Say, I am merry: come to me again,
And bring me word what he doth say to thee."
All this feeling and acute anxiety she doubtless underwent; not however, from sympathy with the motive and purpose of Brutus, though she believed in these as fully as he did, but for sheer and simple love of her husband. By nature she was no stoic--as no true woman has ever been or can be; but she had trained herself in the estimation of self-control and dignified endurance as moral excellences of the highest value. There were other women in Rome who, like Portia, had studied and adopted as their rule of life the principles of Zeno. We can see them walking amidst the frivolity of their times with the hauteur of too conscious superiority. It was a part which, if taken up by women at all, they must necessarily overdo. The principles of their philosophy might carry them far, even to death "after the high Roman fashion"; but whether the stoicism was only a mask of pride or a real grandeur of character, there was always some point at which the woman's heart showed itself. A man, whether bent on sentimental or serious purposes, needed not to stand greatly in awe of those stoical Roman ladies.
School herself in dignified impassiveness as she might, every thought of Portia's mind, as well as every impulse of her heart, betrayed her philosophy. Her affectionate solicitude allowed no sigh escaping the breast of her lord, no absent-mindedness clouding his brow and boding care, to escape her observation. It was plain to her that Brutus had some great trouble weighing upon his mind. She longed to share its knowledge, not for the gratification of curiosity, but because she could not endure to be deemed by her husband anything less than his loyal comrade. But was she worthy to be the custodian of her husband's secrets? Doubtless she was assured that they related to State affairs. It was not the custom among the Romans to put freeborn women to the torture; yet Portia, before she would ask to know her husband's mind, would test her power of enduring pain. Let Plutarch present the picture in his own fashion:
"Now Brutus, feeling that the noblest spirits of Rome, for virtue, birth, or courage, were depending upon him, and surveying with himself all the circumstances of the dangers they were to encounter, strove indeed as much as possible, when abroad, to keep his uneasiness of mind to himself, and to compose his thoughts; but at home, and especially at night, he was not the same man, but sometimes against his will his working care would make him start out of his steep, and other times he was taken up with further reflection and consideration of his difficulties, so that his wife that lay with him could not choose but take notice that he was full of unusual trouble, and had in agitation some dangerous and perplexing question. Portia, as was said before, was the daughter of Cato, and Brutus, her cousin-german, had married her very young, though not a maid, but after the death of a former husband. This Portia, being interested in philosophy, a great lover of her husband, and full of an understanding courage, resolved not to inquire into Brutus's secrets before she had made trial of herself. She turned all her attendants out of her chamber; and taking a little knife, such as they use to cut nails with, she gave herself a deep gash in the thigh; upon which followed a great flow of blood, and, soon after, violent pains and a shivering fever, occasioned by the wound. Now when Brutus was exceedingly anxious and afflicted for her, she, in the height of her pain, spoke thus to him: 'I, Brutus, being the daughter of Cato, was given to you in marriage, not like a concubine, to partake only in the common intercourse of bed and board, but to bear a part in all your good and all your evil fortunes; and for your part, as regards your care for me, I find no reason to complain; but from me, what evidence of my love, what satisfaction can you receive, if I may not share with you in bearing your hidden griefs, or be admitted to any of your counsels that require secrecy and trust? I know very well that women seem to be of too weak a nature to be trusted with secrets; but surely, Brutus, a virtuous birth and education, and the company of the good and honorable, are of some force in the forming of manners; and I can boast that I am the daughter of Cato and the wife of Brutus, in which two titles though before I put less confidence, yet now I have tried myself, and find I can bid defiance to pain.' Having spoken these words, she showed him her wound, and related to him the trial she had made of her constancy; at which, being astonished, he lifted up his hands to heaven, and begged the assistance of the gods in his enterprise, that he might show himself a husband worthy of such a wife as Portia."
From that time, she shared the secret of Brutus in his direful purpose; moreover, her heart and mind were oppressed with the added burden of anxiety for him.
Another woman in Rome had once waited with great impatience while her husband thrust the ruler from his throne; and though the plot meant the death of her own father, Tullia could ride to the Senate chamber to ascertain with her own eyes if everything were in satisfactory progress. But there is no comparison to be drawn between Tullia and Portia. There is nothing to indicate that the latter was in the least stirred by ambition. She simply believed in her husband to the extent that if it were he who purposed assassination, she must deem it justified. Yet she could not ask: "Is Cæsar yet gone to the Capitol?" without danger of swooning.
At the Imperator's palace, there was another woman whose mind was troubled with dire misgivings, and who feared that which Portia impatiently awaited to hear was done. Calpurnia's womanly instinct was quicker than the suspicion of Cæsar and his friends. She was not given to superstitious fears; but now even the very air seemed portentous of coming disaster. She dreamed, and cried out in her sleep: "They murder Caesar."
Thus has the great dramatist, in a manner which it would be folly to imitate or replace, depicted the scene:
"CALPURNIA.--What mean you, Cæsar? Think you to walk forth?