Part 3

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 interrèd 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 answered it. Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest, (For Brutus is an honorable man; So are they all, all honorable 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 honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransom 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 honorable 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 honorable 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.

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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 disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong, Who, you all know, are honorable men: I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead, to wrong myself, and you, Than I will wrong such honorable 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.

4 CITIZEN.--We'll hear the will: read it, Mark Antony.

CITIZENS.--The will, the will! we will hear Cæsar's will.

ANTONY.--Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it; It is not meet you know how Cæsar loved 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!

4 CITIZEN.--Read the will; we'll hear it, Antony; You shall read us the will,--Cæsar's will.

ANTONY.--Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile? I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it. I fear I wrong the honorable men Whose daggers have stabbed Cæsar; I do fear it.

4 CITIZEN.--They were traitors: honorable men!

CITIZENS.--The will! the testament!

2 CITIZEN.--They were villains, murderers: the will! read the will!

ANTONY.--You will compel me, then, to read the will! Then make a ring about the corse of Cæsar, And let me show you him that made the will. Shall I descend? and will you give me leave?

CITIZENS.--Come down.

ANTONY.--Nay, press not so upon me; stand far off.

CITIZENS.--Stand back; room; bear back.

ANTONY.--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-belovèd Brutus stabbed; And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it, As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no; For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel: Judge, O you gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him! This was the most unkindest cut of all; For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquished him: then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statua, 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 flourished 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, marred, as you see, with traitors.

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Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They that have done this deed are honorable;-- What private griefs they have, alas, I know not, That made them do it;--they are wise and honorable, 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.

ALL.--We'll mutiny.

1 CITIZEN.--We'll burn the house of Brutus.

3 CITIZEN.--Away, then! come, seek the conspirators.

ANTONY.--Yet hear me, countrymen; yet hear me speak.

ALL.--Peace, ho! Hear Antony, most noble Antony.

ANTONY.--Why, friends, you go to do you know not what. Wherein hath Cæsar thus deserved your loves? Alas, you know not!--I must tell you, then. You have forgot the will I told you of.

ALL.--Most true;--the will!--let's stay and hear the will.

ANTONY.--Here is the will, and under Cæsar's seal:-- To every Roman citizen he gives, To every several man, seventy-five drachmas.

2 CITIZEN.--Most noble Cæsar!--we'll revenge his death.

3 CITIZEN.--O royal Cæsar!

ANTONY.--Hear me with patience.

CITIZENS.--Peace, ho!

ANTONY.--Moreover, he hath left you all his walks, His private arbors, and new-planted orchards On this side Tiber; he hath left them you, And to your heirs forever,--common pleasures, To walk abroad, and recreate yourselves. Here was a Cæsar! when comes such another?

1 CITIZEN.--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.... [_Exeunt Citizens, with the body._]

ANTONY.--Now let it work. Mischief, thou art afoot, Take thou what course thou wilt.

SHAKESPEARE.

THE SACK OF THE CITY.

Thy will, O King, is done! Lighting but to consume, The roar of the fierce flames drowned even the shouts and shrieks; Reddening each roof, like some day-dawn of bloody doom, Seemed they in joyous flight to dance above their wrecks.

Slaughter his thousand giant arms hath tossed on high, Fell fathers, husbands, wives, beneath his streaming steel; Prostrate the palaces huge tombs of fire lie, While gathering overhead the vultures scream and wheel.

Died the pale mothers;--and the virgins, from their arms, O Caliph, fiercely torn, bewailed their young years' blight; With stabs and kisses fouled, all their yet quivering charms At our fleet coursers' heels were dragged in mocking flight.

Lo, where the city lies mantled in pall of death! Lo, where thy mighty arm hath passed, all things must bend! As the priests prayed, the sword stopped their accursèd breath,-- Vainly their sacred book for shield did they extend.

Some infants yet survived, and the unsated steel Still drinks the life-blood of each whelp of Christian hound. To kiss thy sandal's foot, O King, thy people kneel, With golden circlet to thy glorious ankle bound.

From the French of VICTOR-MARIE HUGO.

THE SLAYING OF SOHRAB.

FROM "SOHRAB AND RUSTUM."

He spake; and Rustum answered not, but hurled His spear. Down from the shoulder, down it came-- As on some partridge in the corn, a hawk, That long has towered in the airy clouds, Drops like a plummet. Sohrab saw it come, And sprang aside, quick as a flash. The spear Hissed, and went quivering down into the sand, Which it sent flying wide. Then Sohrab threw In turn, and full struck Rustum's shield. Sharp rang The iron plates, rang sharp, but turned the spear. And Rustum seized his club, which none but he Could wield--an unlapped trunk it was, and huge, Still rough; like those which men, in treeless plains, To build them boats, fish from the flooded rivers, Hyphasis or Hydaspes, when, high up By their dark springs, the wind in winter-time Has made in Himalayan forests wrack, And strewn the channels with torn boughs--so huge The club which Rustum lifted now, and struck One stroke; but again Sohrab sprang aside, Lithe as the glancing snake, and the club came Thundering to earth, and leapt from Rustum's hand. And Rustum followed his own blow, and fell To his knees, and with his fingers clutched the sand. And now might Sohrab have unsheathed his sword, And pierced the mighty Rustum while he lay Dizzy, and on his knees, and choked with sand; But he looked on, and smiled, nor bared his sword; But courteously drew back, and spoke, and said:-- "Thou strik'st too hard; that club of thine will float Upon the summer floods, and not my bones. But rise, and be not wroth; not wroth am I. No, when I see thee, wrath forsakes my soul. Thou sayest thou art not Rustum; be it so. Who art thou then, that canst so touch my soul? Boy as I am, I have seen battles too; Have waded foremost in their bloody waves, And heard their hollow roar of dying men; But never was my heart thus touched before. Are they from heaven, these softenings of the heart? O thou old warrior, let us yield to Heaven! Come, plant we here in earth our angry spears, And make a truce, and sit upon this sand, And pledge each other in red wine, like friends; And thou shalt talk to me of Rustum's deeds. There are enough foes in the Persian host Whom I may meet, and strike, and feel no pang; Champions enough Afrasiab has, whom thou May'st fight: fight them, when they confront thy spear. But oh, let there be peace 'twixt thee and me!" He ceased. But while he spake Rustum had risen, And stood erect, trembling with rage. His club He left to lie, but had regained his spear, Whose fiery point now in his mailed right hand Blazed bright and baleful--like that autumn star, The baleful sign of fevers. Dust had soiled His stately crest, and dimmed his glittering arms. His breast heaved; his lips foamed; and twice his voice Was choked with rage. At last these words broke way:-- "Girl! nimble with thy feet, not with thy hands! Curled minion, dancer, coiner of sweet words! Fight! Let me hear thy hateful voice no more! Thou art not in Afrasiab's gardens now With Tartar girls, with whom thou art wont to dance; But on the Oxus sands, and in the dance Of battle, and with me, who make no play Of war. I fight it out, and hand to hand. Speak not to me of truce, and pledge, and wine! Remember all thy valor; try thy feints And cunning; all the pity I had is gone; Because thou hast shamed me before both the hosts, With thy light skipping tricks, and thy girl's wiles." He spoke; and Sohrab kindled at his taunts, And he too drew his sword. At once they rushed Together; as two eagles on one prey Come rushing down together from the clouds, One from the east, one from the west. Their shields Dashed with a clang together; and a din Rose, such as that the sinewy woodcutters Make often in the forest's heart at morn, Of hewing axes, crashing trees; such blows Rustum and Sohrab on each other hailed. And you would say that sun and stars took part In that unnatural conflict; for a cloud Grew suddenly in heaven, and darkened the sun Over the fighters' heads; and a wind rose Under their feet, and moaning swept the plain, And in a sandy whirlwind wrapped the pair. In gloom they twain were wrapped, and they alone; For both the on-looking hosts on either hand Stood in broad daylight, and the sky was pure, And the sun sparkled on the Oxus stream. But in the gloom they fought, with bloodshot eyes And laboring breath. First Rustum struck the shield Which Sohrab held stiff out. The steel-spiked spear Rent the tough plates, but failed to reach the skin: And Rustum plucked it back with angry groan. Then Sohrab with his sword smote Rustum's helm Nor clove its steel quite through; but all the crest He shore away; and that proud horse-hair plume, Never till now defiled, sunk to the dust; And Rustum bowed his head. But then the gloom Grew blacker; thunder rumbled in the air, And lightnings rent the cloud; and Ruksh, the horse, Who stood at hand, uttered a dreadful cry. No horse's cry was that, most like the roar Of some pained desert lion, who all day Has trailed the hunter's javelin in his side, And comes at night to die upon the sand. The two hosts heard the cry, and quaked for fear; And Oxus curdled as it crossed his stream. But Sohrab heard, and quailed not--but rushed on, And struck again; and again Rustum bowed His head. But this time all the blade, like glass, Sprang in a thousand shivers on the helm, And in his hand the hilt remained alone. Then Rustum raised his head; his dreadful eyes Glared, and he shook on high his menacing spear, And shouted "Rustum!" Sohrab heard that shout, And shrank amazed; back he recoiled one step, And scanned with blinking eyes the advancing form; And then he stood bewildered; and he dropped His covering shield, and the spear pierced his side. He reeled, and staggering back, sunk to the ground. And then the gloom dispersed, and the wind fell, And the bright sun broke forth, and melted all The cloud; and the two armies saw the pair-- Saw Rustum standing, safe upon his feet, And Sohrab wounded, on the bloody sand. Then with a bitter smile, Rustum began:-- "Sohrab, thou thoughtest in thy mind to kill A Persian lord this day, and strip his corpse, And bear thy trophies to Afrasiab's tent; Or else that the great Rustum would come down Himself to fight, and that thy wiles would move His heart to take a gift, and let thee go. And then all the Tartar host would praise Thy courage or thy craft, and spread thy fame, To glad thy father in his weak old age. Fool! thou art slain, and by an unknown man! Dearer to the red jackals shalt thou be, Than to thy friends, and to thy father old." And with a fearless mien Sohrab replied:-- "Unknown thou art; yet thy fierce vaunt is vain. Thou dost not slay me, proud and boastful man! No! Rustum slays me, and this filial heart. For were I matched with ten such men as thou, And I were he who till to-day I was, They should be lying here, I standing there. But that belovèd name unnerved my arm-- That name, and something, I confess, in thee, Which troubles all my heart, and made my shield Fall; and thy spear transfixed an unarmed foe. And now thou boastest, and insult'st my fate. But hear thou this, fierce man--tremble to hear! The mighty Rustum shall avenge my death! My father, whom I seek through all the world, He shall avenge my death, and punish thee!"

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So Rustum knew not his own loss; but stood Over his dying son, and knew him not. But with a cold, incredulous voice, he said:-- "What prate is this of fathers and revenge? The mighty Rustum never had a son." And, with a failing voice, Sohrab replied:-- "Ah yes, he had! and that lost son am I. Surely the news will one day reach his ear-- Reach Rustum, where he sits, and tarries long, Somewhere, I know not where, but far from here; And pierce him like a stab, and make him leap To arms, and cry for vengeance upon thee-- Fierce man, bethink thee--for an only son! What will that grief, what will that vengeance be! Oh, could I live till I that grief had seen! Yet him I pity not so much, but her, My mother, who in Ader-baijan dwells With that old king, her father, who grows gray With age, and rules over the valiant Koords. Her most I pity, who no more will see Sohrab returning from the Tartar camp, With spoils and honor, when the war is done, But a dark rumor will be bruited up, From tribe to tribe, until it reach her ear; And then will that defenceless woman learn That Sohrab will rejoice her sight no more; But that in battle with a nameless foe, By the far-distant Oxus, he is slain."

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