[In the essay that follows, Datta states that the central dilemma faced by Coriolanus is his disgust for, and battle to come to terms with, the pragmatism practiced by Rome's leaders and his admirers.]

Coriolanus is the only Shakespearean tragic hero who has failed to evoke ungrudging critical sympathy. Some critics even refuse to recognize him as a tragic hero. The critical apathy stems partly from Shakespeare's unflattering portrayal of a ruthless hero in whom virtues and vices are not easily distinguishable. Shakespeare's portrayal of all the characters with complete detachment also adds to the confusion of the critics. Most critics emphasize the central paradox of Coriolanus' character: the military hero with an undying constancy and an absolute sense of honor turns traitor to his country.¹ The fact that Shakespeare has not given Coriolanus a full-length soliloquy, that valuable self-revealing device, appears to make the hero's inner self look as impenetrable as his coat of arms. For example, Stanley McKenzie observes that “Coriolanus' very function as tragic hero is unclear; although the focal point of the play and the constant subject of other characters' conversation, he is the least introspective of Shakespeare's major tragic figures.”²

The other conventional critical device to penetrate that inner world, statements and responses of other characters in the play, does not help matters either. Critics eager to emphasize the self-alienating postures of Coriolanus ignore the fact that other than the hero there is not a single character in the play who is not pretentious and hypocritical. A. D. Nuttall remarks that “Shakespeare shows with great clarity, first, how useful Coriolanus is to Rome in time of war and second, how much happier the city is without him once peace is attained.”³ However, the critic seems to ignore the fact that Shakespeare has chosen to give the lines describing the peacetime happiness of Rome to Sicinius, Coriolanus' arch adversary, who masterminds the conspiracy against Coriolanus, which leads to his banishment. The difficulty of interpreting Coriolanus' character stems not from the fact that the hero has no inside, as most critics believe, but from the inability of critics to understand and rationalize his internal conflict. Coriolanus' problems seem to arise as much from his conflict with the citizens as from an inherent contradiction in the attitudes of the members of his own class, who pretend to act as pragmatists. Shakespeare's play, indeed, explores in depth such self-contradictory postures that are made to appear as pragmatism. The central paradox of Coriolanus' character lies not in the coexistence in him of contrary traits (his tendency to be awesome and ridiculous at the same time); rather, it lies in his revulsion for—and, subsequently, in his struggle to come to terms with—the dubious pragmatism practiced by his admirers. I will argue that Coriolanus attains true tragic grandeur when he consciously sacrifices his own life in executing his noble revenge on his countrymen, and that his tragedy serves to expose the limits of pragmatism in a purely heroic setting.

First, it is difficult to blame Coriolanus when he feels himself betrayed by his friends in the scene of rioting, a central scene in which the hero's internal conflict climaxes. Coriolanus does not understand why the patricians, who have always supported his political philosophy and shared his contempt for the citizens, should fail to rally round him at the very moment when his derogatory views on the citizens are fully vindicated by the latter's revocation of the pledge. Shakespeare has not given us a single line to show that Coriolanus is wrong. Coriolanus, refusing to obey customs and humble himself before the citizens, is shocked by the hypocritical attitude of his mother, who has meticulously groomed him as an instrument of war and who, according to her son, “has a charter to extol her blood” (I.ix.14).⁴ Volumnia, arguing that a judicious mixture of honor and policy is as effective in war as it is in peace, does not even suggest that such pragmatism is fully compatible with the hero's sense of honor, but treats it as an expedient lie:

But with such words that are roted in
Your tongue, though but bastards and syllables
Of no allowance, to your bosom's truth.

(III.ii.57-59)

Therefore, when Coriolanus, after receiving the sentence of banishment, looks down on the citizens in anger and says, “I banish you” (III.iii.25), he seems to condemn both his foes and allies, although he does not specifically say so. Coriolanus is shocked because he sees as blatant dissembling what his mother and friends see as pragmatic values. Acting a part is abhorrent to his nature. He defects to the enemy's camp not to wreak vengeance on the citizens and their leaders, who banished him, but to demonstrate to his friends, especially his mother, that they have acted as bad counselors all along. He seeks a “world elsewhere” (III.iii.138) not to reduce his own country to rubble but to show its rulers the monumental folly and blindness of driving out its best defender.

The central issue in Coriolanus is not a debate over the choice between pragmatism and rigid constancy as political norms but the limitations of pragmatism in a warlike setting. Although Shakespeare's utmost detachment in the dramatization of that setting makes it difficult for one to resolve the debate in favor of one side or the other, the dramatist makes it clear that the brand of pragmatism espoused by both the friends and enemies of Coriolanus is hardly edifying. As characters, these self-styled pragmatists are blatantly hypocritical and, to cite the worst case of Aufidius, deceitful and mischievous. For example, Menenius, the genial mediator and the chief advocate of pragmatism in the play, is unable to communicate with Coriolanus' adversaries without using sophistry, a mode of rhetoric which Aristotle has ridiculed as the device to make “money from an apparent but unreal wisdom.”⁵ It is clear from the text of the play that the ruling patricians believe wholeheartedly in the political philosophy of Coriolanus but prevaricate unashamedly in crisis situations. As Adrian Poole comments, “It is possible to see them as pusillanimous liberals without the guts to stand up for what they believe in or what they ought to believe in if they really shared Marcius' vision of Rome as a true society based on virtue.”⁶ It may be argued in their favor that they advocate compromise and conciliation to avoid civil war at all costs. However, their patriotic instincts ring hollow when they insist on making Coriolanus the consul, knowing very well that such a step involves great risks, especially in peacetime. In other words, they try to perpetuate their class rule by deceiving the citizens into thinking that the latter have rights. It is not difficult to understand why the patricians, even as they grant the citizens their right to protest, do not make any serious effort to impress on Coriolanus the values of civic mores and sane diplomacy. They know that they lack the moral fibre to persuade Coriolanus otherwise. After all, he is their spokesman.

Volumnia and Aufidius are two other characters who criticize Coriolanus for not being pragmatic. However, both make mockery of pragmatism by acting pretentiously and hypocritically. Volumnia, in Act III, chides Coriolanus without even a modicum of intellectual honesty, hoping that her son does not lose the consulship and, then, in Act V, chides him again both pretentiously and self-piteously to save Rome from his wrath. Aufidius, the scheming Machiavel, acts almost like a chorus in Act IV and surprises us with his objective evaluation of Coriolanus' character. Aufidius contends that Coriolanus is temperamentally unsuited to move “from the casque to the cushion” (IV.vii.42-43), that is, from military duties to civic responsibilities. Aufidius also tells us that Coriolanus' faults are inseparable from his virtues. However, he is determined to use dishonorable means to destroy his sworn enemy, and Shakespeare makes it clear that Aufidius is motivated more by jealousy than by territorial ambitions. In fact, he baits Coriolanus in the same devious way as the tribunes do to provoke the hero.

Shakespeare, indeed, shows Machiavellian pragmatism in very poor light. Nowhere in the play are pragmatism and diplomacy shown to be political virtues to be preferred to “virtus” or valiantness. In fact, both the Roman and Volscian societies appear to draw their strength and viability from “virtus,” societies in which war is a natural and even desirable condition of existence. Throughout the play, every single character is extolling Coriolanus as a military genius. Even Coriolanus' enemies grudgingly admit that he is indispensable to Rome's security. The main premise of Menenius' argument—a premise which severely tests the limits of pragmatism—is that one should wink at the vices of war heroes which are far outweighed by their military virtues. The blessings of peace are never invoked in the play because war is a constant, bitter reality. The reason why Shakespeare shows us how happy the people are in Rome in the absence of Coriolanus is to point out the irony of the illusory lull before the storm. The total panic that ensues when Rome receives the news of Coriolanus' invading army shows how helpless Rome feels without its hero. In the Volscian camp, the word “peace” is regarded with contempt and scorn. When, in Act IV, Coriolanus arrives at the house of Aufidius, the servingmen are overjoyed to hear that there is likely “to be a stirring world again” (IV.v.225-26). War, they declare, “exceeds peace as far as day does night. … Peace is a very apoplexy, lethargy; mulled, deaf, sleepy, insensible; a getter of more bastard children than war is a destroyer of men” (IV.v.228-32). It is apparent from the Volscian scenario that when a country finds itself constantly in a state of war, social and economic grievances become nothing more than political irritants.

Yet, a well-known critic quotes extensively from Machiavelli's Discourses to show how Shakespeare's intransigent hero is solely responsible for demolishing all pragmatic principles which are conducive to a harmonious relationship between the State and the commoners.⁷ Although the critic admits that Shakespeare is much less dismissive of Coriolanus than of Machiavelli, she fails to perceive Shakespeare's consistently derisive attitude toward the Machiavellian principle of means justifying the ends. That Shakespeare deviated a great deal from Machiavelli's conceptions in describing the riot scene is borne out by the text of the play. Machiavelli observes, in Chapter VII, Book I, of his Discourses that Coriolanus, because of his hostility toward the citizens, “would have been killed in a tumultuous manner, if the Tribunes had not summoned him to appear before them and defend his cause.”⁸ Significantly, Machiavelli points out in the same chapter that the office of the Tribunate is as effective a legal safeguard against a single transgressing individual like Coriolanus as it is against an irate, uncontrollable mob. Chaos and confusion may result from transgressions on the part of either side.⁹ Shakespeare, however, has presented the tribunes as a pair of malicious and scheming politicians who provoke sedition by encouraging the citizens to change their votes. Eugene Waith points out that “the tribunes are portrayed much less favorably than the people, though, surprisingly, they have eager apologists among critics.”¹⁰ In Shakespeare's play, it is Menenius, a close ally of Coriolanus and a not so reliable supporter of the grieving citizens, who saves Coriolanus' life through sophistry and apologetic pleading. If anything, Coriolanus stretches Machiavelli's principles to the utmost.

Menenius, the genial counselor and self-styled pragmatist, dramatizes the limits of pragmatism in a purely heroic dispensation. All through Act III, during which the conflict between Coriolanus and the citizens reaches its climax, Menenius makes comments such as “Be calm, be calm” (III.i.38), “Not now, not now” (III.i.64), “Well, no more” (III.i.75), “Come, enough” (III.i.139), “Ay, but mildly” (III.ii.146), “Calmly, I do beseech you” (III.iii.31). Never for a moment does he even attempt to persuade Coriolanus with a convincing argument for pragmatic principles, which might have a moderating influence on the hero. The truth is that he is incapable of taking such a bold stand because the grounds of his convictions and the premises of his arguments are shaky. Derek Traversi perceptively observes that in spite of his conciliatory gestures, Menenius remains “the spokesman of a class which accepts the perpetuity of that close rigid view of social relations from which it profits.”¹¹ Paradoxically, in Act III, when in a desperate attempt to avert a terrible confrontation, he discards his methods, Menenius sounds most sincere and convincing. Put on the defensive by the tribunes, Menenius projects the essential self of Coriolanus with complete detachment:

His nature is too noble for the world,
He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,
Or Jove for his power to thunder. His heart's his mouth.

(III.i.254-56)

Menenius becomes a pathetic figure when he recognizes rather belatedly that in espousing accommodation and compromise, he has identified himself with the very things which Coriolanus has denounced as base and contemptible in Rome. When, in Act IV, the messenger brings the news that Coriolanus has joined the Volsces and is leading an army against Rome, Menenius views the crisis from a heroic perspective and appears to regret his moderating role, which has helped avert a civil war but has led to the hero's banishment. Menenius now frankly admits that he has betrayed Coriolanus and that he deserves destruction for that betrayal. He sees the impending danger as retribution of guilt:

If he were putting to my house the brand
That should consume it, I have not the face
To say, “Beseech you, cease,” You have made fair hands,
You and your crafts! You have crafted fair!

(IV.vi.117-20)

Paradoxically, the failure of Menenius' embassy and the success of Volumnia's not only expose the limits of pragmatism in the play but also help reveal Coriolanus' tragic self-awareness and his innate sense of humanity. Menenius, preoccupied with the fate of his petition, does not notice that the shock of banishment has integrated the hero's character. He does not perceive that Coriolanus speaks gravely and with composure, as the hero refuses the petition:

                                                                                                                                  Therefore be gone
Mine ears against your suits are stronger than
Your gates against my force. Yet, for I lov'd thee,
Take this along; I writ it for thy sake, [Gives a letter]
And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius,
I will not hear thee speak. This man, Aufidius,
Was my belov'd in Rome; yet thou behold'st!

(V.ii.88-94)

Menenius has never tried to understand the nature of Coriolanus' inner conflict and therefore interprets this significant reversal of the mood of Coriolanus as iron insensibility: “He wants nothing of a god but eternity and a heaven to throne in” (V.iv.23-24), he utters in disappointment afterwards. However, during this embassy, it is evident that Coriolanus is more concerned with impressing Aufidius with his constancy than with observing the effect of his curt dismissal on Menenius. The last line of the above-quoted speech of Coriolanus evidences this attitude. No sane person, with a pathological aversion to pretension and lying, would even think of preparing to burn a city and, in the same breath, of sending a letter to one of its citizens who loves him as a father. However, to impress Aufidius, Coriolanus makes a desperate effort to hide his humane feelings behind a proud exterior. Coriolanus' response immediately after Menenius' departure corroborates this impression:

                                                                                                                        This last old man
Whom with a cracked heart I have sent to Rome,
Lov'd me above the measure of a father,
Nay, godded me indeed … to grace him only
That thought he could do more, a very little
I have yielded to. Fresh embassies and suits,
Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter
Will I lend ear to. (Shout within.) Ha? What shout is this?
Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow
In the same time 'tis made? I will not.

(V.iii.8-21)

Coriolanus has no need to excuse himself for refusing Menenius despite the fact that he does. It is clear from the last two lines that although he makes a desperate effort to fortify himself mentally against new petitions, Coriolanus is actually expecting a crucial embassy, one he will not refuse. Aufidius knows that Coriolanus has already decided to spare Rome but that his pride will not allow him to show his mercy openly. Coriolanus' unawareness of Aufidius' intent to destroy him whether or not he burns Rome reveals a true greatness of soul.

Similarly, the success of Volumnia's embassy not only exposes the limits of pragmatism in the play but also reveals in contrast Coriolanus' greatness. Since Volumnia is the official representative of the Roman State, her petition symbolizes the total surrender of that State and, as a consequence, the moral victory of Coriolanus. The tenor and content of her petition are not even remotely pragmatic but clearly personal and, at times, self-piteous. Like Menenius, she regards her situation as retribution of guilt, although her proud demeanor makes her plea for mercy sound like chiding. Remarkably, she does not reason with Coriolanus at all but uses pathos as the chief mode of persuasion. In a virtuoso performance, she attempts to rouse her son's patriotic instincts, appeals to his sense of humanity, and then, seeing Coriolanus unresponsive, threatens to commit suicide. Finally, she disowns her son to gain her end: “Come, let us go. / This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; / His wife is in Corioles, and his child / Like him by chance” (V.iii.177-80). Significantly, Volumnia, who has always welcomed war because of the glory it has brought to her son, now talks about peace to change Coriolanus' mind. She appears to be transfixed when Coriolanus tells her that his decision to spare Rome poses great danger to his own life: “—believe it, O, believe it!—/ Most dangerously you have with him prevailed, / If not most mortal to him. But let it come” (V.iii.187-89). Since Volumnia does not speak any more in that play, it is impossible to objectify the effects of Coriolanus' ominous prophecy on her. The last act of the play, however, is memorable for its live silences. As David Bevington remarks, “She is defeated by the very pride she has engendered in him. …”¹² However, it is a pride that now purifies, exalts, and all but deifies him. It transmutes his desire for revenge into a desire for self-sacrifice. Coriolanus' subsequent decision not to return to the safety of Rome but to remain with the Volsces attests to his sublimated pride.

Although they exist in their unique worlds, Shakespeare's tragic heroes have common characteristics. First, their faults, however grave, never outweigh their immense virtues. Second, their basic conflict arises out of something in which they sincerely believe. Finally, their tragedies reveal their innate sense of humanity and transform them into enlightened individuals. Animadversions of critics notwithstanding, Coriolanus conforms to this familiar tragic pattern. Shakespeare's play never openly justifies Coriolanus' hostility toward the commoners and the hero's aversion to pragmatism and political expediency. However, the play exposes not only the limitations of those postures in a heroic setting but also the opportunism and intellectual bankruptcy of the characters who pretend to be pragmatists. In other words, the play posits ironically that Coriolanus, through self-sacrifice, shows his moral superiority over those who question his ethics.

Notes

1. G. Wilson Knight, The Imperial Theme (London: Methuen, 1951) 181, sees paradox in the fact that Coriolanus' intrinsic nobility is incongruent with his image as the purveyor of death. Derek Traversi, An Approach to Shakespeare (New York: Doubleday, 1956) 234, sees Coriolanus as “hopelessly divided between his unnatural discipline of ‘honour’ and his natural, but incompletely mature, humanity.” Reuben A. Brower, Hero and Saint: Shakespeare and the Graeco-Roman Heroic Tradition (New York: Oxford U.P., 1971) 354-81, observes that Coriolanus is simultaneously a lonely war machine and an immature “Boy” vulnerable to his mother's dictates. Katherine Stockholder, “The Other Coriolanus,” PMLA 85 (1970): 228-36, points out that Coriolanus is simultaneously awesome and ridiculous because of his inability to reconcile his internal self with his external image.

2. Stanley McKenzie, “‘Unshout the noise that banish'd Martius’: Structural Paradox and Dissembling in Coriolanus,” Shakespeare Studies, 18 (1986): 189-204.

3. A. D. Nuttall, “Shakespeare's Imitation of the World,” Modern Critical Interpretations: William Shakespeare's Coriolanus, ed. Harold Bloom (New York: Chelsea, 1988) 97.

4. References to Shakespeare's text are from David Bevington's The Complete Works of Shakespeare, 3rd ed. (Glenview, Illinois: Scott, Foresman, 1980).

5. Aristotle, The Works of Aristotle, trans. W. D. Ross, vol. 1 (Oxford: Clarendon, 1928) 165a.

6. Adrian Poole, Coriolanus (Boston: Twayne, 1988) 62.

7. Ann Barton, “Livy, Machiavelli, and Shakespeare's Coriolanus,” Modern Critical Interpretations: William Shakespeare's Coriolanus, ed. Harold Bloom (New York: Chelsea, 1988) 138.

8. Niccolo Machiavelli, The Prince and the Discourses (New York: Modern Library, 1940) 131-32.

9. Machiavelli 132.

10. Eugene Waith, “The Herculean Hero,” Modern Critical Interpretations: William Shakespeare's Coriolanus, ed. Harold Bloom (New York: Chelsea, 1988) 16.

11. Derek Traversi, An Approach to Shakespeare (New York: Doubleday, 1956) 234.

12. Bevington 1334.