This {178} explains
its title. It is not the story of Julius Caesar the man, but of that
great political upheaval of which Caesar was cause and center. That
upheaval begins with his attempt at despotism and the crown; it reaches
its climax in his death, which disturbs the political equilibrium of
the whole nation; and at last subsides with the decline and downfall of
Caesar's enemies. Shakespeare has departed from history in drawing the
character of the great conqueror, making it more weak, vain, and
pompous than that of the real man. Yet even in the play "the mightiest
Julius" is an impressive figure. Alive, he

"doth bestride the narrow world
Like a Colossus";

and his influence, like an unseen force, shapes the fates of the living
after he himself is dead.

In so far as the tragedy has any individual hero, that hero is Brutus
rather than Caesar himself. Brutus is a man of noble character, but
deficient in practical judgment and knowledge of men. With the best of
motives he allows Cassius to hoodwink him and draw him into the
conspiracy against Caesar. Through the same short-sighted generosity
he allows his enemy Antony to address the crowd after Caesar's death,
with the result that Antony rouses the people against him and drives
him and his fellow conspirators out of Rome. Then when he and Cassius
gather an army in Asia to fight with Antony, we find him too
impractically scrupulous to raise money by the usual means; and for
that reason short of cash and drawn into a quarrel with his brother
general. His subsequent {179} death at Philippi is the logical outcome
of his own nature, too good for so evil an age, too short-sighted for
so critical a position.

Most of the old Roman heroes inspire respect rather than love; and
something of their stern impressiveness lingers in the atmosphere of
this Roman play. Here and there it has very touching scenes, such as
that between Brutus and his page (IV, iii); but in the main it is
great, not through its power to elicit sympathetic tears, but through
its dignity and grandeur. It is one of the stateliest of tragedies,
lofty in language, majestic in movement, logical and cogent in thought.
We can never mourn for Brutus and Portia as we do for Romeo and Juliet,
or for Lear and Cordelia; but we feel that we have breathed in their
company an air which is keen and bracing, and have caught a glimpse of

"The grandeur that was Rome."

+Date+.--We have