INTRODUCTION

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THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS.

THE three great Roman plays which follow next after this Introduction made their first appearance in the folio of 1623, having been entered at the Stationers' in November of that year among the copies "not formerly entered to other men." This entry was to Edward Blount and Isaac Jaggard, the publishers of the original edition. It may be worth the while to observe here, that the words "not entered to other men" do not necessarily infer but that some of the plays in question may have been formerly entered to the same men, or to one of the same; as there is some reason for thinking that Antony and Cleopatra had been entered to Blount as early as 1608.

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The historical matter of these three superb dramas appears to have been drawn almost entirely from Plutarch's "Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans," as set forth in the spirited and racy version of Sir Thomas North, which first came out in 1579, and went to a second edition in 1595. North's translation was avowedly made from the French of James Amiot, Bishop of AuxIt is as fine a specimen of robust and manly English as one need desire to see, and has the smack of an original work as strongly perhaps as any translation ever made into the same tongue. The book, though very large in size and very high in price, went through as many at least as five editions before 1632; which proves it to have been exceedingly popular, as indeed it had every right to be. In our Introductions and notes to the several plays we shall give a pretty full showing what use the Poet made of this his "storehouse of learned history."

THE TRAGEDY OF CORIOLANUS stands the second in the division of tragedies, as originally published: the acts are regularly marked, but not the scenes; the stage-directions are remarkably full and complete; while the text, though very well printed in the main, has perhaps a larger number of difficult and seemingly-corrupt readings, than any other play in the volume. Some of these

readings have hitherto baffled and nonplussed all the resources of editorial ingenuity and learning. Several of them, however, have, we think, at length been greatly relieved, if not entirely removed, by the help of the manuscript corrections lately discovered by Mr. Collier in a copy of the second folio; which presents a greater number of valuable new readings in this play than in any other where we have thus far consulted it. Several important corrections from this source we have adopted with little hesitation, and some with none; not indeed from any authority which they may be supposed to carry, but from what seems to us their intrinsic fitness and propriety. For some instances in point, the reader may be referred to Act i. sc. 8, note 1; Act ii. sc. 1, notes 3, 8, and 11; Act ii. sc. 2, note 3; Act iii. sc. 1, notes 7 and 11; and Act iv. sc. 7, note 6. There remains, we believe, but one important case which still holds out impracticable. The reader will find it in Act iv. sc. 7, note 5; where we have made the best we could out of it.

As to the date of the writing of Coriolanus, we have no external evidence whatsoever. The internal evidence of metre, diction, and temper refers it the Poet's latest period of composition. In all the qualities of style and versification, it clearly falls into the same class with The Tempest, The Winter's Tale, and King Henry VIII., being as nearly like them as the difference of the subject-matter would readily admit. Malone, accordingly, assigns the year 1610 as the probable date of the writing. We should be strongly inclined to place it some three or four years later, partly from the cast and texture of the workmanship itself, and partly from the tradition, noticed at some length in our Introduction to King Henry VIII., that Shakespeare continued to write for the stage after his retirement to Stratford. The most, however, that we can affirm with any great degree of confidence is, that Coriolanus was written somewhere between 1610 and the time of the Poet's death, which, as every reader ought to know, took place in April, 1616.

The more rigid and sceptical researches of our time have made great invasions upon the history of early Rome, as heretofore received, and some have even gone so far as to question whether the whole story of Coriolanus were not a fiction. We mention this neither for the purpose of endorsing nor of opposing it; but merely as giving occasion for stating that it was a question with which the Poet had nothing to do, and did nowise concern himself. Like others of his time, he was content to take the rambling and credulous, but lively and graphic narratives of old Plutarch as veritable and authentic history. And he would have been every way justifiable in doing this, even if the later arts of historical doubting and sifting, together with the results thereof, had been at his command. For his business as an artist was, to set forth a free and lifelike portraiture of human character as modified by the old Roman nationality, and clothed with the drapery of the old

Roman manners. Here, then, the garrulous and gossipping old story-teller of Cheronea was just the man for him; since it will hardly be questioned that his tales, whether half-legendary or not, are replete with the spirit and life of the times and places to which they refer. The Poet would have made sorry work indeed, had he used, like our modern historical abstractionists, the methods of cross-questioning all his matter, and so proceeded by receiving nothing as true to life but what could make good its ground against him as fact.

The events of the drama now in hand, as related by Plutarch, extend over a period of about four years, beginning with the popular secession to Mons Sacer in the 262d year of Rome, and ending with the hero's death, in the 266th. A few of the earlier passages of the history we have thrown into the notes, to the end that what we here present may be more unbroken and continuous. Our abstract (for such it has to be, else it would devour quite too much space) includes nearly all the matter used by the Poet, and is made, as far as practicable, in the very words of the old translator; our aim being, to give a faithful showing of what the Poet borrowed, so that the reader may justly estimate both his obligations and his additions.

After relating the popular insurrection with which the play opens, the founding of the Tribunitian office, and the appointment of the first Tribunes, the narrative goes on substantially as follows:

Hereupon the city being grown again to good quiet and unity, the people went to the wars, showing that they had a good will to do better than ever. Marcius also, though it liked him nothing to see the greatness of the people thus increased, did persuade the Patricians to show themselves no less forward to fight for their country than the common people were, and to let them know by their deeds, that they did not so much pass the people in power and riches as in true nobility and valiantness. In the country of the Volsces, with whom the Romans were then at war, there was a principal city called Corioli, against which the Consul Cominius did lay siege. Wherefore the other Volsces, fearing lest the city should be taken by assault, came from all parts of the country to save it, intending to make an onset on them in two several places. The Consul, understanding this, divided his army into two parts, and, taking one part with himself, marched towards them that were drawing to the city out of the country; and the other part he left in the camp with Titus Lartius, to resist those that would make any sally out of the city upon them. So the Volsces, making small account of them that lay before the city, made a sally upon them, in which at the first they had the better, and drave the Romans back into their trenches. But Marcius, running out of the camp with a few men, slew the first enemies he met withal, and made the rest of them stay upon the sudden, crying out to the Romans

that had turned their backs, and calling them again to fight, with a loud voice. Then there flocked about him a great number of Romans, so that the enemies presently gave back but he, not staying so, did chase them to the gates; and there, perceiving that the Romans retired, for the great number of darts and arrows which flew about their ears from the walls of the city; and that there was not one man amongst them that durst venture to follow the flying enemies; he did encourage his fellows with words and deeds, crying out to them that fortune had opened the gates more for the followers than the fliers. Notwithstanding, few had the hearts to follow him. Howbeit, he thrust himself into the gates of the city amongst them that fled, not one of them daring at the first to turn upon him, or offer to stay him. But he, seeing that he was in the city with very few men to help him, and that his enemies gathered about him to set upon him, did things, as it is written, wonderful and incredible, as well for the force of his hand as also for the agility of his body, making a lane through the midst of them, and overthrowing those he layed at; that some he made run to the farthest part of the city, and others he made yield themselves and let fall their weapons before him. By this means he got out, and had some leisure to bring the Romans with more safety into the city.

The city being thus taken, most of the soldiers forthwith went to looking after spoils; whereupon Marcius, being very angry, cried out to them that they should leave spoiling, and wind themselves out of peril: howbeit, say to them what he could, very few would hearken to him. Wherefore, taking those that willingly offered themselves, he went out of the city toward that part where the rest of the army was, exhorting them by the way not to be faint-hearted; and, oft holding up his hands to heaven, he besought the gods to be gracious unto him, that he might come in a good hour to hazard his life in defence of his countrymen. Now the Romans, when put in battle array, had a custom to make their wills at that instant, without any manner of writing, only naming their heir in the presence of three or four witnesses. Marcius came just while the soldiers were doing after that sort, and the enemies were approached so near as one stood in view of the other. When they saw him all bloody and in a sweat, with few men following him, some began to be afraid; but, soon after, seeing him run with a lively cheer to the Consul and take him by the hand, then they all began to call upon the Consul to give charge upon the enemy. Marcius asked him how the order of the enemies' battle was, and on which side they had placed their best fighting men. The Consul made answer, that he thought the bands in their vanward were the Antiates, whom they esteemed their warlikest men. Then prayed Marcius to be set directly against them; which the Consul granted, greatly praising his courage. When both armies came almost to join, Marcius advanced a good

space before his company, and went so fiercely to give charge on the vanward, that they could no longer stand in his hands. But the two wings turned one to the other, to compass him in between; which the Consul perceiving sent thither of the best soldiers he had about him. So the battle was marvellous bloody about Marcius, and in a short space many were slain in the place: but in the end the Romans were so strong that they distressed the enemies, broke their array, and made them fly. Then they prayed Marcius that he would retire into the camp, because they saw he was able to do no more, he was already so wearied with the pains he had taken, and so faint with the great wounds he had on him. But he answered, that it was not for conquerors to yield, nor to be fainthearted; and thereupon began afresh to chase those that fled, until such time as the army of the enemies was utterly overthrown.

The next morning, Marcius went to the Consul, and the other Romans with him. There the Consul, going up to his chair of state, in the presence of the whole army gave thanks to the gods for so great and glorious a victory; then spake to Marcius, whose valiantness he commended beyond the moon, and willed him that he should choose out of all the horses and all the goods, they had taken, ten of every sort which he liked best, before any distribution should be made to the others. Besides this, he gave him testimony that he had won the prize of prowess above all others, a goodly horse, with a caparison and all furniture to him; which the whole army beholding did marvellously commend. But Marcius, stepping forth, told the Consul he most thankfully accepted the gift of his horse, and was a glad man besides, that his service had deserved his general's commendation; and as for his other offer, which was rather a mercenary reward than an honourable recompense, he would none of it, but was contented to have his equal part with the other soldiers. Then the soldiers, hearing his words, made a marvellous great shout among them; and there were more that wondered at his abstinence, than there were that highly extolled his valiantness. After the noise was somewhat appeased, the Consul began to speak in this sort: "We cannot compel Marcius to take these gifts we offer him, but we will give him such a reward as he cannot refuse. Therefore we do order and decree, that henceforth he be called CORIOLANUS, unless his valiant acts have won him that name before our nomination." And so, ever since, he still bare the third name of Coriolanus.

When this war was ended, the flatterers of the people began to stir up sedition again, without any new occasion or just matter of complaint. For they did ground this second insurrection upon the people's misery and misfortune, that could not but fall out, by reason of the former sedition; and because most of the arable land had become heathy and barren for lack of ploughing, by reason of their wars. Now those busy prattlers, perceiving that 12

VOL. VIII.