The Rise of Rome (Penguin Classics)

by Plutarch

  (ch. 1)

  Alcibiades’ circumstances are conspicuously different. His philosophical tendencies are hampered and interrupted by his political ambitions and by the flattery and provocation of others, all illustrated in his uneven and inconsistent relationship with Socrates (Alcibiades 1 and 3–6). Both Alcibiades and Coriolanus are men of deep passions. The Roman is unable to temper the spirited and contentious aspects of his personality.12 And so he is obstinate. And easily overcome by anger. Alcibiades, too, is contentious, but he is neither obstinate nor angry – quite the opposite. He is motivated by love of honour and glory (Alcibiades 2), but also by physical passions, like luxuriousness, sensuality and sexual desire (Alcibiades 8, 11–12, 16, 23, 39), none of which touches Coriolanus. The Roman is ‘always a simple man’ (ch. 15), whereas the Greek is always unpredictable and entirely, perhaps excessively, adaptable (Alcibiades 2, 6, 16, 23).

  Anger and Exile

  Although an irresistible warrior and impeccable general, Coriolanus fails to manage the complexities of political life: his strength and bravery, like his indifference to pleasure, pain and riches, inspire admiration, but in politics he rejects compromise or accommodation, not owing to an acute sense of justice or lofty principles but instead due to obstinacy and anger. It was Plutarch’s view, expressed in his essay On the Avoidance of Anger (Moralia 452e–464d), that one must understand how anger ‘is not magnificent or manly, and that it has neither dignity nor grandeur. Nevertheless, most people mistake its turmoil for effectiveness, its menace for courage, its inflexibility for strength’ (Moralia 456e), a misapprehension that affects Coriolanus’ view of the world, as we have seen. At the time of his exile, he appears indifferent to his misfortune, but ‘this apparent composure was based neither upon logic, equanimity, nor any intention of enduring his fate meekly. It was the product of a concentrated fury’. In exile, Coriolanus’ thoughts are ‘urged on by his anger’. He is not inspired by any ‘praiseworthy or constructive purpose, but simply by the desire to revenge himself on the Roman people’ (ch. 21).13

  Exile and anger combine to exhibit Coriolanus’ fundamental inadequacies. First anger, perhaps the most analysed of passions in antiquity. For Plato and for most intellectuals, Greek and Roman alike, not all anger was to be deemed objectionable, and the spirit that could manifest itself in rage, when instead managed by reason, was regarded as an element of masculine courage (e.g. Plato, Republic 411b; Laws 731b–d; Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics 1125b26–1126b10). As we have seen, however, Plutarch, in On the Avoidance of Anger, allows no connection between manliness and bravery on the one hand and anger on the other, nor does he here recognize the legitimacy of righteous anger (his views are somewhat less absolute elsewhere: e.g. Moralia 443c, 451d, 452a–b; Aratus 45). Plutarch’s seething Coriolanus, although he does not lack intelligence or concentration, is nevertheless untethered to logic or reason. Consequently, he falls short of anyone’s expectations of a man motivated by righteous anger – and he remains entirely outside the scope of Plutarch’s prescriptions.14

  Plutarch’s open criticisms of Coriolanus’ state of mind during his exile signal for his readers a contemporary intellectual concern: how ought a reasonable man to respond to exile? There was no shortage of advice, including Plutarch’s own essay on the topic (On Exile: Moralia 599a–607f). Although Plutarch there underlines the consolations of life that survive exile, such as friendship and freedom, and observes the Platonic reality that we are all, in a sense, exiles so long as our souls dwell within their mortal coil, several of his contemporaries introduce the additional assertion that exile presents a man with an opportunity to refashion himself, not least through an elevated engagement with philosophy. Exile, then, was potentially empowering – and far from destructive, either to the exiled themselves or to others.15 The contrast with Coriolanus is unmistakable, and Coriolanus’ failure owes itself, again unmistakably, to his lack of education.

  The End of Coriolanus

  It was Plato’s view that a man with a great nature who is poorly educated can only be rescued from doing great evil by the intervention of a god (Republic 492a), and in this Life it is only as a result of divine influence that Coriolanus is finally confronted by his mother and persuaded not to destroy Rome (chs. 32–6), a miraculous touch that is at once Platonic and highly flattering to the traditions of Roman religiosity. Still, Coriolanus is not saved from personal ruin: he is murdered by a conspiracy of Volscian demagogues (ch. 39). Their foolishness, however, is soon revealed, for, as soon as the Volscians are deprived of Coriolanus’ military talents, they are quickly vanquished by their Roman enemies, who subject them to humiliating terms (ch. 39). It is not uncommon for Plutarch to report the events supervening on the death of his protagonist, and the tenor of this posthumous commentary is important for grasping the essentials of the Life one has just read.16 Here the signals are mixed. Coriolanus’ death was all but ignored by the Romans, who at least permitted his mother and wife the dignity of mourning his loss. The Volscians, however, buried Coriolanus with full honours, as if he were a hero.

  Coriolanus is by no means an attractive moral exemplar, for all his good qualities, and here Plutarch diverges from the simple moral assessment of Dionysius. Still, in important respects he seems to excel his Greek parallel. Alcibiades was murdered in sordid circumstances and was buried by a courtesan, Timandra, wrapped in her own garments (Alcibiades 39), a demise that occasions no further commentary from Plutarch. The Comparison between the two has a similarly unbalanced quality. Coriolanus’ obstinacy, anger and ambition are castigated, but his excellent qualities, and especially his incorruptibility, render him, according to Plutarch, comparable to the best of the Greeks – not to Alcibiades (Comparison Coriolanus–Alcibiades 5).

  Shakespeare’s Coriolanus

  For his Coriolanus, Shakespeare turned principally (though not exclusively) to Plutarch’s Life in its translation by Thomas North.17 But Plutarch’s essential story – and its essential values – subsist even in Shakespeare’s dramatic recreation. Unsurprisingly, certain unmistakable differences attract attention. The plebeians’ complaints about indebtedness (Coriolanus 5–7), for instance, are eliminated in order to underscore their conflict with the patricians over the dearth of grain, a contemporary issue in England when the play was written and one that effectively subverts Menenius Agrippa’s fable of the belly and its body (I.1.110–46 = Coriolanus 6).18 Coriolanus’ death, including his passionate refusal to be dismissed either in the moment or in history’s memory (V.6.115–19), rewrites Plutarch’s treatment in important ways. And Shakespeare devotes far more attention than does the biographer to Coriolanus’ actual canvass (Plutarch dilates on antiquarian and moral concerns at chs. 14–15), inventing scenes that nonetheless exhibit key Plutarchan themes: Coriolanus’ political incapacities, his obstinacy and his devotion to Volumnia.

  Coriolanus, as critics have observed, is perhaps Shakespeare’s least introspective protagonist. Instead, he relentlessly and, in the event, virulently enacts Plutarch’s observation that ‘Marcius … was always a simple man as well as an obstinate one, and believed that it is under all circumstances a brave man’s duty to bear down and overwhelm all opposition’ (ch. 15).19 This is behaviour that, in the play, leads Coriolanus to confound constancy and obstinacy, a muddled principle that offends the plebeians, entails his exile and inspires his march on Rome. For all that, he is driven to abandon even this brand of constancy in his climactic encounter with Volumnia, though in despite of himself: ‘Let it be virtuous to be obstinate’ (V.3.26), Coriolanus cries in vain. Still, he very soon recovers his true nature, thereby providing (Tullus) Aufidius – who understands him well (it is he who tells us how it is Coriolanus’ nature ‘Not to be other than one thing’: IV.7.42) – with the means of bringing about his destruction. He provokes Coriolanus to anger when he taunts him as ‘thou boy of tears’ (V.6.100), and the Roman’s subsequent outburst outrages the Volscians, who then slay him. The lesson is fundamentally Plutarchan, e
ven if it lacks his Platonic perspective.

  It is Plutarch who emphasizes Coriolanus’ psychological dependency on his mother (ch. 4). In Shakespeare’s tragedy, this relationship is vastly expanded: Coriolanus’ upbringing is rehearsed in fantastic detail, and with it we are impressed by the sheer domination of his formidable mother, who embodies in this play the Roman virtus that, according to Plutarch, had in Coriolanus’ day not yet yielded a place for a liberal education (ch. 1). Her character is larger than her son’s, on any interpretation or staging of the play: she triumphs as ‘our patroness, the life of Rome!’ (V.5.1), and in so doing annihilates the boy who – to his dying breath – Coriolanus resists remaining.20 Heroic individuality has rarely been made so simultaneously terrible and small: the poetry is Shakespeare’s, but the idea is already there in Plutarch.21

  Life of Coriolanus

  [fl. 490 BC]

  1. The patrician house of the Marcii1 at Rome produced many men of distinction. One of them was Ancus Marcius,2 the grandson of Numa on his daughter’s side, who succeeded to the throne after the death of Tullus Hostilius.3 Publius and Quintus Marcius, the men who provided Rome with its best and most abundant supply of water,4 also belonged to this family, as did Censorinus,5 who, after he had twice been appointed censor by the Roman people, persuaded them to pass a law which prohibited any man from holding this office for a second term.

  Gaius Marcius,6 the subject of this Life, lost his father when he was young, and was brought up by his mother, who never remarried.7 His example shows us that the loss of a father, even though it may impose other disadvantages on a boy, does not prevent him from living a virtuous or a distinguished life, and that it is only worthless men who seek to excuse the deterioration of their character by pleading neglect in their early years. On the other hand, this Gaius Marcius’ career bears witness to the truth of the view that a naturally generous and noble disposition, if it lacks education, will produce both good and evil fruits at once, in the same way as a naturally fertile soil, if it does not receive the proper tilling. Coriolanus’ energy of mind and strength of purpose constantly led him to attempt ambitious exploits, the results of which were momentous for Rome, but these qualities were combined with a violent temper and an uncompromising self-assertion, which made it difficult for him to cooperate with others. People could admire his indifference to hardship, to pleasure and to the temptations of money – which they dignified by the names of courage, moderation and probity – but, when he displayed the same qualities in his dealings with his fellow-citizens, they were offended and found him harsh, ungracious and overbearing. It is my belief that of all the blessings which men enjoy through the favour of the Muses, there is none so great as that process of taming and humanizing the natural instincts which is wrought through education and study, so that by submitting ourselves to reason we acquire balance and learn to avoid excess. On the other hand, we must remember that the Romans of those days prized above all else the kind of virtue which finds its expression in warlike and military achievements. We have an interesting piece of evidence for this in the fact that there is only one word in the Latin vocabulary which signifies virtue, and its meaning is manly valour:8 thus the Romans made courage stand for virtue in all its aspects, though it only denotes one of them.9

  2. Marcius was passionately fond of warlike feats and contests and began at once to handle arms even in his early boyhood. He believed that mere weapons are of little value in themselves, unless the soldier’s natural capacities and physique are first properly developed and always kept ready for use.10 Accordingly, he trained his body so thoroughly for every type of combat that he acquired not only the speed of an athlete, but also such muscular strength for wrestling11 and close combat that few opponents could escape his grasp. At any rate those who from time to time tested their prowess against his in feats of courage and daring used to attribute their defeat to his immense physical strength, which they found impossible to overcome and which no amount of exertion could wear out.

  3. He served in his first campaign while he was still little more than a boy. This was at the time when Tarquinius Superbus,12 after he had been expelled from the kingship of Rome and had fought many unsuccessful battles, resolved to stake everything upon a final throw.13 Tarquinius’ army had been recruited mainly from the tribes of Latium, but many men from other districts of Italy had rallied to his cause and were marching against Rome, not so much because of any personal attachment to Tarquinius, but through fear and jealousy of the growing power of the Romans. In the battle which followed,14 during which fortune changed sides several times, Marcius, who was fighting bravely under the eye of the dictator,15 saw a Roman soldier struck down close by. He immediately ran up, placed himself in front of the wounded man and killed his assailant. Later, after the Romans had won the battle, Marcius was one of the first to be crowned by the general with a garland of oak leaves.

  This is the civic crown,16 which, according to Roman custom, is awarded to a man who has saved the life of a fellow-citizen in battle. There are several possible explanations for the choice of this tree. It may have been intended as a compliment to the Arcadians, the tribe led by king Evander,17 who, according to an oracle of Apollo,18 were known as acorn eaters. Or it may have been a matter of mere convenience, because the Romans could easily find plenty of oak trees wherever they fought a campaign. Again, it may have been considered that an oaken wreath, which is sacred to Jupiter as the guardian of Rome, was the most fitting reward for a man who had saved the life of a fellow-citizen. Besides this, the oak bears the most shapely fruit of any wild tree, and it is the strongest of all those that grow under cultivation. In the early days of the human race, it supplied both food and drink from its acorns and from the honey found inside them,19 and it enabled men to catch a great number of grazing creatures and of birds for their meat, since it produced the mistletoe from which they made bird-lime for their snares.

  Legend has it that in this battle which I have described, Castor and Pollux appeared in the field, that immediately after the fighting they were seen in the forum, their horses foaming with sweat, and that they announced the victory by the fountain where their temple now stands.20 For this reason the fifteenth of July, the day of the victory, was afterwards declared a festival dedicated to the Dioscuri.21

  4. It would seem that to win distinction and high honours too early in life is apt to stifle the ambitions of young men in whom the desire to excel does not go very deep, for then their thirst or appetite for fame, never very intense, is quickly satisfied. But for those strong-willed spirits, with whom ambition is a ruling passion, the honours they receive serve only to spur them to greater efforts: the fire within them glows, and they respond as if some mighty wind were urging them on in pursuit of their ideal. They do not think of themselves as being rewarded for what they have already achieved, but rather as pledging themselves to the future: in this way they feel ashamed of the possibility of falling short of the reputation they have already won, and constantly strive to make their latest actions excel it.22 It was in this spirit that Marcius set himself to surpass his own record in courage. And since he was always eager to attempt fresh exploits, he added one deed of valour to another and heaped spoils upon spoils, so that his later commanders found themselves vying with their predecessors in the effort to commend him in ever higher terms and to pay him the honours he deserved. And indeed, of all the many campaigns and battles which the Romans fought at that time, there was not one from which Marcius returned without laurels or some mark of distinction.

  But while other men displayed their courage to win glory for themselves, Marcius’ motive was always to please his mother.23 The delight that she experienced when she saw him crowned, and the tears of joy that she wept as she embraced him – these things were for him the supreme joy and felicity that life could offer. And this, no doubt, was the feeling which Epaminondas24 wished to express when he said, so the story goes, that he counted it the greatest blessing of his whole career that hi
s father and mother should have lived to hear of his victory at Leuctra. But he was fortunate enough to have had both his parents to rejoice and share in his triumph, whereas Marcius, who believed that he ought to lavish on his mother all the filial affection which would normally have belonged to his father, could never do enough to praise and honour Volumnia.25 It was his mother’s will and choice which dictated his marriage, and he continued to live in the same house with her, even after his wife had borne his children.

  5. Marcius’ prowess as a soldier had already earned him a great reputation and influence in Rome when a serious political conflict broke out. The quarrel was between the senate, which supported the interests of the rich, and the common people, who complained of the many grievous injustices which they had suffered at the hands of the money-lenders. Those who possessed a modest income had their property seized as security or compulsorily sold and suddenly found themselves destitute, while those who had no means at all were arrested and imprisoned, and this was done regardless of the many wounds and hardships they had suffered in the wars fought to defend their country. The last of these campaigns had been against the Sabines: the people had gone out to fight after their richest creditors had expressly assured them that they would be treated with consideration, and the senate had passed a decree that this undertaking would be guaranteed by the consul Marcus Valerius.26 But after they had fought with great courage and defeated the enemy, their creditors showed themselves as remorseless as ever, while the senate did not even pretend to remember its promises, but again allowed them to be seized as security for their debts and dragged off to prison. It was not long before violent demonstrations and riots began to break out in the city, and the enemy soon took advantage of these disturbances to invade and devastate the countryside. But when the consuls called upon all those who were of military age to take up arms, not a man responded.