Of all Shakespeare’s portraits, there are few which have so puzzled his critics as that of Julius Caesar. Their ingenuity has been taxed to the utmost to account for a characterization so at variance with historical fact, and many have been the theories advanced in explanation. It is not my purpose to detail this controversy. The facts are commonplaces of Shakespearian study. Neither is it necessary to set forth all the many and various tributes wherein Shakespeare, in his other works, and in “Julius Caesar” itself, gives ample evidence of his appreciation of Caesar’s true greatness. What I do purpose to show is the marked similarity between the conception of Caesar’s character in Shakespeare and that found in Pescetti.

It must be understood that I employ the term characterization as applied to Pescetti’s dramatis personae for lack of a better term. In his type of the drama very little of the characterization is brought out by the clash of conflict, although, as I have before pointed out, there are passages in “Cesare” in which this is to some extent true. We gain our conception of character more through a recital of the characteristics or traits of his persons, rather than through a revelation in action.

To Shakespeare, therefore, “Cesare” would not have appealed as a drama; but as a history or a recital of the feelings animating various persons during certain situations, it had its attractions. I purpose to show in just what manner Shakespeare in his delineation of Caesar may have availed himself of the material provided by this long forgotten work.

It has been claimed, and in my opinion, erroneously, that Shakespeare’s peculiar characterization of his titular hero was due to his lack of classical knowledge. Surely such a charge can not hold against the Veronese rhetorician, whose livelihood depended on his classical training, and who did not hesitate to dispute with Tasso. Yet his characterization brings into relief many of those features which have in Shakespeare’s portrait so aroused the surprise and chagrin of critics.

Professor Harry Morgan Ayres^[72] traces these peculiarities in Shakespeare’s delineation of his titular character to the influence of a Renaissance idea of Caesar which had its ultimate source in the Hercules Oetoeus of Seneca, found its way into the Renaissance drama through Muretus, and had become traditional in Shakespeare’s time. No claim is advanced of any direct relation of “Julius Caesar” to preceding versions, but the similarity in certain particulars existing between the various characterizations of Caesar is emphasized. That GrÉvin’s portrait should be markedly similar to that of Muretus is but natural in view of the former’s open plagiarism. Pescetti also owes much to the noted humanist. The latter made Caesar a grandiloquent braggart. Pescetti, following his example, makes Caesar’s boastfulness a prominent trait of his character. Yet neither Muretus nor GrÉvin emphasizes Caesar’s vacillation, nor this indecision, which, seemingly through the Italian’s drama, found its way later into Shakespeare’s portrait.

While it is quite possible that the traditional conception of Caesar supposedly prevalent in Shakespeare’s time influenced his peculiar delineation of the Dictator, there is apparently no good reason for excluding the possibility that the dramatist’s notion of his titular hero’s traditional character was confirmed by an examination of Pescetti’s work, if indeed he did not derive from the latter all the hints supposedly due to the tradition fixed by Muretus.

Like Shakespeare, Pescetti is not lacking in appreciation of Caesar’s greatness; of his courage, patriotism, magnanimity. Thus Cassius says to Brutus,

In his dedication, the highest compliment he can pay to Alfonso d’Este is to number the mighty Julius among his ancestors. In the prologue his approaching death troubles the gods, and Jove promises for him immortality among the celestials as the only fitting reward for his merit, while ruin and destruction await his assassins. In the play the First Messenger refers to him as “huom divino.”^[74] The Chorus sings his praises:

Criticism cannot be too guarded in considering as evidence of personal bias the words of an author’s character, but cumulative evidence is certainly not without its influence. The chorus later in the play refers to Caesar again, and as

The Chorus of Soldiers towards the close of the play sings his praise. Decimus Brutus, trying to persuade Caesar, runs the whole gamut of the latter’s deeds.

Nor does Pescetti, any more than Shakespeare, begrudge him credit for his courtesy and magnanimity. Regarding this trait, Professor MacCallum calls particular attention to the passage in “Julius Caesar” wherein Artemidorus urges the consideration of his petition:

Art.—

Hail, Caesar! read this schedule.

Dec.—

Trebonius doth desire you to o’er-read,
At your best leisure, this his humble suit.

Art.—

O Caesar, read mine first; for mine’s a suit
That touches Caesar nearer: read it, great Caesar.

Caes.—

What touches us ourself shall be last served.—III., 1, 3–8.

This is nowhere suggested in Plutarch. It is, indeed, quite easy to regard this magnanimous action as the caprice of a man so intoxicated by success that he has lost all sense of social perspective; a real Colossus, for whom the ordinary motives of men seem too insignificant for his semi-divine being. Pescetti’s Caesar leaves no room for the exercise of surmise. In the scene between Lenate and the Dictator, Caesar is courteous and magnanimous beyond criticism. Lenate felicitates Caesar, who replies:

Lenate praises Caesar’s courtesy, and Caesar tells him to name his suit, for he will deny him nothing. Lenate begs a military appointment for Quinto Fulvio. Caesar says:

At the conclusion of this scene he remarks,

This, while rather declamatory, rings true.

Still, in spite of this consideration of Caesar’s nobler traits, Pescetti so emphasizes his weaknesses that the total impression we receive from his characterization is not at all in keeping with that which we derive from the Caesar of history. True, Pescetti does not mention the Dictator’s physical failings; but the same pride, the same thrasonical boastfulness, the same vacillation are to be found in both characterizations treated in a manner singularly similar.

Caesar, on his first appearance, while he displays traits which apparently are hard to reconcile with his future statements, strikes one note which predominates throughout; that of boastfulness. His very first words are:

His sense of his own importance, and of the honors due to his position, is evident. He comments philosophically upon the delights of conversation around the banqueting board. This gives Antony an opportunity to dilate upon the mutability of human fortune. Caesar replies,

It must be borne in mind that Caesar is talking to an intimate friend and companion in arms. Antony takes the occasion to warn him:

Caesar replies:

He longs to see the Roman eagle triumphant, and Rome mistress of the world.

This speech of Caesar’s is noteworthy. The dictator affirms that the intoxication of success has not blinded his common sense. He has reason to fear treachery, yet just what is contemplated against him he does not know. He despises those who would harm him. That humbled Rome has not yet wreaked vengeance on the Parthians concerns him far more. Here again this concern of Caesar for the welfare of others finds its echo in Shakespeare’s lines,

There is no historical warrant for this attitude in this particular connection.

Courageous words! But be it noted that Pescetti’s Caesar in the presence of Antony does not wish to convey the impression of fear. He hastens to voice his scorn of treachery, even as he recounts his suspicions. This man, who prides himself on his self-command, is destined to fall an easy victim to his own vanity. His own self praise opens the way for Antony’s flattery:

“Alla fortuna, al valor tuo riserba
Quest’ alta impresa il cielo, acciocchÈ nulla
A tuoi gran vanti, alle tue glorie manchi:

. . . . . . . . . . .

O quali omai trovar si ponno al tuo
Merto conformi titoli, e cognomi?
Son vili i Magni al vincitor de’ Magni.
Al del salir convien, por man bisogna
A titoli, e a nomi de gli Dei.
Divine l’opre son, divini i fatti
Divino È il tuo valor, divini ancora
Esser vogliono i titoli, e i cognomi,
Di che la grata etÀ t’addorni, e fregi.—Pp. 68–69.

Ces.—

Con quai nomi m’appelli il mondo, o quali
Titoli egli mi dia, poco mi cale.
A me basta, ch’ ei sappia, e legga, e narri
Le da me oprate cose in pace, e in guerra;
Onde ne resti la memoria viva
Al par del Sol, con cui gareggi, e giostri
Di chiarezza, e splendor la gloria mia.”—P. 69.

The dialogue has become a duet of praise, in which Antony seeks to outsing his master. Finally Caesar says,

He accepts Antony’s praise because he feels that it is true, coming from the heart of a sincere and plain-speaking friend. He reposes the same faith in Antony’s judgment as is the case in Shakespeare. Thus, when he speaks of Cassius, Antony tells him,

A few lines later, Caesar says,

In “Cesare” to Calpurnia’s entreaties he retorts:

Let it be noted that Caesar is addressing Calpurnia in the presence of the Priest, and it would ill become the conqueror of the world to show fear or vacillation before them. He is discussing his wife’s dream, yet in spite of his expressed disbelief in omens, it was he who ordered the fateful sacrifice, which, as the First Messenger announces after the catastrophe, he himself inspected. Evidently he was in doubt even then, but his vanity and the urging of the conspirators lured him to his doom. Compare his boasts of fearlessness with Shakespeare:

Yet immediately thereafter he wishes Antony to give him his true opinion of Cassius. What for?

Still, in spite of his outwardly expressed contempt of the omens, Pescetti’s Caesar yields, just as does Shakespeare’s, when the crafty Decimus plays on his vanity. In the presence of the conspirators he soliloquizes:

These are certainly “high astounding terms,” but doubt and fear are at work, and this Caesar’s long cogitations are very much like the whistling of a small boy to keep up his courage. When Decimus approaches, and informs him that the Senate is assembled, and awaits him, he says,

Here is a man who has just proudly exclaimed that fear was foreign to him, now confessing that he fears, and that his fears are founded not on vain dreams or portents, but upon substantial grounds. But what are the “certi indizi, e chiari segni” that threaten his well-being? The vague warnings of Antony? No more substantial grounds have been presented in the course of the drama. No conspirators have been named; Caesar, despite the talk regarding his conviction of impending disaster, is unsuspectingly conversing with one of the plotters. Are we to regard this lack of adequate reason for Caesar’s fears as a flaw in Pescetti’s technique? It must be remembered that Caesar ordered the fateful sacrifice, and that he himself confesses, in soliloquy, that Calpurnia’s unusual fear has disturbed him. But he dreads to ascribe his perturbation to the influence of the portents, and lays the emphasis upon a suspicion of treachery, which, as far as he had any personal knowledge, we know rested on the vaguest grounds. There is no fault in Pescetti’s motivation. He presents a Caesar, shaken by the very fears that assail baser men, but too proud to convey such an impression, fatuously trying to persuade himself that he is “constant as the northern star,” while he wavers like a weather-cock between his fear and his pride.

He listens to Decimus’ arguments. The latter, knowing how to “give his humor the true bent,” lays great stress on Rome’s indebtedness to the Dictator: what Roman could be so base as to contemplate his death?

D. Brutus—

“. . . . . . . . e nondimeno
Crederem, che si trovi alcun di cuore
CosÌ barbaro, e rio, cosÌ spietato
Che pensi, non dirÒ, ch’ardisca, Ò tenti
Di privarti di vita? io non lo credo,
Io non lo credo, nÈ che sia, ch’il creda,
Credo, nÈ credo, che tu stesso il creda.
E come io ti consiglio, ch’À guardarti
La diligenza accresca; cosÌ voglio,
Ch’ogni timor deponga, ogni sospetto,
AcciocchÈ nulla nebbia offuschi, Ò turbi
Il seren del tuo petto, e acquetate,
Dopo tanti travagli, e tante guerre
Le cose, insieme con la patria goda
Quella felicitÀ, quella quiete,
Ch’ognun del saggio tuo governo attende.”—Pp. 96–97.

Thus Decimus artfully contrives to work on Caesar’s vanity and to express his disbelief in the genuineness of Caesar’s fears. The latter is sorely touched; he recognizes his mistake in using the word fear in his first statement, and hastens to assure Decimus:

Still his fears are potent, but he no longer says “temo,” a word so unbefitting Caesar; it now becomes

But he would not appear afraid; apprehensive lest fear may be suspected from this statement, he continues:

And note the solicitude of this Colossus, for the opinion of Caesar’s Senate:

This Caesar, in spite of his words, fears. He fears the omens, but he will not betray his feelings. It might be claimed that his message to the Senate is a natural result of an innate courtesy typical of true greatness. But coming where it does and as it does, it seems more an exhibition of that pride which a man consciously great takes in the good opinions of his underlings. Surely Caesar had nothing to fear from his puppet Senators. He could just as curtly have disregarded them; but demigods must display some good attributes, some care for their worshippers, if only to feed the sense of their superiority on the admiration of inferior beings.

Decimus is quick to seize his opportunity and plays on this trait of Caesar’s character. Surely the Senate will think that he has grown arrogant; that fortune has transformed a kind and courteous Caesar. The preservation of his reputation for generosity demands his personal appearance before the Senators. Caesar yields, while Marcus Brutus glorifies the gods for this turn of affairs. The Dictator tells the still anxious Calpurnia to banish her fears, for the gods which so long have defended him, will not fail him now, while Decimus lauds him and assures Calpurnia that it were unthinkable that harm could befall Caesar in his own city.

This scene, between Caesar, Calpurnia, and Decimus Brutus, seems to have no legitimate place in the plot unless Pescetti aims to heighten the pathos by bringing into stronger relief the vanity of the Dictator and the base treachery of his assassins. Caesar becomes to the modern reader a pitiable, almost a pitiful character. Any lurking admiration for the Conspirators’ cause is effectually destroyed, and a feeling of horror supervenes. Perhaps Pescetti so intended. It is revolting to listen to Decimus, Caesar’s beloved friend and companion in arms, recounting with smiling countenance his benefactor’s courtesy, his magnanimity, his many great services to Rome, while he burns to plunge a dagger into his auditor’s heart. And to think that Caesar, blinded by his vanity, allows a smiling villain to lead him like an ox to the sacrifice! This is pitiful, not pathetic.

Later on, Decimus’ praises soar to such heights that Caesar tells him

Yet Caesar accepts this fulsome flattery because in his judgment, it comes from a man well qualified to deliver it. Then, surrounded by his murderers, he walks unsuspectingly to his doom.

There is no historical justification for such a delineation of the greatest man of antiquity. Plutarch’s account may not be sympathetic, but the modest author of the Commentaries is nowhere depicted as a vain, pompous, vacillating boaster. It is indeed difficult to account for such a characterization. Muretus may have fixed in his drama a conception of Caesar supposedly current in his day. But it must be remembered that this tragedy of Muretus was a youthful product, and one cannot expect of the student of eighteen, the mature judgment of the scholar of forty. GrÉvin followed Muretus, and since his drama is frankly an enlarged version of his predecessor’s work, it is not surprising that the young physician took over the humanist’s characterization of Caesar with scarcely any alterations. But Pescetti’s livelihood depended upon his knowledge of the classics,^[80] and his work bears unmistakable evidence of wide reading in both Latin and Greek authors. Unlike Muretus, he was over thirty when he wrote “Cesare”; surely his acquaintance with the sources must have made him well aware of the falsity of the traditional estimate of Caesar’s character, if indeed in his time such an estimate was popularly current. There can be no question of the influence of Muretus in his own work, yet just why he should choose not only to follow the former, but further to emphasize the weaknesses of Caesar must remain purely speculative. Pescetti’s position in the matter is all the more curious because he dedicated his work to Alfonso D’Este, a supposed descendant of his titular hero. Under such circumstances it certainly would have been much to his advantage to have cast his Caesar in the most heroic mold, instead of presenting him in such a manner as to provoke resentment in the very quarters where he expected praise.^[81] Is it possible that Pescetti possessed sufficient dramatic technique to endeavor to present Caesar not as he really was, but as he appeared to the conspirators, and thus to give their action some excuse?

That Shakespeare so presented him has been contended by some critics, but the motives that actuated the dramatists are not the point at issue. The total impression we gain in both dramas is singularly alike, while in some details the coincidence is striking; as where Caesar says,

There is nothing novel in these views; one is directly traceable to Plutarch; the others are often repeated in the classic drama, but it is at least curious that the same thought occurs frequently in Pescetti. Thus the Nurse, trying to comfort Calpurnia, says:

Caesar, in response to the Priest and Calpurnia, says,

Again, it is remarkable that in both Pescetti and Shakespeare, D. Brutus is made the bearer of Caesar’s message: in the former, to Mark Antony, who is to address the Senate; in the latter, he himself is to deliver the message to the Senate.^[84]

Again, to Decius’ greeting Caesar replies:

“And you are come in very happy time,
To bear my greeting to the senators,
And tell them that I will not come to-day:
Cannot, is false, and that I dare not, falser:
I will not come to-day: tell them so, Decius.

Cal.—

Say he is sick” (II., 11, 60).

Who has intimated that Caesar fears to come to the Senate? His expressions are plainly those of a man influenced by circumstances which he considers it derogatory to his own sense of superiority to acknowledge. His exaggerated self-consciousness is feverish; even as he speaks, he builds inferences which no one but himself could derive from the premises.^[85] He knows he is not sick, nor that he looks as if he were sick; when Calpurnia tells Decius to plead his illness, he builds another inference:

Caes.—

“Shall Caesar send a lie?
Have I in conquest stretch’d mine arm so far,
To be afeard to tell graybeards the truth?
Decius, go tell them Caesar will not come.”

The very thought that anyone would suspect him of fear, and worse yet, of attempting to hide his fear in a falsehood, revolts him. An absolute exhibition of will is more becoming, and he feels it.

Dec.—

“Most mighty Caesar, let me know some cause,
Lest I be laugh’d at when I tell them so.”

This request is dramatically effective: is it historically or dramatically true? Caesar has said nothing at which the Senate might laugh; the commands of a Dictator were dangerous subjects for mirth. His entourage were in no jocund mood after the Lupercalia.

Bru.—

“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.”^[86]

Yet here is a proud conqueror, that lets an underling, although a friend, hint that his commands might be laughed at. True, Decius says, “Lest I be laughed at,” but to insult the messenger because of Caesar’s message, would surely be to scorn Caesar. Instead of the decisive, imperious command we should expect, we get a reiteration of a previous statement, and then the Dictator is lost in the man. For Decius’ private satisfaction, but by no means for his public announcement, Caesar confides his true reasons. Decius interprets the dream in a manner most soothing to Caesar’s vanity, and when he intimates that were some one to tell of this dream to the Senate, Caesar might become a laughing-stock and be accused of cowardice, the Dictator is vanquished; pride has conquered fear. Yet, mark, the dream was told to Decius as to a good friend, and in confidence. What right had he to assume that the dream would be told to the Senate? If it were told, he alone could be held responsible for its telling, since he alone, (besides Calpurnia), knew of it. Since when has the valiant Decius become a superior interpreter of dreams? Why should his explanations of a woman’s fancies have greater weight with Caesar than the solemn decision of the venerable college of augurs? Decius boasts his ability to oversway Caesar, but he succeeds only because the latter, as in “Cesare,” in his pride and vanity, is only too glad to seize an opportunity to silence his own apprehension, without compromise to his own exalted opinion of himself. He is blind to all other circumstances. This conception of the scene is the only one, which, to me at least, renders it dramatically satisfying.

Professor MacCallum,^[87] of all the many commentators on this character, seems to have offered the most satisfactory interpretation. Caesar’s bearing certainly justifies this critic’s opinion, that, in a certain sense, he is playing a part and aping the immortal to be seen of men. As has been shown above, Pescetti’s entire treatment suggests the same conception. His Caesar, if we may overlook the omission of any mention of his physical failings, can be aptly characterized by Professor Dowden’s appraisal of the character in Shakespeare. “Julius Caesar appears in only three scenes of the play. In the first scene of the third act he dies. When he does appear, the poet seems anxious to insist upon the weakness rather than on the strength of Caesar. He is subject to the vain hopes and vain alarms of superstition. His manner of speech is pompous and arrogant. He accepts flattery as a right; he vacillates while professing unalterable constancy; he has lost in part his gift of perceiving facts and of dealing efficiently with men and events.”^[88]

Another similarity in the treatment of Caesar must be noted. While Pescetti’s tragedy is called “Il Cesare,” the titular hero occupies a position of the same relative unimportance as the Caesar of Shakespeare’s drama. He appears in but two of the five acts, the third and the fourth, and is fairly prominent. Yet, Brutus is the real protagonist. He appears in each act but the third, and is conspicuous throughout as the chief representative of the action.

Yet here, as in Shakespeare, the spirit of Caesar dominates the play. From first to last it permeates the drama and provides the mainspring of the action. From Brutus’ first speech to the concluding words of the Second Messenger his name is always before us. Calpurnia beholds him in her dreams, the Priest sees in the portents destruction threatening him and Rome, while the Choruses beg the gods to avert the impending disasters. Even Portia is animated by a desire to wreak vengeance on him. The Messenger in his final lament sees in his death the end of Rome’s glories and presents him to us as the nemesis of his murderers. The effect of this treatment is to invest the entire play in an atmosphere of portent, with Caesar predominant.