Mark Antony su diskurso (Shakespeare; Julius Caesar)

Introdukshon

In Mark Antony’s funeral oration for Caesar, we have not only one of Shakespeare’s most recognizable opening lines but one of his finest examples of rhetorical irony at work. The speech could serve as a thematic synopsis to Julius Caesar. Perhaps more than any other of Shakespeare’s works, Julius Caesar is a play that hinges upon rhetoric—both as the art of persuasion and an artifice used to veil intent.

To be sure, Antony does not have it easy. He is already a man distrusted by the conspirators for his friendship with Caesar. Brutus lets him speak at Caesar’s funeral, but only after Brutus, a great orator in his own right, has spoken first to “show the reason of our Caesar’s death.” Brutus makes it clear that Antony may speak whatever good he wishes of Caesar so long as he speaks no ill of the conspirators. But Antony has two advantages over Brutus: his subterfuge and his chance to have the last word. It’s safe to say that Antony makes the most of his opportunity. 

Antony’s performance on the pulpit should come as no surprise. It is obvious from his meeting with the conspirators that he means something different in nearly everything he says. He even subtly mocks the senators with his lines “My credit now stands on such slippery ground/That one of two bad ways you must conceit me/Either a coward or a flatterer.” Antony is the picture of disingenuous. Brutus, ignoring the more sensible misgivings of Cassius, takes Antony at his word. We, however, know what’s in store when Antony in private utters, “O, pardon me, thou bleeding piece of earth/That I am meek and gentle with these butchers!”

Brutus is clearly overmatched at Caesar’s funeral, both by Antony’s duplicity and oration. Brutus gives a reasoned prose speech that convinces the crowd Caesar had to die. Then, for reasons that remain questionable even taking naiveté into account, Brutus not only yields to Antony but leaves the Forum altogether. Antony will expend 137 lines of blank verse before he’s done, using rhetoric and calculated histrionics to incite the crowd into a mob frenzy. All quite masterful for a man who denies any ability to “stir men’s blood,” as he puts it.

In the speech that follows, Antony merely sets the table for dissent. He progressively hits upon the notes of ambition and honourable in a cadence that soon calls both terms into question. Antony’s prime weapons at the beginning are his conspicuous ambiguity regarding Caesar (“If it were so, it was a grievous fault”) and Brutus (“Yet Brutus says he was ambitious”), rhetorical questions (“Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?”) and feigned intent (“I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke”). More chilling, however, is Antony’s cynical epilogue to the funeral speech as the mob departs: “Now let it work: mischief, thou art afoot/Take thou what course thou wilt!” As Antony exemplifies, the art of persuasion is not far removed in Julius Caesar from the craft of manipulation.

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Mi tradukshon ta sigui e intenshon di e original, esta komo teksto pa deklamá. P’esei e uzo igual di “Blank verse” i kontrakshon kaminda esei lo ta normal na Papiamentu pa mantené ritmo i kadans.

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Mark Antony:
Mi amigunan, Romanonan, kompatriotanan;
M’a bini akí pa dera Caesar, no pa mi gab’é.
Malu ku hende hasi, ta sigui karga nan nòmber;
Loke ta dera ku nan restu, ta nan bon;
Ku Caesar tambe, lag’esei pasa numa. Brutus, hòmber noble,
A splika boso ku Caesar tabata ambisioso:
Si esei lo ta bèrdat, t’ un fayo grave,
I di forma grave el a paga p’é.
At’ami akí, ku pèrmit di Brutus i tur otro-
Pasobra Brutus ta un hòmber di honor;
I tur e otronan, nan tambe tin honor—
M’a bin’ pa papia na Caesar su entiero.
E tabata mi amigu fiel i semper hustu ku mi:
Ma Brutus di k’e tabata ambisioso;
I Brutus ta un hòmber di honor.
Ta hopi enemigu el a konkistá i trese Roma,
kendenan ku pago di reskate a bona nos tesoro:
T’asina Caesar a mustra ambishon?
Ora ku pueblo pober a sklama, Caesar su wowo a yena ku awa:
Ta kurason mas duru mester pa ambishon!
I tòg Brutus a insistí ku e tabata ambisioso;
I Brutus ta un hòmber di honor.
Tur hende a mira kon dia di fiesta
Tres bia’ siguí m’a entreg’é korona,
I tur tres bia’ siguí el a neng’é. T’asina ta ambishon?
Ma Brutus di k’e tabat’ ambisioso;
I klaro, e ta hòmber di honor.
Mi no ta papi’ akí pa nenga Brutus su palabra,
Mi t’ aki pa mi deklará loke mi sa.
Un tempu boso tur a yega di stim’é, i ku rason:
Ta kiko antó ta stroba boso awor di por yor’é?
Ai konsenshi, bo a bira manera di kualke bestia,
I hende a pèrdè nan poder di rasoná. Karga ku mi;
Mi alma ta den e kaha ei bou ku Caesar,
Mi mester want’ awor pa mi rekuperá.

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No mas ku ayera Caesar su palabra
Tabata move mundu, at’é awor drumí akí,
I hasta esnan mas baho ta muchu hende pa honr’é.
Ai pueblo, si mi tabatin e intenshon
Di yena boso kurason i mente ku rabia i rebelion,
Mi aktitut ku Brutus i ku Cassius lo tabata robes,
Pasobra nan, i boso sa, ta hòmber di honor.
Ma mi n’ta hasi esei. Mihó antó
Di papia malu dje defuntu, di boso, di mi mes,
Ku daña nòmber di hòmber di honor.
Pero at’aki un papel ku Caesar mes su seyo,
For di su kashi, ta su tèstamènt.
Ai, si djis pueblo por a tende kiko e ta bisa,
Ounke no ta mi intenshon di bai les’é,
Lo nan a kore bin sunchi su heridanan
I mua nan lensu den su santu sanger;
Lo nan a roga pa un kabei di su su kabes komo relikia,
I, ora di nan morto, lag’é komo herensha
Di balor ínkalkulabel pa nan desendientenan.

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Pasenshi, mi amigunan, mihó mi no les’é;
Mihó boso no sa di Caesar su amor p’e pueblo akí.
Ta hende boso ta, no ta di palu ni di piedra boso ta trahá;
I komo hende, si boso haña sa,
Boso lo hincha, lo e sende boso rabia.
No por ta bon pa boso sa ku ta boso ta heredá,
Si esei sali na kla, dios spar nos aki den!

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Pasenshi! Want’un ratu!
Ya m’a bai muchu leu kontando boso esei.
Mi tin miedu ku m’a papia malu di hende honorabel
kende ku nan arma a puñalá Caesar; Mi tin miedu di bèrdat.

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Boso ta fòrsami antó pa lesa e tèstamènt?
Wèl, rondoná e kurpa morto akí di Caesar,
I lagami mustra boso esun ku a skirbié.
Mi baha numa, mi tin boso pèrmit?

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Si boso tin lágrima, awor t’e ora di laga nan kore.
E mantel akí, mi sa ku boso konos’é.
Mi ta kòrda promé biaha ku Caesar a bistié;
Tabata un nochi di verano, den su tènt,
E dia ku el a konkistá e Nervi nan.
I mir’akí! Ta aki Cassius su arma a bor’é;
Anto e sker akí ta Casca su envidia a trah’é;
I t’aki den e Brutus tan stimá a pasa su puñá,
Ku ora el a rank’é pa saka bèk
Mira kon Caesar su sanger a siguié
Manera e ker a sali pa bai mira
Si por ta Brutus ku rabia a bati na su porta.
Pasobra Brutus, manera boso sa, tabata su amigu mas stimá.
O Diosnan, boso huzga kuantu el a stim’é!
Esei ta e hinká di mas kruel;
Pasobra, mirando e yega i puñalá,
Ta ingratitut, mas fuerte ku arma di traidor
A kibra noble Caesar su gran kurason.
I ku kara tapá ku su mantel manchá
Na pia di Pompeyo su estátua bañá
Na sanger, e Gran Caesar a kai asesiná.
Est’un kaida duru, kompatriotanan.
Ei ami, boso, si, nos tur a kai,
Bou dje traishon sangriento ku a vense nos.
Boso ta yora awor, i mi ta komprondé
Boso doló i boso lágrima.
Pero bon hendenan, boso ta yora
Pasobra boso a mira su pañanan borá?
Mir’awor! At’é akí, manera e traidornan a lag’é.

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introdusí i trasladá pa Philip ‘Fifi’ Rademaker