Michael: 

The longish first act gives us the essential Coriolanus, a warrior and patriot who is contemptuous of the plebs. And it ends with his being named Coriolanus for his victory over the Corioli. The long opening scene reminds me of the opening of A & C, in which Philo and Demetrius speak of Antony’s subservience to Cleo, then the two of them enter and prove it true. Here the First Citizen speaks of their hunger and the bitter enmity of Marcius, which is then born out when he comes in and abuses the citizens, seemingly without any necessity. Of course First Citizen had spoken of  his desire to kill Marcius, which seems pretty unlikely, especially after we’ve seen him in battle with Aufidius. I imagine Menenius as somewhat older than Marcius, but the real contrast is his good humor and jokey geniality toward the citizens. We see no reason for Marcius’ bitterness and anger toward the citizens, and clearly Menenius’ attitude is more useful. His fable of the belly seems almost to conciliate the citizens and his finding First the big toe of the commonwealth is amusing, but doesn’t concede any points to them. Marcius also abuses the seemingly reasonable granting of tribunes to the citizens’ grievances. The scene ends with news of the Volsces in revolt and Marcius’ eagerness to do battle with them, but then a conversation between the tribunes about Marcius’ angry pride.

After the short scene of Aufidius’ preparations for the battle,  the conversation between Volumnia and Virgilia gives a sense of why Marcius is the way he is. Volumnia, we assume is the very image of the fierce Roman matron, the mother of a warrior. The two of them speak prose, as had the citizens. Virgilia is the more expected image of the concerned wife. The addition of Valeria completes the picture of Roman women, and her account of Marcius’ boyhood fills out the sense of his warrior character.

The three scenes that follow encompass the war at Corioli, and the central image is that of Marcius covered with blood from the battle. The little detail of Marcius telling Cominius about his desire to grant freedom to the man who was courteous to him, but forgetting his name and blaming his tired memory, suggests a weakness — of what, humanity? — in Marcius. Aufidius in the next scene says Marcius is “Bolder, but not so subtle” as the devil.

Dusty:

In the opening lines I noticed the word “superfluity,” which appears twice. The chastened Lear wants to distribute the “superfluity” to the needy. But the patricians in “Coriolanus” seem prepared to withhold grain. Martius/Coriolanus himself sides with the patricians, but when he receives news that the Volsces are in arms, he sardonically says that “we shall  ha’ means to vent/ Our musty superfluity” (1.1) — which I suppose means that the moldy grain can now be given to Roman soldiers.

In the first act I too was struck by Coriolanus’s gratuitous insults to the plebs and to his own soldiers (when they did not measure up to the standard he set for  himself.).

In the first act (and the second) the play seems narrowly focused on the merits/defects of Martius/Coriolanus. And the several characters seem to be distinctly established — and fixed — at the outset, unlike the characters in other tragedies whom we regard from one side and then another.

The play seems quite “talky,” not only because of garrulous Menenius but also the several Citizens. Even Martius/Coriolanus has long speeches, when you might imagine that he would be an impatient and laconic soldier. Maybe that’s what Menenius means by his “noble carelessness.”

Have you seen a production of the play recently. I think I remember one with Stacy Keach in the lead. I gather that interpretations vary considerably: Coriolanus as justifiably proud soldier forced to participate in degrading politics, or Coriolanus as an angry Achilles-like soldier, more concerned with himself and what is due to him than the cause for which he fights.

Dusty:

The opening scene of the second act brings together Menenius, the “humorous patrician,” and the two cynical tribunes, who claim to care about the plebs but in fact have no genuine concern for the people. (Remind you of any politicians today?) Menenius is no less contemptuous of the tribunes than is Coriolanus, but he finds a way of combining blunt criticism with good humor. He is politic, while Corolianus is impolitic.

It’s striking that Volumnia refers to Coriolanus, as he approaches, as “my boy.” Maybe, as you say, she speaks as the fierce Roman matron, but she also diminishes him (and he kneels to her.) This makes clear that she is going to be a powerful influence on him in the rest of the play. For now, even though Volumnia wants Coriolanus to do what’s necessary, including displaying his wounds, to become consul, Coriolanus says he would rather be “their servant in my way./ Than sway them in theirs.” “My way” — as opposed, say, to “as a soldier” — suggests that his primary concern is his own honor and reputation rather than the  preservation of his country. In this respect, he is perhaps a more dangerous Hotspur.

The second scene is pretty talky too. The two Officers have an extended conversation, with longish speeches. And Cominius spends 40 lines summarizing the “deeds of Coriolanus.” (i.e., his military career). My editor notes that everybody on stage already knows Coriolanus’s history, so maybe these words about deeds are for the benefit of the audience in the theatre.

Coriolanus speaks contemptuously of the indignity of campaigning for office. I think we are prepared to respect him for that, but at the same time compare him in our minds with other successful soldiers in Shakespeare — Antony, Henry V — who know how to speak to common men. In the third scene Coriolanus then agrees to speak to the citizens, but goes through the motions scornfully. There follows a long (and talky) exchange between the two tribunes and the citizens, in which the tribunes skillfully and cynically sway the citizens. More politicking. More longish speeches. Maybe in Rome’s political world words count more than deeds.

Michael:

What a talkative play, as you note! We might almost say that Coriolanus’ chief fault is that he talks too much. No, I haven’t seen the play in recent memory, and the Stacy Keach version you mention may be the only one I’ve seen — was it somewhere near New Haven in the late 60s? I think there may be some latitude in interpretation through the way Coriolanus is done, but it would be difficult to make him attractive with the language he’s accorded. Of course the tribunes are cynical and know just how to push C’s buttons. Of course the play continues to be performed, but it seems unappealing to contemporary sensibilities.

Michael:

In the third act it’s striking that Volumnia talks C. into returning to the forum and speaking again to the citizens, to “perform a part Thou hast not done before.” She had virtually written his speech for him at 72-86, even directing his gestures and posture. He starts out seeming to agree, against his “disposition” and then talks himself out of it, until concluding “I will not do’t.” Then Volumnia talks him into it again, but this time in terms of his debt to her. He then reverses himself and says he will go. And he does go, but with an apprehensive Menenius and Cominius. The tribunes, especially Brutus, know exactly what to do to set him off again. When Menenius tries to grease the skids, Brutus throws up the word traitor, and off Coriolanus goes once again. It seem almost inevitable that C will be unable to keep himself from insulting the tribunes and thus losing the game.

In the long opening scene, we had plenty of evidence that that the break was inevitable. C’s speeches are hopelessly insulting to the tribunes, and their responses are hopelessly goading to him. That it all ends in a melee that only Menenius seem able to quell, but only by getting C to leave. He finally seems to calm the tribunes, but only with difficulty and the promise to bring C to them. And this is where we see Volumnia’s intervention.

“There is a world elsewhere” is a splendid parting word for C at the end of the act. It’s almost an end in itself, though the tragic part is yet to come. The question will be whether there really is a world elsewhere into which C can fit.

Dusty:

I too was struck with Coriolanus not knowing when to shut up. And with his parting shot about “a world elsewhere.” It’s a wonderful phrase, and has been adopted as a book title by many later authors, including Richard Poirier.

“World” is a loaded word in 3.1  — Menenius says Coriolanus is “too noble for the world” (254). Is Coriolanus thinking about a “world” in this world other than where he is (think: Rome vs. Egypt in “A and C”) or about the “world” elsewhere where Cleopatra imagines meeting Antony?

Interesting that in 3.1 Aufidius curses his fellow Volscians, just as Coriolanus will soon curse his fellow Romans.

I was surprised by the balance of power in the early Roman republic, where the people, led by tribunes, but without the consent of the senate, apparently have the authority or power to banish a Roman or even condemn him to death. Would an audience consisting of people living in a centrally powerful monarchy think this to be an example of what’s wrong with democracy?

Dusty:

By contrast to Act 3, Act 4, about the same length, consists of seven scenes, the first four of which are short. It’s a quickening change of pace, as Coriolanus goes forth into his new “world.” In 4.1 He is oddly cheerful and confident as he prepares to go into exile. Virgilia, as before, hardly says anything, and mostly weeps. A cypher. Coriolanus hardly pays any attention to her — setting us up for his rapturous encounter with Aufidius in 4.5. In 4.2. we get the tribunes, exemplifying another danger of a republic: cynical manipulators of the credulous crowd. I suppose that in a “Leftist” interpretation of the play they are freedom fighters. Again Virgilia is silent. (By contrast to the big talkers in the play.)

In the short 4.3 scene of a Roman offering himself to the Volscians I suppose we get a contrast — or is it a parallel? — between a garden-variety turncoat and Coriolanus, who deserts his own people out of outrage at their betrayal of him (or is it just wounded pride and revenge?) For this scene and the next to work on the stage, would you need to play the Roman in 4.3 as an oily sneak? In 4.4 Coriolanus enters a bit like Odysseus in Ithaca. His brief soliloquy at the end of the scene suggests that he is ready to die at the hands of Aufidius — or even seeks to die. The next (4.5) begins with a strange prelude to the big moment when the two soldiers meet. I was reminded of the disguised Kent gruffly offering “service” to Lear. When Aufidius enters, we get more of what is nearly comedy: the disguised warrior in his enemy’s camp somehow not recognized. Coriolanus maybe even shows a little impatience and disappointment: hey, don’t you guys know who I am? When Coriolanus is revealed as Coriolanus, we get . . . two very long speeches, 35 lines from Coriolanus answered by an equally long reply from Aufidius. You would think these guys are orators, not generals. These days, the scene seems to ask to be interpreted by director and actors as a homosocial embrace: Aufidius, in particular, compares his delight in welcoming Coriolanus to seeing his “wedded mistress” cross the threshold to his house (or bedroom), and reports his erotic dream of the two of them wrestling, As 3rd Servingman says later in the scene, Aufidius seems to want to “make a mistress of him.” So maybe it goes beyond the homosocial. Shakespeare gives the three serving men more lines, more than 90, than you would think they need to react and then hear the report of the reception of Coriolanus by the big shots at the feast. Maybe he wants to give us the Volscian equivalent of the Roman plebs.

4.6 shows that the tribunes are just as overconfident of success as are the reinforced Volscians. I thought it odd that Menenius accepts part of the blame for Coriolanus’s departure. What should he have done? (Challenge their arguments more forcefully when they prepared to banish Coriolanus?) The sniveling citizens now say that they never wanted to banish Coriolanus. (Perhaps true in a way, since they were manipulated by the tribunes, who made speaking puppets of them.) The short 4.7 darkens the situation, though Coriolanus doesn’t know it. Just as the tribunes had earlier planned to subvert and  dispose of Coriolanus in a forthcoming showdown, so Aufidius, prompted by his lieutenant (and maybe manipulated?) and credulous (like the Roman plebs?) suddenly decides to to watch for a moment to catch Coriolanus out. As the act ends, there is division on both sides.

Michael:

Yes, Act 5 is substantial. I’ve been thinking that a modern director would have to pare down quite a bit of text to make the play playable, and this particular act would need some condensing. In the opening scene, Menenius initially refuses to appeal to Coriolanus because of the denial he gave to Cominius, but then, apparently worn down by the tribunes, agrees to go. The next scene seems too long for what it does, showing the difficulty Menenius has in getting through the Volscian watch, confronting C, receiving his denial, then a sort-of I-told-you-so from the watch.

Scene 3 is the dramatic climax of the play: C initially swears his steadfast opposition to Rome to Aufidius, then confronts the women and his son. Does ll. 44-45 indicate that he kisses Virgilia, then recalls their final kiss before he left Rome? But the homage to his mother surpasses this, as he kneels to her, who reverses the gesture by kneeling to him. Valeria seems superfluous, except that she’s mentioned in Plutarch. Volumnia’s first 30-line speech seems not to move him, at least not sufficiently, and Volumnia’s line suggests he turns away. She then gets to her feet for her 50-line speech. She says “There’s no man in the world More bound to’s mother” than C, but he refuses her appeal. So all of them go down on their knees, including the son, until her final disgust, “This fellow had a Volscian to his mother.” This is enough to finally turn him, and only then does he become a true Italian, unable to resist the appeal of la mamma. He acknowledges her power, “All the swords In Italy, and her confederate arms, Could not have made this peace.” Aufidius’ aside indicates what’s coming.

The movement to the ending, the Volscians turning on C through Aufidius’ plotting against the peace that C hopes to advance, seems a bit long. 5.4 leads to a large musical triumph and the triumphant outburst in Rome celebrating the women. But this is immediately under cut by the plot Auf. makes with the conspirators to overturn the peace that C intends. At the end the word “boy” makes its return, as Auf. accuses him, “thou boy of tears,” for capitulating to his mother. The word is thrice repeated by C, as he rages against Aufidius. If the word evokes the mother-son relationship, the cries of the Volcians against him, the losses of son, daughter, cousin, father, double back ironically.

Of course the tragedy involves Coriolanus’ rigidity in failing to negotiate between his martial and patrician identity and the needs of the commonwealth, and in this it follows Plutarch. But perhaps there’s also another thematic note that emerges in the “boy” cry and the family delegation that finally turns C: he is the patrician warrior, but he’s also son, husband, father, friend to Menenius and Cominius. And the mother-son relation, that he finally is “boy” to her, caps them all? “Boy” seems contemptuous, but perhaps it’s more than that, an indication of something primary? Maybe we need an Italian production to get the final sense of the play?

Dusty:

The final act brings the catastrophe, as in “Hamlet,” where at the end the body of a “most noble corpse” is borne from the stage in a dead march. But it’s a strange ending, not restoring Coriolanus to his family and friends but leaving him friendless in the Volscian camp. Some parts of the act seem quite talky, especially scene 3, and some quite full of action, as in scene 5. I was struck again with the language, several nouns turned into verbs (office, servanted, godded, joy). Does Shakespeare coin more words in this play than in other plays? Does this distinctive language connect to anything else in the play?

You could cut scene 1, in which Menentius resists appealing to Coriolanus and then relents. You could go straight to scene 2, in which Menentius makes his appeal. And as you say you could reduce the length of scene 2. It’s not clear to me why the scene continues after Aufidius leaves.

In scene 3 it’s seems notable that Virgilia “comes foremost” and speaks first, indeed notable that she speaks at all, especially since she soon gives way to Volumnia, and only speaks two more lines. This confirms that Coriolanus is much more oriented toward his mother than his wife. It’s not just that she’s  superfluous — she’s distinctly subordinated to her mother in law. I think you are right about the kiss recalling the earlier kiss.

When Coriolanus finally yields to his mother, he knows that he will pay for it: she has “dangerously prevailed” over him, and it will be  “mortal” to  him. Interesting that he yields to  her, but also leaves her and Rome to return to the Volscians.

In this scene the little boy wants to make sure that his father does not “tread on me.” That word is picked up in the final lines, when the Third Lord gtells Aufidius not to “tread upon” the body of Coriolanus.

Scene 4 is another apparently gratuitous scene involving Menentius. Why do we need to hear his doubts that Coriolanus will relent. I wonder if I am missing something.

Scene 5 is a second dramatic climax. In this one the speeches are shorter and there is more action, and violence, as well as spectacle. You’re right to say that the taunting “Boy” cuts Corionalus to the quick. Interesting that in her big scene Volumnia  in effect denies that he is her “boy.” She uses the word only to describe her grandson. Coriolanus is a “fellow who had a Volscian to his mother.”

That Aufidius turns against Coriolanus suggests that Coriolanus is too good/noble (and too impolitic) for both the Romans and the Volscians, though by the end of the play everybody recognizes that Coriolanus is  the most noble among them. His noble but flawed nature has driven him, like Othello, to commit a terrible act, and then to try to repair it. But he dies somewhat ignominiously. The actor playing Aufidius has a challenge: he has to exult over his enemy, literally standing upon his body, and declare that he has done a valuable service by having Coriolanus killed, and then only seven lines later say that his “rage is gone” and he is “struck with sorrow.” Does the sudden purging of his anger prompt the audience toward some catharsis?

I can’t say, after working our way through it, that I’ve warmed to this play or to Coriolanus himself. I wonder if the German tragedy of Coriolan, for which Beethoven wrote overtures, solves some of the problems.

Michael:

I too did not warm to Coriolanus. What’s interesting is that Shakespeare for once gives us a powerful mother — well, I guess he does in Winter’s Tale as well. Coriolanus’ nobility seems a bit thin, resting mainly on his military prowess, not on any political astuteness.

Dusty:

Are we missing something in “Coriolanus”? Does his  bluntness and naivete about politics make him seem unsullied by the cynicism, compromises, hypocrisy, and treachery that surrounds him? Is his betrayal of Rome morally superior to the double-dealing of the tribunes and Aufidius, and to the worldly wisdom of Menenius?