does not run backwards. A descending is no ascending, and however much the mind may transfer itself into past conditions, it cannot perfectly comprehend their organic growth out of their own peculiar soil. If a purely antique spirit is wanted, it may be found in the old dramatists. Modern poetry can view and represent the antique spirit only as reflected in the mirror of its own spirit. If this be borne in mind, we shall have to admit-what, indeed, is generally acknowledged that Shakspeare's Roman plays are models of historico-dramatic composition which stand unrivalled, and are the more deserving of admiration, as, notwithstanding their most faithful, almost literal rendering of the historical matter (such as Shakspeare found in North's translation of Plutarch which appeared in 1579) they produce the greatest dramatic effect. Accordingly I have no occasion to contradict the general supposition that Coriolanus may have been written about 1609.

CHAPTER III.

JULIUS CESAR.

WHAT has been most censured in Julius Cæsar' is that the piece suffers from a very undramatic form of composition inasmuch as it obviously falls into two halves, of which the one represents the death of Cæsar, the other the history of Brutus and Cassius. And certainly the external composition is defective, in so far as in the first half the action turns upon the fall of Cæsar and in the second upon the fate of Brutus and Cassius, and our interest, therefore, is divided, being at first fixed upon Cæsar, afterwards upon Brutus and Cassius. Yet both halves are nevertheless externally connected in so far as the subject of the action in the first part is not so much Cæsar's death, as, in reality, the conspiracy against his supreme power and the attempt to restore the Republic; in the second, we have the course and unhappy termination of this undertaking.

The unity of interest in a free dramatic poem, however, does not necessarily require to be a purely personal one; in this case the interest-just because it is dramatic -is first of all connected with the action, springs forth out of it, and rises and falls with it. And even though the free dramatic poem is the more perfect in form and composition, the more it manages to concentrate the interest of the action in the one person of the hero, still the historical drama is not bound by exactly the same laws as the freely invented composition. In the historical drama, the interest—if it is to be historical-must above all things be truly historical, then it will be truly poetic as well History, however, in a certain sense does not trouble itself about persons; its chief interest is in hi-torical facts and their meaning. Now in 'Julius Cæsar' we have absolutely only one point of interest, a

true, but variously-jointed unity. One and the same thought is reflected in the fall of Cæsar, in the deaths of Brutus and Cassius, and in the victory of Antony and Octavius. No man, even though he were as mighty as Cæsar and as noble as Brutus, is sufficiently great to guide history according to his own will; every one, according to his vocation, may contribute his stone to the building of the grand whole, but let no one presume to think that he can, with impunity, experiment with it. The great Cæsar, however, merely experimented when he allowed the royal crown to be offered to him, and then rejected it thrice against his own will. He could not curb his ambitionthis history might perhaps have pardoned-but he did not understand her, and attempted that which she, at the time at least, did not yet wish. The consequence of this error which was entirely his own, the consequence of this arrogant presumption which the still active republican spirit, the old Roman love and pride of freedom, stirred up against him, proved his downfall. But Brutus and Cassius erred also, by imagining that Rome could be kept in its glory and preserved from its threatening ruin simply by the restoration of the republic; as if the happiness, the power and the greatness of a state depended upon its form, and as if a single man could repair a nation's demoralisation by a mere word of command. And as Cæsar had thought life unendurable without the outward dignity of the royal throne, so they imagined life not worth having without the honour of outward freedom, for they confounded outward with inward moral freedom, or, at all events, omitted to consider that the former can exist only as the result and expression of the latter. They too, experimented with history; Cassius trusted that his embitious and selfish will, and Brutus, that his noble and self-sacrificing will, would be strong enough to direct the course of history. For both felt that the moral spirit of the Roman nation had sunk too deep to be able in future to govern itself as a Republic; Cassius knew, Brutus, suspected, that the time of the Republic was coming 10 an end. But in their republican pride, and feeling their republican honour hurt, they thought themselves called uper to make an attempt to save it, they trusted to their

power to be able, as it were, to take it upon their shoulders and so keep its head above water. This was the arrogance which was added to the error, and which spurred them on not only to unreasonable undertakings but to commit a criminal act; and, therefore, they doubly deserved the punishment which befell them. Antony, on the other hand, with Octavius and Lepidus-the talented voluptuary, the clever actor and the good-natured simpleton-although not half so powerful and noble as their opponents, come off victorious, because, in fact, they but followed the course of history and knew how to make use of it. Thus in all the principal parts we have the same leading thought, the same unity in the (historical) interest, except that it is reflected in various ways. But it also shines forth in the secondary parts, in Portia's death, as well as in the fall of Cato, Cicero and the other conspirators; Portia and Cato perish with the noble but erring Brutus, who desires only what is good, the others with the selfish Cassius, who thinks only of himself. All perish because they do not understand, but endeavoured arbitrarily to make history, or, as arbitrarily, went round the problem which had to be solved in its own time and 'spoke Greek.' Thus history appears represented from one of its main aspects, in its inner autocratic, active and formative power, by which, although externally formed by individual men, it nevertheless controls and marches over the heads of the greatest of them.

This is the general, ideal point of view from which history appears here to be conceived, and also to determine the fate of the dramatic characters. The special historical condition upon which the whole is founded, is again one of the transition stages in political life, one of the most interesting points of history both in a poetical and historical respect. As Coriolanus' forms the transition from the aristocratic to the democratic form of government, here it is the transition from the republican to the monarchical, the latter being demanded by the historical circumstances as their stimulating and formative principle. This transition, according to its idea and the position of things, required an intermediate stage, between the republican and the monarchical

form, viz. the oligarchical form, which had been aimed at ever since the days of Sulla, but had hitherto not been able to obtain a legal existence. Regarded from this point of view, Cæsar's death was the necessary consequence of his anti-historical attempt to leap over his intermediate stage. Cæsar was in reality right; monarchy had become. a necessity, an historical right. But history will not tolerate any bounds, and where such are made with violence, they are again corrected by retrogressions, so-called reactions. It was accordingly the oligarchical principle, represented by Octavius, Antony and Lepidus, that in reality gained the victory over Cæsar-the representative of the monarchy which was still a thing of the future-as well as over Brutus and Cassius, the representatives of the Republic which was already a thing of the past. It conquered because it had the right of the immediate present on its side.

But, it may be asked, what is the meaning of the introduction of spirits into an historical drama? Does it not, in the present case, appear a mere dramatic bonne bouche for the multitude? Shakspeare found the ghosts in Plutarch, and retained them in accordance with his principle of following the historical tradition as faithfully as possible, but assuredly not merely out of regard for the historical subject-matter, but doubtless also because it appeared to him to be an important symbol, a significant reference to the actual motive and leading thought in the historical events, and because it, at the same time, seemed to indicate the point where the historico-political cause meets the ethical and moral cause. This is why Shakspeare makes the ghost-which according to Plutarch appears to Brutus as his evil genius' assume the likeness of Cæsar; this is why-as in Plutarch — he makes it appear to Brutus and not to Cassius. Brutus is of a peaceful and tranquil disposition, truly noble in mind, devoted to the ethical principles of stoicism, desiring only the good and the welfare of his country, a worthy and faithful husband to his high-minded wife, a patriot ready for any sacrifice, but little inclined for energetic action and still less for political activity. Yet he nevertheless allows himself to be so far deluded by Cassius' seductive artifices

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