INSURRECTION'S ARGUING.
'What is granted them?'
'Five Tribunes to defend their vulgar wisdoms.'
'The rabble should have first unroofed the city,
Ere so prevailed with me.'
The common people themselves have some inkling of this. This Roman who
has established his claim to rule Romans at home, by killing Volscians
abroad, appears to their simple apprehension, at the moment, at least,
when they find themselves suffering the gnawings of hunger through his
legislation, to have established but a questionable claim to their
submission.
And before ever he shows his head on the stage, this question, which
is the question of the play, is already started. For it is the people
who are permitted to come on first of all and explain their wants, and
discuss the military hero's qualifications for rule in that relation,
and that, too, in a not altogether foolish manner. For though the
author knows how to do justice to the simplicity of their politics, he
knows how to do justice also to that practical determination and
straightforwardness and largeness of sense, which even in the common
sense of uneducated masses, is already struggling a little to declare
itself.
They have one great piece of political learning which their lordly
legislators lack, and for lack of sense and comprehension cannot have.
They are learned in the doctrine of their own political and social
want; they are full of the most accurate and vivid impressions on that
subject. Their notions of it are altogether different from those vague
general abstract conceptions of it, which the brains of their refined
lordly rulers stoop to admit. The terms which that legislation deals
with, are one thing in the patrician's vocabulary, and another and
quite different thing in the plebeian's; hunger means one thing in the
'patrician's vocabulary,' and another and very different thing in the
plebeian's. They know, too, 'that meat was made for mouths,' and 'that
the gods sent not corn for the rich men only.' They are under the
impression that there ought to be bread for them by some means or
other, when the storehouses that their toil has filled are
overflowing, and though they are not clear as to the process which
should accomplish this result, they have come to the conclusion that
there must be some error somewhere in the legislation of those learned
_few_, to whom they have resigned the task of governing them. They are
strongly of opinion that there must be some mistake in the
calculations by which those venerable wise men and _fathers_, do so
infallibly contrive to sweep the results of the poor man's toil and
privation into their own garners,--calculations which enable the
legislator to enjoy in lordly ease and splendour, the sight of the
plebeian's misery, which enable him to lavish on his idlest whims, to
give to his dogs that which would save lifetimes of unreckoned human
misery. These are their views, and when the play begins, they have
resolved themselves into a committee of the whole, and are out on a
commission of inquiry and administrative reform, armed with bats and
clubs and other weapons,--such as came first to hand, intending to
make short work of it. This is their peace budget, and as to war, they
have some rude notions on that subject, too;--some dim impression that
nature intended them for some other ends than to be sold in the
shambles, as the purchase of some lordly chieftain's title. There's an
incipient statesmanship struggling there in that rude mass, though it
does not as yet get fairly expressed. It will take the tribuneship and
the refinements of the aristocratic leisure, to make the rude wisdom
of want and toil eloquent. But it has found a tribune at last, who
will be able to speak for it, through one mouth or another,
scientifically and to the purpose too, ere all is done.
'Before we proceed any further, _hear me speak_,' he cries, through
the Roman leader's lips; for his Rome, too, if it be not yet 'at the
point of battle,' is drifting towards it rapidly, as he sees well
enough when this speech begins.
But let us take the Play as we find it. Take the first scene of it.
The stage is filled with the people,--not with their representatives,
--but with the people themselves, in their own persons, in the act of
taking the government into their own hands. They are hurrying sternly
and silently through the city streets. There has been no practising of
'goose step,' to teach them that movement. They are armed with clubs,
staves and other weapons, peace weapons, but there is an edge in them
now, fine enough for their purpose. The word of the play is the word
that arrests that movement. The voice of the leader rings out,--it is
a HALT that is ordered.
'BEFORE WE PROCEED ANY FURTHER, HEAR ME SPEAK,' cries one from the
mass.
'Speak! speak!' is the reply. They are ready to hear reason. They want
a speaker. They want a voice, though never so rude, to put their stern
inarticulate purpose 'into some frame.'
'You are all resolved rather TO DIE than TO FAMISH,' continues the
first speaker. Yes, that is it precisely; he has spoken the word.
'RESOLVED! RESOLVED!' is the common response; for the revolutionary
point is touched here.
'FIRST, _you know_, Caius Marcius is CHIEF ENEMY to the people'--a
rude grasp at causes. This captain will establish a common
_intelligence_ in his company _before they proceed any further_; that
their acting may be one, and to purpose. For there is no command but
that here.
_Cit._ We know't, we know't.
_First Cit._ Let us _kill him_, and we'll have corn at our own price.
Is't a verdict?
_Cit. No _more talking on't_. Let it bone done: away, away.
'_One word_, good citizens,' cries another, 'who thinks that the thing
will bear, perhaps, a little further discussion. And this is the hint
for the first speaker to produce his cause more fully. 'GOOD
CITIZENS,' is the word he takes up. "_We_ are _accounted_ POOR
CITIZENS; the patricians GOOD.' [That is the way the account stands,
then.] 'What AUTHORITY _surfeits_ on would relieve us. If they would
yield us _but the superfluity_ while it were _wholesome_, we might
guess they relieved us _humanely_; but they think we are _too dear_.'
[They love us as we are too well. They want poor people to reflect
their riches. It takes plebeians to make patricians; it takes our
valleys to make their heights.]
'The leanness that _afflicts us_, the object of _our_ misery, is as an
_inventory_ to particularize _their abundance_. _Our_ sufferance is a
gain to _them_.--Let us revenge this with our pikes, ere we become
rakes: for the gods know, I speak this in _hunger_ for bread, and not
in _thirst_ for _revenge_.
_Second Cit_. Would you proceed _especially_ against Caius Marcius?
_First Cit_. Against him _first_;--he's a _very dog_ to the
commonalty.
_Second Cit_. Consider you what _services_ he has done for _his
country_?
[That is one of the things which are about to be 'considered.']
_First Cit. Very well_, and could be content to give him good report
for'it, but that he _pays himself_ with _being proud_.
_Second Cit_. Nay, but speak not maliciously.
_First Cit_. I say unto you, what he hath done famously, he _did it to
that end_: though soft-conscienced men can be content to say it was
for HIS COUNTRY, he did it to _please his mother_, and to be _partly_
proud; which he is, even to the _altitude of his virtue_.
_Second Cit_. What he _cannot help_ IN HIS NATURE, you account a
_vice_ in him. You _must in no way_ say he is covetous.
_First Cit. If I must not_, I need not be barren of accusations; he
hath faults with surplus to tire _in repetition_. [_Shouts within_.]
What shouts are these? The other side o' the city is risen. Why stay
we prating here? _To the Capitol_!
_Cit_. Come, come.
_First Cit_. Soft; who comes here?
[_Enter Menenius Agrippa_.]
_Second Cit_. Worthy Menenius Agrippa, one that hath always _loved the
people_.
_First Cit_. He's one _honest_ enough [--_honest_--a great word in the
Shakspere philosophy]; would _all the rest_ were so.
[That is a good prayer when it comes to be understood.]
_Men_. What work's, my countrymen, in hand? Where go you, With bats
and clubs? The matter? Speak, I pray you.
_First Cit. Our business is not unknown to_ THE SENATE [Hear]; they
have had _inkling_ this fortnight what we intend to do, which now
we'll show 'em in deeds. They say, poor suitors have strong breaths;
they shall know we have _strong arms, too_.
_Men_. Why, _masters_, my good friends, mine honest neighbours, Will
you undo yourselves_?
_First Cit. We cannot, sir; we are undone already_. [Revolution.]
_Men_. I tell you, friends, _most charitable care_
Have the _patricians_ of you. For your WANTS,--Your
suffering in this dearth, you may as well
_Strike at the heavens_ with your staves, as lift them
Against the Roman State, whose course _will on
The way it takes_, cracking ten thousand curbs
Of more strong link asunder, than can ever
Appear in your impediment. For the dearth,
The _gods, not_ the _patricians_, make it; and
_Your knees_ to them, _not arms, must_ help.
[This sounds very pious, but it is not the piety of the new school.
The doctrine of submission and suffering is indeed taught in it, and
scientifically reinforced; but then it is the patient suffering of the
harm 'which is not within our power' which is commendable, according
to its tenets, and 'a wise and industrious suffering' of it, too. It
is a wise 'accommodating of the nature of man to those points of
nature and fortune which we cannot control,' that is pleasing to God,
according to this creed.]
Alack!
You are transported by calamity,
Thither where more attends you; and you slander
The helms o' the state, who care for you like _fathers_,
When you curse them as enemies.
_First Cit_. CARE FOR us! _True_, INDEED! They ne'er cared for us yet.
SUFFER us TO FAMISH, and _their_ store-houses CRAMMED WITH GRAIN!
_Make edicts for usury, to support usurers_! Repeal daily any
WHOLESOME ACT _established against the rich_, and provide more
piercing statutes daily to chain up and restrain the poor! If the WARS
eat us not up, THEY WILL; and there's _all the love_ they bear us.
Menenius attempts to counteract these impressions; but his story and
his arguments appear to have some applications which he is not aware
of, and are much more to the purpose of the party in arms than they
are to his own. For it is a story in which the natural subordination
of the parts to the whole in the fabric of human society is
illustrated by that natural instance and symbol of unity and
organization which the single human form itself present; and that
condition of the state which has just been exhibited--one in which the
body at large is dying of inanition that a part of it may
_surfeit_--is a condition which, in the light of this story, appears
to need help of some kind, certainly.
But the platform is now ready. It is the hero's entrance for which we
are preparing. It is on the ground of this sullen want that the author
will exhibit him and his dazzling military virtues. It is as the
doctor of this _diseased common-weal_ that he brings him in with his
sword;
'_Enter_ CAIUS MARCIUS.'
and that idea--the idea of the diseased commonwealth, which Menenius
has already set forth--that notion of _parts_ and _partiality_, and
dissonance and dissolution, which is a radical idea in the play, and
runs into its minutest points of phraseology, breaks out at once in
his rough speech.
_Men_. Hail, noble Marcius!
_Mar_. Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues,
That rubbing the poor itch of your opinion,
Make _yourselves_ scabs.
[It is the _common-weal_ that must be made _whole_ and comely.
OPINION! your opinion.]
_First Cit_. We have ever your good word.
_Mar_. In that will give good words to _thee_, will flatter
Beneath abhorring.--What would you have, you _curs_,
That like nor peace, nor war? the one affrights you,
The other makes you proud. _He_ that trusts you,
_Where he should find you lions, finds you hares_.
_Where foxes, geese_! You are no surer, no
Than is the coal of fire upon the ice,
Or hail-stone in the sun. Your _virtue_ is,
To make _him worthy_ whose _offence subdues him_,
And curse that _justice_ did it. Who deserves greatness
Deserves your hate: and your affections are
A sick man's appetite, who desires most that
Which would increase his evil. _He_ that _depends_
Upon your favours, _swims with_ fins of lead,
And hews down _oaks_ with rushes. Hang ye! Trust ye?
With every minute you do change a mind;
[This is not the principle of _state_, whether in the many or the
one].
And call _him_ noble, that was now your hate,
_Him_ vile, that was your garland. _What's the matter_,
That in these several places of the city
You cry against the noble senate, who,
Under the gods, keep you in awe, _which else
Would feed on one another_?--What's their seeking?
_Men_. For corn at their own rates; _whereof, they say,
The city is well stor'd_.
_Mar_. HANG 'EM! THEY SAY?
THEY'LL SIT BY THE FIRE, and PRESUME to KNOW
WHAT'S DONE I' THE CAPITOL: who's like to rise,
Who thrives, and who declines: side factions, and give out
_Conjectural marriages; making parties strong_,
And _feebling_ such _as stand not in their liking_,
Below their cobbled shoes. _They say, there's grain enough_?
Would the nobility lay aside their ruth,
And let me use my sword, _I'd make a quarry
With thousands of these quartered slaves_, AS HIGH
As I could _prick my lance_.
[The _altitude_ of his virtue;--the _measure_ of his greatness. That
is the tableau of the first scene, in the first act of the play of the
cure of the Common-weal and the Consulship.]
_Men_. Nay, these are almost thoroughly persuaded;
For though abundantly they lack discretion,
Yet are they passing cowardly. But I beseech you,
What says the other troop?
_Mar_. They are _dissolved_: Hang 'em! [Footnote]
_They said, they were an hungry; sigh'd forth proverbs_;--
That _hunger broke stone walls_; that, _dogs_ must eat;
That _meat was made for mouths_; THAT THE GODS SENT NOT
CORN FOR THE RICH MEN ONLY:--With these shreds
They vented their complainings; which being answer'd,
And a petition granted them, _a strange one_,
(To break the _heart of generosity_,
_And make bold power look pale_,) they threw their caps
As they would hang them on the horns o'the moon,
_Shouting their emulation_.
[Footnote: 'The History of Henry VII.,' produced in the Historical
Part of this work, but omitted here, contains the key to these
readings.]
_Men_. What is granted them.
_Mar_. Five tribunes _to defend their vulgar wisdoms_,
Of their own choice: One's Junius Brutus,
Sicinius Velutus, and I know not--'Sdeath!
The rabble should have first unroof'd the city;
Ere so prevail'd with me; _it will in time
Win upon POWER, and throw forth greater themes_
For INSURRECTION'S arguing.
[Yes, surely it will. It cannot fail of it.]
_Men_. This is strange.
_Mar_. Go, get you _home_, you _fragments_! [_fragments_.]
[_Enter a Messenger_.]
_Mes_. Where's Caius Marcius?
_Mar_. Here; What's the matter?
_Mes_. The news is, Sir, the Volces are in arms.
_Mar_. I am glad on't; then we shall have means _to vent
Our musty superfluity:_--See, our best elders.
[The procession from the Capitol is entering with two of the
new officers of the commonwealth, and the two chief men of
the army, with other senators.]
_First Sen_. Marcius, 'tis true, that you have lately told us;
The Volsces are in arms.
_Mar_. They have a leader,
Tullus Aufidius, that will put you to't.
I sin in envying _his nobility_:
And were I anything but what I am,
I would wish me only he.
_Com_. You have fought together.
_Mar_. Were half to half the world by the ears, and _he
Upon my party, I'd revolt, to make
Only my wars with him_ [Hear, hear].
He is a lion.
That I am proud to _hunt_.
_First Sen_. _Then_, WORTHY _Marcius_,
Attend upon Cominius to these wars.
It is the relation of the spirit of military conquest, the relation of
the military hero, and his government, to the true human need, which
is subjected to criticism here; a criticism which is necessarily an
after-thought in the natural order of the human development.
The transition 'from the casque to the cushion,' that so easy step in
the heroic ages, whether it be 'an entrance by conquest,' foreign or
otherwise, or whether the chieftain's own followers bring him home in
triumph, and the people, whose battle he has won, conduct him to their
chair of state, in either case, that transition appears, to this
author's eye, worth going back, and looking into a little, in an age
so advanced in civilization, as the one in which he finds himself.
For though he is, as any one who will take any pains to inquire, may
easily satisfy himself,--the master in chief of the new science of
nature,--and the deepest in its secrets of any, his views on that
subject appear to be somewhat broader, his aspirations altogether of
another kind, from those, to which his school have since limited
themselves. He does not content himself with pinning butterflies and
hunting down beetles; his scientific curiosity is not satisfied with
classifying ferns and lichens, and ascertaining the proper historical
position of pudding-stone and sand-stone, and in settling the
difference between them and their neighbours. Nature is always, in all
her varieties wonderful, and all 'her infinite book of secrecy,' that
book which all the world had overlooked till he came, was to his eye,
from the first, a book of spells, of magic lore, a Prospero book of
enchantments. He would get the key to her cipher, he would find the
lost alphabet of her unknown tongue; there is no page of her composing
in which he would scorn to seek it--none which he would scorn to read
with it: but then he has, notwithstanding, some _choice_ in his
studies. He is of the opinion that some subjects are nobler than
others, and that those which concern specially the human kind, have a
special claim to their regard, and the secret of those combinations
which result in the varieties of shell-fish, and other similar orders
of being, do _not_ exclusively, or chiefly, engage his attention.
There is another natural curiosity, which strikes the eye of the
founder of the Science of Nature, as quite the most curious and
wonderful thing going, so far, at least, as his observation has
extended, though he is willing to make, as he takes pains to state,
philosophical allowance for the partiality of species in determining
this judgment, and is perfectly willing to concede, that if any
particular species of shell-fish, for instance, were to undertake a
science of things in general, that particular species would, no doubt,
occupy the principal place in that system; especially if arts, tending
to the improvement and elevation of it, were necessarily based on this
larger specific knowledge.
Men, and their proceedings and organisms, men, and their habits and
modes of combining, did appear to the eye of this scientific observer
quite as well worth observing and noting, also, as bees and beavers,
for instance, and their societies; and, accordingly, he made some
observations himself, and notes, too, in this particular department of
his general science. For, as he tells us elsewhere, he did not wish to
map out the large fields of the science of observation in general, and
exhibit to the world, in bare description, the method of it, without
leaving some specimens of his own, of what might be done with it, in
proper hands, under favourable circumstances, selecting for his
experiments the principal and noblest subjects--those of the most
immediate human concern. And he has not only very carefully laboured a
few of these; but he has taken extraordinary pains to preserve them to
us in their proper scientific form, with just as little of the
ligature of the time on them as it was possible to leave.
It is no kind of beetle or butterfly, then, that this philosopher
comes down upon here from the heights of his universal science--his
science of the nature of things in general, but that great Spenserian
monstrosity,--that diseased product of nature, which individual human
nature, in spite of its natural pettiness and helplessness, under
certain favourable conditions of absorption and accretion, may be made
to yield. It is that dragon of lawless power which was overspreading,
in his time, all the common human affairs, and infolding in its gaudy,
baleful wings all the life of men,--it is that which takes from the
first the speculative eye of this new speculator,--this founder of the
science of things, and not of words instead of them. Here is a man of
science, a born naturalist, who understands that _this_ phenomenon
lies in his department, and takes it to be his business, among other
things, to examine it.
It was, indeed, a formidable phenomenon, as it presented itself to his
apprehension; and his own words are always the best, when one knows
how to read them--
'He sits in state, like a thing made for Alexander.' 'When he walks,
he moves like an engine, and the ground shrinks before his treading.'
'He talks like a knell, his hum is a battery; what he bids be done, is
finished at his bidding. He wants nothing of a god but eternity, and
_a heaven_ to throne in.' 'Yes,' is the answer; 'yes, _mercy_, if you
paint him truly.' 'I paint him in character.'
'Is it possible that so short a time can alter the conditions of a
_man_?' inquires the speculator upon this phenomenon, and then comes
the reply--'There's a differency between a grub and a butterfly, yet
_your butterfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from_ MAN TO DRAGON;
he has wings, he is more than a creeping thing.'
This is Coriolanus at the head of his army; but in Julius Caesar, it
is nature in the wildness of the tempest--it is a night of unnatural
horrors, that is brought in by the Poet to illustrate the enormity of
the evil he deals with, and its unnatural character--'to serve as
instrument of fear and warning unto _some_ MONSTROUS STATE.'
'Now could _I_, Casca,
Name to _thee_ a man most like this dreadful night;
That thunders, lightens, opens graves, and roars
As doth the lion in the Capitol:
A _man no mightier_ than thyself, or me,
In _personal action, yet prodigious grown_,
And fearful, as these strange eruptions are.
_Casca_. Tis _Caesar_ that you mean: Is it not, Cassius?
[I paint him in character.]
_Cassius_. Let it be--WHO IT IS: _For Romans now_
Have thewes and limbs like to their ancestors.'