Characteristics of Women Part 42

COMINIUS.

I think 'twill serve, if he Can thereto frame his spirit.

VOLUMNIA.

He must, and will: Pr'ythee, now say you will, and go about it.

CORIOLa.n.u.s.

Must I go show them my unbarb'd sconce? Must I With my base tongue give to my n.o.ble heart A lie, that it must bear? Well, I will do't; Yet were there but this single plot to lose, This mould of Marcius, they to dust should grind it, And throw it against the wind. To the market-place You have put me now to such a part, which never I shall discharge to the life.

VOLUMNIA.

I pr'ythee now, sweet son, as thou hast said, My praises made thee first a soldier, so To have my praise for this, perform a part Thou hast not done before.

CORIOLa.n.u.s.

Well, I must do't: Away, my disposition, and possess me Some harlot's spirit!

I will not do't: Lest I surcease to honor mine own truth, And by my body's action, teach my mind A most inherent baseness.

VOLUMNIA.

At thy choice, then: To beg of thee, it is my more dishonor, Than thou of them. Come all to ruin: let Thy mother rather feel thy pride, than fear Thy dangerous stoutness: for I mock at death With as big heart as thou. Do as thou list-- Thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from me But owe thy pride thyself.

CORIOLa.n.u.s.

Pray be content; Mother, I am going to the market place-- Chide me no more.

When the spirit of the mother and the son are brought into immediate collision, he yields before her; the warrior who stemmed alone the whole city of Corioli, who was ready to face "the steep Tarpeian death, or at wild horses' heels,--vagabond exile--flaying," rather than abate one jot of his proud will--shrinks at her rebuke. The haughty, fiery, overbearing temperament of Coriola.n.u.s, is drawn in such forcible and striking colors, that nothing can more impress us with the real grandeur and power of Volumnia's character, than his boundless submission to her will--his more than filial tenderness and respect.

You G.o.ds! I prate, And the most n.o.ble mother of the world Leave unsaluted. Sink my knee i' the earth-- Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons!

When his mother appears before him as a suppliant, he exclaims,--

My mother bows; As if Olympus to a molehill should In supplication nod.

Here the expression of reverence, and the magnificent image in which it is clothed, are equally characteristic both of the mother and the son.

Her aristocratic haughtiness is a strong trait in Volumnia's manner and character, and her supreme contempt for the plebeians, whether they are to be defied or cajoled, is very like what I have heard expressed by some high-born and high-bred women of our own day.

I muse my mother Does not approve me further, who was wont To call them woollen va.s.sals; things created To buy and sell with groats; to show bare heads In congregations; to yawn, be still, and wonder When one but of my ordinance stood up To speak of peace or war.

And Volumnia reproaching the tribunes,--

'Twas you incensed the rabble-- Cats, that can judge as fitly of his worth, As I can of those mysteries which Heaven Will not have earth to know.

There is all the Roman spirit in her exultation when the trumpets sound the return of Coriola.n.u.s.

Hark! the trumpets!

These are the ushers of Marcius: before him He carries noise, and behind him he leaves tears.

And in her speech to the gentle Virgilia, who is weeping her husband's banishment--

Leave this faint puling! and lament as I do In anger--Juno-like!

But the triumph of Volumnia's character, the full display of all her grandeur of soul, her patriotism, her strong affections, and her sublime eloquence, are reserved for her last scene, in which she pleads for the safety of Rome, and wins from her angry son that peace which all the swords of Italy and her confederate arms could not have purchased. The strict and even literal adherence to the truth of history is an additional beauty.

Her famous speech, beginning "Should we be silent and not speak," is nearly word for word from Plutarch, with some additional graces of expression, and the charm of metre superadded. I shall give the last lines of this address, as ill.u.s.trating that n.o.ble and irresistible eloquence which was the crowning ornament of the character. One exquisite touch of nature, which is distinguished by italics, was beyond the rhetorician and historian, and belongs only to the poet.

Speak to me, son; Thou hast affected the fine strains of honor, To imitate the graces of the G.o.ds; To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' the air, And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?

Think'st thou it honorable for a n.o.bleman Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you: He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy; Perhaps thy childishness may move him more Than can our reasons. There is no man in the world More bound to his mother; yet here he lets me prate Like one i' the stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy; _When she, (poor hen!) fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home, Laden with honor._ Say my request's unjust, And spurn me back: but, if it be not so, Thou art not honest, and the G.o.ds will plague thee That thou restrain'st from me the duty which To a mother's part belongs. He turns away: Down, ladies: let us shame him with our knees.

To his surname Coriola.n.u.s 'longs more pride, Than pity to our prayers; down, and end; This is the last; so will we home to Rome, And die among our neighbors. Nay, behold us; This boy, that cannot tell what he would have, But kneels, and holds up hands, for fellows.h.i.+p, Does reason our pet.i.tion with more strength Than thou hast to deny't.[81]

It is an instance of Shakspeare's fine judgment, that after this magnificent and touching piece of eloquence, which saved Rome, Volumnia should speak no more, for she could say nothing that would not deteriorate from the effect thus left on the imagination. She is at last dismissed from our admiring gaze amid the thunder of grateful acclamations--

Behold, our patroness,--the life of Rome.

CONSTANCE.

We have seen that in the mother of Coriola.n.u.s, the princ.i.p.al qualities are exceeding pride, self-will, strong maternal affection, great power of imagination, and energy of temper. Precisely the same qualities enter into the mind of Constance of Bretagne: but in her these qualities are so differently modified by circ.u.mstances and education, that not even in fancy do we think of inst.i.tuting a comparison between the Gothic grandeur of Constance, and the more severe and cla.s.sical dignity of the Roman matron.

The scenes and circ.u.mstances with which Shakspeare has surrounded Constance, are strictly faithful to the old chronicles, and are as vividly as they are accurately represented. On the other hand, the hints on which the character has been constructed, are few and vague; but the portrait harmonizes so wonderfully with its historic background, and with all that later researches have discovered relative to the personal adventures of Constance, that I have not the slightest doubt of its individual truth. The result of a life of strange vicissitude; the picture of a tameless will, and high pa.s.sions, forever struggling in vain against a superior power: and the real situation of women in those chivalrous times, are placed before us in a few n.o.ble scenes. The manner in which Shakspeare has applied the scattered hints of history to the formation of the character, reminds us of that magician who collected the mangled limbs which had been dispersed up and down, reunited them into the human form, and reanimated them with the breathing and conscious spirit of life.

Constance of Bretagne was the only daughter and heiress of Conan IV., Duke of Bretagne; her mother was Margaret of Scotland, the eldest daughter of Malcolm IV.: but little mention is made of this princess in the old histories; but she appears to have inherited some portion of the talent and spirit of her father, and to have transmitted them to her daughter. The misfortunes of Constance may be said to have commenced before her birth, and took their rise in the misconduct of one of her female ancestors. Her great-grandmother Matilda, the wife of Conan III., was distinguished by her beauty and imperious temper, and not less by her gallantries. Her husband, not thinking proper to repudiate her during his lifetime, contented himself with disinheriting her son Hoel, whom he declared illegitimate; and bequeathed his dukedom to his daughter Bertha, and her husband Allan the Black, Earl of Richmond, who were proclaimed and acknowledged Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Bretagne.

Prince Hoel, so far from acquiescing in his father's will, immediately levied an army to maintain his rights, and a civil war ensued between the brother and sister, which lasted for twelve or fourteen years.

Bertha, whose reputation was not much fairer than that of her mother Matilda, was succeeded by her son Conan IV.; he was young, and of a feeble, vacillating temper, and after struggling for a few years against the increasing power of his uncle Hoel, and his own rebellious barons, he called in the aid of that politic and ambitious monarch, Henry II. of England. This fatal step decided the fate of his crown and his posterity; from the moment the English set foot in Bretagne, that miserable country became a scene of horrors and crimes--oppression and perfidy on the one hand, unavailing struggles on the other. Ten years of civil discord ensued, during which the greatest part of Bretagne was desolated, and nearly a third of the population carried off by famine and pestilence. In the end, Conan was secured in the possession of his throne by the a.s.sistance of the English king, who, equally subtle and ambitious, contrived in the course of this warfare to strip Conan of most of his provinces by successive treaties; alienate the Breton n.o.bles from their lawful sovereign, and at length render the Duke himself the mere va.s.sal of his power.

In the midst of these scenes of turbulence and bloodshed was Constance born, in the year 1164. The English king consummated his perfidious scheme of policy, by seizing on the person of the infant princess, before she was three years old, as a hostage for her father. Afterwards, by contracting her in marriage to his third son, Geoffrey Plantagenet, he ensured, as he thought, the possession of the duchy of Bretagne to his own posterity.

From this time we hear no more of the weak, unhappy Conan, who, retiring from a fruitless contest, hid himself in some obscure retreat: even the date of his death is unknown. Meanwhile Henry openly claimed the duchy in behalf of his son Geoffrey and the Lady Constance; and their claims not being immediately acknowledged, he invaded Bretagne with a large army, laid waste the country, bribed or forced some of the barons into submission, murdered or imprisoned others, and, by the most treacherous and barbarous policy, contrived to keep possession of the country he had thus seized. However, in order to satisfy the Bretons, who were attached to the race of their ancient sovereigns, and to give some color to his usurpation, he caused Geoffrey and Constance to be solemnly crowned at Rennes, as Duke and d.u.c.h.ess of Bretagne. This was in the year 1169 when Constance was five, and Prince Geoffrey about eight, years old. His father, Henry, continued to rule, or rather to ravage and oppress, the country in their name for about fourteen years, during which period we do not hear of Constance. She appears to have been kept in a species of constraint as a hostage rather than a sovereign; while her husband Geoffrey, as he grew up to manhood, was too much engaged in keeping the Bretons in order, and disputing his rights with his father, to think about the completion of his union with Constance, although his sole t.i.tle to the dukedom was properly and legally in right of his wife. At length, in 1182, the nuptials were formally celebrated, Constance being then in her nineteenth year. At the same time, she was recognized as d.u.c.h.ess of Bretagne _de son chef_, (that is, in her own right,) by two acts of legislation, which are still preserved among the records of Bretagne, and bear her own seal and signature.

Those domestic feuds which embittered the whole life of Henry II., and at length broke his heart, are well known. Of all his sons, who were in continual rebellion against him, Geoffrey was the most undutiful, and the most formidable: he had all the pride of the Plantagenets,--all the warlike accomplishments of his two elder brothers, Henry and Richard; and was the only one who could compete with his father in talent, eloquence, and dissimulation. No sooner was he the husband of Constance, and in possession of the throne of Bretagne, than he openly opposed his father; in other words, he maintained the honor and interests of his wife and her unhappy country against the cruelties and oppression of the English plunderers.[82] About three years after his marriage, he was invited to Paris for the purpose of concluding a league, offensive and defensive, with the French king: in this journey he was accompanied by the d.u.c.h.ess Constance, and they were received and entertained with royal magnificence. Geoffrey, who excelled in all chivalrous accomplishments, distinguished himself in the tournaments which were celebrated on the occasion; but unfortunately, after an encounter with a French knight, celebrated for his prowess, he was accidentally flung from his horse, and trampled to death in the lists before he could be extricated.

Constance, being now left a widow, returned to Bretagne, where her barons rallied round her, and acknowledged her as their sovereign. The Salique law did not prevail in Bretagne, and it appears that in those times the power of a female to possess and transmit the rights of sovereignty had been recognized in several instances; but Constance is the first woman who exercised those rights in her own person. She had one daughter, Elinor, born in the second year of her marriage, and a few months after her husband's death she gave birth to a son. The States of Bretagne were filled with exultation; they required that the infant prince should not bear the name of his father,--a name which Constance, in fond remembrance of her husband, would have bestowed on him--still less that of his grandfather Henry; but that of Arthur, the redoubted hero of their country, whose memory was wors.h.i.+pped by the populace.

Though the Arthur of romantic and fairy legends--the Arthur of the round table, had been dead for six centuries, they still looked for his second appearance among them, according to the prophecy of Merlin; and now, with fond and short-sighted enthusiasm, fixed their hopes on the young Arthur as one destined to redeem the glory and independence of their oppressed and miserable country. But in the very midst of the rejoicings which succeeded the birth of the prince, his grandfather, Henry II., demanded to have the possession and guardians.h.i.+p of his person; and on the spirited refusal of Constance to yield her son into his power, he invaded Bretagne with a large army, plundering, burning, devastating the country as he advanced. He seized Rennes, the capital, and having by the basest treachery obtained possession of the persons both of the young d.u.c.h.ess and her children, he married Constance forcibly to one of his own favorite adherents, Randal de Blondeville, Earl of Chester, and conferred on him the duchy of Bretagne, to be held as a fief of the English crown.

The Earl of Chester, though a brave knight and one of the greatest barons of England, had no pretensions to so high an alliance; nor did he possess any qualities or personal accomplishments which might have reconciled Constance to him as a husband. He was a man of diminutive stature and mean appearance, but of haughty and ferocious manners, and unbounded ambition.[83] In a conference between this Earl of Chester and the Earl of Perche, in Lincoln cathedral, the latter taunted Randal with his insignificant person, and called him contemptuously "_Dwarf_."

"Sayst thou so!" replied Randal; "I vow to G.o.d and our Lady, whose church this is, that ere long I will seem to thee high as that steeple!"

He was as good as his word, when, on ascending the throne of Brittany, the Earl of Perche became his va.s.sal.

We cannot know what measures were used to force this degradation on the reluctant and high-spirited Constance; it is only certain that she never considered her marriage in the light of a sacred obligation, and that she took the first opportunity of legally breaking from a chain which could scarcely be considered as legally binding. For about a year she was obliged to allow this detested husband the t.i.tle of Duke of Bretagne, and he administered the government without the slightest reference to her will, even in form, till 1189, when Henry II. died, execrating himself and his undutiful children. Whatever great and good qualities this monarch may have possessed, his conduct in Bretagne was uniformly detestable. Even the unfilial behavior of his sons may be extenuated; for while he spent his life, and sacrificed his peace, and violated every principle of honor and humanity to compa.s.s their political aggrandizement, he was guilty of atrocious injustice towards them, and set them a bad example in his own person.

The tidings of Henry's death had no sooner reached Bretagne than the barons of that country rose with one accord against his government, banished or ma.s.sacred his officers, and, sanctioned by the d.u.c.h.ess Constance, drove Randal de Blondeville and his followers from Bretagne; he retired to his earldom of Chester, there to brood over his injuries, and meditate vengeance.