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    The open Sea
    The open Sea
    The open Sea
    Ebook282 pages2 hours

    The open Sea

    By Edgar Lee Masters

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    Brutus
    Brutus and Antony
    At the Mermaid Tavern
    Charlotte Corday
    A Man Child is Born
    Richard Booth to His Son, Junius Booth
    A Man Child is Born
    Squire Bowling Green
    Lincoln Speaking in Congress
    John Wilkes Booth at the Farm
    Junius Brutus Booth
    A Certain Poet on the Debates
    The Decision
    Lincoln Makes a Memorandum
    Winter Garden Theatre
    The Sparrow Hawk in the Rain
    Adelaide and John Wilkes Booth
    Brutus Lives Again in Booth
    Booth's Philippi
    The Burial of Boston Corbett{vi}
    The New Apocrypha
    Business Reverses
    The Fig Tree
    Tribute Money
    The Great Merger
    At Decapolis
    The Single Standard
    First Entrants
    John in Prison
    Ananias and Sapphira
    The Two Malefactors
    Berenice
    Nebuchadnezzar or Eating Grass
    Hip Lung on Yuan Chang
    Ulysses
    The Party
    Celsus at Hadrian's Villa
    Invoation to the Gods
    Pentheus in These States
    Comparative Criminals
    The Great Race Passes
    Demos the Despot
    A Republic
    The Inn
    Monody on the Death of William Marion Reedy
    God and My Country
    The Dunes of Indiana
    Nature
    LanguageEnglish
    Publisheranboco
    Release dateSep 29, 2016
    ISBN9783736416895
    The open Sea
    Author

    Edgar Lee Masters

    Edgar Lee Masters was the author of SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY.

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      The open Sea - Edgar Lee Masters

      SEA

      PART ONE

      THE OPEN SEA

      BRUTUS

      BRUTUS AND ANTONY

      (Lucilius Talks at a Feast Given to Aristocrates in

      Rome.)

      B. C. 20

      THE OPEN SEA

      BRUTUS

      BRUTUS AND ANTONY

      Part I

      (Lucilius Talks at a Feast Given to Aristocrates in Rome)

      B.C. 20

      How shall I write this out? I do not write.

      Talk to you? Yes, and tell of Antony,

      And how I knew him. There at Philippi

      I let myself be captured, so to give

      Time to escape to Brutus—made pretense

      That I was Brutus, and so Brutus flies

      And I am captured. Antony forgives me,

      And to his death I was his faithful friend.

      Well, after Actium, in Africa,

      He roamed with no companions but us two,

      Our friend Aristocrates, here, myself,

      And fed upon his bitter heart. Our guest

      Nods truth to what I say, he knows it all.

      And after certain days in solitude

      He seeks his Cleopatra. As for her,

      She was the sovereign queen of many nations;

      Yet that she might be with her Antony,

      Live with him and enjoy him, did not shun

      The name of mistress, and let Fulvia keep

      Her wifehood without envy. As for him,

      A lover’s soul lives in the loved one’s body,

      And where bode Cleopatra, there his soul

      Lived only, though his feet of flesh pursued

      The Parthian, or Cæsar’s hateful heir....

      And if this Antony would wreathe his spear

      With ivy like a thyrsus; from the chamber

      Of his beloved rush to battle, helmet

      Smelling of unguents and of Egypt; leave

      Great action and great enterprise to play

      Along the seashore of Canopus with her;

      And fly the combat, not as Paris did,

      Already beaten, with lift sail, desert

      The victory that was his, yet true it is

      His rank, his eloquence, his liberal blood,

      His interest in all grades and breeds of men,

      His pity and his kindness to the sick,

      His generous sympathies, stamped Antony

      A giant in this dusty, roaring place

      Which we call earth. Who ruined Antony?

      Why, Brutus! For he gave to Antony

      The truth of which the Queen of Egypt stood

      As proof in the flesh:—Beauty and Life. His heart

      Was apt to see her for mad days in Rome,

      And soul created sateless for the cup

      Of ecstasy in living.

      On a day

      Myself and Aristocrates and Antony,

      We two companioning him in Africa,

      Wandering in solitary places, Antony

      Brooding on Actium, and the love that kept

      His soul with Cleopatra, up he speaks,

      And asks us if we knew what Brutus said,

      While nearing death, to Cassius. No, we said.

      And Antony began to tell of Brutus:—

      How all his life was spent in study, how

      He starved his body, slept but briefly, cut

      His hours of sleep by practice; fixed his thought

      On virtue and on glory; made himself

      A zealot of one purpose: liberty;

      A spirit as of a beast that knows one thing:

      Its food and how to get it; over its spirit

      No heaven keeps of changing light; no stars

      Of wandering thought; no moons that charm

      Still groves by singing waters, and no suns

      Of large illumination, showing life

      As multiform and fathomless, filled with wings

      Of various truth, each true as other truth.

      This was that Brutus, made an asp by thought

      And nature, to be used by envious hands

      And placed to Cæsar’s breast. So Antony

      Discoursed upon our walk, and capped it off

      With Brutus’ words when dying. They were these:

      "O virtue, miserable virtue, bawd and cheat;

      Thou wert a bare word and I followed thee

      As if thou hadst been real. But even as evil,

      Lust, ignorance, thou wert the plaything too

      Of fortune and of chance."

      So Antony

      Consoled himself with Brutus, sighed and lapsed

      To silence; thinking, as we deemed, of life

      And what it yet could be, and how ’twould end;

      And how to join his Cleopatra, what

      The days would hold amid the toppling walls

      Of Rome in demolition, now the hand

      Of Cæsar rotted, and no longer stayed

      The picks and catapults of an idiot world!

      So, as it seemed, he would excuse himself

      For Actium and his way in life. For soon

      He speaks again, of Theophrastus now,

      Who lived a hundred years, spent all his life

      In study and in writing, brought to death

      By labor; dying lay encompassed by

      Two thousand followers, disciples, preachers

      Of what he taught; and dying was penitent

      For glory, even as Brutus was penitent

      For virtue later. And so Antony

      Spoke Theophrastus’ dying words, and told

      How Theophrastus by a follower

      Asked for a last commandment, spoke these words:

      "There is none. But ’tis folly to cast away

      Pleasure for glory! And no love is worse

      Than love of glory. Look upon my life:—

      Its toil and hard denial! To what end?

      Therefore live happy; study, if you must,

      For fame and happiness. Life’s vanity

      Exceeds its usefulness."

      So speaking thus

      Wise Theophrastus died.

      Now I have said

      That Brutus ruined Antony. So he did,

      If Antony were ruined—that’s the question.

      For Antony hearing Brutus say, "O virtue,

      Miserable virtue, bawd and cheat," and seeing

      The eyes of Brutus stare in death, threw over him

      A scarlet mantle, and took to his heart

      The dying words of Brutus.

      It is true

      That Cicero said Antony as a youth

      Was odious for drinking-bouts, amours,

      For bacchanals, luxurious life, and true

      When as triumvir, after Cæsar’s death,

      He kept the house of Pompey, where he lived,

      Filled up with jugglers, drunkards, flatterers.

      All this before the death of Brutus, or

      His love for Cleopatra. But it’s true

      He was great Cæsar’s colleague. Cæsar dead,

      This Antony is chief ruler of all Rome,

      And wars in Greece, and Asia. So it’s true

      He was not wholly given to the cup,

      But knew fatigue and battle, hunger too,

      Living on roots in Parthia. Yet, you see,

      With Cæsar slaughtered in the capitol,

      His friend, almost his god; and Brutus gasping

      O miserable virtue; and the feet of men

      From Syria to Hispania, slipping off

      The world that broke in pieces, like an island

      Falling apart beneath a heaving tide—

      Whence from its flocculent fragment wretches leap—

      You see it was no wonder for this Antony,

      Made what he was by nature and by life,

      In such a time and fate of the drifting world,

      To turn to Cleopatra, and leave war

      And rulership to languish.

      Thus it was:

      Cæsar is slaughtered, Antony must avenge

      The death of Cæsar. Brutus is brought to death,

      And dying scoffs at virtue which took off

      In Brutus’ hand the sovran life of Cæsar.

      And soon our Antony must fight against

      The recreant hordes of Asia, finding here

      His Cleopatra for coadjutor....

      He’s forty-two and ripe. She’s twenty-eight,

      Fruit fresh and blushing, most mature and rich;

      Her voice an instrument of many strings

      That yielded laughter, wisdom, folly, song,

      And tales of many lands, in Arabic,

      And Hebrew, Syriac and Parthiac.

      She spoke the language of the troglodytes,

      The Medes and others. And when Antony

      Sent for her in Cilicia, she took time,

      Ignored his orders, leisurely at last

      Sailed up the Cydnus in a barge whose stern

      Was gilded, and with purple sails. Returned

      His dining invitation with her own,

      And bent his will to hers. He went to her,

      And found a banquet richer than his largess

      Could give her. For while feasting, branches sunk

      Around them, budding lights in squares and circles,

      And lighted up their heaven, as with stars.

      She found him broad and gross, but joined her taste

      To him in this. And then their love began.

      And while his Fulvia kept his quarrels alive

      With force of arms in Rome on Octavianus,

      And while the Parthian threatened Syria,

      He lets the Queen of Egypt take him off

      To Alexandria, where he joins with her

      The Inimitable Livers; and in holiday

      Plays like a boy and riots, while great Brutus

      Is rotting in the earth for Virtue’s sake;

      And Theophrastus for three hundred years

      Has changed from dust to grass, and grass to dust!

      And Cleopatra’s kitchen groans with food.

      Eight boars are roasted whole—though only twelve

      Of these Inimitable Livers, with the Queen

      And Antony are to eat—that every dish

      May be served up just roasted to a turn.

      And who knows when Marc Antony may sup?

      Perhaps this hour, perhaps another hour,

      Perhaps this minute he may call for wine,

      Or start to talk with Cleopatra; fish—

      For fish they did together. On a day

      They fished together, and his luck was ill,

      And so he ordered fishermen to dive

      And put upon his hook fish caught before.

      And Cleopatra feigned to be deceived,

      And shouted out his luck. Next day invited

      The Inimitable Livers down to see him fish,

      Whereat she had a diver fix his hook

      With a salted fish from Pontus. Antony

      Drew up amid their laughter. Then she said:

      "Sweet Antony, leave us poor sovereigns here,

      Of Pharos and Canopus, to the rod;

      Your game is cities, provinces and kingdoms."

      Were Antony serious, or disposed to mirth?

      She had some new delight. She diced with him,

      Drank with him, hunted with him. When he went

      To exercise in arms, she sat to see.

      At night she rambled with him in the streets,

      Dressed like a servant-woman, making mischief

      At people’s doors. And Antony disguised

      Got scurvy answers, beatings from the folk,

      Tormented in their houses. So it went

      Till Actium. She loved him, let him be

      By day nor night alone, at every turn

      Was with him and upon him.

      Well, this life

      Was neither virtue, glory, fame, nor study,

      But it was life, and life that did not slay

      A Cæsar for a word like Liberty.

      And it was life, its essence nor changed nor lost

      By Actium, where his soul shot forth to her

      As from a catapult a stone is cast,

      Seeing her lift her sixty sails and fly.

      His soul lived in her body as ’twere born

      A part of her, and whithersoever she went

      There followed he. And all their life together

      Was what it was, a rapture, justified

      By its essential honey of realest blossoms,

      In spite of anguished shame. When hauled aboard

      The ship of Cleopatra, he sat down

      And with his two hands covered up his face!

      Brutus had penitence at Philippi

      For virtue which befooled him. Antony

      Remorse and terror there at Actium

      Deserting with his queen, for love that made

      His body not his own, as Brutus’ will

      Was subject to the magic of a word....

      For what is Virtue, what is Love? At least

      We know their dire effects, that both befool,

      Betray, destroy.

      The Queen and Antony

      Had joined the Inimitable Livers, now they joined

      The Diers Together. They had kept how oft

      The Festival of Flagons, now to keep

      The Ritual of Passing Life was theirs.

      But first they suffered anger with each other

      While on her ship, till touching Tenarus

      When they were brought to speak by women friends,

      At last to eat and sleep together. Yet

      Poison had fallen on their leaves, which stripped

      Their greenness to the stalk, as you shall see....

      Here to make clear what flight of Antony meant,

      For cause how base or natural, let me say

      That Actium’s battle had not been a loss

      To Antony and his honor, if Canidius,

      Commanding under Antony, had not flown

      In imitation of his chief; the soldiers

      Fought desperately in hope that Antony

      Would come again and lead them.

      So it was

      He touched, with Cleopatra, Africa,

      And sent her into Egypt; and with us,

      Myself and Aristocrates, walked and brooded

      In solitary places, as I said.

      But when he came to Alexandria

      He finds his Cleopatra dragging her fleet

      Over the land space which divides the sea

      Near Egypt from the Red Sea, so to float

      Her fleet in the Arabian Gulf, and there,

      Somewhere upon earth’s other side, to find

      A home secure from war and slavery.

      She failed in this; but Antony leaves the city,

      And leaves his queen, plays Timon, builds a house

      Near Pharos on a little mole; lives here

      Until he hears all princes and all kings

      Desert him in the realm of Rome; which news

      Brings gladness to him, for hope put away,

      And cares slipped off. Then leaving Timoneum,—

      For such he named his dwelling there near Pharos—

      He goes to Cleopatra, is received,

      And sets the city feasting once again.

      The order of Inimitable Livers breaks,

      And forms the Diers Together in its place.

      And all who banquet with them, take the oath

      To die with Antony and Cleopatra,

      Observing her preoccupation with

      Drugs poisonous and creatures venomous.

      And thus their feast of flagons and of love

      In many courses riotously consumed

      Awaits the radiate liquor dazzling through

      Their unimagined terror, like the rays

      Shot from the bright eyes of the cockatrice,

      Crackling for poison in the crystal served

      By fleshless hands! A skeleton steward soon

      Will pass the liquer to them; they will drink,

      And leave no message, no commandment either—

      As Theophrastus was reluctant to—

      Denied disciples; for Inimitable Livers

      Raise up no followers, create no faith,

      No cult or sect. Joy has his special wisdom,

      Which dies with him who learned it, does not fire

      Mad bosoms like your Virtue.

      I must note

      The proffered favors, honors of young Cæsar

      To Cleopatra, if she’d put to death

      Her Antony; and Antony’s jealousy,

      Aroused by Thyrsus, messenger of Cæsar,

      Whom Cleopatra gave long audiences,

      And special courtesies; seized, whipped at last

      By Antony, sent back to Cæsar. Yet

      The queen was faithful. When her birth-day came

      She kept it suitable to her fallen state,

      But all the while paying her Antony love,

      And honor, kept his birth-day with such richness

      That guests who came in want departed rich ...

      Wine, weariness, much living, early age

      Made fall for Antony. October’s clouds

      In man’s life, like October, have no sun

      To lift the mists of doubt, distortion, fear.

      Faces, events, and wills around us show

      Malformed, or ugly, changed from what they were.

      And when his troops desert him in the city

      To Cæsar, Antony cries out, the queen,

      His Cleopatra, has betrayed him. She

      In terror seeks her monument, sends word

      That she is dead. And Antony believes

      And says delay no longer, stabs himself,

      Is hauled up dying to the arms of her,

      Where midst her frantic wailings he expires!

      Kings and commanders begged of Cæsar grace

      To give this Antony his funeral rites.

      But Cæsar left the body with the queen

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