Do they still fly to th’ Roman?
Do they still fly to th’ Roman?
Do they still fly to th’ Roman?
do they still fly to th’ roman?
The Lieutenant speaks with the candor of a loyal subordinate who knows he's being trusted with dangerous information. Watch for how he never pushes further than Aufidius invites.
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 dark’ned in this action, sir,
Even by your own.
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 dark’ned in this action, sir, Even by your own.
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 dark’ned in this action, sir, Even by your own.
i do not know what witchcraft’s in him, but your soldiers us
In this scene Aufidius offers what is arguably the play's most sophisticated analysis of why Coriolanus fell. He offers three hypotheses: (1) pride — 'which out of daily fortune ever taints the happy man'; (2) poor political judgment — failing to deploy his opportunities correctly; or (3) simple nature — the inability to be more than one thing, to shift from the battlefield to the Senate without using the same blunt force everywhere. Aufidius explicitly declines to choose between them: 'he hath spices of them all.' This ambiguity is deliberate — Shakespeare is putting the question into the mouth of Coriolanus's closest observer, and Aufidius doesn't know the answer either. The play refuses to give us a simple tragic flaw. What made Coriolanus is also what destroyed him.
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.
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.
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.
i cannot help it now, unless by using means i lame the foot
Yet I wish, sir—
I mean for your particular—you had not
Joined in commission with him, but either
Had borne the action of yourself or else
To him had left it solely.
Yet I wish, sir— I mean for your particular—you had not Joined in commission with him, but either Had borne the action of yourself or else To him had left it solely.
Yet I wish, sir— I mean for your particular—you had not Joined in commission with him, but either Had borne the action of yourself or else To him had left it solely.
yet i wish, sir— i mean for your particular—you had not join
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 dragonlike, 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.
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 dragonlike, 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.
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 dragonlike, 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.
i understand thee well, and be thou sure, when he shall come
The theatrical brilliance of the Aufidius arc is the gap between his conduct in 4-5 and his confession in 4-7. In 4-5, he embraced Coriolanus with what seemed like genuine emotional intensity — 'more dances my rapt heart than when I first my wedded mistress saw.' Now, just a few scenes later, he's calmly telling his lieutenant that he's been building a case against Coriolanus and will act the moment the campaign ends. Was the embrace sincere? It may have been — Aufidius is capable of holding genuine admiration and calculating betrayal simultaneously. The point Shakespeare is making is darker: even real feeling is no protection against the logic of power. When, Caius, Rome is yours, you're poorest of all. Then shortly you're mine.
Sir, I beseech you, think you he’ll carry Rome?
Sir, I beseech you, think you he’ll carry Rome?
Sir, I beseech you, think you he’ll carry Rome?
sir, i beseech you, think you he’ll carry rome?
All places yield 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 judgment,
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.
All places yield 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 judgment, 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.
All places yield 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 judgment, 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.
all places yield to him ere he sits down, and the nobility o
The Reckoning
A short scene, and one of the most chilling in the play: Aufidius, who just embraced Coriolanus with his whole heart, is already planning his destruction. The ending couplet — 'When, Caius, Rome is thine, thou art poorest of all; then shortly art thou mine' — is one of the finest lines in the play. The audience watches the trap close before the prey has any idea it exists.
If this happened today…
The CEO who just brought a legendary turnaround artist into the firm tells his COO that yes, the numbers are good — but the guy is already taking all the credit, the staff worships him, and the board is starting to ask why they need two leaders. The CEO is already thinking about how the moment this is over, the turnaround artist goes. The perfect moment to use him is also the moment to build the case against him.