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This play comprehends a period of about four years; and the whole story is exactly
followed, and many of the principal speeches exactly copied, from the life of
Coriolanus in Plutarch.2
Dr. Johnson says, "the tragedy of Coriolanus is one of the most amusing of our
author's performances."3 To those persons, who do not prefer a love tale to
every other dramatic subject, this opinion must appear just; for the hero and heroine
of the drama are both so inimitably drawn, that it is impossible not to feel the
deepest interest in all their conflicts.
The vices and virtues of Coriolanus are
blended, by the poet's hand, with the nicest observance of filial similitude, as well
as of filial piety. He possesses, in his military character, all the fire, courage,
and ambition of his mother—and, as a politician, all the woman's vanity, and
petty pride. Yet no one can be offended with this spoiled child for his humours, as
he retains a most grateful sense of that maternal tenderness which inspired his
thirst of fame; though it possibly had impeded the philosophical strength of b 2[Page 4]mind which would have
rendered his valour of importance.
Volumnia, indeed, by these words, "thy valiantness was mine, thou suck'dst it from
me; but owe thy pride thyself,"4 disclaims her sex's prevailing folly;
but her son has just before told her, that he imbibed his contempt for the plebeian
race from her; of course, it was she who engrafted that stem of haughtiness which
sprouted to his ruin; his manly disposition not temporizing, like hers, to make it
pliant by deceit.
With all their faults, this mother and son produce scenes the most affecting, because
the most natural, that were ever, perhaps, written, for persons of their elevated
rank in life. Here, in the part of Coriolanus, human nature, in the likeness of a stubborn schoolboy, as well
as of the obstinate general of an army, is so exquisitely delineated, that every
mental trait of the one can be discerned in the propensities of the other, so as
forcibly to call to the recollection, that children are the originals of men.
Volumnia, too, with all her seeming heroism, so dazzling to common eyes, is woman
to
the very heart. One whose understanding is by no means ordinary; but which extends
no
further than the customary point of woman's sense—to do mischief. She taught
her son to love glory, but to hate his neighbours; and thus made his skill in arms
a
scourge to his own country. But, happily, her feminine spirit did not stop here; for,
terrified at the peril which threatened Rome from the hand of this darling son, she
averted [Page 5]the frightful danger of a city in flames, by the careless
sacrifice of his life to the enemy.5
All these inconsistencies in Volumnia do not, however, make that great woman less
admired or beloved. The frailties of her and her son constitute the pathetic parts
of
this tragedy, which are wonderfully moving. These personages talk so well, and at
times act so well, that their pitiable follies, couched beneath such splendid words
and deeds, raise a peculiar sympathy in the heart of frail man; who, whilst he
beholds this sorrowful picture of human weakness, discerns along with it his own
likeness, and obtains an instructive lesson.
This noble drama, in which Mr. Kemble
reaches the utmost summit of the actor's art,6 has been withdrawn from the theatre of late
years, for some reasons of state. When the lower order of people are in good plight,
they will bear contempt with cheerfulness, and even with mirth; but poverty puts them
out of humour at the slightest disrespect. Certain sentences in this play are
therefore of dangerous tendency at certain times, though at other periods they are
welcomed with loud applause.
As "Coriolanus" is now once
more brought upon the stage, and the voice of the public has hailed its return; this
circumstance may be received as a joyful evidence—that the multitude at present
are content in their various stations; and can therefore, in this little dramatic
history, amuse themselves with beholding, free from anger and resentment, that
vainglory, which presumes to despise them.
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