#julius caesar

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onemerryjester: periegesisvoid:l-heure-du-the:copperbadge:#2, Brute?I made the ugliest noise

onemerryjester:

periegesisvoid:

l-heure-du-the:

copperbadge:

#2, Brute?

I made the ugliest noise.

It’s not even March. It’s literally more than 6 months till the ides of March. Why.

TODAY


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diinadam:Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing!But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;Thy

diinadam:

Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing!
But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I
Will do his bidding. Brutus, come apace,
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.
By your leave, gods:–this is a Roman’s part
Come, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart.

like :’))) “so it was their very joy that brought about the tragedy. For Cassius at once assumed that Titinius had been captured by the enemy. He cried out, ‘I have loved life too much, and now I have clung to it until my friends are made prisoner before my very eyes.’” [plutarch]

I decided to engage in a little creative bending with the death of  cassius in regards to the play because I’ve been thinking about the repetition of removing his  head from his body across accounts

twitter|ko-fi|PRINTS |  deviantart 


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diinadam:a portrait of Titinius because I spent too much time reading accounts of Cassius’ death toddiinadam:a portrait of Titinius because I spent too much time reading accounts of Cassius’ death tod

diinadam:

a portrait of Titinius because I spent too much time reading accounts of Cassius’ death today and got really emotional about Titinius :’)

Soon after this, Brutus’s horsemen were recognized and Titinius, whom they had crowned with garlands, rode up to report to Cassius. But as soon as he learned from the weeping and lamentations of Cassius’s friends of the fate which had overtaken the general, he reproached himself bitterly for his slowness which had been the cause, and then drew his sword and fell upon it.

[plutarch’s brutus]

TITINIUS:
Hie you, Messala,
And I will seek for Pindarus the while.
Why didst thou send me forth, brave Cassius?
Did I not meet thy friends? and did not they
Put on my brows this wreath of victory,
And bid me give it thee?
Didst thou not hear their shouts?
Alas, thou hast misconstrued every thing!
But, hold thee, take this garland on thy brow;
Thy Brutus bid me give it thee, and I
Will do his bidding.
Brutus, come apace,
And see how I regarded Caius Cassius.
By your leave, gods:–this is a Roman’s part
Come, Cassius’ sword, and find Titinius’ heart.

[shakespeare’s julius caesar]

twitter|ko-fi|society6 |  deviantart 


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diinadam:the childhood friends, the lovers, the conspirators, it’s all the same: you, me, hand in bldiinadam:the childhood friends, the lovers, the conspirators, it’s all the same: you, me, hand in bl

diinadam:

the childhood friends, the lovers, the conspirators, it’s all the same: you, me, hand in bloody hand

twitter|ko-fi|society6 |  deviantart 


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diinadam:CASSIUSHave not you love enough to bear with me,When that rash humour which my mother gave diinadam:CASSIUSHave not you love enough to bear with me,When that rash humour which my mother gave

diinadam:

CASSIUS

Have not you love enough to bear with me,
When that rash humour which my mother gave me
Makes me forgetful?

BRUTUS

Yes, Cassius; and, from henceforth,
When you are over-earnest with your Brutus,
He’ll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar Act IV Scene III

twitter: @_dinadam | ko-fi: katabay


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keepcalmandcarriefischer:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZTdQuxw52/

I think I found my new favorite rabbit hole. This voice actor does Shakespeare scenes in a southern accent and I need to see the whole damn play. Absolutely beautiful

heresmyfiddlestick:

runawaymarbles:

beast-glatisant:

beast-glatisant:

officiallordvetinari:

beast-glatisant:

suzirya:

beast-glatisant:

yet Brutus says he was problematic, and Brutus is an honorable man…

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse: was this problematic?

Yet Brutus says he was problematic;

And, sure, he is an honourable man

I come to cancel Caesar, not to stan him

He was my mutual, faithful and just to me

But Brutus says he was problematic;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many hot takes to my dash

Whose notifs did the general discourse fill:

Did this in Caesar seem problematic?

Friends, mutuals, countrymen, do not scroll past

@if-you-come-a-knockin

Friends, mutuals, countrymen, do not scroll past;

I come to cancel Caesar, not to stan him.

The cringe posts that men make live after them;

The nuance oft interred with their bones;

So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus

Hath told you Caesar was problematic:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,

And grievously hath Caesar answer’d it.

Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest–

For Brutus is an honourable man;

So are they all, all honourable men–

Come I to comment on Caesar’s call-out post.

He was my mutual, faithful and just to me:

But Brutus says he was problematic;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

He hath brought many hot takes to my dash

Whose notifs did the general discourse fill:

Did this in Caesar seem problematic?

When that anons have cried, Caesar hath wept:

Toxicity should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Brutus says he was problematic;

And Brutus is an honourable man.

You all did see that on the Tumblr Blaze

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse: was this problematic?

Yet Brutus says he was problematic;

And, sure, he is an honourable man.

I speak not to start discourse with Brutus,

But just to provide some context on his call-out post.

You all did stan him once, not without cause:

What cause withholds you then, to follow him?

deadpresidents:

image

“There is no sure foundation set on blood,
No certain life achieved by another’s death”
– William Shakespeare, King John

Shakespeare killed Kings and Princes and lovers and warriors with beauty and artistry. With eternally evocative words as his lethal weapon, the bard snatched literary lives out of pages and off of stages in nearly every play that he penned. Sometimes he killed out of love, sometimes he killed out of hate, sometimes he killed for power, or because of weakness, or in spite of strength. When Shakespeare killed, however, he did it with purpose and poetry. In Shakespeare’s work, murder wasn’t simply committed – it was composed and performed; and, in the centuries since that work was created, it has been left up to actors to breathe life into scenes of death. A good actor can convince the audience to believe; a great actor can convince himself.

Contrary to what many people believe, John Wilkes Booth was neither the most famous nor the best actor in the United States when he assassinated President Abraham Lincoln in April 1865. Booth’s father, Junius Brutus Booth, was probably the greatest actor in the world when he was at his best and when he stayed sober. Of the three sons (all of illegitimate birth) who followed Booth, who died in 1852, into the theater it was his second-eldest, Edwin, who was the most amazing to watch on stage. Edwin traveled the world and not only played all of the parts made famous by his father, but arguably did it better. An Edwin Booth performance was a mesmerizing experience for a theater-goer, and it made him a very wealthy, well-connected man. The eldest son, Junius Jr., was a talented actor, but never quite had his heart completely in the theater, despite his natural abilities. The youngest of the Booth sons, John Wilkes, was determined to be as great as his father and two brothers, but he lacked the talent that seemed instinctive with his father and inherited by his older brothers.

John Wilkes Booth’s determination and ambition, however, drove him to do things on stage that other actors wouldn’t risk. While he wasn’t the most famous or most talented actor in America, John Wilkes was widely considered the most handsome, and women swooned over his appearance, buying stereograph pictures and anything that captured the young actor’s brooding appearance. If John Wilkes couldn’t measure up to his father or his brothers when reciting his lines, his charismatic presence and remarkable physicality captivated crowds. Uniquely athletic, Booth would take tremendous risks on stage, performing stunts that stunned audiences and helped hide any defects in his acting ability. 

If John Wilkes didn’t play the roles as well as Edwin did, he tackled them with unparalleled energy and was certainly one of the most well-known names in American entertainment by the 1860s. Booth played a multitude of roles, but the role that he felt suited him best – the role that inspired him in so many ways – was that of Brutus in Julius Caesar. Booth saw Brutus in the same light as Marc Antony did in the closing lines of Shakespeare’s masterpiece – a patriot who risked everything to bring down a tyrant, and, as Antony said, “was the noblest Roman of them all”.

The Booths were from Maryland originally, a border state during the Civil War, but the two most visible members of the family – Edwin and John Wilkes – seemed to come from different worlds. Edwin was a staunch Unionist who lived in New York and was a friend to Presidents, Northern politicians, Union soldiers, and captains of industry. John Wilkes was an avowed secessionist and Southern sympathizer. When John Brown was hanged in Virginia in 1858, Booth dressed as a member of a Richmond militia group in order to get a front row seat at the abolitionist’s execution. When the war started in 1861, John Wilkes was open about his support for the states which seceded and formed the Confederate State of America, and his vociferous opinions landed him in trouble in some of the Northern cities that he performed in.

The relationship between Edwin and John Wilkes was never strong, and the younger brother nursed a deep jealousy for the more acclaimed (and far more wealthy) Edwin. Their opposing beliefs about the Civil War further endangered their relationship and, at one point, Edwin kicked John Wilkes out of his home in New York when John Wilkes insulted President Lincoln and praised the Confederacy. At some point, John Wilkes went from a sympathizer to an activist. Booth smuggled medicine to the Southern states and may have been involved in deeper operations as a member of the Confederate Secret Service. Booth’s fame and active career in the theater was helpful to the cause, as he was able to travel throughout the country with relative ease.

One thing that was clear about John Wilkes Booth is that he absolutely hated Abraham Lincoln. 

The Booths were no strangers to Lincoln. More than anything else, Lincoln loved the theater, particularly Shakespeare, which he often read out loud to guests at the White House. Lincoln had seen Edwin Booth on numerous occasions, and on November 9, 1863 – 10 days before he traveled to Pennsylvania to deliver the Gettysburg Address – the President watched John Wilkes Booth as Raphael in The Marble Heart at Ford’s Theatre, several blocks from the White House. Lincoln was impressed by Booth’s performance, but one of Lincoln’s companions that night, Mary Clay, daughter of Lincoln’s Minister to Russia, remembered a portentous moment. On several occasions, Booth – playing a villain – uttered his lines with anger while seemingly shaking his finger at President Lincoln. Mary Clay recalled saying to the President, “Mr. Lincoln, he looks as if he meant that for you.” Lincoln responded, “Well, he does look pretty sharp at me, doesn’t he?” Booth reportedly refused an invitation to meet the President after the performance, but after Lincoln’s young son, Tad, watched in awe as Booth energetically performed in another play, the future assassin gave the President’s son a rose.

A performance that Lincoln certainly would have enjoyed seeing took place on November 25, 1864 at Edwin Booth’s Winter Garden Theatre in New York City. In a special benefit, the three sons of Junius Brutus Booth performed together for the first and only time. Edwin, Junius Jr., and John Wilkes teamed up to perform Julius Caesar, with the goal of raising money for a statue of William Shakespeare – a statue that can be found in Central Park today. While Edwin took the plum role of Brutus and Junius Jr. played Cassius, John Wilkes played the role that would become most unlikely in hindsight: Marc Antony. During the performance by the Booth brothers, Confederate agents set fire to buildings around New York City, including one next to Edwin’s theatre. After a momentary panic in the building, the audience was calmed down and the show went on. John Wilkes Booth had few acting roles left in his career, but by this point, he had decided that his final role would be Brutus. 

By the time of the Winter Garden Theatre benefit featuring the Booth brothers, John Wilkes had already been conspiring to kidnap Abraham Lincoln in order to trade the President for a significant number of Confederate soldiers being held in Union POW camps. Booth’s audacious plan to capture the President of the United States in the midst of a bloody and brutal Civil War was devised during meetings with fellow conspirators such as Lewis Powell, John Surratt, David Herold, George Azterodt, Samuel Arnold, and Michael O'Laughlen at Mary Surratt’s boarding house in Washington, D.C. When Lincoln was sworn in for his second term on March 4, 1865, Booth and some of his conspirators were in the crowd and can be seen in a photo of the Inaugural stand at the Capitol as Lincoln gave his Inaugural Address. Over the next two weeks, the conspirators looked for an opportunity to kidnap the President and hopefully turn the tide for the Confederacy.

On March 17, 1865, Booth and his gang planned to launch their operation when President Lincoln traveled to the Campbell Hospital on the outskirts of the nation’s capital. Unfortunately for Booth, Lincoln’s plans changed and the abduction plot fell through. The next night, Booth gave his final acting performance, as Duke Pescara in The Apostate, at Ford’s Theatre.

•••

“I have no words;

My voice is in my sword”
– William Shakespeare, Macbeth

Everything changed for John Wilkes Booth on April 9, 1865, as news reached Washington that Confederate General Robert E. Lee had surrendered his Army of Northern Virginia to Union General Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Court House, Virginia. Two nights later, Booth was in a crowd celebrating at the White House and became enraged when he heard President Lincoln suggest in an extemporaneous speech that blacks would be given the right to vote. That fury multiplied when Lincoln said, “I have always thought ‘Dixie’ one of the best tunes I have ever heard. Our adversaries over the way attempted to appropriate it, but I insisted yesterday that we fairly captured it…I now request the band to favor me with its performance…[for] it is good to show the rebels that with us they will be free to hear it again.” Booth took Lincoln’s words as an almost personal affront. The abduction plan was off the table, but Booth instantly realized that he would kill Lincoln. In his mind, he would be Brutus slaying the tyrant Caesar.

We know what happened next. Shakespeare killed with beauty and poetry – deadly, 400-year-old lines that elicit timeless emotions. There was no beauty in what happened at Ford’s Theatre on April 14, 1865. President Lincoln sat in his box watching Our American Cousin. Booth slipped into the theatre – his famous and familiar face was a passport for entry. The actor crept into the room behind the President and waited for an audience reaction that would mask his movement. As soon as the crowd laughed at a line delivered on stage a single gunshot rang out. A .44 caliber lead ball slammed into the back of Lincoln’s head. Skull fragments carried by the the bullet sliced through the President’s brain. Lincoln slumped forward, almost certainly brain dead already. Booth brandished a dagger, slashed Lincoln’s guest in the Presidential box, Major Henry Rathbone, and performed one last leap on to the stage – one last acrobatic move to stun an audience. However, in an unusual move for Booth, he stumbled, caught a leg in the flags draped in front of Lincoln’s box, and landed awkwardly. Booth’s tibia cracked and he limped off the stage, dragging his broken leg behind him. With fire in his eyes, the youngest member of the Booth acting family turned to the crowd, and with one last act of stagecraft yelled “Sic Semper Tyrannis!”. The line wasn’t part of a play; it was Virginia’s state motto and it meant “Thus Always To Tyrants”. Some witnesses remember hearing Booth add, “The South is avenged!”.

Lincoln was carried across the street and his 6'4" frame was laid diagonally on a bed in William A. Petersen’s boarding house. The powerfully-built, 56-year-old President survived longer than most humans would survive a point-blank gunshot wound to the back of the head – even with today’s medical advancements. At 7:22 AM on April 15, 1865, Lincoln stopped breathing, and Secretary of War Edwin Stanton uttered the famous words, “Now, he belongs to the ages.”

Over the next 10 days, John Wilkes Booth rode through the war-torn countryside of Maryland and Virginia. Shooting pain from his broken leg made every step and every breath excruciating, even after the injury was set by Dr. Samuel Mudd. With his fellow conspirator David Herold, Booth hid from the largest manhunt in American History, as bloodthirsty Union troops, many just back from the battlefields of the Civil War, chased the man who killed the President that guided them through that crisis. 

For 26-year-old John Wilkes Booth, there was a deeper pain. It wasn’t just the broken leg, or the hunger, or the exhaustion of evading an entire army. It wasn’t the lifelong envy of his more successful older brother, or the fact that his fellow conspirators failed in their assignments as Booth accomplished his. For Booth, who idolized Brutus and saw himself as the Southern, if not American version of Caesar’s assassin, the pain was due to the fact that he wasn’t being celebrated for removing a “tyrant”. John Wilkes Booth was used to seeing his name on posters that advertised his appearance, but now, his name was on wanted posters offering a $100,000 reward for his capture. Even the South mourned the loss of Lincoln, who looked forward to a gentle reconciliation and reconstruction with the former Confederate States. Booth’s assassination of the American President wasn’t seen as a heroic act against a raging tyrant. Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederate States of America that Booth so deeply supported would later say that “Next to the destruction of the Confederacy, the death of Abraham Lincoln was the darkest day the South has ever known.”

Instead of Brutus, Booth was seen as one of the murderers of the the Scottish king Duncan, who told Macbeth:

“I am one, my liege,
Whom the vile blows and buffets of the world
Hath so incens’d that I am reckless what
I do to spite the world”

•••

“Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage”
– William Shakespeare, Macbeth

In his final days, as he was being hunted down in the woods of Virginia, and before he was cornered in a burning barn and shot to death, Booth came to the bitter realization that the assassination would not lead him to the glory he had always sought. As always, though, John Wilkes Booth felt that it wasn’t his fault – that it was the world that let him down. On the run, before he was killed, Booth scrawled a few lines in a diary that was found on him when the Union troops finally caught up to him on April 26, 1865:

“Until today nothing was ever thought of sacrificing to our country’s wrongs.  For six months we had worked to capture, but our cause being almost lost, something decisive and great must be done. But its failure was owing to others, who did not strike for their country with a heart. I struck boldly, and not as the papers say. I walked with a firm step through a thousand of his friends, was stopped, but pushed on. A colonel was at his side. I shouted Sic semper before I fired. In jumping broke my leg. I passed all his pickets, rode sixty miles that night with the bone of my leg tearing the flesh at every jump. I can never repent it, though we hated to kill. Our country owed all her troubles to him, and God simply made me the instrument of his punishment. The country is not what it was. This forced Union is not what I have loved. I care not what becomes of me. I have no desire to outlive my country. The night before the deed I wrote a long article and left it for one of the editors of the National Intelligencer, in which I fully set forth our reasons for our proceedings…

After being hunted like a dog through swamps, woods, and last night being chased by gunboats till I was forced to return wet, cold, and starving, with every man’s hand against me, I am here in despair. And why? For doing what Brutus was honored for? What made [William] Tell a hero? And yet I, for striking down a greater tyrant than they ever knew, am looked upon as a common cutthroat. My action was purer than either of theirs. One hoped to be great himself. The other had not only his country’s but his own, wrongs to avenge. I hoped for no gain. I knew no private wrong. I struck for my country and that alone. A country that groaned beneath this tyranny, and prayed for this end, and yet now behold the cold hands they extend to me. God cannot pardon me if I have done wrong. Yet I cannot see my wrong except in serving a degenerate people. The little, the very little, I left behind to clear my name, the Government will not allow to be printed. So ends all. For my country I have given up all that makes life sweet and holy, brought misery upon my family, and am sure there is no pardon in the Heaven for me, since man condemns me so…

Tonight I will once more try the river with the intent to cross. Though I have a greater desire and almost a mind to return to Washington, and in a measure clear my name – which I feel I can do. I do not repent the blow I struck. I may before my God, but not to man. I think I have done well. Though I am abandoned, with the curse of Cain upon me, when, if the world knew my heart, that one blow would have made me great, though I did desire no greatness. Tonight I try to escape these bloodhounds once more. Who, who can read his fate? God’s will be done. I have too great a soul to die like a criminal…”

•••

“O villain, villain, smiling, damned villain!” – William Shakespeare, Hamlet

Cornered in a barn on Pat Garrett’s tobacco farm in Port Royal, Virginia, John Wilkes Booth refused to surrender to the Union troops who had been hunting him for twelve days, even after the soldiers set fire to the barn and Booth’s co-conspirator, David Herold, gave himself up. Limping around in the burning barn, a bullet fired by a Union soldier sliced through Booth’s neck, paralyzing the assassin. Soldiers dragged him from the barn, but the wound was mortal. In the moments before he died, Booth asked to see his own hands because the bullet through his spinal cord had robbed him of the ability to move on his own. When a soldier lifted Booth’s hands to his face, the 26-year-old actor who killed Abraham Lincoln mumbled his final words: “Useless! Useless!”

HQ: [x] [x]Text version of Martial under the cut. A house renowned stands in the land of TartessuswhHQ: [x] [x]Text version of Martial under the cut. A house renowned stands in the land of Tartessuswh

HQ: [x] [x]

Text version of Martial under the cut.

A house renowned stands in the land of Tartessus
where rich Corduba woos tranquil Baetis,
where fleeces are yellow-pale with native ore,
and living gold o’erlays the Western flock.
In the middle of the house, shadowing all the abode,
stands with dense leafage Caesar’s plane,
which an unconquered Guest’s propitious hand planted,
and which—then but a shoot—began from that hand to grow.
It seems to feel who was its creator and lord;
so green it is, and with its boughs it climbs high heaven.
Ofttimes under this tree sported Fauns flown with wine,
and a late-blown pipe startled the still house;
and, while o’er lonely fields she fled by night from Pan,
oft under these leaves the rustic Dryad nestled hid.
And fragrant has the dwelling been when Lyaeus held revel,
and more luxuriant grown the tree’s shade from spilth of wine,
and the blushing flower has been scattered down from last night’s wreath,
and none could claim his own roses.
O thou dear to the gods! O tree of mighty Caesar!
fear not the steel and sacrilegious fires.
Thou mayst hope thy leafy honours shall endure for ever:
it was not Pompey’s hands set thee there!

* translation by Walter C. A. Ker (1920)

There stands a far-famed house in Spanish land
Where wealthy Corduba loves calm Baetis’ strand,
Where yellow fleeces glow with native gold
And living foil o’erfilms the western fold.
O’ershadowing all the roof with mantle green
Of thickest foliage, Caesar’s plane is seen.
The conquering hand that planted luckily
Charmed the young rod into a lofty tree.
Proud of its lord, his tender nursling fair
Burgeoned and tossed great limbs in upper air.
The tipsy Fauns beneath its shadow played;
Oft their late pipe the silent home dismayed.
At night the Dryad through the country side
Flying from Pan beneath its leaves would hide.
Perfumed by revelling Bacchus all the place
Smelt sweet. His wine-cups swelled the tree apace.
Yesterday’s ruddy leaves all round were thrown,
Relics of chaplets none might call his own.
O happy day, O mighty Caesar’s tree,
Fear not the axe, the hearth’s impiety!
Year after year your honours you’ll renew,
For ‘twas no Pompey’s hand that planted you.

* translation by A. L. Francis and H. F. Tatum (1924)

In far Tartessus stands a house renowned,
Where rich Corduba Baetis woos in peace
And western sheep with living gold are crowned
Whose native ore makes pale the yellow fleece.

Within its midst is mighty Caesar’s plane
Which as a shoot by his own hand was given.
It seems to know from whom its life began;
So green it grows, so high it springs to heaven.

Oft drunken fauns have sported in its shade
And with their piping roused the house to fear,
Oft have its boughs concealed a Dryad maid
Who felt that Pan was in the darkness near.

The scent of Bacchic revels too it knows,
And thick have grown its leaves from spilth of wine,
While from red garlands fell the scattered rose,
And none could say of any bloom—‘ 'Twas mine.’

O dear to heaven, mighty Caesar’s tree,
Fear not the fire, the sacrilegious knife;
It was not Pompey’s hand that planted thee,
Thy honours shall enjoy eternal life.

* translation by J. A. Pott and F. A. Wright (1926)


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HQ: [x] [x]So, the first pic is something along the lines of “the most notable women in CaesarHQ: [x] [x]So, the first pic is something along the lines of “the most notable women in Caesar

HQ: [x] [x]

So, the first pic is something along the lines of “the most notable women in Caesar’s life.” I realize that Calpurnia doesn’t really fit, ‘cause she played no active part in his life. But I like her, so I added her to the list. The second one is “Caesar’s best friends.”

A couple of notes…

1. There were no such names as “Aurelia Cotta”, “Cornelia Cinnilla”, “Julia Caesaris”, “Servilia Caeponis” or “Calpurnia Pisonis.” They had only one name, derived from the nomen. I don’t know where it comes from, but it’s probably the influence of Colleen McCullough. I don’t remember if she used “Caesaris” in her books, but she definitely used “Cinnilla” instead of “Cornelia.” Her books are well-researched, but they contain a number of inventions. So if you see someone call Julia “Julia Caesaris”, it’s incorrect.

2. I know that in earlier translations of Plutarch the friend to whom Caesar wrote his famous phrase is called Amatius/Amantius. But I’m taking Conrad Cichorius’s emendation (Römische Studien, 1922) that it should be read as “Matius.” Other historians agree with him.


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“In his fifty-six years he was at times many things, including a fugitive, prisoner, rising po“In his fifty-six years he was at times many things, including a fugitive, prisoner, rising po“In his fifty-six years he was at times many things, including a fugitive, prisoner, rising po“In his fifty-six years he was at times many things, including a fugitive, prisoner, rising po“In his fifty-six years he was at times many things, including a fugitive, prisoner, rising po“In his fifty-six years he was at times many things, including a fugitive, prisoner, rising po

“In his fifty-six years he was at times many things, including a fugitive, prisoner, rising politician, army leader, legal advocate, rebel, dictator – perhaps even a god – as well as a husband, father, lover and adulterer. Few fictional heroes have ever done as much as Caius Julius Caesar.” - Adrian Goldsworthy


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marcantonysuggest:

what qualifies as a “bad” omen?? asking for a friend

incorrect-roman-quotes:

The Romans and Friends as College Majors

Caesar: Political Science

Cleopatra: Medicine

Brutus: English

Cassius: Philosophy

Antony: Kinesiology (he’s a student athlete and got paid to be there)

Cicero: Law

Octavian: Psychology

Crassus: Business

Pompey: General Studies

Apart from Cleopatra, who would probably be double majoring in linguistics and history, these are largely accurate. 

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