It is impossible to shut this woman up within the limits of what we call a character, but why should we attempt it? Why cannot we be content with what we have before us? Shakespeare never defined his people to himself. In Cleopatra we have a new combination of the simple, eternal elements, a combination subtle, and beyond analysis. What celestial lights begin to play over this passion as the drama goes on!
Coriolanus.—We cannot help being sorry that Shakespeare should have gone out of his way to select such a subject. It leaves a disagreeable taste in the mouth. The aristocrat is overdone. No true aristocrat would talk such rant as Coriolanus talks in Act i. Sc. I. Shakespeare omits Plutarch’s account of the oppression of the plebeians, or only slightly alludes to it. Volumnia’s contempt for the people is worse than that of Coriolanus. To her they are not human, and she does not consider that common truthfulness is binding in her intercourse with them.
‘It lies you on to speak
To the people, not by your own instruction,
Nor by the matter which your heart prompts you,
But with such words that are but rooted in
Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables
Of no allowance to your bosom’s truth.’
Reading such passages as these we understand Whitman when he says that although Shakespeare is ‘of astral genius,’ he is ‘entirely fit for feudalism . . . is incarnated, uncompromising feudalism,’ and contains much which is ‘ever offensive to democracy.’
Winter’s Tale.—Coleridge is perhaps super-subtle in his discrimination between the jealousy of Leontes and that of Othello, which Coleridge will not call jealousy. But the difference is not greater than that between the two men. The passion of Leontes is roused simply by Hermione’s giving her hand to Polixenes. This common courtesy is ‘paddling palms.’ There is something contemptible in his transports: not so in the case of Othello. Leontes cursing Hermione in the presence of his lords is unendurable.
Leontes in his passion disbelieves the oracle.
‘There is no truth at all i’ the oracle:
The sessions shall proceed: this is mere falsehood.’
But he is reversed, suddenly, completely, when he is told his son is dead.
‘Apollo’s angry; and the heavens themselves
Do strike at my injustice.’
Perdita is brought up by a shepherd and talks like a well-educated patrician’s daughter. ‘O Proserpina,’ etc. Polixenes says to Camillo: