Coriolanus Act 2.3.1

Scene 2.3.1

The Forum

There is a preference of places for each of us when we needed to speak. It could be a podium, a stage or even a corner where we could face the wall. We all have our preference. The Nobles held theirs on the lawn with serving of food and drinks, or in the comfort of the grand library of the establishment they had named clubs. Comforts count a lot in their preference. But hail the Commoners who had no access to such luxuries, except the local tavern where they may share the fermented drink and brag of their life to the other. Alas that had one constraint; it was not all accessible to them all except the drinkers and braggarts. There was however another location which was more accommodating with bazaar offerings and wider open spaces; the market place was such the ideal location. If one dispenses with the heat and dire scents of decaying produce. That day, there was a congregation of eight Commoners, who had taken to seat themselves in a circle. There were equal in gender although their ages varied from the younger to the elderly.

“Once, if he does require our voices, we ought not to deny him.” The man in the attire of the baker’s, rubbed his hands over his apron like when he had placed the dough into the oven and await its baked form if it was pleasant or crude.

“We may, sir, if we will.” The key maker nodded his head. With him, he was the better friend of the baker.

“We have power in ourselves to do it, but it’s a power that we have no power to do.” The lady in the red frock spoke up. She was the seamstress who saw things fairer than the others. “If he shows us his wounds and tell us his deeds, we are to put our tongues into those wounds and speak for them. Like his deeds, we are bound to accept it.”

“Ingratitude is monstrous; for the multitude to be in grateful, were to make a monster of them, of which we being their members would be like them; monstrous.” The lady sighed. They stand in to debate for their souls and yet their faith for the real events.

“For once we stood up for the wheat and he himself stuck not to call us the many headed…. multitude.” The baker recollected the meet when the Commoners marched for the wheat, and had confronted Coriolanus.

“We have been called many, for our wits are so diversely colored.” The seamstress spoke of their differing views. “If our wits were to issue out of one skull, they would fly in all the directions of the compass, yet their consent of the way would be the one direction we took.”

The seamstress spoke of unity despite their differing views. She then added in her final view.

“Are you all resolved to give your voices? But that’s no matter, the greater part carries it. I say, if would incline to the people here was never a worthier man.” She was telling the hero had his own merits but he still snarls the dislike which would be his downfall.