When she did suckle Hector, look’d not lovelier
Than Hector’s forehead when it spit forth blood
At Grecian sword, contemning.
(I. iii. 32.)
And when she has heard the actual news, she triumphantly exclaims:
O, he is wounded; I thank the gods for’t.
(II. i. 133.)
As Kreyssig points out, even great-hearted mothers, proud of their warrior sons, do not often like to dwell so realistically on havoc and slaughter and blood. But tenderness and humanity are alien to her nature. When Valeria narrates how young Marcius tore in pieces the butterfly, she interrupts with obvious satisfaction: “One on’s father’s moods” (i. iii. 72). At her hearth Coriolanus would not be taught much kindliness for Volscians or plebeians or any other of the lower animals. Indeed, her own relations with her son depend on his reverence rather than on his fondness. In the two collisions of their wills he resists all her entreaties and endearments, but yields in a moment to her anger and indignation. She beseeches him to submit to the judgment of the people—all in vain till she loses patience:
At thy choice, then:
To beg of thee, it is my more dishonour