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"I tell you that which you yourselves do know; Show you sweet Caesar'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 Caesar, that would move The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny." The effect is magical.
The greatest thing charged on Brutus is, that he, being saved by Caesar's kindness, having saved all the friends whom he chose to ask for, he moreover accounted a friend, and preferred above many, did yet lay violent hands upon his preserver.
There was a smouldering gleam of vengeance in the eye of Brinton when he entered the cage for the first time after his accident, which brightened almost into a flame as he bore down on Brutus with the hot rod.
"And when you asked him to recall it Mademoiselle, when you asked him to recall it, did you mean tell me, Mademoiselle!" "Ah," she whispered, "but it is too soon, and you are too rough, Monsieur! I beg of you be careful! Besides someone is coming." And then I heard a soft footstep behind me. "Huh!" said Brutus, "I go tell the captain. No. It is all right. I tell the captain. He is happy.
"His honor and himself are hateful to me!" impatiently answered De Valence; "he crosses me in my wishes, public and private; and for the sake of my king and myself, I might almost be tempted-" He turned pale as he spoke, and met the penetrating glance of De Warenne. He paused. "Tempted to what?" asked De Warenne. "To a Brutus mode of ridding the state of an enemy."
Brutus and Cassius were so terrified at this rage of the populace that a few days after they left the city. An account of their subsequent actions, sufferings, and death may be found in the life of Brutus. Cæsar died at the age of fifty-six, and did not survive Pompey above four years.
There was no scene, and yet there was. I told you how I loved him. We first met at college, in Rome. In years the difference between us was not so very great, but in experience he was far older than I. I was alone in the world, and he was both father and friend to me. When I sent him away, I felt as Brutus must have felt when he condemned his sons to death. Only it was worse.
There is here, O Brutus, an important topic, which does not escape your notice, and which requires another large volume. XXIII. It follows that the characteristics and forms of each class must be sought for.
Brutus in a bob-wig, Othello in a swallow-tail coat, could hardly be more incongruously equipped than some of his characters in the manner of thought, the phrases, the way of bearing themselves which belong to them in the tale, but never could have belonged to characters of our Revolutionary period.
In all his work which is not meant to be dramatic that is, excluding the damned souls in the Last Judgment, the bust of Brutus, and some keen psychological designs character is sacrificed to a studied ideal of form, so far as the face is concerned. That he did this wilfully, on principle, is certain.
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