HELICON: Now will you listen, and learn the danger that’s threatening you?
CALIGULA [ceasing to fiddle with his toes, and gazing at him fixedly]: All I want, Helicon, is—the moon. For the rest, I’ve always known what will kill me. I haven’t yet exhausted all that is to keep me living. That’s why I want the moon. And you must not return till you have secured her for me.
HELICON: Very well.… Now I’ll do my duty and tell you what I’ve learned. There’s a plot against you. Cherea is the ringleader. I came across this tablet which tells you all you need to know. See, I put it here.
[He places the tablet on one of the seats and moves away.]
CALIGULA: Where are you off to, Helicon?
HELICON [from the threshold]: To get the moon for you.
[There is a mouselike scratching at the opposite door. CALIGULA swings round and sees the OLD PATRICIAN.]
THE OLD PATRICIAN [timidly]: May I, Caius …
CALIGULA [impatiently]: Come in! Come in! [Gazes at him.] So, my pet, you’ve returned to have another look at Venus.
THE OLD PATRICIAN: Well … no. It’s not quite that. Ssh! Oh, sorry, Caius! I only wanted to say.… You know I’m very, very devoted to you—and my one desire is to end my days in peace.
CALIGULA: Be quick, man. Get it out!
THE OLD PATRICIAN: Well, it’s … it’s like this. [Hurriedly] It’s terribly serious, that’s what I meant to say.
CALIGULA: No, it isn’t serious.
THE OLD PATRICIAN: But—I don’t follow. What isn’t serious?
CALIGULA: But what are we talking about, my love?
THE OLD PATRICIAN [glancing nervously round the room]: I mean to say.… [Wriggles, shuffles, then bursts out with it.] There’s a plot afoot, against you.
CALIGULA: There! You see. Just as I said; it isn’t serious.
THE OLD PATRICIAN: But, Caius, they mean to kill you.
CALIGULA [approaching him and grasping his shoulders]: Do you know why I can’t believe you?
THE OLD PATRICIAN [raising an arm, as if to take an oath]: The gods bear witness, Caius, that …
CALIGULA [gently but firmly pressing him back toward the door]: Don’t swear. I particularly ask you not to swear. Listen, instead. Suppose it were true, what you are telling me—I’d have to assume you were betraying your friends, isn’t that so?
THE OLD PATRICIAN [flustered]: Well, Caius, considering the deep affection I have for you …
CALIGULA [in the same tone as before]: And I cannot assume that. I’ve always loathed baseness of that sort so profoundly that I could never restrain myself from having a betrayer put to death. But I know the man you are, my worthy friend. And I’m convinced you neither wish to play the traitor nor to die.
THE OLD PATRICIAN: Certainly not, Caius. Most certainly not.
CALIGULA: So you see I was right in refusing to believe you. You wouldn’t stoop to baseness, would you?
THE OLD PATRICIAN: Oh, no, indeed!
CALIGULA: Nor betray your friends?
THE OLD PATRICIAN: I need hardly tell you that, Caius.
CALIGULA: Therefore it follows that there isn’t any plot. It was just a joke—between ourselves, rather a silly joke—what you’ve just been telling me, eh?
THE OLD PATRICIAN [feebly]: Yes, yes. A joke, merely a joke.
CALIGULA: Good. So now we know where we are. Nobody wants to kill me.
THE OLD PATRICIAN: Nobody. That’s it. Nobody at all.
CALIGULA [drawing a deep breath; in measured tones]: Then—leave me, sweetheart. A man of honor is an animal so rare in the present-day world that I couldn’t bear the sight of one too long. I must be left alone to relish this unique experience. [For some moments he gazes, without moving, at the tablet. He picks it up and reads it. Then, again, draws a deep breath. Then summons a palace guard.]
CALIGULA: Bring Cherea to me. [The man starts to leave.] Wait! [The man halts.] Treat him politely. [The man goes out. CALIGULA falls to pacing the room. After a while he approaches the mirror.] You decided to be logical, didn’t you, poor simpleton? Logic for ever! The question now is: Where will that take you? [Ironically] Suppose the moon were brought here, everything would be different. That was the idea, wasn’t it? Then the impossible would become possible, in a flash the Great Change come, and all things be transfigured. After all, why shouldn’t Helicon bring it off? One night, perhaps, he’ll catch her sleeping in a lake, and carry her here, trapped in a glistening net, all slimy with weeds and water, like a pale bloated fish drawn from the depths. Why not, Caligula? Why not, indeed? [He casts a glance round the room.] Fewer and fewer people round me; I wonder why. [Addressing the mirror, in a muffled voice] Too many dead, too many dead—that makes an emptiness.… No, even if the moon were mine, I could not retrace my way. Even were those dead men thrilling again under the sun’s caress, the murders wouldn’t go back underground for that. [Angrily] Logic, Caligula; follow where logic leads. Power to the uttermost; willfulness without end. Ah, I’m the only man on earth to know the secret—that power can never be complete without a total self-surrender to the dark impulse of one’s destiny. No, there’s no return. I must go on and on, until the consummation.
[CHEREA enters. CALIGULA is slumped in his chair, the cloak drawn tightly round him.]
CHEREA: You sent for me, Caius?
CALIGULA [languidly]: Yes, Cherea.
[A short silence.]
CHEREA: Have you anything particular to tell me?
CALIGULA: No, Cherea.
[Another silence.]
CHEREA [with a hint of petulance]: Are you sure you really need my presence?
CALIGULA: Absolutely sure, Cherea. [Another silence. Then, as if suddenly recollecting himself] I’m sorry for seeming so inhospitable. I was following up my thoughts, and—Now do sit down, we’ll have a friendly little chat. I’m in a mood for some intelligent conversation. [CHEREA sits down. For the first time since the play began, CALIGULA gives the impression of being his natural self.] Do you think, Cherea, that it’s possible for two men of much the same temperament and equal pride to talk to each other with complete frankness—if only once in their lives? Can they strip themselves naked, so to speak, and shed their prejudices, their private interests, the lies by which they live?
CHEREA: Yes, Caius, I think it possible. But I don’t think you’d be capable of it.
CALIGULA: You’re right. I only wished to know if you agreed with me. So let’s wear our masks, and muster up our lies. And we’ll talk as fencers fight, padded on all the vital parts. Tell me, Cherea, why don’t you like me?
CHEREA: Because there’s nothing likable about you, Caius. Because such feelings can’t be had to order. And because I understand you far too well. One cannot like an aspect of oneself which one always tries to keep concealed.
CALIGULA: But why is it you hate me?
CHEREA: There, Caius, you’re mistaken. I do not hate you. I regard you as noxious and cruel, vain and selfish. But I cannot hate you, because I don’t think you are happy. And I cannot scorn you, because I know you are no coward.
CALIGULA: Then why wish to kill me?
CHEREA: I’ve told you why; because I regard you as noxious, a constant menace. I like, and need, to feel secure. So do most men. They resent living in a world where the most preposterous fancy may at any moment become a reality, and the absurd transfix their lives, like a dagger in the heart. I feel as they do; I refuse to live in a topsy-turvy world. I want to know where I stand, and to stand secure.
CALIGULA: Security and logic don’t go together.
CHEREA: Quite true. My plan of life may not be logical, but at least it’s sound.
CALIGULA: Go on.
CHEREA: There’s no more to say. I’ll be no party to your logic. I’ve a very different notion of my duties as a man. And I know that the majority of your subjects share my view. You outrage their deepest feelings. It’s only natural that you should … disappear.
CALIGULA: I see your point, and it’s legitimate enough. For most men, I grant you, it’s obvious. But you, I should have thought, would have known better. You’re an intelligent man, and given intelligence, one has a choice: either to pay its price or to disown it. Why do you shirk the issue and neither disown it nor consent to pay its price?
CHEREA: Because what I want is to live, and to be happy. Neither, to my mind, is possible if one pushes the absurd to its logical conclusions. As you see, I’m quite an ordinary sort of man. True, there are moments when, to feel free of them, I desire the death of those I love, or I hanker after women from whom the ties of family or friendship debar me. Were logic everything, I’d kill or fornicate on such occasions. But I consider that these passing fancies have no great importance. If everyone set to gratifying them, the world would be impossible to live in, and happiness, too, would go by the board. And these, I repeat, are the things that count, for me.
CALIGULA: So, I take it, you believe in some higher principle?
CHEREA: Certainly I believe that some actions are—shall I say?—more praiseworthy than others.
CALIGULA: And I believe that all are on an equal footing.
CHEREA: I know it, Caius, and
