tragic conflict which qualifies the historical drama to become a pathetic tragedy. Here, as in Shakspeare throughout, the political is met by the ethical, moral element. It is for political reasons alone (because Rome has fallen into the power of the populace) that Coriolanus wages war against his native city; but the political element cannot be so entirely separated from the ethical and general element of human nature as he thinks. By threatening his own country, he also threatens his own house; by tearing himself away from the former, he at the same time breaks his family bond; by valuing the political form (from a purely political standpoint) more than the political substance, i.e. more than the spiritual and physical welfare of the citizens, he destroys the welfare of the latter as well as that of his own family; in short, by endeavouring only to preserve his political rights, and to do his political duty, he violates the moral duty of patriotism, as well as the love and affection due towards mother, wife and child. It is true that, in the end, the moral feeling does overcome his political rigorism; but the violation of the moral law weighs too heavily, and penetrates too deeply, for him to repair what he has injured; even though he had not fallen a victim to the revengeful spirit of the Volscians, his life would nevertheless have been utterly ruined.

The opponents of Coriolanus, however, appear also involved in a similar conflict, a similar contradiction. Even the people, now and again, forget their political part, their democratic aspirations, and the poet-with an unmistakable touch of irony-shows us that it is partly hunger, partly an irresistible human feeling of respect for a great character that carries off the victory over the democratic principle. Did not the well-known fable of old Menenius Agrippa-about the quarrel between the belly and the other members of the body-suffice to quell a revolt? Shakspeare has been censured for havingDut of predilection for the aristocracy, perhaps even for some flattering consideration to his public, to his great and noble patrons and friends-placed the people so much in the shade compared with Coriolanus and the Roman patricians, that they almost invariably present but a

6

ludicrous appearance. However, Hazlitt * justly remarks that the imagination is an exaggerating and exclusive faculty,' delighting in greatness and in so far aristocratic; and again that the principle of poetry is a very antilevelling principle that a lion hunting a flock of sheep or a herd of wild asses is a more poetical object than they; and that we admire a proud self-willed man more than the small-minded multitude which bends before him. Gervinus, on the other hand, draws attention to the fact that when more closely examined Shakspeare does not at all so exclusively favour the aristocratic principle, that he rather introduces us to that better and braver portion of the people who, when the captain calls, follow him in a body, to his joy and exultation; that the poet shows clearly how the service rendered by Coriolanus is deeply felt and acknowledged by the whole people, that their zeal to greet the victor with shouts of admiration was universal, and their attachment to him great; further, that even the sorely oppressed and rebellious people admit that he was not avaricious and not more proud than brave, that they thought little of his arrogance on account of the natural power of his mind, and acknowledge that the greatness of his services exceeds their power of refusing him the highest honour; lastly, that the people, when left to themselves, do not (as the friends of Coriolanus expect) quarrel among themselves, but that peace and concord prevails. Gervinust adds: 'If fickleness be an attribute of the populace in all ages, this fault has also its good side, which is directly opposed to the unbending obstinacy of the aristocrat; the populace, owing to this attribute, becomes a manageable mass, which a wise man like Menenius can lead; if it is easily aroused, it is as easily pacified, and this attribute of ready forgiveness Menenius himself was obliged to praise in his countrymen.' I think, however, that Shakspeare is in no need of any justification for not having placed the plebs, as a political party, on a level with the patricians, and for having presented them to us in their natural human aspect, with their natural human weaknesses and virtues-which are *A Specimen of a Commentary on Shakspeare. † Shakespeare Commentaries, p. 751.

ever predominant in the people as such; neither does the poet require to be justified for having laid more stress upon the former than upon the latter, and, in accordance with this, for having stamped their leaders—the tribunes -demagogues, and as endeavouring by intrigues to make the plebs a political party, to raise them to political greatness. For it is just this contrast between the political and the natural in man that forms the central point upon which the whole drama turns; Shakspeare required such a people because his object was to give a full and vivid representation of the nature and character of the aristocracy within this general contrast. Lastly, the same cause that proves the ruin of Coriolanus leads to the mother losing her son, the wife her husband and the son his father. The same political virtue, which is the pride of the whole race of the Marcii, and even penetrates and inspires their women, forces the mother and wife (because in them it is not clouded by passion, and asserts itself in a purer and more disinterested manner) to become untrue to themselves and to entreat for that which is opposed to the life of the son, and husband.

That Coriolanus' is one of Shakspeare's later works is seen at once, by a glance at the language, composition and character of the whole. Perhaps even the greatest and best of the poets of our own day-in spite of their higher culture and more accurate knowledge of ancient life-would not succeed in producing so intelligible, clear and truthful a picture of ancient history in a dramatic form, except in the fullest power of mature manhood. Not that the ancient mind-as has been supposed-is too grand and exalted for modern poetry; on the contrary, the modern poet will find it less easy to descend to the naturalness and plastic simplicity of ancient life with its consistent, vigorous culture, the more that, in youthful enthusiasm, he aspires to the modern ideal. It requires the intellect, the calmness and self-possession of the man thoroughly to understand the leading thoughts, the spirit and the significance of the history of so-called classic antiquity. It cannot, indeed, be maintained that Shakspeare's Roman plays are pervaded by a purely antique spirit; this, in fact, is an impossibility as long as history

VOL. II.

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 organie 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 historical facts and their meaning. Now in Julius Cæsar' we have absolutely only one point of interest, a