Shadow World Book Club: Companion Readings to City of Bones

Shakespeare's Julius Caesar

"City of Bones takes its epigraph from Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar (1599) — the text in bold below is what Cassandra Clare selected — and the lines are spoken by Brutus, who contemplates the betrayal of Caesar, his close friend and the golden boy of Rome. Brutus is convinced by Cassius, a senator, that Caesar plans to transform Rome from a republic into a monarchy, and Brutus worries that power might corrupt Caesar and cause him to turn his back on the best interest of the people and the nation. He decides, then, to “think of him as a serpent’s egg,/Which hatch’d, would as his kind grow mischevious,/And kill him in his shell.” But even as he considers this drastic action, he struggles. The play provides a fitting epigraph not so much because of the title reference, but because it shows the seductive allure of power and asks what we are willing to do for the greater good, even if it means betraying those we love. (In The Inferno, Brutus and fellow assassin Cassius have been assigned to the deepest chasm of hell — so we certainly know how Dante felt about it.)" (from Navigating the Shadow World)

From Act 2, Scene 1 of Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare

Rome. BRUTUS’s orchard.

Enter BRUTUS

BRUTUS

What, Lucius, ho!

I cannot, by the progress of the stars,

Give guess how near to day. Lucius, I say!

I would it were my fault to sleep so soundly.

When, Lucius, when? awake, I say! what, Lucius!

Enter LUCIUS

LUCIUS

Call’d you, my lord?

BRUTUS

Get me a taper in my study, Lucius:

When it is lighted, come and call me here.

LUCIUS

I will, my lord.

Exit

BRUTUS

It must be by his death: and for my part,

I know no personal cause to spurn at him,

But for the general. He would be crown’d:

How that might change his nature, there’s the question.

It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;

And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--that;--

And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,

That at his will he may do danger with.

The abuse of greatness is, when it disjoins

Remorse from power: and, to speak truth of Caesar,

I have not known when his affections sway’d

More than his reason. But ‘tis a common proof,

That lowliness is young ambition’s ladder,

Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;

But when he once attains the upmost round.

He then unto the ladder turns his back,

Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees

By which he did ascend. So Caesar may.

Then, lest he may, prevent. And, since the quarrel

Will bear no colour for the thing he is,

Fashion it thus; that what he is, augmented,

Would run to these and these extremities:

And therefore think him as a serpent’s egg

Which, hatch’d, would, as his kind, grow mischievous,

And kill him in the shell.

Re-enter LUCIUS

LUCIUS

The taper burneth in your closet, sir.

Searching the window for a flint, I found

This paper, thus seal’d up; and, I am sure,

It did not lie there when I went to bed.

Gives him the letter

BRUTUS

Get you to bed again; it is not day.

Is not to-morrow, boy, the ides of March?

LUCIUS

I know not, sir.

BRUTUS

Look in the calendar, and bring me word.

LUCIUS

I will, sir.

Exit

BRUTUS

The exhalations whizzing in the air

Give so much light that I may read by them.

Opens the letter and reads

‘Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake, and see thyself.

Shall Rome, & c. Speak, strike, redress!

Brutus, thou sleep’st: awake!’

Such instigations have been often dropp’d

Where I have took them up.

‘Shall Rome, & c.’ Thus must I piece it out:

Shall Rome stand under one man’s awe? What, Rome?

My ancestors did from the streets of Rome

The Tarquin drive, when he was call’d a king.

‘Speak, strike, redress!’ Am I entreated

To speak and strike? O Rome, I make thee promise:

If the redress will follow, thou receivest

Thy full petition at the hand of Brutus!

Re-enter LUCIUS

LUCIUS

Sir, March is wasted fourteen days.

Knocking within

BRUTUS

‘Tis good. Go to the gate; somebody knocks.

Exit LUCIUS

Since Cassius first did whet me against Caesar,

I have not slept.

Between the acting of a dreadful thing

And the first motion, all the interim is

Like a phantasma, or a hideous dream:

The Genius and the mortal instruments

Are then in council; and the state of man,

Like to a little kingdom, suffers then

The nature of an insurrection.