Decimus is quick to seize his opportunity and plays on this trait of Caesar’s character. Surely the Senate will think that he has grown arrogant; that fortune has transformed a kind and courteous Caesar. The preservation of his reputation for generosity demands his personal appearance before the Senators. Caesar yields, while Marcus Brutus glorifies the gods for this turn of affairs. The Dictator tells the still anxious Calpurnia to banish her fears, for the gods which so long have defended him, will not fail him now, while Decimus lauds him and assures Calpurnia that it were unthinkable that harm could befall Caesar in his own city.
This scene, between Caesar, Calpurnia, and Decimus Brutus, seems to have no legitimate place in the plot unless Pescetti aims to heighten the pathos by bringing into stronger relief the vanity of the Dictator and the base treachery of his assassins. Caesar becomes to the modern reader a pitiable, almost a pitiful character. Any lurking admiration for the Conspirators’ cause is effectually destroyed, and a feeling of horror supervenes. Perhaps Pescetti so intended. It is revolting to listen to Decimus, Caesar’s beloved friend and companion in arms, recounting with smiling countenance his benefactor’s courtesy, his magnanimity, his many great services to Rome, while he burns to plunge a dagger into his auditor’s heart. And to think that Caesar, blinded by his vanity, allows a smiling villain to lead him like an ox to the sacrifice! This is pitiful, not pathetic.
Later on, Decimus’ praises soar to such heights that Caesar tells him
“. . . . . . Assai corso l’arringo
Hai di mie lodi, Bruto, di che debbo
Molto pregiarmi, e rallegrarmi, essendo
Il lodator d’eterna lode degno.
Ch’alor la lode è finalmente vera,
Quando da huom lodato ella proviene.”—Page 106.
Yet Caesar accepts this fulsome flattery because in his judgment, it comes from a man well qualified to deliver it. Then, surrounded by his murderers, he walks unsuspectingly to his doom.