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Updated: July 18, 2025
She was the true mother; she trained him for the common-weal, she would have made a patrician of him, but that craved a noble cunning; she was not instructed in it; she must pay the penalty of her ignorance the penalty of her traditions and slay him now. There is no help for it, for she has made with her traditions a thing that no common-weal can bear. Woe for this Volumnia!
As for his family, Stephen said, his mother's name lives in the forest of Arden. Her death brought from him the scene with Volumnia in Coriolanus. His boyson's death is the deathscene of young Arthur in King John. Hamlet, the black prince, is Hamnet Shakespeare. Who the girls in The Tempest, in Pericles, in Winter's Tale are we know.
These women then prevailed with Veturia, though she was now well stricken in years, and with Volumnia, that they should go to the camp to Coriolanus; and Volumnia carried with her the two sons that she had borne to Coriolanus. These having come, it was told the man that a great company of women was arrived.
A dolly sort of beauty perhaps," says Miss Volumnia, reserving her own sort, "but in its way, perfect; such bloom I never saw!" Sir Leicester, with his magnificent glance of displeasure at the rouge, appears to say so too. "Indeed," remarks my Lady languidly, "if there is any uncommon eye in the case, it is Mrs. Rouncewell's, and not mine. Rosa is her discovery." "Your maid, I suppose?" "No.
YOU don't want to be told that from information I have received I have gone to work. You're up to what a lady can't be expected to be up to. Lord! Especially in your elevated station of society, miss," says Mr. Bucket, quite reddening at another narrow escape from "my dear." "The officer, Volumnia," observes Sir Leicester, "is faithful to his duty, and perfectly right." Mr.
Volumnia, in her room up a retired landing on the staircase the second turning past the end of the carving and gilding, a cousinly room containing a fearful abortion of a portrait of Sir Leicester banished for its crimes, and commanding in the day a solemn yard planted with dried-up shrubs like antediluvian specimens of black tea is a prey to horrors of many kinds.
There were sages and philosophers among the men who speculated on the grandest subjects which can elevate the mind to the regions of immortal truth, like Socrates, Plato, Epictetus, Marcus Aurelius, even as there were women who rose above all the vile temptations which surrounded them, and were poets, heroines, and benefactors, like Telessa, who saved Argos by her courage; and Volumnia, who screened Rome from the vengeance of her angry son; and Lucretia, who destroyed herself rather than survive the dishonor of her house.
"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. "But I am too old to endure much longer your shame and my misery. Think not of me, but of your wife and children, whom you would doom to death or to life in bondage."
She, suddenly seized with the sort of instinct or emotion of mind which I have described, and happily lighting, not without divine guidance, on the right expedient, both rose herself, and bade the others rise, and went directly with them to the house of Volumnia, the mother of Marcius.
He, however, enjoyed the sympathy and applause of both parents, but Marcius, being fatherless, lavished on his mother all that affection which should have belonged to his father, besides her own share. So boundless was his love for Volumnia that at her earnest desire he even married a wife, but still continued to live in the house of his mother.
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