LEPIDUS I must not think there are
Evils enough to darken all his goodness.
His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven,
More fiery by night’s blackness—hereditary
Rather than purchased; what he cannot change
Than what he chooses.
CAESAR You are too indulgent. Let’s grant it is not
Amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy,
To give a kingdom for a mirth, to sit
And keep the turn of tippling with a slave,
To reel the streets at noon, and stand the buffet
With knaves that smells of sweat. (1.4.10-21)
Lepidus—older than Caesar, less threatened by Antony because he doesn’t see him as a rival (Lepidus knows he’s the weakest of the three) is prepared to cut Antony a bit more slack and to take into account his extraordinary reputation. I must not think there are evils enough to darken all his goodness. On balance, I’m prepared to accept pretty much any errors he makes, any faults, any weaknesses and blemishes in his otherwise exemplary character. His faults in him seem as the spots of heaven, more fiery by night’s blackness. It’s all a matter of contrast, you see: because Antony’s so amazing, such an all-out hero, every tiny slip, every petty misdemeanor sticks out a mile, like the stars which seem all the more bright because they appear in the darkness of the night sky. (Much later in the play, Cleopatra will try to make a similar argument.) And, after all, those weaknesses are a matter of simply being human, a fallible man; it’s not as if he’s willfully evil. He can’t help himself! The things for which you censure him are things that he can’t change, hereditary, part of his very nature, rather than purchased, the result of his particular bad choices. It’s just Antony being Antony!
You are too indulgent, and here Caesar has a point. It’s not as if Antony’s merely slipped up, been a bit of a naughty boy, although that’s how Caesar goes on to characterize him, in a way. Let’s grant it is not amiss to tumble on the bed of Ptolemy (this isn’t a grand passion, it’s a bit of fun, we’d all like to give her one, wouldn’t we, that exotic Egyptian bird—although that’s probably going a bit far for Caesar, cold-blooded prig that he is, or at least as he appears here), to give a kingdom for a mirth, treat everything, power and dominion, territory and empire as a joke, give it up for that bit of fun. It’s not at all a problem to keep the turn of tippling with a slave, get drunk with your social inferiors and even play drinking games with them, matching them, cup for cup. Why not reel the streets at noon, stagger through the city dead drunk in the middle of the day, and stand the buffet, get into fights, exchanging blows with slaves that smell of sweat? Scrapping your way through the streets of Alexandria—why should that be at all problematic for one of the three most powerful men in the Roman empire, and its greatest general?