Coriolanus Part 17

SCENE III.

The tent of CORIOLa.n.u.s

Enter CORIOLa.n.u.s, AUFIDIUS, and others

CORIOLa.n.u.s. We will before the walls of Rome to-morrow Set down our host. My partner in this action, You must report to th' Volscian lords how plainly I have borne this business.

AUFIDIUS. Only their ends You have respected; stopp'd your ears against The general suit of Rome; never admitted A private whisper- no, not with such friends That thought them sure of you.

CORIOLa.n.u.s. This last old man, Whom with crack'd heart I have sent to Rome, Lov'd me above the measure of a father; Nay, G.o.dded me indeed. Their latest refuge Was to send him; for whose old love I have- Though I show'd sourly to him- once more offer'd The first conditions, which they did refuse And cannot now accept. To grace him only, That thought he could do more, a very little I have yielded to; fresh emba.s.sies and suits, Nor from the state nor private friends, hereafter Will I lend ear to. [Shout within] Ha! what shout is this?

Shall I be tempted to infringe my vow In the same time 'tis made? I will not.

Enter, in mourning habits, VIRGILIA, VOLUMNIA, VALERIA, YOUNG MARCIUS, with attendants

My wife comes foremost, then the honour'd mould Wherein this trunk was fram'd, and in her hand The grandchild to her blood. But out, affection!

All bond and privilege of nature, break!

Let it be virtuous to be obstinate.

What is that curtsy worth? or those doves' eyes, Which can make G.o.ds forsworn? I melt, and am not Of stronger earth than others. My mother bows, As if Olympus to a molehill should In supplication nod; and my young boy Hath an aspect of intercession which Great nature cries 'Deny not.' Let the Volsces Plough Rome and harrow Italy; I'll never Be such a gosling to obey instinct, but stand As if a man were author of himself And knew no other kin.

VIRGILIA. My lord and husband!

CORIOLa.n.u.s. These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.

VIRGILIA. The sorrow that delivers us thus chang'd Makes you think so.

CORIOLa.n.u.s. Like a dull actor now I have forgot my part and I am out, Even to a full disgrace. Best of my flesh, Forgive my tyranny; but do not say, For that, 'Forgive our Romans.' O, a kiss Long as my exile, sweet as my revenge!

Now, by the jealous queen of heaven, that kiss I carried from thee, dear, and my true lip Hath virgin'd it e'er since. You G.o.ds! I prate, And the most n.o.ble mother of the world Leave unsaluted. Sink, my knee, i' th' earth; [Kneels]

Of thy deep duty more impression show Than that of common sons.

VOLUMNIA. O, stand up blest!

Whilst with no softer cus.h.i.+on than the flint I kneel before thee, and unproperly Show duty, as mistaken all this while Between the child and parent. [Kneels]

CORIOLa.n.u.s. What's this?

Your knees to me, to your corrected son?

Then let the pebbles on the hungry beach Fillip the stars; then let the mutinous winds Strike the proud cedars 'gainst the fiery sun, Murd'ring impossibility, to make What cannot be slight work.

VOLUMNIA. Thou art my warrior; I holp to frame thee. Do you know this lady?

CORIOLa.n.u.s. The n.o.ble sister of Publicola, The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle That's curdied by the frost from purest snow, And hangs on Dian's temple- dear Valeria!

VOLUMNIA. This is a poor epitome of yours, Which by th' interpretation of full time May show like all yourself.

CORIOLa.n.u.s. The G.o.d of soldiers, With the consent of supreme Jove, inform Thy thoughts with n.o.bleness, that thou mayst prove To shame unvulnerable, and stick i' th' wars Like a great sea-mark, standing every flaw, And saving those that eye thee!

VOLUMNIA. Your knee, sirrah.

CORIOLa.n.u.s. That's my brave boy.

VOLUMNIA. Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself, Are suitors to you.

CORIOLa.n.u.s. I beseech you, peace!

Or, if you'd ask, remember this before: The thing I have forsworn to grant may never Be held by you denials. Do not bid me Dismiss my soldiers, or capitulate Again with Rome's mechanics. Tell me not Wherein I seem unnatural; desire not T'allay my rages and revenges with Your colder reasons.

VOLUMNIA. O, no more, no more!

You have said you will not grant us any thing- For we have nothing else to ask but that Which you deny already; yet we will ask, That, if you fail in our request, the blame May hang upon your hardness; therefore hear us.

CORIOLa.n.u.s. Aufidius, and you Volsces, mark; for we'll Hear nought from Rome in private. Your request?

VOLUMNIA. Should we be silent and not speak, our raiment And state of bodies would bewray what life We have led since thy exile. Think with thyself How more unfortunate than all living women Are we come hither; since that thy sight, which should Make our eyes flow with joy, hearts dance with comforts, Constrains them weep and shake with fear and sorrow, Making the mother, wife, and child, to see The son, the husband, and the father, tearing His country's bowels out. And to poor we Thine enmity's most capital: thou bar'st us Our prayers to the G.o.ds, which is a comfort That all but we enjoy. For how can we, Alas, how can we for our country pray, Whereto we are bound, together with thy victory, Whereto we are bound? Alack, or we must lose The country, our dear nurse, or else thy person, Our comfort in the country. We must find An evident calamity, though we had Our wish, which side should win; for either thou Must as a foreign recreant be led With manacles through our streets, or else Triumphantly tread on thy country's ruin, And bear the palm for having bravely shed Thy wife and children's blood. For myself, son, I purpose not to wait on fortune till These wars determine; if I can not persuade thee Rather to show a n.o.ble grace to both parts Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner March to a.s.sault thy country than to tread- Trust to't, thou shalt not- on thy mother's womb That brought thee to this world.

VIRGILIA. Ay, and mine, That brought you forth this boy to keep your name Living to time.

BOY. 'A shall not tread on me!

I'll run away till I am bigger, but then I'll fight.

CORIOLa.n.u.s. Not of a woman's tenderness to be Requires nor child nor woman's face to see.

I have sat too long. [Rising]

VOLUMNIA. Nay, go not from us thus.

If it were so that our request did tend To save the Romans, thereby to destroy The Volsces whom you serve, you might condemn us As poisonous of your honour. No, our suit Is that you reconcile them: while the Volsces May say 'This mercy we have show'd,' the Romans 'This we receiv'd,' and each in either side Give the all-hail to thee, and cry 'Be blest For making up this peace!' Thou know'st, great son, The end of war's uncertain; but this certain, That, if thou conquer Rome, the benefit Which thou shalt thereby reap is such a name Whose repet.i.tion will be dogg'd with curses; Whose chronicle thus writ: 'The man was n.o.ble, But with his last attempt he wip'd it out, Destroy'd his country, and his name remains To th' ensuing age abhorr'd.' Speak to me, son.

Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour, To imitate the graces of the G.o.ds, To tear with thunder the wide cheeks o' th' air, And yet to charge thy sulphur with a bolt That should but rive an oak. Why dost not speak?

Think'st thou it honourable for a n.o.ble man Still to remember wrongs? Daughter, speak you: He cares not for your weeping. Speak thou, boy; Perhaps thy childishness will move him more Than can our reasons. There's no man in the world More bound to's mother, yet here he lets me prate Like one i' th' stocks. Thou hast never in thy life Show'd thy dear mother any courtesy, When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood, Has cluck'd thee to the wars, and safely home Loaden with honour. Say my request's unjust, And spurn me back; but if it be not so, Thou art not honest, and the G.o.ds will plague thee, That thou restrain'st from me the duty which To a mother's part belongs. He turns away.

Down, ladies; let us shame him with our knees.

To his surname Coriola.n.u.s 'longs more pride Than pity to our prayers. Down. An end; This is the last. So we will home to Rome, And die among our neighbours. Nay, behold's!

This boy, that cannot tell what he would have But kneels and holds up hands for fellows.h.i.+p, Does reason our pet.i.tion with more strength Than thou hast to deny't. Come, let us go.

This fellow had a Volscian to his mother; His wife is in Corioli, and his child Like him by chance. Yet give us our dispatch.

I am hush'd until our city be afire, And then I'll speak a little.

[He holds her by the hand, silent]

CORIOLa.n.u.s. O mother, mother!

What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope, The G.o.ds look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother, mother! O!

You have won a happy victory to Rome; But for your son- believe it, O, believe it!- Most dangerously you have with him prevail'd, If not most mortal to him. But let it come.

Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, I'll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, Were you in my stead, would you have heard A mother less, or granted less, Aufidius?

AUFIDIUS. I was mov'd withal.

CORIOLa.n.u.s. I dare be sworn you were!

And, sir, it is no little thing to make Mine eyes to sweat compa.s.sion. But, good sir, What peace you'll make, advise me. For my part, I'll not to Rome, I'll back with you; and pray you Stand to me in this cause. O mother! wife!

AUFIDIUS. [Aside] I am glad thou hast set thy mercy and thy honour At difference in thee. Out of that I'll work Myself a former fortune.

CORIOLa.n.u.s. [To the ladies] Ay, by and by; But we will drink together; and you shall bear A better witness back than words, which we, On like conditions, will have counter-seal'd.

Come, enter with us. Ladies, you deserve To have a temple built you. All the swords In Italy, and her confederate arms, Could not have made this peace. Exeunt

SCENE IV.

Rome. A public place

Enter MENENIUS and SICINIUS

MENENIUS. See you yond coign o' th' Capitol, yond cornerstone?

SICINIUS. Why, what of that?

MENENIUS. If it be possible for you to displace it with your little finger, there is some hope the ladies of Rome, especially his mother, may prevail with him. But I say there is no hope in't; our throats are sentenc'd, and stay upon execution.

SICINIUS. Is't possible that so short a time can alter the condition of a man?

MENENIUS. There is differency between a grub and a b.u.t.terfly; yet your b.u.t.terfly was a grub. This Marcius is grown from man to dragon; he has wings, he's more than a creeping thing.

SICINIUS. He lov'd his mother dearly.

MENENIUS. So did he me; and he no more remembers his mother now than an eight-year-old horse. The tartness of his face sours ripe grapes; when he walks, he moves like an engine and the ground shrinks before his treading. He is able to pierce a corslet with his eye, talks like a knell, and his hum is a battery. He sits in his state as a thing made for Alexander. What he bids be done is finish'd with his bidding. He wants nothing of a G.o.d but eternity, and a heaven to throne in.

SICINIUS. Yes- mercy, if you report him truly.

MENENIUS. I paint him in the character. Mark what mercy his mother shall bring from him. There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger; that shall our poor city find. And all this is 'long of you.

SICINIUS. The G.o.ds be good unto us!

MENENIUS. No, in such a case the G.o.ds will not be good unto us.

When we banish'd him we respected not them; and, he returning to break our necks, they respect not us.

Enter a MESSENGER

MESSENGER. Sir, if you'd save your life, fly to your house.

The plebeians have got your fellow tribune And hale him up and down; all swearing if The Roman ladies bring not comfort home They'll give him death by inches.

Enter another MESSENGER

SICINIUS. What's the news?

SECOND MESSENGER. Good news, good news! The ladies have prevail'd, The Volscians are dislodg'd, and Marcius gone.

A merrier day did never yet greet Rome, No, not th' expulsion of the Tarquins.

SICINIUS. Friend, Art thou certain this is true? Is't most certain?

SECOND MESSENGER. As certain as I know the sun is fire.