Coriolanus

Stop there. Who are you?

Stop and go back.

You’re good guards, but I assure you that I’m an officer of the state, and I’ve come to speak with Coriolanus.

Where are you from?

From Rome.

You may not pass. You must return. Our general won’t listen to Romans anymore.

You’ll see your Rome consumed with fire before you’ll speak with Coriolanus.

Good men, if you’ve heard your general talk of Rome and of his friends there, you’ve undoubtedly heard my name: Menenius.

Even if that’s true, go back. You can’t get in here by virtue of your name.

I tell you, fellow, the general is my close friend. I’ve recorded his brave acts and proclaimed, perhaps exaggeratedly, his greatness as unparalleled. I’ve always supported my friends, of whom he’s the closest, with the highest possible praise I could give without slipping into lies. Although it’s true that sometimes, like bowling on an uneven surface, I’ve thrown the ball too far and nearly praised him beyond his actual accomplishments. So you see, fellow, you must let me pass.

Sir, if you’ve told as many lies on his behalf as you’ve spoken words that benefit yourself, you should not pass here. You act as if it were as virtuous to lie as it is to live honestly. Go back.

Please, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, and I’ve always been on your general’s side.

Even if you’ve lied for him, as you say you have, I must follow his orders truthfully and say that you cannot pass. So go back.

Has he eaten yet, could you tell me? Because I wouldn’t want to speak with him until after dinner.

You’re a Roman, are you?

I am, just as your general is.

Then you should hate Rome the way he does. You’ve banished your greatest hero from your gates and, in a violent popular ignorance, given your best defender to your enemy. So how can you think to counteract his plan for revenge with the meaningless groans of old women, the prayers of your virgin daughters, or the crippled pleas of a decayed, senile old man such as yourself? You think you can blow out the fire that is about to engulf your city in flames with such weak breath as this? If so, you’re mistaken. Go back to Rome and prepare for your execution. You’re condemned, and our general has sworn to grant you no reprieve or pardon.

Sirs, if your captain knew that I were here, he would treat me with respect.

Come, my captain doesn’t know you.

I mean, your general.

My general doesn’t care about you. Go back, I say, before I spill a half pint of your blood. Back, this is as far you get. Back!

No, but, fellow, fellow—

What’s going on?

Now, you fellow, I’ll give my version of what just happened here. You’ll know now that I’m well regarded by your general and that a lowly guard such as yourself can’t keep me from Coriolanus, he who is like a son to me. I wonder if after I talk with him, whether you’ll be hanged or killed more cruelly in some prolonged and public way. Watch now and worry for what’s going to happen to you.

The glorious gods sit in hourly discussions about your personal prosperity, and they love you no less than your old father Menenius does! Oh, my son, my son! You’re preparing fire for us. Look, here’s water to quench it. I was grudgingly persuaded to come to you, but because they assured me that no one other than myself could convince you, I’ve been sent here from the gates with sighs and beg you to pardon Rome and your pleading countrymen. May the good gods calm your anger and turn the remains of it upon this villain here, who, like a block, has kept me from seeing you.

Away!

What do you mean, away?

I have neither wife, nor mother, nor child. My personal life is now eclipsed by other matters. Though I seek my own revenge, the power to pardon belongs to the Volsces. We had a friendship, but your ungrateful failure to defend me has poisoned it. Pity will not remind me of what great friends we used to be. So go away. My ears rebuff your pleas with greater force than your gates will have against my army. But because I did care for you, take this. I wrote it for your sake.

And would have sent it. I won’t hear you speak another word, Menenius. This man was my dearest friend in Rome, Aufidius. But look at him!

You never change.

Now, sir, is your name Menenius?

You see, it’s like a spell with great power. You know the way home again.

Did you hear how they scolded us for keeping your greatness back?

Why, do you think, I swoon?

I don’t care about the world or about your general. I can barely think of things such as yourselves, you’re so insignificant. A suicidal man doesn’t fear being killed by someone else. Let your general do his worst. May you live long and may your misery increase with age! I say to you what was said to me: Away!

He’s a noble fellow, I say.

The worthy fellow is our general. He’s like a rock or an oak that the wind can’t shake.