This harsh repulse
plunged Rome into mortal terror.
All else having failed, the noble women of
Rome, with Volumnia, the mother of Coriolanus,
at their head, went in procession from the city to
the Volscian camp to pray for mercy.
It was a sad and solemn spectacle, as this train
of noble ladies, clad in their habiliments of woe,
and with bent heads and sorrowful faces, wound
through the hostile camp, from which they were
not excluded as the deputies had been. Even the
Volscian soldiers watched them with pitying eyes,
and spoke no scornful word as they moved slowly
past.
On reaching the midst of the camp, they saw
Coriolanus on the general's seat, with the Volscian
chiefs gathered around him. At first he wondered
who these women could be; but when they came
near, and he saw his mother at the head of the
train, his deep love for her welled up so strongly
in his heart that he could not restrain himself,
but sprang up and ran to meet and kiss her.
The Roman matron stopped him with a dignified
gesture. ``Ere you kiss me,'' she said, ``let
me know whether I speak to an enemy or to my
son; whether I stand here as your prisoner or
your mother.''
He stood before her in silence, with bent head,
and unable to answer.
``Must it, then, be that if I had never borne a
son, Rome would have never seen the camp of
an enemy?'' said Volumnia, in sorrowful tones.
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