Authors: William Shakespeare
Julius Caesar (18 page)
Lines 215–326:
Cassius expresses surprise at the depth of Brutus’ anger, and Brutus reveals that Portia is dead. She has killed herself due to Brutus’ absence, and fear of the growing strength of Antony and Octavius. His fragmented phrases reveal genuine sorrow, but he resolves that they will “Speak no more of her” as Lucius brings wine and tapers. Brutus and Cassius drink to each other and are joined by Titinius and Messala. Brutus shows letters from which he has learned that the armies of Octavius and Antony are on their way to Philippi. Messala has had similar news and they both reveal that the triumvirs have executed up to a hundred senators, including Cicero. Tentatively, Messala asks Brutus if he has heard from Portia, before revealing what Brutus already knows of her death. Again, Brutus does not dwell on this, saying that he has “the patience to endure it now” before changing the subject to the battle they must fight. He asks whether they should march to Philippi. Cassius suggests that they let the enemy come to them, so that their troops will be weary while their own will be “full of rest, defence and nimbleness.” Once again, Brutus and Cassius are in disagreement, but Cassius bows to
Brutus’ suggestion and agrees to go to Philippi. The leaders bid each other goodnight.
Lines 327–401:
Brutus instructs Varrus and Claudio to sleep in his tent in case he has messages for Cassius. His exchange with Lucius reveals a gentler, more compassionate side. Lucius falls asleep. The Ghost of Caesar appears, announcing that it is Brutus’ “evil spirit” and telling him that it shall appear again “at Philippi.” It vanishes before Brutus can talk with it further, and he calls out to wake Lucius, Varrus, and Claudio. They all deny either crying out or seeing anything, and Brutus sends Lucius and Varrus to Cassius, telling him to be ready to march early in the morning.
At Philippi, Octavius and Antony discuss the approach of the enemy. Echoing the divisions in the conspirators’ camp, they briefly disagree over tactics before marching. Brutus and Cassius enter with their armies, and the two sets of leaders meet in “parley,” exchanging insults that focus attention on the theme of speech or “words.” Octavius and Antony lead their armies away. Brutus calls Lucilius, and the two speak apart as Cassius reveals his own concerns to Messala: despite not previously believing in such things, he is unnerved by several omens they encountered on their march to Philippi. Brutus returns, and he and Cassius contemplate what will happen if they lose. Brutus vows that he will not be taken captive to Rome. They say farewell, and go into battle.
Brutus sends Messala with messages to Cassius: he can see a possible weakness in Octavius’ army and is going to attack.
Lines 1–51:
Cassius watches as his own troops run. Titinius blames Brutus for attacking Octavius too soon while Cassius’ troops were
surrounded by Antony’s. Pindarus arrives, urging Cassius to flee, as Antony has entered the camp. Cassius assures him that he is far enough away and sends Titinius for news. He sends Pindarus farther up the hill to observe the battlefield, before noting that it is his birthday and likely also to be the day he dies: “where I did begin, there shall I end.” Pindarus reports what he believes he can see: Titinius surrounded by horsemen, who kill him. Ashamed of what he perceives as his own cowardice, Cassius calls Pindarus to him and reminds him of the oath he made to do whatever Cassius bid him to. Cassius hands Pindarus his sword and tells him to kill him, thus rendering Pindarus a “freeman” and giving Caesar his revenge. Pindarus does so and flees.
Lines 52–116:
Titinius and Messala are discussing the battle, hoping that their tidings will “comfort Cassius.” They see his body and, lamenting, Messala goes to tell Brutus. Titinius addresses Cassius’ body, laying on it a wreath of victory that Brutus had sent for him. He guesses that Cassius has “misconstrued everything” he has seen and heard of the battle, echoing earlier references to the potential to misinterpret events. Titinius stabs himself. Brutus is led in by Messala and, seeing the bodies, claims that the spirit of Caesar “walks abroad.” Promising Cassius that he will “find time” to mourn him, Brutus orders the bodies to be sent to Thasos.
Brutus rallies his men and exits, fighting. Young Cato fights bravely before he is killed. Lucilius pretends to be Brutus and is taken prisoner. Antony arrives, and his soldiers tell him that they have Brutus. Lucilius claims that Brutus is now “safe enough.” Antony praises Lucilius’ bravery, ordering his men to treat him well.
Brutus asks his followers to kill him but they refuse. He tells Volumnius of the visions he has had of Caesar’s ghost, saying that he knows his “hour is come.” Increasing alarums are heard and Brutus’
followers urge him to flee, but he bids them farewell in turn. Strato remains and holds Brutus’ sword for him to run onto. He dies as Antony and Octavius arrive and Strato claims that Brutus is now “free,” having given no man the “honour” of his death but himself. Antony says of Brutus that he was “the noblest Roman of them all” and that he alone among the conspirators killed Caesar in the belief that it was for the “common good,” and was not driven by envy. Octavius agrees, and declares that Brutus will be given burial honors befitting a soldier.
IN PERFORMANCE:
THE RSC AND BEYOND
The best way to understand a Shakespeare play is to see it or ideally to participate in it. By examining a range of productions, we may gain a sense of the extraordinary variety of approaches and interpretations that are possible—a variety that gives Shakespeare his unique capacity to be reinvented and made “our contemporary” four centuries after his death.
We begin with a brief overview of the play’s theatrical and cinematic life, offering historical perspectives on how it has been performed. We then analyze in more detail a series of productions staged over the last half century by the Royal Shakespeare Company. The sense of dialogue between productions that can only occur when a company is dedicated to the revival and investigation of the Shakespeare canon over a long period, together with the uniquely comprehensive archival resource of promptbooks, program notes, reviews, and interviews held on behalf of the RSC at the Shakespeare Birthplace Trust in Stratford-upon-Avon, allows an “RSC stage history” to become a crucible in which the chemistry of the play can be explored.
Finally, we go to the horse’s mouth. Modern theater is dominated by the figure of the director, who must hold together the whole play, whereas the actor must concentrate on his or her part. The director’s viewpoint is therefore especially valuable. Shakespeare’s plasticity is wonderfully revealed when we hear directors of highly successful productions answering the same questions in very different ways.
JULIUS CAESAR:
AN OVERVIEW
When Polonius tells Hamlet “I did enact Julius Caesar. I was killed i’th’Capitol. Brutus killed me” (Act 3 Scene 2), we hear what may be
one of the earliest theatrical in-jokes. The actor playing Polonius (probably John Hemings) is almost certainly referring to the Lord Chamberlain’s Men’s recent
Julius Caesar
and his own role as Caesar. In reminding Hamlet of his assassination, we are reminded that Richard Burbage, playing Hamlet, had almost certainly played Brutus. In
Hamlet
, then, “Brutus” reenacts his murder of “Caesar,” only behind an arras instead of in the Capitol. The expectation that audiences would be familiar with the recent play is an early indication of the extraordinary popularity of
Julius Caesar
, a popularity that rarely diminished over the centuries.
Julius Caesar
was first performed at the Globe, and may even have opened the company’s new home. The Swiss scholar and writer Thomas Platter provides a rare eyewitness account of a Globe performance, though it is the closing jig that commands his attention:
In the strewn roof-house [I] saw the tragedy of the first Emperor Julius with at least fifteen characters very well acted. At the end of the comedy they danced according to their custom with extreme elegance.
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Evidence of court performances in 1613, 1637, and 1638 suggests ongoing popularity through the reigns of James I and Charles I. It was the relationship between Brutus and Cassius, particularly the “quarrel scene” of Act 4 Scene 3, that appears to have captured the public’s imagination:
So have I seen, when Caesar would appear,
And on the Stage at half-sword parley were
Brutus
and
Cassius:
oh how the Audience,
Were ravish’d, with what wonder they went thence.
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The play’s later production history is characterized by strikingly varied political appropriations, both inciting and warning against revolution. This inherent adaptability allowed
Caesar
to flourish in an unusually intact form: the text published “As it is now ACTED/AT THE/Theatre Royal”
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around 1684 closely followed the Folio with
the exception of some reassigning of speeches. Most notably, Casca replaced Murellus in the opening scene, strengthening the prominence of this perennially popular character.
The play was assigned to Thomas Killigrew’s King’s Company following the reopening of the theaters after the Restoration of Charles II in 1660. The earliest cast list shows Charles Hart as Brutus, Michael Mohun as Cassius, and Edward Kynaston, formerly celebrated for his female roles, as Antony. This was probably the cast that performed before royalty in 1676. By the 1680s, Thomas Betterton was playing Brutus at Drury Lane, a role he continued in until 1707. Betterton’s role-making performance was described as of “unruffled Temper … his steady Look alone supply’d that Terror which he disdain’d an Intemperance in his Voice should rise to.”
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By 1707, the play was at the Queen’s Theatre, subtitled “With The Death of Brutus And Cassius.” Betterton was succeeded by Barton Booth, playing opposite Robert Wilks’s Antony. The popularity of
Caesar
, however, transcended individual playhouses or actors. Politically, its “message” of liberty and personal justice cast Brutus as patriot, as acknowledged by a 1707 prologue spoken by “The Ghost of Shakespear”:
Then I brought mighty Julius on the stage,
Then Britain heard my godlike Roman’s rage,
And came in crowds, with rapture came, to see,
The world from its proud tyrant freed by me.
Rome he enslav’d, for which he died once there;
But for his introducing slav’ry here,
Ten times I sacrifice him ev’ry year.
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Caesar was understood as a tyrannous villain while Brutus was a hero of righteous action, and it was his conflicts—both internal and with Cassius—that increasingly generated interest. In 1710, the “quarrel scene” was even performed as a stand-alone piece at Greenwich.
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The adaptation by John Dryden and William Davenant published in 1719 touched the play “comparatively lightly,” cutting those sections “which would tend to lower the heroic tone of the leading characters,”
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and Brutus in particular benefited from added lines that
cast his dying moments as a patriotic suicide: “Thus
Brutus
always strikes for Liberty.”
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Covent Garden dominated the play during the 1740s and ’50s, with Lacey Ryan a consistent Cassius playing alongside James Quin and Thomas Sheridan, among others, as Brutus. These illustrious names, however, couldn’t prevent a sudden decline in the play’s fortunes. The play limped on in increasingly infrequent performances until 1780. In 1770, meanwhile, the play crossed the Atlantic to Philadelphia, where an advertisement promised “the noble struggles for liberty by that renowned patriot, Marcus Brutus.”
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Brutus, understandably, became a revolutionary hero in young America.
Following a thirty-year absence from the London stage, John Philip Kemble’s lavish 1812 production at Covent Garden remade the play as a spectacular with grand processions and displays.
Caesar
lent itself to the age’s penchant for historical re-creation, and Kemble’s production renewed interest in the play for the nineteenth-century pictorial stage. In 1823, Henry Kemble played Brutus in
The Death of Caesar; or, the Battle of Philippi
, which retained the main events of the play but relatively little of Shakespeare’s text. The next significant productions were those of William Charles Macready at Covent Garden (1838–39) and Drury Lane (1843), which utilized over a hundred extras “to lend complementary interest to the major movement of any given scene.”
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Macready believed the assassination of Caesar should be the true focal point of the play and used his enormous cast to make the murder truly public, beginning a process that subsequently allowed Antony to whip them into a terrifying simulation of mass rioting.
Samuel Phelps was Macready’s Cassius, contrasting fieriness with Brutus’ stoic calm, the classic dynamic of the pair. Phelps later directed several revivals in a similar vein at Sadler’s Wells between 1846 and 1862. In 1868, meanwhile,
Caesar
was one of the earliest Shakespeare plays adapted for the Japanese stage in a Kabuki-style production “which served as a protest play against the bureaucratic ‘law and order’ government.”
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The international recognizability of its story and the potential for political appropriation allowed the play to cross cultural and linguistic borders.
Classic tragedy was dominated in late nineteenth-century America by the partnership of Lawrence Barrett and Edwin Booth.
Booth’s
Caesar
of 1871–72 in New York was his climactic achievement, both in its strong ensemble cast and its spectacular scenic set pieces, including a ritual cremation for Brutus. “Booth presented Brutus as the philosophical man rather than the warrior,”
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following historical record rather than the American stage convention of a passionate figure, for which he received criticism. Barrett, by contrast, was the age’s defining Cassius: in the 1875 revival