A VOICE: We see him as he is—a crazy tyrant.
CHEREA: No. We’ve had experience of mad emperors. But this one isn’t mad enough. And what I loathe in him is this: that he knows what he wants.
FIRST PATRICIAN: And we, too, know it; he wants to murder us all.
CHEREA: You’re wrong. Our deaths are only a side issue. He’s putting his power at the service of a loftier, deadlier passion; and it imperils everything we hold most sacred. True, it’s not the first time Rome has seen a man wielding unlimited power; but it’s the first time he sets no limit to his use of it, and counts mankind, and the world we know, for nothing. That’s what appalls me in Caligula; that’s what I want to fight. To lose one’s life is no great matter; when the time comes I’ll have the courage to lose mine. But what’s intolerable is to see one’s life being drained of meaning, to be told there’s no reason for existing. A man can’t live without some reason for living.
FIRST PATRICIAN: Revenge is a good reason.
CHEREA: Yes, and I propose to share it with you. But I’d have you know that it’s not on your account, or to help you to avenge your petty humiliations. No, if I join forces with you, it’s to combat a big idea—an ideal, if you like—whose triumph would mean the end of everything. I can endure your being made a mock of, but I cannot endure Caligula’s carrying out his theories to the end. He is converting his philosophy into corpses and—unfortunately for us—it’s a philosophy that’s logical from start to finish. And where one can’t refute, one strikes.
A VOICE: Yes. We must act.
CHEREA: We must take action, I agree. But a frontal attack’s quite useless when one is fighting an imperial madman in the full flush of his power. You can take arms against a vulgar tyrant, but cunning is needed to fight down disinterested malice. You can only urge it on to follow its bent, and bide your time until its logic founders in sheer lunacy. As you see, I prefer to be quite frank, and I warn you I’ll be with you only for a time. Afterward, I shall do nothing to advance your interests; all I wish is to regain some peace of mind in a world that has regained a meaning. What spurs me on is not ambition but fear, my very reasonable fear of that inhuman vision in which my life means no more than a speck of dust.
FIRST PATRICIAN [approaching him]: I have an inkling of what you mean, Cherea. Anyhow, the great thing is that you, too, feel that the whole fabric of society is threatened. You, gentlemen, agree with me, I take it, that our ruling motive is of a moral order. Family life is breaking down, men are losing their respect for honest work, a wave of immorality is sweeping the country. Who of us can be deaf to the appeal of our ancestral piety in its hour of danger? Fellow conspirators, will you tolerate a state of things in which patricians are forced to run, like slaves, beside the Emperor’s litter?
THE OLD PATRICIAN: Will you allow them to be addressed as “darling”?
A VOICE: And have their wives snatched from them?
ANOTHER VOICE: And their money?
ALL TOGETHER: No!
FIRST PATRICIAN: Cherea, your advise is good, and you did well to calm our passion. The time is not yet ripe for action; the masses would still be against us. Will you join us in watching for the best moment to strike—and strike hard?
CHEREA: Yes—and meanwhile let Caligula follow his dream. Or, rather, let’s actively encourage him to carry out his wildest plans. Let’s put method into his madness. And then, at last, a day will come when he’s alone, a lonely man in an empire of the dead and kinsmen of the dead.
[A general uproar. Trumpet calls outside. Then silence, but for whispers of a name: “CALIGULA!” CALIGULA enters with CÆSONIA, followed by HELICON and some soldiers. Pantomime. CALIGULA halts and gazes at the conspirators. Without a word he moves from one to the other, straightens a buckle on one man’s shoulder, steps back to contemplate another, sweeps them with his gaze, then draws his hand over his eyes and walks out, still without a word.]
CÆSONIA [ironically, pointing to the disorder of the room]: Were you having a fight?
CHEREA: Yes, we were fighting.
CÆSONIA [in the same tone]: Really? Might I know what you were fighting about?
CHEREA: About … nothing in particular.
CÆSONIA: Ah? Then it isn’t true.
CHEREA: What isn’t true?
CÆSONIA: You were not fighting.
CHEREA: Have it your own way. We weren’t fighting.
CÆSONIA [smiling]: Perhaps you’d do better to tidy up the place. Caligula hates untidiness.
HELICON [to the OLD PATRICIAN]: You’ll end by making him do something out of character.
THE OLD PATRICIAN: Pardon … I don’t follow. What have we done to him?
HELICON: Nothing. Just nothing. It’s fantastic being futile to that point; enough to get on anybody’s nerves. Try to put yourselves in Caligula’s place. [A short pause.] I see; doing a bit of plotting, weren’t you now?
THE OLD PATRICIAN: Really, that’s too absurd. I hope Caligula doesn’t imagine …
HELICON: He doesn’t imagine. He knows. But, I suppose, at bottom, he rather wants it.… Well, we’d better set to tidying up.
[All get busy. CALIGULA enters and watches them.]
CALIGULA [to the OLD PATRICIAN]: Good day, darling. [To the others] Gentlemen, I’m on my way to an execution. But I thought I’d drop in at your place, Cherea, for a light meal. I’ve given orders to have food brought here for all of us. But send for your wives first. [A short silence.] Rufius should thank his stars that I’ve been seized with hunger. [Confidentially] Rufius, I may tell you, is the knight who’s going to be executed. [Another short silence.] What’s this? None of you asks me why I’ve sentenced him to death? [No one speaks. Meanwhile slaves lay the table and bring food.] Good for you! I see you’re growing quite intelligent. [He nibbles an olive.] It has dawned on you that a man needn’t have done anything for him to die. [He stops eating and gazes at his guests with a twinkle in his eye.] Soldiers, I am proud of you. [Three or four women enter.] Good! Let’s take our places. Anyhow. No order of precedence today. [All are seated.] There’s no denying it, that fellow Rufius is in luck. But I wonder if he appreciates this short reprieve. A few hours gained on death, why, they’re worth their weight in gold! [He begins eating; the others follow suit. It becomes clear that CALIGULA’S table manners are deplorable. There is no need for him to flick his olive stones onto his neighbors’ plates, or to spit out bits of gristle over the dish, or to pick his teeth with his nails, or to scratch his head furiously. However, he indulges in these practices throughout the meal, without the least compunction. At one moment he stops eating, stares at LEPIDUS, one of the guests, and says roughly] You’re looking grumpy, Lepidus. I wonder, can it be because I had your son killed?
LEPIDUS [thickly]: Certainly not, Caius. Quite the contrary.
CALIGULA [beaming at him]: “Quite the contrary!” It’s always nice to see a face that hides the secrets of the heart. Your face is sad. But what about your heart? Quite the contrary—isn’t that so, Lepidus?
LEPIDUS [doggedly]: Quite the contrary, Cæsar.
CALIGULA [more and more enjoying the situation]: Really, Lepidus, there’s no one I like better than you. Now let’s have a laugh together, my dear friend. Tell me a funny story.
LEPIDUS [who has overrated his endurance]: Please …
CALIGULA: Good! Very good! Then it’s I who’ll tell the story. But you’ll laugh, won’t you, Lepidus? [With a glint of malice.] If only for the sake of your other son. [Smiling again.] In any case, as you’ve just told us, you’re not in a bad humor. [He takes a drink, then says in the tone of a teacher prompting a pupil] Quite … quite the …
LEPIDUS [wearily]: Quite the contrary, Cæsar.
CALIGULA: Splendid! [Drinks again.] Now listen. [In a gentle, faraway tone] Once upon a time there was a poor young emperor whom nobody loved. He loved Lepidus, and to root out of his heart his love for Lepidus, he had his youngest son killed. [In a brisker tone] Needless to say, there’s not a word of truth in it. Still it’s a funny story, eh? But you’re not laughing. Nobody’s laughing. Now listen! [In a burst of anger] I insist on everybody’s laughing. You, Lepidus, shall lead the chorus. Stand up, every one of you, and laugh. [He thumps the table.] Do you hear what I say? I wish to see you laughing, all of you. [All rise to their feet. During this scene all the players, CALIGULA and CÆSONIA excepted, behave like marionettes in a puppet play. CALIGULA sinks back on his couch, beaming with delight, and bursts into a fit of laughter.] Oh, Cæsonia! Just look at them! The game is up; honor, respectability, the wisdom of the nations, gone with the wind! The wind of fear has blown them all away. Fear, Cæsonia—don’t you agree?—is a noble emotion, pure and simple, self-sufficient, like no other; it draws its patent of nobility straight from the guts. [He strokes his forehead
