to the wives of their respective husbands. Calpurnia is merely Cæsar's shadow; she is devoted to him, but seems to have no independent existence; makes no claim to be accounted his companion, but allows her fears to make her importunatenot for trust and confidence, but to have her way. Portia, on the contrary, has a marked and vigorous personality; her womanly fears are as strong as Calpurnia's, but she will not let them master her. If her husband is to be in danger she would fain share it; if she may not do so in the body she claims the right to be with him in spirit; but she will in nowise allow her fears to hamper his action. Not till she feels that she has put her powers of self-control to the proof, not till she knows herself worthy, does she claim her right to stand forth as her husband's counsellor and comrade; but when she does claim it, it is not as a favour but as an uncontrovertible right. There are only two others of the dramatis persona who need some reference here-Casca and Cicero. Each, rather curiously, affords an instance of slight deviation from Plutarch. Of Casca's character, indeed, the historian gives very little suggestion. But he mentions that at the assassination Casca cried out in Greek; whereas Shakespeare makes him scoff at Cicero for quoting Greek, much as an ultrainsular Englishman might scoff at a French quotation. In the play Casca assumes prominence, not as a particularly important conspirator, but to serve as a foil to Cassius. He is a man without strength or decision of character, but anxious to pass for the honest, sturdy citizen. Afraid of Cassius' cleverness, he wishes above everything to get credit with him for being clever and energetic; and is generally ready to profess entire agreement with anyone who expresses himself vigorously enough. The extravagance of his superstitious terrors is merely another phase of the same weakness which he commonly endeavours to conceal under a mask of cynical indifference or brusquerie. Though Cicero speaks very little and is spoken of hardly more, we have a singularly distinct impression of him: a man with the emotional irritability of a passionate orator (i. 2. 185), and the sententious manner of one who esteems himself a philosopher (i. 3). We observe also that his adherence to any cause would give it an air of respectability (ii. 1. 141), but that Brutus objects to him on the ground of his dislike to regarding anyone else as his leader. It is in this last point that the divergence from Plutarch appears; as the conspirators are described as rejecting him on the ground that he was too timid to commit himself loyally to so dangerous a scheme. Shakespeare's outline is in fact thoroughly consistent with all we know of the man; but on the particular point it is pretty certain that Plutarch was right. Shakespeare's conception of him was probably derived from casual impressions picked up from incidental allusions to the great orator which he had come across in his miscellaneous reading. Although there is abundance of action in the play, the whole drama is one of character rather than action. This is the justification of the fourth act, which somewhat impedes the action, but strengthens the feeling of reality in the whole: because it explains how Brutus and Cassius managed to work together; how, with tempers so opposite and with such different conceptions of the task before them, they were not sundered as Antony and Octavius were subsequently sundered; while it affords an admirable opportunity of drawing out the most fundamental characteristics of the two men. For purposes of reference, the Globe text is now recognized generally as the standard. That text and numbering of lines have therefore been adhered to with scarcely any change, and such changes are mentioned in the notes. As a rule, even where the present editor thinks that some alteration might be preferable, he has only called attention in the notes to his reasons instead of actually changing the text. Senators, Citizens, Guards, Attendants, &c. SCENE: Rome: the neighbourhood of Sardis: the neighbourhood of Philippi JULIUS CÆSAR. ACT I. SCENE I. Rome. A street. Enter FLAVIUS, MARULLUS, and certain Commoners. Flav. Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home: Is this a holiday? what! know you not, Being mechanical, you ought not walk Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou? Mar. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule? You, sir, what trade are you? Sec. Com. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler. Mar. But what trade art thou? answer me directly. II Sec. Com. A trade, sir, that, I hope, I may use with a safe conscience; which is, indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles. Mar. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? Sec. Com. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you. Mar. What meanest thou by that? mend me, thou saucy fellow! Sec. Com. Why, sir, cobble you. Flav. Thou art a cobbler, art thou? 21 Sec. Com. Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl: I meddle with no tradesman's matters, nor women's matters, but with awl. I am, indeed, sir, a surgeon to old shoes; when they are in great danger, I recover them. As proper men as ever trod upon neat's leather have gone upon my handiwork. Flav. But wherefore art not in thy shop to-day? Why dost thou lead these men about the streets? 30 Sec. Com. Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But, indeed, sir, we make holiday, to see Cæsar and to rejoice in his triumph. Mar. Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home? What tributaries follow him to Rome, To grace in captive bonds his chariot-wheels? You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things! And do you now put on your best attire? 41 50 Run to your houses, fall upon your knees, That needs must light on this ingratitude. 60 Flav. Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault, Assemble all the poor men of your sort; Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears Do kiss the most exalted shores of all. [Exeunt all the Commoners. If you do find them deck'd with ceremonies. You know it is the feast of Lupercal. Flav. It is no matter; let no images 70 Be hung with Cæsar's trophies. I'll about, And drive away the vulgar from the streets: So do you too, where you perceive them thick. These growing feathers pluck'd from Cæsar's wing Who else would soar above the view of men 79 [Exeunt. |