitioning the ruler. “He is addressed; press near, and second him!”
Behind Caesar, Caska and Cinna are moving closer. The young man whispers, “Caska, you are to be first that rears his hand!”
Caesar is raising his arms to open the formal session, where he will hear the day’s requests. “Are we all ready?” He steps forward and sits in his carved chair at the front. “What is now amiss that Caesar and his Senate must redress?”
One of the conspirators comes first, bowing, then dropping to his knees in supplication. “Most high, most mighty, and most puissant Caesar! Metellus Cimber throws before thy seat an humble heart—” he begins.
“I must prevent thee, Cimber!” Caesar is annoyed. “These couchings and these lowly courtesies might fire the blood of ordinary men, and swerve pre-ordinance and first decree into the lane of children; but be not so simple as to think that Caesar bears such rebel blood, that will be thawed from the true quality with that which melteth fools!—I mean sweetwords, low-crookèd court’sies, and base, spaniel fawning!
“Thy brother by decree is banishèd! If thou dost bend and pray and fawn for him, I spurn thee like a cur out of my way. Know: Caesar doth not punish but with just cause—nor without cause will he be satisfied.”
Metellus Cimber looks up and around. “Is there no voice more worthy than my own to sound more sweetly in great Caesar’s ear for the repealing of my banished brother?”
Brutus moves forward and kneels. “I kiss thy hand not in flattery, Caesar, but desiring of thee that Publius Cimber may have immediate freedom of repeal.”
Caesar is surprised: “What?— Brutus!”
Metellus Cimber looks up and around. “Is there no voice more worthy than my own to sound more sweetly in great Caesar’s ear for the repealing of my banished brother?”
Brutus moves forward and kneels. “I kiss thy hand not in flattery, Caesar, but desiring of thee that Publius Cimber may have immediate freedom of repeal.”
Caesar is surprised: “What?— Brutus!”
“Pardon, Caesar,” says Cassius, moving to kneel beside Brutus. “Caesar, pardon! As low as to thy foot doth Cassius fall, to beg enfranchisement for Publius Cimber.”
Caesar has pardoned many defeated opponents; his reasoned policies have been clear and consistent. “I could well be moved, 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, fixèd, and resting quality there is no fellow in the firmament. The skies are painted with unnumbered sparks; they are all fire, and every one doth shine—but there’s but one in all doth hold its place.
“So in the world: ’tis furnished well with men; and men are flesh and blood—and apprehensive. Yet in their number I do know of one who unassailable holdsto his rank, unshaken by motion—and that I am he, let me a little show even in this: I was constant that Cimber should be banished, and constant do remain to keep him so.”
“O Caesar—” says Cinna, stepping before the sovereign to kneel.
“Hence!” says Caesar, irked now. “Wilt thou lift up Olympus?”
Decius, too, comes forward. “Great Caesar—”
The ruler looks down at them, perplexed by the lords’ unseemly—and futile—display. “Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?”
Caska’s sword flashes up, then slices downward. “Speak, hands, for me!”
Caesar is stunned by the blow, and his right arm dangles. The supplicants rise as he staggers, gaping, and each one draws a dagger and stabs him. Brutus is the last.
Caesar’s face registers the pain—and deep disappointment. “Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar.” He collapses to the floor, surrounded by his assailants.
Decius, too, comes forward. “Great Caesar—”
The ruler looks down at them, perplexed by the lords’ unseemly—and futile—display. “Doth not Brutus bootless kneel?”
Caska’s sword flashes up, then slices downward. “Speak, hands, for me!”
Caesar is stunned by the blow, and his right arm dangles. The supplicants rise as he staggers, gaping, and each one draws a dagger and stabs him. Brutus is the last.
Caesar’s face registers the pain—and deep disappointment. “Et tu, Brute? Then fall, Caesar.” He collapses to the floor, surrounded by his assailants.
“Liberty!Freedom!” shouts Cinna. “Tyranny is dead! Run hence!--proclaim!—cry it about the streets!”
Cassius directs fellow conspirators: “Some to the commoners’ pulpits, and cry out, ‘Liberty, freedom, and enfranchisement!’” Several dash out to disseminate the news.
Shocked by the sight—and fearful of the killers’ bloody blades—the many others in the hall have pulled back, staring aghast.
Brutus addresses them. “People and senators, be not affrighted!—fly not; stand still!” He looks down at the corpse. “Ambition’s debt is paid.”
“Go to the pulpit, Brutus!” urges Caska, motioning toward the dais.
“And Cassius too!” says Decius.
Brutus looks for the senator of greatest experience. “Where’s Publius?”
Cinna points to the dazed old man. “Here—quite confounded with this mutiny!”
Brutus looks for the senator of greatest experience. “Where’s Publius?”
Cinna points to the dazed old man. “Here—quite confounded with this mutiny!”
“Stand fast together,” Metellus Cimber warns the others, “lest some friend of Caesar’s should chance—”
“Talk not of standing!” insists Brutus sharply; he does not want to assume a defensive posture. “Publius, good cheer!” he says, smiling. “There is no harm intended to your person, nor to any Roman else!” he says reassuringly. “So tell them, Publius.”
“And leave us, Publius,” Cassius tells the tremulous nobleman, “lest that the people, rushing on to us, should do your age some mischief.”
“Do so,” says Brutus; he nods to the other witnesses. “And let no man abide this deed but we the doers.”
Publius, still shaken, leaves the hall, soon followed by all but conspirators.
Nearly out of breath, Trebonius runs in from the street. Simple shooter vol2 mac os. “Where is Antony?” he asks Cassius.
Publius, still shaken, leaves the hall, soon followed by all but conspirators.
Nearly out of breath, Trebonius runs in from the street. Simple shooter vol2 mac os. “Where is Antony?” he asks Cassius.
“Fled to his house, amazèd! Men, wives and children stare, cry out, and run as if it were doomsday!”
In the high marble chamber, Brutus looks upward as the last observers clear out. “Fates, we will know your pleasures!
“That we shall die, we know,” he murmurs. “’Tis but their time of drawing out days that men stand upon….”
Says Cassius, now relieved and elated, “Why, he that cuts off twenty years of life cuts off so many years of fearing death!”
“Grant that, and is death a benefit,” says Brutus wryly, staring at the body lying in pooled blood. “So then are we, who have abridged his time of fearing death, Caesar’s friends.”
But to the city’s populace he wants to express grim pride—and immediately; he turns to the other assassins. “Stoop, Romans, stoop, and let us bathe our hands in Caesar’s blood, up to the elbows—and besmear our swords!”—so they will imply a fight, rather than an ambush. “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!’”
“Stoop, then, and ‘wash!’” cries Cassius, drawing his sword. “How many ages hence shall this, our lofty scene, be acted over in states unborn, and accents yet unknown?”
Brutus kneels beside the dead man lying at the foot of another general’s statue, and daubs his hands with gore. “How many times shall Caesar, who now at Pompey’s basis lies, no worthier than the dust, bleed in diversions?”—plays.
The other killers smear their hands and swords with crimson.
“So oft as that shall be,” Cassius prophesies, “so often shall the knot of us be called the men that gave their country liberty!”
Decius sees that they are ready. “What, shall we forth?”
“Aye,” says Cassius, “every man away! Brutus shall lead!—and we will grace his heels with the boldest and best hearts of Rome!”
But just then they see a servant warily entering the Senate chamber. “Soft!—who comes here?” says Brutus. He recognizes the young man: “A friend of Antony’s.”
The emissary comes to him and drops to his knees. “Thus, Brutus, did my master bid me kneel!—thus did Mark Antony bid me fall down!” He moves to his hands and knees, touching his forehead to the stone floor. “And being prostrate, thus he bade me say: ‘Brutus is noble, wise, valiant, and honest; Caesar was mighty, bold, royal, and loving.’”
The lad thinks for a moment. “Say: ‘I love Brutus, and I honour him’ …say: ‘I feared Caesar, honoured him and loved him.’” He looks up, frowning, trying to get it right. “‘If Brutus will vouchsafe that Antony may safely come to him and be resolvèd how Caesar hath deserved to lie in death, Mark Antony shall not love Caesar 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.” The youth rises.
Brutus is pleased. “Thy master is a wise and valiant Roman! I never thought him worse! Tell him: so please it him to come unto this place, he shall be satisfied!—and, by my honour, depart untouched!”
The lad nods. “I’ll fetch him immediately.” He bows, turns, and hurries away.
Brutus tells the others, “I know that we shall do well to have him a friend!”
“I wish we may,” says Cassius, “but yet have I a mind that fears him much!—and my misgiving always falls shrewdly to the purpose,” he claims.
Brutus turns to the door. “And here comes Antony! Welcome, Mark Antony!”
Antony’s gaze is fixed; he stares at the bloody cloak as he walks slowly to the body crumpled at the foot of the statue.
“O mighty Caesar! Dost thou lie so low? Are all thy conquests, glories, triumphs, spoils, shrunk to this little measure?” Tears well up, and his voice is choked with grief. “Fare thee well….”
Antony turns to the conspirators. “I know not, gentlemen, what you intend—who else’s blood must be let, who else is rank. If I myself, there is no hour so fit as Caesar’s death-hour, nor no instrument of half that worth as thoseyour swords—made rich with the most noble blood of all this world!
“I do beseech ye, if you bear me hard, now, whilst your purpled hands do reek and smolder, fulfill your pleasure! Live a thousand years, I shall not find myself so apt to die!—no place will please me so, no means of death, as here by Caesar, and by you cut off, the choice and master spirits of this age!”
“O Antony, beg not your death of us!” says Brutus. “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 full of piety, in pity for the general wrong of Rome! As fire drives out fire, so pity--pity hath done this deed on Caesar!
“As for your part, to you our steel swords have leaden points, Mark Antony! Our arms constrained from malice, and our hearts with brothers’ temperament do receive you in, with all kind love, good thoughts, and reverence!”
Cassius watches Antony closely. “Your voice shall be as strong as any man’s in the disposing of new dignities,” he offers.
“Only be patient till we have appeased the multitude, now beside themselves with fear,” says Brutus, “and then we will deliver to you the cause why I—who did love Caesar when I struck him—have thus proceeded.”
Antony regards him. “I doubt not of your wisdom,” he says evenly. “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, yours; now yours, Metellus; yours, Cinna; and, my valiant Caska, yours. Though last, not last in love, yours, good Trebonius.
“Gentlemen all, alas, what shall I say? My crediting now stands on such slippery ground that one of two bad ways you must conceive me: either a coward or a flatterer!”
He looks at the body. “That I did love thee, Caesar—oh, ’tis true! If, then, thy spirit look upon us now, shall it not grieve thee more than thy death to see thy Anthony making his peace, shaking the bloody fingers of thy foes—most noble!—in the presence of thy corpse?
“Had I as many eyes as thou hast wounds, weeping as fast as they streamed forth thy blood, it would become me better than to come together in terms of friendship with thine enemies! Pardon me, Julius! Here wast thou bayed, brave hart; here didst thou fall; and here thy hunters stand, signed in thy despoil, encrimsoned with thy leaving!
“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!”
Cassius frowns. “Mark Antony—”
“Pardon me, Caius Cassius; even the enemies of Caesar shall say thus; and in a friend it is cold reserve.”
“I blame you not for praising Caesar so,” says Cassius. “But what compact mean you to have with us? Will you be pricked in the numbering of our friends,”—marked as an ally, “or shall we go on and not depend on you?”
“Therefore I took your hands,” Antony replies, “but was, indeed, swayed from the point by looking down on Caesar. Friends am I with you all, and love you all—upon this hope: that you shall give me reasons, why and wherein Caesar was dangerous.”
Brutus nods, eager for approval. “Or else were this a savage spectacle! Our reasons are so full of good regard that were you, Antony, the son of Caesar, you should be satisfied!”
“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.”
Antony’s participation will be seen as acceptance of the murder. “You shall, Mark Antony,” says Brutus.
Cassius hastily pulls him aside. “Brutus, a word with you.
“You know not what you do!” he whispers. “Do not consent that Antony speak in his funeral!—know you not how much the people may be angered by that which he will utter?”
Brutus is piqued by the interruption—and the challenge to his authority. “By your pardon,” he says haughtily, “I will myselfgo into the pulpit first, and show the reason for our Caesar’s death. What Antony shall speak I will profess he speaks by leave, by permission, and that we are contented Caesar shall have all true
Paper Shakespeare: Stick Julius Caesar (with A Dagger) Mac Os Update
rites and lawful ceremonies. It shall advantage more than do us wrong.”Cassius glares: “I know not what may befall; I like it not!”
Brutus turns away. “Mark Antony, hear: take you Caesar’s body. You shall not in your funeral speech blame us, but speak all good you can devise of Caesar, and say you do’t by our permission,” he insists, “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.”
Antony nods. “Be it so. I do desire no more.”
“Prepare the body then, and follow us.” Brutus and the other conspirators set forth on their urgent task of securing support among the populace.
Alone, Antony kneels beside Caesar—and sobs.
Oh, 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! Now do I prophesy over thy wounds, which, like voiceless mouths, do ope their ruby lips to beg the voice and utterance of my tongue: a curse shall light upon the limbs of men!
Domestic fury and fierce civil strife shall cumber all the parts of Italy; blood and destruction shall be so in use, and dreadful objects so familiar, that mothers shall but smile when they behold their infants quartered by the hands of War!—all pity choked with custom of fell deeds!
And Caesar’s spirit, raging 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!—so that this foul deed shall smell, above the earth, of carrion men groaning for burial!
Antony rises slowly, staring at his right hand—crusted with drying blood from the killers’ hands.
He looks up, surprised to see a messenger, dusty from riding, enter the hall, cap in hand, and look around. “You serve Octavius Caesar, do you not?”
“I do, Mark Antony.”
Gaius Octavius, twenty, the grandson of Caesar’s younger sister Julia, had served with the general’s forces in Spain; after the victory, he went to Greece to study.
Antony remembers: “Caesar did write for him to come to Rome.”
“He received his letters, and is coming, and bid me say to you by word of mouth—” He spots the dead man. “Oh, Caesar!” He rushes forward. Kneeling before the body, he is moved to tears.
“Thy heart is big,” says Antony kindly. “Get thee apart and weep; anguish, I see, is catching, for mine eyes, seeing those beads of sorrow stand in thine, begin to water.
“Is thy master coming?”
The rider stands, wiping his eyes. “He lies tonight within seven leagues of Rome.”
“Post back with speed, and tell him what hath chanced. Here is a mourning Rome, a dangerous Rome!—no Rome of safety for Octavius yet. Hie hence, and tell him so.
“Yet, stay a while—thou shalt not back till I have borne this corpse into the market-place.
“There shall I learn, from my oration, how the people take the cruel issue of these bloody men—according to the which thou shalt discourse to young Octavius on the state of things.”
Antony kneels and straightens the dead man’s limbs. “Lend me your hand.”
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Julius Caesar Essay, Research Paper
When the play first begin Julius Caesar, the man himself is entering Rome, returning from battle. He has defeated Pompey, and the crowd is happy. However, not all citizens are happy. Already there is conspiracy being planned. Marullus and Flavius make fun of the commoners, because did they not cheer for Pompey the same way that they cheer Caesar. Marullus angrily yells:
“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 do you now strew flowers in his way, That comes in triumph over Pompey’s blood? Be gone!” (I: i)
Pompey’s defeat is crucial to Caesar’s rise to power. Many men volunteered to fight, unpaid, under the general Caesar. There was not a single deserter during the Civil War. Julius destroyed the few episodes of insubordination. He was a firm, yet fair leader. His troops were never addressed as “My soldiers”, but as “Comrades”. His attitude was much different then Pompey’s. “Whereas Pompey declared that all who were not actively with the government were against it and would be treated as public enemies, Caesar announced that all who were not actively against him were with him.” (Suetonius, pg. 45) Caesar was favored among his men, but this favor was soon lost entirely. The senate soon awarded Ceasar with many awards. Julius Caesar did not rise to greet them. the senate considered this an act of arrogance. The Senators began to feel the beginnings of a murderous hatred for Caesar. This feeling was increased by another incident. Upon returning from the Alban Hill, a member of the crowd placed a wreath of laurels and white fillet upon the statue of Caesar. Epidius Marullus and Caesetius Flavius demanded that the wreath be removed. Caesar dispatched these tribunes, who we met quickly in Julius Caesar, instantly. It is not known why this was done. One reason might have been that Caesar was angry that the thought of his becoming king was such an easily dismissable one. Another reason may be that ceaser was mad that he was not given the chance to demand the removal of the laurels himself. Either way, the main thought was that he had tried to bring back the crown. The tide was now almost fully against him, though the next event would certainly turn it completely. When addressing the populous at the Rostra during the Lupercalian Festival, Marc Antony tried several times to offer the crown to Caesar, and was several times denied, but Caesar then sent the crown to the Capitol to be dedicated. Shakespeare also tells of this, though in a different manner. He failed to tell you about those who were paid to cheer or hiss at specified signals. In Plutarch’s version of this event, he states that at each offering of the crown, a very small group of people cheered loudly, and at each declination of the crown, the rest of the population cheered. Shakespeare only mentions the cheering of the declinations. Though Caesar never accepted the title of king, he acted as one. This frightened the republican Senators greatly. Plans of assassination began to grow with a force more strong that before. Small groups of two or three conspirators now joined together. This phrase was written on Old Brutus’ statue: “If only you were alive today!” The general populous voiced their unhappiness loudly. They sang this popular song frequently: “Caesar led the Gauls in triumph, Led them uphill, led them down, To the Senate House he took them, Once the glory of our town. ‘Pull those breeches off’ he shouted, ‘Change into a purple gown!’”(Suetonius, pg. 53) Over sixty men were actively conspiring against Caesar. They established two plots that were considered seriously until Caesar called for a Senate meeting at the Pompeian Assembly Room on the Ides of March. This, they decided. Would be the time and place. Caesar did have fair warning of this. Shakespeare tells us of horrible thunderstorms, lions parading the streets, corpses rising from their graves and of people walking in flames. Suetonius tells of other signs of doom. Capuan tombs were being torn down to get building bricks. One of these tombs was that of the town’s founder, Capys. A tablet on his desecrated resting place read: “Disturb the bones of Capys, and a man of Trojan stock will be murdered by his kindred, and later avenged at great cost to Italy.” The soothsayer Spurinnia gave Caesar the famous warning “Beware the ides of March”, to which Caesar paid no mind. Calpurnia, his wife, was stricken with dreadful nightmares the night of March 14th, and cried aloud in her sleep, “Help, ho! They murder Caesar!” (II: iii) Still Caesar, after some careful thought and nagging by Decimus Brutus, went to the Assembly Room. He set forth at 10 o’clock. On his way to the House, he was handed a note that outlined the plot against him. Caesar did not read it, but placed it in a pile of documents that he planned to read later. He saw the prophet Spurinnia, and said, “The Ides of March have come,” to which she replied “Yes, they have come, but they have not yet gone.” As soon as Caesar took his seat the conspirators crowded around him as if to pay their respects. Tillius Cimber, who had taken the lead, came up close, pretending to ask a question. Caesar made a gesture of postponement, but Cimber caught hold of his shoulders. “This is violence!” Caesar cried, and at that moment, as he turned away, one of the Casca brothers with a sweep of his dagger stabbed him just below the throat. Caesar grabbed Casca’s arm and pushed it away with his stylus????; he was leaping away when another dagger blow stopped him. Faced by a circle of daggers, he pulled the top of his robe down over his face, and at the same time dropped the lower part, letting it fall to the ground so that he would die with both legs covered. He was stabbed 23 times. Caesar did not make a single noise after Casca’s stab had made him groan, though it is said that when he saw Marcus Brutus about to deliver the second stab, he said to him in Greek with: “You too, my child?’” (Suet. Pg. 51) Shakespeare’s version of this begins with a citizen, Artemidorus, reading a note warning Caesar of the conspirators. Here he tries to deliver it. “Art. Hail, Caesar! Read this schedule. Dec. Trebonius doth desire you to o’re-read, At your best leisure, this his humble suit. Art. O Caesar! Read mine first; for mine’s a suit That touches Caesar nearer. Read it, great Caesar. Caes. What touches us ourself shall be last served.” (III: i) The way Shakespeare kills Caesar is also kind of different from the history. First, Cinna begins to ask a question of Caesar. Then the Senators rush in, and stab him. Caesar says his famous line, “Et tu, Brute! Then fall, Caesar!’” (III: i)
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