Текст книги "William Shakespeare: The Complete Works 2nd Edition"

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4.7 Enter Aufidius with his Lieutenant

AUFIDIUS Do they still fly to th’ Roman?

LIEUTENANT

I do not know what witchcraft’s in him, but

Your soldiers use him as the grace fore meat,

Their talk at table, and their thanks at end,

And you are darkened in this action, sir,

Even by your own.

AUFIDIUS

I cannot help it now,

Unless by using means I lame the foot

Of our design. He bears himself more proudlier,

Even to my person, than I thought he would

When first I did embrace him. Yet his nature

In that’s no changeling, and I must excuse

What cannot be amended.

LIEUTENANT

Yet I wish, sir

I mean for your particular—you had not

Joined in commission with him, but either

Have borne the action of yourself or else

To him had left it solely.

AUFIDIUS

I understand thee well, and be thou sure,

When he shall come to his account, he knows not

What I can urge against him. Although it seems—

And so he thinks, and is no less apparent

To th’ vulgar eye—that he bears all things fairly

And shows good husbandry for the Volscian state,

Fights dragon-like, and does achieve as soon

As draw his sword, yet he hath left undone

That which shall break his neck or hazard mine

Whene’er we come to our account.

LIEUTENANT

Sir, I beseech you, think you he’ll carry Rome?

AUFIDIUS

All places yields to him ere he sits down,

And the nobility of Rome are his.

The senators and patricians love him too.

The tribunes are no soldiers, and their people

Will be as rash in the repeal as hasty

To expel him thence. I think he’ll be to Rome

As is the osprey to the fish, who takes it

By sovereignty of nature. First he was

A noble servant to them, but he could not

Carry his honours even. Whether ‘twas pride,

Which out of daily fortune ever taints

The happy man; whether defect of judgement,

To fail in the disposing of those chances

Which he was lord of; or whether nature,

Not to be other than one thing, not moving

From th’ casque to th’ cushion, but commanding peace

Even with the same austerity and garb

As he controlled the war: but one of these—

As he hath spices of them all—not all,

For I dare so far free him—made him feared,

So hated, and so banished. But he has a merit

To choke it in the utt’rance. So our virtues

Lie in th‘interpretation of the time,

And power, unto itself most commendable,

Hath not a tomb so evident as a chair

T’extol what it hath done.

One fire drives out one fire, one nail one nail;

Rights by rights falter, strengths by strengths do fail.

Come, let’s away. When, Caius, Rome is thine,

Thou art poor’st of all; then shortly art thou mine.

Exeunt

5.1 Enter Menenius, Cominius, Sicinius and Brutus, the two tribunes, with others

MENENIUS

No, I’ll not go. You hear what he hath said

Which was sometime his general, who loved him

In a most dear particular. He called me father,

But what o’ that? (To the tribunes) Go, you that

banished him.

A mile before his tent fall down, and knee

The way into his mercy. Nay, if he coyed

To hear Cominius speak, I’ll keep at home.

COMINIUS

He would not seem to know me.

MENENIUS (to the tribunes) Do you hear?

COMINIUS

Yet one time he did call me by my name.

I urged our old acquaintance and the drops

That we have bled together. ‘Coriolanus’

He would not answer to, forbade all names.

He was a kind of nothing, titleless,

Till he had forged himself a name o’th’ fire

Of burning Rome.

MENENIUS (to the tribunes)

Why, so! You have made good work.

A pair of tribunes that have wracked fair Rome

To make coals cheap—a noble memory!

COMINIUS

I minded him how royal ’twas to pardon

When it was less expected. He replied

It was a bare petition of a state

To one whom they had punished.

MENENIUS Very well.

Could he say less?

COMINIUS

I offered to awaken his regard

For’s private friends. His answer to me was

He could not stay to pick them in a pile

Of noisome, musty chaff. He said ‘twas folly,

For one poor grain or two, to leave unburnt

And still to nose th’offence.

MENENIUS

For one poor grain or two?

I am one of those. His mother, wife, his child,

And this brave fellow too—we are the grains.

(To the tribunes) You are the musty chaff, and you are

smelt

Above the moon. We must be burnt for you.

SICINIUS

Nay, pray be patient. If you refuse your aid

In this so never-needed help, yet do not

Upbraid’s with our distress. But sure, if you

Would be your country’s pleader, your good tongue,

More than the instant army we can make,

Might stop our countryman.

MENENIUS

No, I’ll not meddle.

SICINIUS

Pray you go to him.

MENENIUS

What should I do?

BRUTUS

Only make trial what your love can do

For Rome towards Martius.

MENENIUS

Well, and say that Martius return me,

As Cominius is returned, unheard—what then?

But as a discontented friend, grief-shot

With his unkindness? Say’t be so?

SICINIUS

Yet your good will

Must have that thanks from Rome after the measure

As you intended well.

MENENIUS

I’ll undertake’t.

I think he’ll hear me. Yet to bite his lip

And ’hmh’ at good Cominius much unhearts me.

He was not taken well, he had not dined.

The veins unfilled, our blood is cold, and then

We pout upon the morning, are unapt

To give or to forgive; but when we have stuffed

These pipes and these conveyances of our blood

With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls

Than in our priest-like fasts. Therefore I’ll watch him

Till he be dieted to my request,

And then I’ll set upon him.

BRUTUS

You know the very road into his kindness,

And cannot lose your way.

MENENIUS

Good faith, I’ll prove him.

Speed how it will, I shall ere long have knowledge

Of my success.

Exit

COMINIUS He’ll never hear him.

SICINIUS Not?

COMINIUS

I tell you, he does sit in gold, his eye

Red as ‘twould burn Rome, and his injury

The jailer to his pity. I kneeled before him;

’Twas very faintly he said ‘Rise’, dismissed me

Thus with his speechless hand. What he would do

He sent in writing after me, what he would not,

Bound with an oath to hold to his conditions.

So that all hope is vain unless his noble mother

And his wife, who as I hear mean to solicit him

For mercy to his country. Therefore let’s hence,

And with our fair entreaties haste them on.

Exeunt

5.2 Enter Menenius to the Watch or guard

FIRST WATCHMAN Stay. Whence are you?

SECOND WATCHMAN Stand, and go back.

MENENIUS You guard like men; ’tis well. But, by your leave, I am an officer Of state, and come to speak with Coriolanus.

FIRST WATCHMAN From whence?

MENENIUS

From Rome.

FIRST WATCHMAN You may not pass, you must return.

Our general will no more hear from thence.

SECOND WATCHMAN

You’ll see your Rome embraced with fire before

You’ll speak with Coriolanus.

MENENIUS Good my friends,

If you have heard your general talk of Rome

And of his friends there, it is lots to blanks

My name hath touched your ears. It is Menenius.

FIRST WATCHMAN

Be it so; go back. The virtue of your name

Is not here passable.

MENENIUS I tell thee, fellow,

Thy general is my lover. I have been

The book of his good acts, whence men have read

His fame unparalleled happily amplified;

For I have ever verified my friends,

Of whom he’s chief, with all the size that verity

Would without lapsing suffer. Nay, sometimes,

Like to a bowl upon a subtle ground,

I have tumbled past the throw, and in his praise

Have almost stamped the leasing. Therefore, fellow,

I must have leave to pass.

FIRST WATCHMAN Faith, sir, if you had told as many lies in his behalf as you have uttered words in your own, you should not pass here, no, though it were as virtuous to lie as to live chastely. Therefore go back.

MENENIUS Prithee, fellow, remember my name is Menenius, always factionary on the party of your general.

SECOND WATCHMAN Howsoever you have been his liar, as you say you have, I am one that, telling true under him, must say you cannot pass. Therefore go back.

MENENIUS Has he dined, canst thou tell? For I would not speak with him till after dinner.

FIRST WATCHMAN You are a Roman, are you?

MENENIUS I am as thy general is.

FIRST WATCHMAN Then you should hate Rome as he does. Can you, when you have pushed out your gates the very defender of them, and in a violent popular ignorance given your enemy your shield, think to front his revenges with the easy groans of old women, the virginal palms of your daughters, or with the palsied intercession of such a decayed dotant as you seem to be? Can you think to blow out the intended fire your city is ready to flame in with such weak breath as this? No, you are deceived, therefore back to Rome, and prepare for your execution. You are condemned, our general has sworn you out of reprieve and pardon.

MENENIUS Sirrah, if thy captain knew I were here, he would use me with estimation.

FIRST WATCHMAN Come, my captain knows you not.

MENENIUS I mean thy general.

FIRST WATCHMAN My general cares not for you. Back, I say, go, lest I let forth your half pint of blood. Back. That’s the utmost of your having. Back.

MENENIUS Nay, but fellow, fellow—

Enter Coriolanus with Aufidius

CORIOLANUS What’s the matter?

MENENIUS (to First Watchman) Now, you companion, I’ll say an errand for you. You shall know now that I am in estimation. You shall perceive that a jack guardant cannot office me from my son Coriolanus. Guess but by my entertainment with him if thou stand‘st not i’th’ state of hanging, or of some death more long in spectatorship and crueller in suffering. Behold now presently, and swoon for what’s to come upon thee. (To Coriolanus) The glorious gods sit in hourly synod about thy particular prosperity, and love thee no worse than thy old father Menenius does! (Weeping) O, my son, my son, thou art preparing fire for us. Look thee, here’s water to quench it. I was hardly moved to come to thee, but being assured none but myself could move thee, I have been blown out of our gates with sighs, and conjure thee to pardon Rome and thy petitionary countrymen. The good gods assuage thy wrath and turn the dregs of it upon this varlet here, this, who like a block hath denied my access to thee!

CORIOLANUS Away!

MENENIUS How? Away?

CORIOLANUS

Wife, mother, child, I know not. My affairs

Are servanted to others. Though I owe

My revenge properly, my remission lies

In Volscian breasts. That we have been familiar,

Ingrate forgetfulness shall poison rather

Than pity note how much. Therefore be gone.

Mine ears against your suits are stronger than

Your gates against my force. Yet, for I loved thee,

He gives him a letter

Take this along. I writ it for thy sake,

And would have sent it. Another word, Menenius,

I will not hear thee speak.—This man, Aufidius,

Was my beloved in Rome; yet thou behold’st.

AUFIDIUS You keep a constant temper.

Exeunt Coriolanus and Aufidius

FIRST WATCHMAN Now, sir, is your name Menenius?

SECOND WATCHMAN ’Tis a spell, you see, of much power.

You know the way home again.

FIRST WATCHMAN Do you hear how we are shent for keeping your greatness back?

SECOND WATCHMAN What cause do you think I have to swoon?

MENENIUS I neither care for th’ world nor your general. For such things as you, I can scarce think there’s any, you’re so slight. He that hath a will to die by himself fears it not from another. Let your general do his worst. For you, be that you are long, and your misery increase with your age. I say to you as I was said to, ‘Away!’

Exit

FIRST WATCHMAN A noble fellow, I warrant him.

SECOND WATCHMAN The worthy fellow is our general. He’s the rock, the oak, not to be wind-shaken. Exeunt

5.3 Enter Coriolanus and Aufidius, with Volscian soldiers. ⌈Coriolanus and Aufidius sit⌉

CORIOLANUS

We will before the walls of Rome tomorrow

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, stopped your ears against

The general suit of Rome, never admitted

A private whisper, no, not with such friends

That thought them sure of you.

CORIOLANUS

This last old man,

Whom with a cracked heart I have sent to Rome,

Loved me above the measure of a father,

Nay, godded me indeed. Their latest refuge

Was to send him, for whose old love I have—

Though I showed sourly to him—once more offered

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 embassies 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 Virgilia, Volumnia, Valeria, Young Martius, with attendants

My wife comes foremost, then the honoured mould

Wherein this trunk was framed, 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.

⌈Virgilia⌉ curtsies

What is that curtsy worth? Or those dove’s eyes

Which can make gods forsworn? I melt, and am not

Of stronger earth than others.

Volumnia bows

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.

CORIOLANUS

These eyes are not the same I wore in Rome.

VIRGILIA

The sorrow that delivers us thus changed

Makes you think so.

CORIOLANUS

Like a dull actor now

I have forgot my part, and I am out

Even to a full disgrace. FRisingl Best of my flesh,

Forgive my tyranny, but do not say

For that ‘Forgive our Romans’.

⌈viraiha kisses him⌉

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 virgined it e‘er since. You gods, I prate,

And the most noble mother of the world

Leave unsaluted! Sink, my knee, i’th’ earth.

He kneels

Of thy deep duty more impression show

Than that of common sons.

VOLUMNIA O, stand up blest,

⌈Coriolanus rises⌉

Whilst with no softer cushion than the flint

I kneel before thee, and unproperly

Show duty as mistaken all this while

Between the child and parent.

She kneels

CORIOLANUS What’s this?

Your knees to me? To your corrected son?

⌈He raises her⌉

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?

CORIOLANUS

The noble sister of Publicola,

The moon of Rome, chaste as the icicle

That’s candied by the frost from purest snow

And hangs on Dian’s temple—dear Valeria!

VOLUMNIA (showing Coriolanus his son)

This is a poor epitome of yours,

Which by th’ interpretation of full time

May show like all yourself.

CORIOLANUS (to Young Martius) The god of soldiers,

With the consent of supreme Jove, inform

Thy thoughts with nobleness, 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 (to Young Martius) Your knee, sirrah.

⌈Young Martius kneels⌉

CORIOLANUS That’s my brave boy.

VOLUMNIA

Even he, your wife, this lady, and myself

Are suitors to you.

CORIOLANUS I beseech you, peace.

Or if you’d ask, remember this before:

The things 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 anything—

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.

CORIOLANUS

Aufidius and you Volsces, mark, for we’ll

Hear naught from Rome in private.

⌈He sits⌉

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 barr‘st us

Our prayers to the gods, 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 neo

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 thorough 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 cannot persuade thee

Rather to show a noble grace to both parts

Than seek the end of one, thou shalt no sooner

March to assault 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.

YOUNG MARTIUS A shall not tread on me.

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

CORIOLANUS

Not of a woman’s tenderness to be

Requires nor child nor woman’s face to see.

I have sat too long.

⌈He rises and turns away⌉

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 showed’, the Romans

‘This we received’, 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 repetition will be dogged with curses,

Whose chronicle thus writ: ‘The man was noble,

But with his last attempt he wiped it out,

Destroyed his country, and his name remains

To th’ ensuing age abhorred.’ Speak to me, son.

Thou hast affected the fine strains of honour,

To imitate the graces of the gods,

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 noble 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

Showed thy dear mother any courtesy,

When she, poor hen, fond of no second brood,

Has clucked 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 gods 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 ‘Coriolanus’ ’longs more pride

Than pity to our prayers. Down! An end.

This is the last.

The ladies and Young Martius kneel

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 fellowship,

Does reason our petition 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 Codoles, and this child

Like him by chance.—Yet give us our dispatch.

I am hushed until our city be afire,

And then I’ll speak a little.

He holds her by the hand, silent

CORIOLANUS

O mother, mother!

What have you done? Behold, the heavens do ope,

The gods 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 prevailed,

If not most mortal to him. But let it come.

⌈The ladies and Young Martius rise⌉

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 moved withal.

CORIOLANUS

I dare be sworn you were.

And, sir, it is no little thing to make

Mine eyes to sweat compassion. 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.

CORIOLANUS (to Volumnia and Virgilia) 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-sealed.

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