CÆSONIA: Come, gentlemen. Come and adore him—and don’t forget to give your alms. Today heaven and its mysteries are on show, at a price to suit every pocket.
HELICON: For all to see, the secrets of Olympus, revelations in high places, featuring gods in undress, their little plots and pranks. Step this way! The whole truth about your gods! [Cymbals.]
CÆSONIA: Adore him, and give your alms. Come near, gentlemen. The show’s beginning.
[Cymbals. Slaves are placing various objects on the platform.]
HELICON: An epoch-making reproduction of the life celestial, warranted authentic in every detail. For the first time the pomp and splendor of the gods are presented to the Roman public. You will relish our novel, breathtaking effects: flashes of lightning [slaves light Greek fires], peals of thunder [they roll a barrel filled with stones], the divine event on its triumphal way. Now watch with all your eyes. [He draws aside the curtain. Grotesquely attired as Venus, CALIGULA beams down on them from a pedestal.]
CALIGULA [amiably]: I’m Venus today.
CÆSONIA: Now for the adoration. Bow down. [All but SCIPIO bend their heads.] And repeat after me the litany of Venus called Caligula.
“Our Lady of pangs and pleasures …”
THE PATRICIANS: “Our Lady of pangs and pleasures …”
CÆSONIA: “Born of the waves, bitter and bright with seafoam …”
THE PATRICIANS: “Born of the waves, bitter and bright with seafoam …”
CÆSONIA: “O Queen whose gifts are laughter and regrets …”
THE PATRICIANS: “O Queen whose gifts are laughter and regrets …”
CÆSONIA: “Rancors and raptures …”
THE PATRICIANS: “Rancors and raptures …”
CÆSONIA: “Teach us the indifference that kindles love anew …”
THE PATRICIANS: “Teach us the indifference that kindles love anew …”
CÆSONIA: “Make known to us the truth about this world—which is that it has none …”
THE PATRICIANS: “Make known to us the truth about this world—which is that it has none …”
CÆSONIA: “And grant us strength to live up to this verity of verities.”
THE PATRICIANS: “And grant us strength to live up to this verity of verities.”
CÆSONIA: Now, pause.
THE PATRICIANS: Now, pause.
CÆSONIA [after a short silence]: “Bestow your gifts on us, and shed on our faces the light of your impartial cruelty, your wanton hatred; unfold above our eyes your arms laden with flowers and murders …”
THE PATRICIANS: “… your arms laden with flowers and murders.”
CÆSONIA: “Welcome your wandering children home, to the bleak sanctuary of your heartless, thankless love. Give us your passions without object, your griefs devoid of reason, your raptures that lead nowhere …”
THE PATRICIANS: “… your raptures that lead nowhere …”
CÆSONIA [raising her voice]: “O Queen, so empty yet so ardent, inhuman yet so earthly, make us drunk with the wine of your equivalence, and surfeit us forever in the brackish darkness of your heart.”
THE PATRICIANS: “Make us drunk with the wine of your equivalence, and surfeit us forever in the brackish darkness of your heart.” [When the patricians have said the last response, CALIGULA, who until now has been quite motionless, snorts and rises.]
CALIGULA [in a stentorian voice]: Granted, my children. Your prayer is heard. [He squats cross-legged on the pedestal. One by one the patricians make obeisance, deposit their alms, and line up on the right. The last, in his flurry, forgets to make an offering. CALIGULA bounds to his feet.] Steady! Steady on! Come here, my lad. Worship’s very well, but almsgiving is better. Thank you. We are appeased. Ah, if the gods had no wealth other than the love you mortals give them, they’d be as poor as poor Caligula. Now, gentlemen, you may go, and spread abroad the glad tidings of the miracle you’ve been allowed to witness. You have seen Venus, seen her godhead with your fleshly eyes, and Venus herself has spoken to you. Go, most favored gentlemen. [The patricians begin to move away.] Just a moment. When you leave, mind you take the exit on your left. I have posted sentries in the others, with orders to kill you.
[The patricians file out hastily, in some disorder. The slaves and musicians leave the stage.]
HELICON [pointing a threatening finger at SCIPIO]: Naughty boy, you’ve been playing the anarchist again.
SCIPIO [to CALIGULA]: You spoke blasphemy, Caius.
CALIGULA: Blasphemy? What’s that?
SCIPIO: You’re befouling heaven, after bloodying the earth.
HELICON: How this youngster loves big words!
[He stretches himself on a couch.]
CÆSONIA [composedly]: You should watch your tongue, my lad. At this moment men are dying in Rome for saying much less.
SCIPIO: Maybe—but I’ve resolved to tell Caligula the truth.
CÆSONIA: Listen to him, Caligula! That was the one thing missing in your Empire—a bold young moralist.
CALIGULA [giving SCIPIO a curious glance]: Do you really believe in the gods, Scipio?
SCIPIO: No.
CALIGULA: Then I fail to follow. If you don’t believe, why be so keen to scent out blasphemy?
SCIPIO: One may deny something without feeling called on to besmirch it, or deprive others of the right of believing in it.
CALIGULA: But that’s humility, the real thing, unless I’m much mistaken. Ah, my dear Scipio, how glad I am on your behalf—and a trifle envious, too. Humility’s the one emotion I may never feel.
SCIPIO: It’s not I you’re envious of; it’s the gods.
CALIGULA: If you don’t mind, that will remain our secret—the great enigma of our reign. Really, you know, there’s only one thing for which I might be blamed today—and that’s this small advance I’ve made upon the path of freedom. For someone who loves power the rivalry of the gods is rather irksome. Well, I’ve proved to these imaginary gods that any man, without previous training, if he applies his mind to it, can play their absurd parts to perfection.
SCIPIO: That, Caius, is what I meant by blasphemy.
CALIGULA: No, Scipio, it’s clear-sightedness. I’ve merely realized that there’s only one way of getting even with the gods. All that’s needed is to be as cruel as they.
SCIPIO: All that’s needed is to play the tyrant.
CALIGULA: Tell me, my young friend. What exactly is a tyrant?
SCIPIO: A blind soul.
CALIGULA: That’s a moot point. I should say the real tyrant is a man who sacrifices a whole nation to his ideal or his ambition. But I have no ideal, and there’s nothing left for me to covet by way of power or glory. If I use this power of mine, it’s to compensate.
SCIPIO: For what?
CALIGULA: For the hatred and stupidity of the gods.
SCIPIO: Hatred does not compensate for hatred. Power is no solution. Personally I know only one way of countering the hostility of the world we live in.
CALIGULA: Yes? And what is it?
SCIPIO: Poverty.
CALIGULA [bending over his feet and scrutinizing his toes]: I must try that, too.
SCIPIO: Meanwhile many men round you are dying.
CALIGULA: Oh, come! Not so many as all that. Do you know how many wars I’ve refused to embark on?
SCIPIO: No.
CALIGULA: Three. And do you know why I refused?
SCIPIO: Because the grandeur of Rome means nothing to you.
CALIGULA: No. Because I respect human life.
SCIPIO: You’re joking, Caius.
CALIGULA: Or, anyhow, I respect it more than I respect military triumphs. But it’s a fact that I don’t respect it more than I respect my own life. And if I find killing easy, it’s because dying isn’t hard for me. No, the more I think about it, the surer I feel that I’m no tyrant.
SCIPIO: What does it matter, if it costs us quite as dear as if you were one?
CALIGULA [with a hint of petulance]: If you had the least head for figures you’d know that the smallest war a tyrant—however levelheaded he might be—indulged in would cost you a thousand times more than all my vagaries (shall we call them?) put together.
SCIPIO: Possibly. But at least there’d be some sense behind a war; it would be understandable—and to understand makes up for much.
CALIGULA: There’s no understanding fate; therefore I choose to play the part of fate. I wear the foolish, unintelligible face of a professional god. And that is what the men who were here with you have learned to adore.
SCIPIO: That, too, Caius, is blasphemy.
CALIGULA: No, Scipio, it’s dramatic art. The great mistake you people make is not to take the drama seriously enough. If you did, you’d know that any man can play lead in the divine comedy and become a god. All he needs do is to harden his heart.
SCIPIO: You may be right, Caius. But I rather think you’ve done everything that was needed to rouse up against you a legion of human gods, ruthless as yourself, who will drown in blood your godhead of a day.
CÆSONIA: Really, Scipio!
CALIGULA [peremptorily]: No, don’t stop him, Cæsonia. Yes, Scipio, you spoke truer than you knew; I’ve done everything needed to that end. I find it hard to picture the event you speak of—but I sometimes dream it. And in all those faces surging up out of the angry darkness, convulsed with fear and hatred, I see, and I rejoice to see, the only god I’ve worshipped on this earth; foul and craven as the human heart. [Irritably] Now go. I’ve had enough of you, more than enough. [In a different tone] I really must attend to my toenails; they’re not nearly red enough, and I’ve no time to waste. [All go, with the exception of HELICON. He hovers round CALIGULA, who is busy examining his toes.] Helicon!
HELICON: Yes?
CALIGULA: Getting on with your task?
HELICON: What task?
CALIGULA: You know … the moon.
HELICON: Ah yes, the moon.… It’s a matter of time and patience. But I’d like to
