CAESAR Look you, sad friends,
The gods rebuke me; but it is tidings
To wash the eyes of kings.
GALLUS And strange it is
That nature must compel us to lament
Our most persisted deeds.
MAECENAS His taints and honours
Waged equal with him.
GALLUS A rarer spirit never
Did steer humanity; but you gods will give us
Some faults to make us men. Caesar is touched.
MAECENAS When such a spacious mirror’s set before him
He needs must see himself. (5.1.26-35)
Caesar’s deeply affected: look you, sad friends, the gods rebuke me—with what, it’s not clear, but Caesar could be drawing attention either to the bloody sword, or to his tears, suggested in the way he continues: but it is tidings to wash the eyes of kings. Even kings would weep at this news of Antony’s death, as I do now. His companions form a little chorus of lamentation as Caesar digests the news, but they also are careful in their flattery of Caesar, wary lest their praise of Antony call their loyalty into doubt. Strange it is, says Gallus, that nature must compel us to lament our most persisted deeds. Slightly stating the obvious here, a little naïve (or cynical) and perhaps running the risk of calling the genuineness of Caesar’s reaction into question: isn’t it weird that we somehow feel we have to mourn the successful accomplishing of an outcome we’ve been working towards and pursuing for ages? That is, Caesar wanted Antony’s death; he wanted him defeated once and for all. And now he’s apparently upset by it? People are strange. Maecenas is more statesmanlike, more politic: his taints and honours waged equal with him; his good and bad qualities balanced each other out. It’s a slightly skewed version of Aristotle’s model of virtue as being grounded in temperance and in balance. (Antony described Brutus’s character as being perfectly mixed in his praise of him at the end of Julius Caesar.) A rarer spirit never did steer humanity, yes, Antony was one of a kind alright, an amazing human being, governed by such an extraordinary soul—but you gods will give us some faults to make us men. Antony remained human, and therefore was flawed; it was his flaws, god-given, that made him such a great man. Caesar is touched, apparently, disconcerted, discombobulated, rapt. He’s really taking this hard, tremendously moved by it. (Caesar also now knows that the final significant obstacle to his victory is gone.) Gallus and Maecenas are mostly chatting to themselves and each other, although with one ear always on the reaction of others: these are the politicians around Caesar, looking to rise with him. Maecenas is wise, perhaps more experienced and sophisticated than Gallus: when such a spacious mirror’s set before him, the lofty, expansive example of Antony, he needs must see himself. Caesar’s just been confronted in the starkest terms with Antony’s greatness; of course he’s now considering exactly how he matches up in comparison. Antony’s an impossible act to follow.