Coriolanus

Tomorrow we’ll lead our army to the walls of Rome. As my partner in this attack, you must report to the Volscian lords on how straightforwardly I’ve carried this out.

You have respected their aims entirely and blocked your ears against the general plea of Rome. You’ve never had even a private whisper with your old friends who thought they might persuade you.

This last old man, whom with a broken heart I’ve sent back to Rome, loved me better than a father. Indeed, he treated me like a god. Their last resort was to send him. Though I turned him away, out of love for him I again offered the same terms they had previously refused and now cannot accept. That is all I have yielded to he who thought that he could do more. I’ll no longer listen to any more pleas, made either by the state or by my private friends. Ha! What shout is this?

Shall I be tempted to break my vow in the same moment that I made it? I will not.

Here comes my wife. Then my mother, the honorable mold from which I was cast. And in her hand, the grandchild of her blood. But affection be gone! And break all natural ties and obligations! Let it be virtuous to be unmovable.What is that curtsy worth? Or those doe eyes, which can make the gods break their vows? I melt, and I’m no stronger than anyone else. For my mother to bow to me is as if Mt. Olympus would plead before a molehill. And my young boy has an imploring look, which by nature I don’t want to deny. But let the Volsces destroy Rome and lay siege on Italy—I’ll never be so weak as to obey instinct. Instead I will stand firm, as if a man were his own creator and had no family.

My lord and husband!

Everything looks different to me since I left Rome.

If we look different to you, it’s because our suffering has changed us.

Like a bad actor, I have forgotten my lines. To my complete disgrace, I don’t know what to say. My dear family, forgive my cruelty but don’t ask me to “Forgive our Romans.” (Virgilia kisses him) Oh, a kiss as long as my exile, and as sweet as my revenge! By the jealous queen of heaven, I kiss only you, my dear; my lips have always been faithful. You gods! Forgive me for not saluting the most noble mother of the world. Sink, my knee, to the earth.

I must demonstrate a more profound sign of my duty than that of common sons.

Oh, stand up, blessed one! And let me, with no softer cushion than the stone floor, kneel before you. Though it’s inappropriate for me to pay respect to you—it is the child that should bow to the parent.

What’s this? You’re kneeling before me, your chastised son? Then let the pebbles on the beach rise up the stars and let the mutinous winds blow the proud cedars into the fiery sun. Impossible things are now easily possible. (He helps her up.)

You’re my warrior; I helped make you what you are. Do you recognize this woman?

The noble sister of the consul Publicola, the moon of Rome, pure as the icicle that forms from the frost of purest snow and hangs on Diana’s temple: dear Valeria!

(showing young Martius) Here is your miniature replica, who in time may grow to be exactly like you.

May the god of soldiers, with the consent of supreme Jove, make your thoughts be noble. And may you be invulnerable to shame, stand firm in the wars like a great beacon for sailors, enduring every sudden blast of wind and helping those that look to you for guidance!

On your knee, sir. (young Martius kneels)

That’s my brave boy!

Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself—plead before you.

Please, stop. Or, if you must ask, remember this first: Don’t think that I deny you personally, but I cannot grant your pleas because I have sworn not to. Don’t ask me to dismiss my soldiers or to yield to the common people of Rome. Don’t tell me the ways in which I seem unnatural. Don’t try to mitigate my rage and need for vengeance with your colder reasons.

Oh, no more, no more! You’ve said you won’t grant us anything. We have nothing else to ask other than what you’ve already refused. But we’ll ask that if you fail to grant our request, blame will be laid on your stubbornness. Therefore listen to us.

Aufidius, and you Volsces, come here. We won’t listen to anything from Rome in private. What is your request?

Even if we were silent and didn’t speak, our clothing and the condition of our bodies would betray the lives we’ve led since your exile. Think how we three are worse off than all living women, because seeing you—a sight that should make our eyes flow with tears of joy and our hearts dance with relief—constrains our eyes from weeping and shakes our hearts with fear and sorrow to make the mother, wife, and child see the son, the husband, and the father tearing his country’s bowels out. Your hatred will kill us poor people. You deny our prayers to the gods, which is the only comfort we have, and if we can’t pray—and pray for our country—where will we go if you succeed, where will we go? Alas, either we must lose the country, our dear mother, or else we must lose you, our comfort in the country. We will inevitably face tragedy, but we do have a wish for one side to win. Either you must, as a traitor, be led with handcuffs thorough our streets, or else triumphantly march on your ruined country and wear the medal for having bravely shed your wife and children’s blood. For myself, son, I don’t intend to rely on fortune until these wars end. If I can’t persuade you to reach a noble compromise with both sides rather than seek total destruction, when you march to assault your country you’ll be treading—and believe me about this—on your mother’s womb, which brought you into this world.

Yes, and mine that gave you this boy, to keep your name alive.

You won’t tread on me. I’ll run away until I’m bigger, but then I’ll fight.

I’ll become tender like a woman if I look at your faces. I’ve sat too long.

No, don’t leave us now. If it were the case that our request was to save the Romans and thereby destroy the Volsces, whom you serve, you might condemn us for poisoning your honor. But no, our appeal is for you to reconcile with them so that the Volsces may say, “We have shown mercy,” and the Romans may say, “We received mercy,” and both sides will salute you and cry, “May you be blessed for making this peace!” You know, great son, that the outcome of war is uncertain. But it’s certain that if you conquer Rome, the benefit you’ll reap in so doing is a name whose repetition will be plagued with curses. You’ll be remembered with these words: “The man was noble, but with his last attack he gave up his nobility, destroyed his country, and his name remains forever hated.” Speak to me, son. You’ve aspired to great honor, to behave like a god, to tear apart the sky with thunder and yet throw your lightning bolt so that it would only split an oak. Why don’t you speak? Do you think it’s honorable for a noble man to always remember how he has been wronged? Daughter, speak—he doesn’t like your weeping. Speak, boy—perhaps your childishness will move him more than our reasons can. There’s no man in the world more tied to his mother, and yet here he lets me prattle on like a common criminal. Never in your life have you done your dear mother any favors, while she, poor woman, who didn’t want to have another child, has cared for you while you were at war and safely home, heaped with honors. If you think my request is unfair, then turn me down. But if it’s not, then you’re a liar and the gods will punish you for failing to give me what you owe me as a son. He turns away. Down, ladies. Let’s shame him by getting on our knees. His surname, Coriolanus, has more pride than pity for our prayers. Down! This is the end. (The women and young Martius kneel) We’ll go home to Rome and die among our neighbors. Wait, look. This boy, who doesn’t know what’s going to happen to him but kneels and holds up his hands for fellowship, lends more strength to our petition than you have strength to deny. Come, let’s go. This fellow has a Volscian mother, his wife is in Corioles, and his child looks just like him by chance. Send us away. I’ll be silent until our city is on fire, and then I’ll speak a little.

(crying) Oh, mother, mother! What have you done? Look, the heavens are opening, the gods are looking down and laughing at this unnatural scene. Oh, my mother, mother! Oh! You have won a happy victory for Rome. But for your son—believe it, oh, believe it—because you have convinced him, he’s now in mortal danger. But let it come. Aufidius, though I cannot fight this war for you, I’ll make arrange a peaceful settlement, fair to both sides. Now, good Aufidius, if you were in my place, wouldn’t you have listened to your mother and done as I did, Aufidius?

I was moved by what she said.

I know you were! And, sir, it is no small achievement to make me cry tears of compassion. But, good sir, tell me that you’ll make peace. For my part, I won’t go to Rome—I’ll go back with you. And please, support me in this effort. Oh, mother! Wife!

(aside) I’m glad you’ve distinguished between your mercy and your honor. I’ll be able to rebuild my former fortune because of that distinction.

Yes, so it will go.

But we’ll drink together, and you’ll bring back a signed peace treaty, not just our word. Come with us. Ladies, you deserve to have a temple built for you. All the swords of Italy and her allies couldn’t have made this peace.