Two Voltairean Plays: The Triumvirate and Comedy at Ferney. Voltaire
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wanted the empire to belong to the two of us
Think that I intend Gaul, Illyria,
Spain, Africa, and especially Italy
The Orient is yours—
ANTHONY
Such is my will.
Such is the fate of the world arrested between us.
I am not hiding from myself what your advantage is.
Rome is going to serve you. You will have under your rule
The conquerors of the earth; I will have only kings
I willingly give it up to you. I demand in exchange
that your authority, seconding my power
Exterminate forever the remaining outcasts
Of the party of Pompey, and of the traitor Brutus;
Let none of them escape the laws we have set up.
OCTAVIAN
Perhaps they are cemented with enough blood.
ANTHONY
What! You hesitate. I no longer know you.
What can thus trouble your irresolute desire?
OCTAVIAN
Heaven itself has destroyed these cruel lists
ANTHONY
Heavenseconds us by permitting new ones.
Are you afraid of an omen?
OCTAVIAN
And aren’t you fearful
Of revolting the earth because of murders?
We want to chain up Roman liberty
We want to govern, not excite more hate.
ANTHONY
Do you call justice inhumanity?
Octavian, a Triumvir adopted by Caesar
If I avenge a friend, do you fear to avenge a father?
You would forget his blood to flatter the vulgar.
To whom would you pretend to grant a pardon
When you had me sacrifice Cicero?
OCTAVIAN
Rome wept at his death.
ANTHONY
It wept in silence.
Cassius and Brutus, reduced to impotence
Might perhaps inspire other nations
With an eternal horror of our proscription.
It lets them depict terrible images
And against our two names revolt the ages.
Assassins of their master and their benefactor,
It’s their unworthy names that ought to be in horror.
These are the ingrate hearts it’s time to punish.
They alone are criminals, and we are doing justice.
Those who served them, who approved them
Will have some punishment reserved to them.
Twenty thousand warriors perished in our battles
Their funerals are seen with a dry, calm eye
On their extended bodies, victims of death
We fly, without paling, to new battles
And through the treason of a hundred wretched accomplices
We will make too many costly sacrifices to Caesar.
OCTAVIAN
In Rome, on this very day they are still avenging his death.
But know what costs my heart an effort:
Too much horror in the end can stain his vengeance.
I would be more his son if I had his clemency.
ANTHONY
Clemency today can ruin us both.
OCTAVIAN
An excess of cruelty will be more dangerous.
ANTHONY
Do you distrust the people?
OCTAVIAN
They have to be managed
They must be made to love the bridle of slavery
With an indifferent eye they observe the death of the great
But when they fear for themselves, bad luck to tyrants.
ANTHONY
I hear, at my peril, you seek to please them.
You want to become a popular tyrant.
OCTAVIAN
You are always imparting to me some secret plans.
To sacrifice Pompey—will that please Romans?
Today my orders overthrow their idol.
While I am talking to you, they beat him, they strike him
What more do you want?
ANTHONY
You are not abusing me.
It costs you little to order his death.
To our true interests his death would be necessary.
But you wish to be rid of a secret rival
He adored Julia and you were jealous
Your outraged love leads all your blows
Fulfill the agreement of all our undertakings.
OCTAVIAN
Stop.
ANTHONY
Is the guilty man sacred to us?
I want him dead.
OCTAVIAN (rising)
Him? The father of Julia?
ANTHONY
Yes, himself.
OCTAVIAN
Listen—our interest links us.
Marriage binds the knot; but if you persist
In demanding blood to persecute
From this day I am breaking all alliances between us.
ANTHONY
Octavian, I’m too well aware that our intelligence
Will produce discord and deceive our wishes
Let’s not rush to such dangerous times.
Do you intend to offend me?
OCTAVIAN
No—but I am a master
Who would spare a proscribed who should not be proscribed.
ANTHONY
But you yourself, with me, condemned him.
Of all our enemies, he’s the most obstinate.
What difference if his daughter was for a moment dear to you?
To our security I owe the father’s blood
The inconstant pleasures of a fleeting love
To our great interests are nothing except foreign
Until now, you’ve shown little tenderness
And I wasn’t expecting this excess of weakness.
OCTAVIAN