JULIUS CAESAR was one of three principal plays by different authors,
pitched upon by the celebrated Earl of Halifax to be brought out in
a splendid manner by subscription, in the year 1707. The other two
were the King and No King of Fletcher, and Dryden's Maiden Queen.
There perhaps might be political reasons for this selection, as far
as regards our author. Otherwise, Shakespeare's Julius Caesar is not
equal, as a whole, to either of his other plays taken from the Roman
history. It is inferior in interest to Coriolanus, and both in
interest and power to Antony and Cleopatra. It, however, abounds in
admirable and affecting passages, and is remarkable for the profound
knowledge of character, in which Shakespeare could scarcely fail. If
there is any exception to this remark, it is in the hero of the
piece himself. We do not much admire the representation here given
of Julius Caesar, nor do we think it answers to the portrait given
of him in his Commentaries. He makes several vapouring and rather
pedantic speeches, and does nothing. Indeed, he has nothing to do.
So far, the fault of the character might be the fault of the plot.
The spirit with which the poet has entered at once into the manners
of the common people, and the jealousies and heartburnings of the
different factions, is shown in the first scene, when Flavius and
Marullus, tribunes of the people, and some citizens of Rome, appear
upon the stage.
Flavius. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?
Cobbler. Truly, Sir, ALL that I live by, is the AWL: I meddle
with no tradesman's matters, nor woman's matters, but
with-al, I am indeed, Sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they
are in great danger, I recover them.
Flavius. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why
dost thou lead these men about the streets?
Cobbler. Truly, Sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself
into more work. But indeed. Sir, we make holiday to see
Caesar, and rejoice in his triumph.
To this specimen of quaint low humour immediately follows that
unexpected and animated burst of indignant eloquence, put into the
mouth of one of the angry tribunes.
Marullus. Wherefore rejoice!--What conquest brings he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive-bonds his chariot-wheels?
Oh you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome!
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climb'd up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney-tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The live-long day with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome:
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath his banks
To hear the replication of your sounds,
Made in his concave shores?
And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out an holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way
That comes in triumph over Pompey's blood?
Begone--
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the Gods to intermit the plague,
That needs must light on this ingratitude.
The well-known dialogue between Brutus and Cassius, in which the
latter breaks the design of the conspiracy to the former, and partly
gains him over to it, is a noble piece of high-minded declamation.
Cassius's insisting on the pretended effeminacy of Caesar's
character, and his description of their swimming across the Tiber
together, 'once upon a raw and gusty day', are among the finest
strokes in it. But perhaps the whole is not equal to the short scene
which follows when Caesar enters with his train.
Brutus. The games are done, and Caesar is returning.
Cassius. As they pass by, pluck Casca by the sleeve,
And he will, after his sour fashion, tell you
What has proceeded worthy note to-day.
Brutus. I will do so; but look you, Cassius--
The angry spot doth glow on Caesar's brow,
And all the rest look like a chidden train.
Calphurnia's cheek is pale; and Cicero
Looks with such ferret and such fiery eyes,
As we have seen him in the Capitol,
Being crost in conference by some senators.
Cassius. Casca will tell us what the matter is.