able stage-management, especially in the arrangement of the crowds, rendered these performances some of the most successful ever given by a foreign company in this country. -F. A. M. CRITICAL REMARKS. Julius Cæsar has been condemned, from a dramatic point of view, for its lack of unity. It is like two plays in one, the former being concerned with the death of Cæsar, the latter with the revenge of that deed. The nominal hero disappears at the end of the third act, and only his ghost is seen thereafter. But the ghost is a connecting link between the two parts of the drama. "O Julius Cæsar, thou art mighty yet!" exclaims Brutus, when comes upon the dead bodies of Cassius and Titinius; and Cassius, as he killed himself, had cried: he Cæsar, thou art reveng'd, Even with the sword that kill'd thee. (v. 3. 45, 46.) It is not without purpose that the dramatist introduces these significant utterances. Cæsar is dead, indeed, but we must not forget that his spirit ranging for revenge, With Até by his side come hot from hell, (iii. 1. 271, 272.) has "let slip the dogs of war" against his butchers. The eloquent prophecy of Antony over his bleeding corpse is fulfilled. The treatment of the living Cæsar by the poet, however, has been a puzzle to many of the critics. It is evident from the many allusions to the great Roman in the other plays, that his character and history had made a deep impression on Shakespeare. Craik, after quoting the references to Cæsar in As You Like It, II. Henry IV., Henry V., the three parts of Henry VI., Richard III., Hamlet, Antony and Cleopatra, and Cymbeline, remarks that these passages "will probably be thought to afford a considerably more comprehensive representation of the mighty Julius than the play which bears his name." "We have," he adds, 66 a distinct exhibition of little else beyond his vanity and arrogance, relieved and set off by his good nature or affability. . . . It might almost be suspected that the complete and full-length Cæsar had been carefully reserved for another drama." Hazlitt remarks that the hero of the play "makes several vapouring and rather pedantic speeches, and does nothing; indeed, he has nothing to do." Hudson says: "Cæsar is far from being himself in these scenes; hardly one of the speeches put into his mouth can be regarded as historically characteristic; taken all together they are little short of a downright caricature." He is in doubt whether to explain this by supposing that Cæsar was too great for the hero of a drama, "since his greatness, if brought forward in full measure, would leave no room for anything else," or whether it was not the poet's plan "to represent Cæsar, not as he was indeed, but as he must have appeared to the conspirators; to make us see him as they saw him; in order that they too might have fair and equal judgment at our hands." He is disposed to rest on the latter explanation, but to me it seems very clearly a wrong one. What the conspirators thought of Cæsar is evident enough from what they themselves say of him. It was not necessary to distort or belittle the character to make us see how they saw him; and to have done it to make us see him as they saw him would have been a gross injustice to the foremost man of all this world of which we cannot imagine Shakespeare guilty. As to its being necessary in order that we may do justice to the conspirators, if it leads us to justify their course in killing him, does it not make the fate that afterwards befalls them appear most undeserved? Does it not enlist our sympathies too exclusively on their side? On the whole I am disposed to think that the poet meant to represent Cæsar as Plutarch represents him--as having become ambitious for kingly power, somewhat spoiled by victory, jealous and fearful of his enemies in the state, and superstitious withal, yet hiding his fears and misgivings under an arrogant and haughty demeanour. He is shown, moreover, by the dramatist at a critical point in his career, hesitating between his ambition for the crown (which we need not suppose to have been of a merely selfish sort, for he may well have believed that as king he could do more for his country's good than in any other capacity) and his doubt whether the time had come for him to accept the crown. It may be a question whether even Cæsar could be truly himself just then; whether even he might not, at such a crisis in his fortunes, show something of the weakness of inferior natures. It must be remembered, too, that, as Hazlitt has said, Cæsar does nothing in the play, has nothing to do, except to play the part of the victim in the assassination. So far as any opportunities of showing what he really is are concerned, he is at much the same disadvantage as the man in the coffin" at a funeral —a very essential character in the performance, though in no sense an actor in it. If he is to impress us as verily "great Cæsar," it must be by what he says, not by what he does, and by what he says when there is no occasion for grand and heroic utterance. Under the circumstances a little boasting and bravado appear to be necessary to his being recognized as the Roman Dictator. After all, there is not so very much of this boastful language put into the mouth of Cæsar; and, as Knight reminds us, some of it is evidently uttered to disguise his fear. When he says: The gods do this in shame of cowardice; Cæsar should be a beast without a heart, If he should stay at home to-day for fear, (ii. 2. 41-43.) he is speaking to the servant who has brought the message from the augurers. "Before him he could show no fear;" but, the moment the servant has gone (he is doubtless intended to leave the stage), he tells Calpurnia that "for her humour he will stay at home," proving plainly enough that he does fear. His reply afterwards to Decius beginning Cowards die many times before their deaths, (ii. 2. 32.) is directly suggested by Plutarch, who says that when his friends "did counsel him to have a guard for the safety of his person," he would not consent to it, "but said it was better to die once than always to be afraid of death." His last speech I do know but one That unassailable holds on his rank, Unshak'd of motion: and that I am he, Let me a little show it, (iii. 1. 68-71.) though boastful, is not unnatural in the connection, being drawn from him by the persistent importunities of the friends of Cimber. The fact that Caesar has so little to say has, I think, led the critics to exaggerate this characteristic of the speeches. With regard to Brutus also the critics have had their doubts. Coleridge asks, “What character did Shakespeare mean his Brutus to be?" He is perplexed that Brutus, the stern Roman republican, should say that he would have no objection to a king, or to Cæsar as king, if he would only be as good a monarch as he now seems disposed to be; and also that, in view of all Cæsar had donecrossing the Rubicon, entering Rome as a conqueror, placing Gauls in the senate, &c. -he finds no personal cause to complain of him. He resolves to kill his friend and benefactor, not for what he has been or what he is, but for what he may become. He is no serpent, but a serpent's egg; therefore crush him in the shell. It is curious that Coleridge should not have seen that by "personal cause," so distinctly opposed to "the general," Brutus refers to his private relations with Cæsar as a man and as a friend, not to public acts or those affecting the common weal. All those enumerated by Coleridge belong to the latter class. That Brutus should be influenced by his speculations as to what Cæsar might become, is in thorough keeping with the character. Brutus is a scholar, a philosopher, and a patriot; but he is not a statesman. He is an idealist, and strangely wanting in practical wisdom. It is significant that Shakespeare represents him again and again with a book in his hand. He is a man of books rather than a man of the world. His theories are of the noblest, his intentions of the most patriotic and philanthropic, but they are visionary and impracticable. There are such men in every age-reformers who accomplish no reform, because their lofty dreams are incapable of being made realities in this workaday world. Such men are easily misled and made tools of by those more unscrupulous than themselves; as Brutus was by Cassius and the rest. They are often inconsistent in argument, as Brutus in the speech that puzzled Coleridge. They are influenced by one-sided views of an important question, deciding it hastily, without looking at it from all sides, as they ought, and as those who are less rash and impulsive see that they ought. So Brutus sends to Cassius for money to pay his legions, because he cannot raise money by vile means; but he knows how Cassius raises the money, and has no scruples about sharing in the fruits of the "indirection." He is thinking only of paying the soldiers, and does not see that he is an accomplice after the act in what he so sharply rebukes in Cassius. He is inconsistent here as in many other cases; but the inconsistency is perfectly consistent with the character. Cassius is a worse man, but a better statesman, or rather politician. He is shrewd and fertile in expedients, but not overburdened with principle or conscience. He is tricky, and believes that the end justifies the means. He can write anonymous letters to Brutus, “in several hands, as if they came from several citizens," and can put placards in the same vein "on old Brutus' statue." He is none too honest himself, but he understands the value of a good name to "the cause," and therefore wishes to secure the endorsement of one whose “countenance, like richest alchemy, will change to virtue and to worthiness" what, he says, "would appear offence in us"-the less scrupulous politicians. We must not, however, take Cassius to be worse than he really is. As a politician he is a believer in expediency-whatever is likely to secure the end in view is right; but as a man he has many admirable traits of character. If it were not so, Brutus could not love him as he does. He has a high sense of personal honour withal. He is indignant when Brutus tells him he has "an itching palm;" but he has just told Brutus that bribery is not to be judged severely when it is necessary for political purposes. "At such a time as this it is not meet" to be overcritical of "every nice offence." There spake the politician; in the other case, the man. We must not be too hard upon him. Sundry good friends of ours in public life are his modern counterparts. Except in the great scene in the forum, where his speech to the people is perhaps the finest piece of oratory to be found in all Shakespeare-and entirely his own, be it noted, no hint of it being given by Plutarch-Antony plays no very striking part in the drama. We see him roused by a sudden ambition from his early career of dissipation, and taking a place in the Triumvirate; and it reminds us of Prince Hal's coming to himself, like the repentant prodigal, when he comes to the throne. But Antony is, morally at least, a slighter man than Henry. His reform lacks the sincerity and depth of the latter's, and he cannot hold the higher plane to which he has temporarily risen. His fall is to be depicted in a later and greater drama, of which he is the hero and not a subordinate actor as here. Portia is one of the noblest of Shakespeare's women. As Mrs. Jameson has said, her character "is but a softened reflection of that of her husband Brutus: in him we see an excess of natural sensibility, an almost womanish tenderness of heart, repressed by the tenets of his austere philosophy: a stoic by profession, and in reality the reverse-acting deeds against his nature by the strong force of principle and will. In Portia there is the same profound and passionate feeling, and all her sex's softness and timidity held in check by that self-discipline, that stately dignity, which she thought became a woman so fathered and so husbanded.' The fact of her inflicting on herself a voluntary wound to try her own fortitude is perhaps the strongest proof of this disposition. Plutarch relates that on the day on which Cæsar was assassinated, Portia appeared overcome with terror, and even swooned away, but did not in her emotion utter a word which could affect the conspirators. Shakespeare has rendered this circumstance literally [in ii. 4. 1-20]. 6 "There is another beautiful incident related by Plutarch which could not well be dramatized. When Brutus and Portia parted for the last time in the island of Nisida, she restrained all expression of grief that she might not shake his fortitude; but afterwards, in passing through a chamber in which there hung a picture of Hector and Andromache, she stopped, gazed upon it for a time with a settled sorrow, and at length burst into a passion of tears.” No critic or commentator, I believe, has thought Calpurnia worthy of notice, but the reader may be reminded to compare carefully the scene between her and Caesar with that between Portia and Brutus. The difference in the two women is not more remarkable than that in their husbands' bearing and tone towards them. Portia with mingled pride and affection takes her stand upon her rights as a wife-" a woman that Lord Brutus took to wife"-and he feels the appeal as a man of his noble and tender nature must: O ye gods, Render me worthy of this noble wife! Calpurnia is a poor creature in comparison with this true daughter of Cato, as her first words to Cæsar sufficiently prove: What mean you, Cæsar? Think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day. (ii. 2. 8, 9.) When a wife takes that tone, we know what the reply will be: "Cæsar shall forth." Later, of course, she comes down to entreaty: Do not go forth to-day. Call it my fear And Cesar, with contemptuous acquiescence in the suggestion to let Antony say he is "not well to-day," yields to her weak importunities. When Decius comes in and urges Cæsar to go, the story of her dream and her forebodings is told him with a sneer (can we imagine Brutus speaking of Portia in that manner?), and her husband, falling a victim to the shrewd flattery of Decius, departs to his death with a parting fling at her foolish fears, which 88 he is ashamed at having for the moment yielded to. Calpurnia was Cæsar's fourth wife, and the marriage was one of convenience rather than of affection. There are no portions of Roman history that seem so real to us as those which Shakespeare has made the subjects of his plays. History merely calls up the ghost of the dead past, and the impression it makes upon us is shadowy and unsubstantial; poetry makes it live again before our eyes, and we feel that we are looking upon men and women like ourselves, not their misty semblances. It might seem at first that the poet, by giving us fancies instead of facts, or fancies mingled with facts, only distorts and confuses our conceptions of historical verities; but, if he be a true poet, he sees the past with a clearer vision than other men, and reproduces it more truthfully as well as more vividly. He sees it indeed with the eye of imagination, not as it actually was; but there are truths of the imagination no less than of the senses and the reason. Two descriptions may be alike imaginative, but one may be true and the other false. The one, though not a statement of facts, is consistent with the facts and impresses us as the reality would impress us; the other is neither true nor in keeping with the truth, and can only deceive and mislead Ben Jonson wrote Roman plays which, in minute attention to the details of the manners and customs of the time, are far more scholarly and accurate than Shakespeare's. He accompanies them with hundreds of notes giving classical quotations to illustrate the action and the language, and showing how painstaking he has been in this respect. The work evinces genuine poetic power as well as laborious research, and yet the effect is far inferior to that of Shakespeare's less pedantic treatment of Roman subjects. The latter knows much less of classical history and antiquities, but has a deeper insight into human nature, which is the same in all ages. Jonson has given us skilfully-modelled and admirablysculptured statues, but Shakespeare living men and women. us. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, meeting a rabble of Citizens. Flav. Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home. Is this a holiday? What! know you not, thou? First Cit. Why, sir, a carpenter. Mar. Where is thy leather apron, and thy rule? What dost thou with thy best apparel on?You, sir; what trade are you? Sec. Cit. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. 11 Mar. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly. Sec. Cit. A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. 1 Mechanical, i.e. belonging to the class of mechanics, artisans. Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? Sec. Cit. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet if you be out, sir, I can mend you. 21 Mar. What mean'st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow? Sec. Cit. Why, sir, cobble you. Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? Sec. Cit. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl.2 I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with all. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover3 them. As proper1 men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. 30 Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? Sec. Cit. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, 2 Awl, an obvious pun on awl and all. 3 Recover, a quibble on re-cover. 4 Proper, handsome, well-made. |