I do not know Brutus's persistent heart that allowed him to watch his children die<hr>
without pain. This stony indifference seems more akin to cruelty than greatness or bravery. Tears are permissible, and compassion is not opposing generosity. When<hr>
I told Coriolanus that I would rather die than see him victorious over Rome, I was not<hr>
contradicting the truth. But when I also say that I would prefer to be dead and that my son was alive, I am not saying anything against natural or Roman justice.<hr>
I give to Nature and reason what I cannot withhold from them, and I take nothing away from the<hr>
Republic. I sacrificed my son for it, and thus it should suffer at least as much as I mourn the victim I offered for its preservation. Having done everything a true Roman could do, it is only natural to then do all that the grief could demand of a mother's sorrow. All those who lose their children always have a just reason to lament. However, they have the consolation of cursing those who took away their children's lives. But I, not only mourn my son's death, but I also curse the fact that it was I who caused it. And to increase my grief, there is a natural law that will not allow me to forgive myself for what I have done. My son, my dear Coriolanus, can I harbor such an awful sentiment!? No, it is too contradicting to reason and nature. I must endure and regret the loss I have suffered until my death. It is not Coriolanus, the enemy of Rome, that I mourn, it's the one who gave his blood for its glory on many occasions, who served seventeen years in war with incomparable fervor and whose reward were the wounds covering his body. Roman ladies, the birth and life of this man do not make him unworthy of your tears. He was of royal lineage, for Ancus Marcius was his predecessor. He seemed to have more right than others to the benefits of the Republic, for he was incapable of using them maliciously. But perhaps that is why the Romans refused him the consulate, fearing that he might see in it a means to ascend the throne of his ancestors.<hr>
No, this reason cannot hold, and to understand Coriolanus's intentions one must remember his whole life. In the battle against Tarquin the Superb, he clearly showed his desire to earn the oak crown that the emperor placed on his head, never thinking of that of his predecessors. Seeing one of our citizens on the ground, he rushed to serve him as a shield, protecting his body with his own, sheltering him from danger. He gathered all his strength and courage, bringing death to the one who sought to take his life. If the Romans have reasons to distrust Coriolanus, this single act should be enough to discourage them from seeing him as a tyrant. It is implausible that he would expose himself so much to save a humble citizen if he intended to destroy the entire Republic someday. But that was not the only occasion he showed his fervor for the Republic. Did he not volunteer at every opportunity? Did he not distinguish himself in every battle that took place?<hr>

                                                      86<hr>