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SHAASPARE has in this play shown himself well versed in history and state-atlairs. CORIOLANI'S is a store house of political com. monplaces. Any one who studies it may save himself the trouble of reading Burke's Reflections, or Paine's Rights of Man, or the Debates in both Houses of Parliament since the French Revolu. tion or our own. The arguments for and againsi aristocracy or democracy, on the privileges of the few and the claims of the many, on liberty and slavery, power and the abuse of it, peace and war, are here very ably handled, with the spirit of a pret and the acuteness of a philus pher. Shakspeare himself seems to have had a leaning to the arbitrary side of the question, pero haps from some feeling of contempt for his own origin; and to have spared no occasion of baiting the rabble.
What he says of them is very true : what he says of their betters is also very true, though he dwells less upon it. The cause of the people is indeed but ill calculated as a subject for poetry; it admits of rhetoric, whuh goes into argument and explanation, but it pre sents no immediate or distinct images to the mind, " no jutt.sg fneze, buttress, or coigne of vantage" for poetry " to make it pendant and procreant cradle in." The language of poetry naturally falls in with the language of power. The imagination is an exaggerating and exclusive faculty ; it takes from one thing to add to another: it accumulates circumstani es together to give the grratest peable effect to a favorite object. The un. derstanding is a dividing and measunng faculty : 1 judges of things, not according to their immediate impression on the mund, but according to their relations to one another. The one is a motspolizing faculty, which seeks the greatest quantity of present excitement by inequality and disproportion; the other is a distributive faculty, which seeks the greatest quantity of ultimate good, by justice and proportion. The one is an aristocratical, the other a republican faculty. The principle of poetry is a very anti-levelling principle. It aims at effect, it exists by contrast. It admits of no medium. It is everything by excess. It rises above the ordinary standard of sufferings and crimes. presents an imposing appearance. It shows its head turreted, crowned and crested. Its front is gilt and blood-stained. Before it, “it carries noise, and behind it, it leaves tears.” It has its altars and its victims, sacrifices, human sacrifices. Kings, priests, nobles, are its train-bearers; tyrants and slaves its executioners. “Carnage is its daughter." Poetry is rightmoyal. It puts the individual for the species, the one above the infinite many, might before right. A lion hunting a flock of sheep or a herd of wild asses, is a more poetical object than his prey; and we even take part with the lordly beasts, because our vanity or some other feeling makes us disposed to place our. selves in the situation of the strongest party. So we feel some concern for the poor citizens of Rome when they meet together to compare their wants and grievances, till Coriolanus comes in, and with blows and big words drives this set of poor rats,” this rascal scum, to their homes and beggary, before him. There is Dothing heroical in a multitude of miserable rogues not wishing to be starved, or complaining that they are like to be so; but when a single man comes forward to brave their cries, and to make them submit to the last indignities, from mere pride and self-will, our admiration of his prowess is immediately coupled with contempt for their pusillanimity. The insolence of power is stronger than the plea of necessity. The tame submission to usurped authority, or even the natural resistance to it, has nothing to excite or flatter the imagination ; it is the assumption of a right to insult or oppress others, that carries an imposing air of superiority with it. We had rather be the oppressor than the oppressed.
The love of power in ourselves, and the admiration of it in othere, are both natural to man: the one makes him a tyrant, the other a slave. Wrong dressed out in pride, pomp, and circum. stance, has more attraction than abstract right. Coriolanus complains of the fickleness of the people : yet the instant he cannot gratify his pride and obstinacy at their expense, he turns his arms against his country. If his country was not worth defend. ing, why did he build his pride on its defence ? He is a conque. ror and a hero; he conquers other countries, and makes this a plea for enslaving his own; and when he is prevented from doing so, he leagues with its enemies to destroy his country. He rales the people "as if he were a God to punish, and not a man of their infirmity." He scoffs at one of their tribunes for maintain. ing their rights and franchises: “ Mark you his absolute shall ?" not marking his own absolute will to take everything from them; his impatience of the slightest opposition to his own pretensions being in proportion to their arrogance and absurdity. If the great and powerful had the beneficence and wisdom of gods, thea all this would have been well: if with greater knowledge of what is good for the people, they had as great a care for their interest as they have for their own, if they were seated above the world, sympathizing with the welfare, but not feeling the passions of men, receiving neither good nor burt from them, but bestow. ing their benefits as free gifts on them, they might thro rule over thein like another Providence. But this is not the case. Conra Janus is unwilling that the senate should show their " cases" for the people, lest their “ cares" should be construed into “ fans," to the subversion of all due authority; and he is no we'r dis appointed in his schemes to deprive the prople not only of the cares of the state, but of all power to redress themselves, than Volumnia is made madly to exclaim,
"Nvw the red pestilence strike all trades in Rome, And occupations perush."
This is but natural: it is but natural for a mother to have more regard for her son than for a whole city; but then the city should be left to take sue care of itself. The care of the state cannot, we here sre, be safely entrusted to maternal afire. tion, or to the demnestic charities of high life. The great have private feelings of their «wn, to which the interests of humanity and justice must courtesy. Their interests are so far from being the same as those of the community, that they are in direct and Decessary opposition to them ; their power is at the expense of our weakness; their riches, of our poverty; their pride, of our degradation; their splendor, of our wretchedness; their tyranny, of our servitude. If they had the superior intelligence ascribed to them (which they have not) it would only render them so much more formidable ; and from gods would convert them into devils. The whole dramatic moral of CORIOLANUS is, that those who have little shall have less, and that those who have much shall take all that others have left. The people are poor, therefore they ought to be starved. They are slaves, therefore they ought to be beaten. They work hard, therefore they ought to be treated like beasts of burden. They are ignorant, therefore they ought not to be allowed to feel that they want food, or clothing, or rest; that they are enslaved, oppressed, and miserable. This is the logic of the imagination and the passions; which seek to ag. grandize what excites admiration, and to heap contempt on misery; to raise power into tyranny, and to make tyranny absolute ; to thrust down that which is low still lower, and to make wretches desperate : to exalt magistrates into kings, kings into gods; to degrade subjects to the rank of slaves, and slaves to the condition of brutes. The history of mankind is a romance, a mask, a tragedy constructed upon the principles of poetical justice ; it is a noble or royal hunt, in which what is sport to the few, is death to the many, and in which the spectators halloo and encourage the strong to set upon the weak, and cry havoc in the chase, though they do not share in the spoil. We may depend upon it that what men delight to read in books, they will put in practice in reality.
One of the most natural traits in this play is the difference of the interest taken in the success of Coriolanus by his wife and mother. The one is only anxious for his honor; the other is fearful for his life.
« VOLUMNIA. Methinks I hither hear your husband's drum :
Though you were born in Rome; his bloody brow
Virgilia. His blowly brow! Oh Jupiter, no blood.
Volrunia. Away, you fool; it more becomes a man
When she hears the trumpets that proclaim her son's return, she says in the true spirit of a Roman matron,
" These are the ushers of Martius: before him
Which being advanc'd, declines, and then men die." Coriolanus himself is a complete character: his love of reputa. tion, his contempt of popular opinion, his pride and modesty, are consequences of each other. His pride consists in the intle xible sternness of his will: his love of glory is a deterinined desire to bear down all opposition, and to exwort the admiration both of friends and foes. His coutempt for popular favor, his unwilling. ness to hear his own praises, spring from the same source. llo cannot contradict the praiss that are bestowed upon him; there. fore he is impatient at hearing thein. He would enforce the god opinion of others by his actions, but does not want their ac. knowledgments in words.
** Pray now, no mote: my mother,
His magnanimity is of the same kind. He admires in an enemy that courage which he bonors in himself: he places hun. self on the hearth of Autidius with the same confidence that he would have met hun in the field, and ferls that by putting himself in his power, he lakes fruan hun all semptawa for using a against him.