An unfortunate hill climb from the Plains of Philippi in the last act of Julius Caesar is the subject of this amusing Stamford theatrical reminiscence.
“Act V. of Shakespeare’s ‘Julius Caesar,’ if the bard’s dramatic pictures of battle of the period are correct, presents commanders of the Roman legions as highly cautious individuals. There is a familiar axiom that ‘Discretion if the better part of valour,’ and, if so, then had Cassius paid a preliminary visit to a phrenologist, his bump of discretion would have been diagnosed as about the size of a grape-fruit.
The stirring tragedy of Roman Empire days was presented in Stamford years ago, as a kind of scholastic jamboree, associated with an academy long since numbered among the vanished cradles of learning, and , of necessity, was very much adapted, owing to scenic economies.
All went fairly well until the final scrimmages began on the Plains of Phillippi (sic), and then it was more than apparent that the noble Cassius and other leaders had ample leisure for lengthy soliloquies and dialogue portions, the while less important but mote active, combatants, had their full share of ‘alarums and excursions.’ This attitude, peculiar to Gilbert’s Duke of Plaza-Toro *(whose place, when away had regiment ran, was always at the fore-ho!’) had its best example during the scene in which the stage boasted a sort of hill-top – really an expanse of painted canvas, intended to represent earth and grass.
Doubtless with praiseworthy modesty and not wishing to intrude upon battles where his presence might be unwelcome, Cassius requested the faithful Pindarus, another outsider in military enterprises, to ‘Go, get higher on that hill, and tell me what thou not’st about the field!’ The bearer of this absolutely risk-free errand started the climb up the hill-top, via the canvas, and, apparently, packing case supports, and then the edifice begun to sway. The messenger’s progress became more cautious, but the summit betrayed greater signs of shakiness. Cassius never had a reply, for suddenly the expected happened. The hill-top collapsed, and the hapless Pindarus vanished from the view of the startled audience, to the accompaniment of earthquake effects. The curtains were hastily drawn upon this scene of confusion, needless to say.”
The Stamford Mercury, 24th June, 1938.
- See The Gondoliers.