When the Roman people heard of the approach of the Volsci, they were greatly frightened; but their terror was increased when they were informed that Coriolanus had joined their enemies; and nothing was heard in Rome but howlings and lamentations. Brutus and Sicinius were greatly discomfited, for the popular fury was turned against them. They were upbraided for the banishment of Coriolanus, and were hooted and pelted by the rabble, in the same manner as Coriolanus had been; so that they were forced to hide themselves from their fury. The former friends of Coriolanus were rejoiced at this, but they were no less in consternation; for the destruction of a city in which we live is a terrible thing, and must be attended with ruin to all who live in it. They could not, however, forbear taunting the guilty citizens with their injustice in banishing so great a man. The poor people, who had before exhibited so much tyranny, now became wofully abject, and in the most humiliating accents begged the friends of Coriolanus to go to him and supplicate for mercy. They went, but their supplication was vain, for Coriolanus received them very coldly, and told them he had taken an oath for the destruction of the city, which he would not break, and nothing could move him from his purpose of revenge.
The city was now encompassed on all sides by the Volscian array, and the despair of the inhabitants was complete; they saw nothing before them but fire and devastation, havoc and slaughter; and after having put up prayers to the gods to avert the dreaded calamity, they went, at last, to the mother of Coriolanus, Veturia, and implored her to intercede with her avenging son. After many excuses, and bitter reproaches towards those who had so unworthily treated Coriolanus, the Roman matron at last consented to make her way to the Volscian camp, to obtain the salvation of the devoted city.
After a solemn fast, and supplication to the gods, Veturia called to her all the patrician ladies of Rome, and urged them to array themselves in deep mourning, and to wear on their heads every indication of profound grief. Everything being arranged, the procession of several hundred ladies, thus arrayed, descended the hill upon which the city was built, and passed through the principal barrier, and the gigantic gates which led to the Volscian camp. They passed along without molestation or opposition into the tent of Coriolanus, who having received information of their approach, sat in his chair of state, fixed, cold, and inflexible, to receive them.
When the Roman general saw his mother coming towards him, he could scarcely refrain from rising at her approach. He had been, from a child, so used to honor his parent, that after a violent struggle with himself, to keep his fierce and unbending look, he at last descended from his seat and threw himself at her feet. “Let me sink in the earth,” said he, “and as I am an uncommon man, let me show uncommon duty to my mother.”
But now there were other suppliants who clung around Coriolanus—his wife and his only child. But the moment they urged a word in favor of Rome, although done amid the most tender embraces, he immediately spoke coldly, and refused again to make any terms with the base spirits who had cast him forth and spurned him from the city. The mother of Coriolanus fell upon her knees before him; this touched him to the heart, and he endeavored to raise her up; but she persisted in kneeling, declaring that she would not rise from the earth till satisfied that Rome was safe from his revenge. His little son also fell down at his feet, and so did his wife, Volumnia; the whole of the Roman ladies also, following the example shown them, did the same; and poor Coriolanus soon found himself encompassed by a host of kneeling women.
“If thou wilt march to assault thy country,” said Veturia, “thou shalt tread on her who brought thee into the world;” while the boy said, “He shall not tread on me; I will run away till I am bigger; then I will fight.” This speech touched Coriolanus very much indeed, and he could not help catching him up in his arms and kissing him. Veturia then said, “Here is thy epitaph, obdurate man: the man was noble, but with his last bold deed, he wiped it out, destroyed his country, and his name remains abhorred to future ages.”
“O mother, mother!” said Coriolanus, who felt his determination giving way; “for you, my mother, for you alone I yield;” and then, after a severe struggle with himself, he said, “Rome shall indeed be saved; but thy son is lost. All the swords in Italy would not have made me yield, but I yield to thee, beloved mother.”
And so Rome was saved from destruction by the intercession of Veturia; but Coriolanus, thus overcome, was immediately upbraided by Aufidius and the other Volscian generals for selling Rome and their dear revenge for a few tears. Coriolanus replied fiercely, and told Aufidius that he should yet see the day when he would again make his countrymen sorry as he did at Corioli; and then called him a boy. This so aroused the Volscian general, that he, with his companions, immediately fell upon Coriolanus, and slew him on the spot. As soon, however, as he was dead, Aufidius,—his passion being over,—remembering his many great deeds, and his noble spirit, burst into tears. “I have slain the noblest heart in all the world,” said he, and then, as the only recompense he could make for his rash act, he ordered the most splendid funeral to be prepared, and followed it as chief mourner.
