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Updated: June 18, 2025
XXXV. When he had taken his fill of embraces, perceiving that his mother desired to address him, he called the chiefs of the Volscians together, and listened to Volumnia, who addressed him as follows: "You may judge, my son, by our dress and appearance, even though we keep silence, to what a miserable condition your exile has reduced us at home.
"At least there is no opposition to YOU," Volumnia asserts with confidence. "No, Volumnia. This distracted country has lost its senses in many respects, I grieve to say, but " "It is not so mad as that. I am glad to hear it!" Volumnia's finishing the sentence restores her to favour.
When he had satisfied himself, and observed that his mother Volumnia was desirous to say something, the Volscian council being first called in, he heard her to the following effect: "Our dress and our very persons, my son, might tell you, though we should say nothing ourselves, in how forlorn a condition we have lived at home since your banishment and absence from us; and now consider with yourself, whether we may not pass for the most unfortunate of all women, to have that sight, which should be the sweetest that we could see, converted, through I know not what fatality, to one of all others the most formidable and dreadful, Volumnia to behold her son, and Vergilia her husband, in arms against the walls of Rome.
"Therefore, Volumnia, I desire to say in your presence and in the presence of my old retainer and friend, Mrs.
Hundreds," says Sir Leicester, eyeing the cousins with increasing dignity and swelling indignation, "hundreds of thousands of pounds!" If Volumnia have a fault, it is the fault of being a trifle too innocent, seeing that the innocence which would go extremely well with a sash and tucker is a little out of keeping with the rouge and pearl necklace.
Among these suppliants was Valeria, sister to the great Poplicola, who happily lighting, not without divine guidance, on the right expedient, rose, and bade the others rise, and went directly with them to the house of Volumnia, the mother of Marcius.
In disproof of which superfluous remark Sir Leicester has indignantly written on the slate, "I am not." Yielding, therefore, the chair at the bedside to the quaint old housekeeper, Volumnia sits at a table a little removed, sympathetically sighing. Sir Leicester watches the sleet and snow and listens for the returning steps that he expects.
"And it is a remarkable example of the confusion into which the present age has fallen; of the obliteration of landmarks, the opening of floodgates, and the uprooting of distinctions," says Sir Leicester with stately gloom, "that I have been informed by Mr. Tulkinghorn that Mrs. Rouncewell's son has been invited to go into Parliament." Miss Volumnia utters a little sharp scream.
To a situation like that of the banishment he proved easily equal: indeed, he gave that magnificent outburst of scorn with tremendous power: but it was in the pathetic scene with Volumnia and Virgilia that he reached the summit of the Shakespearean conception. The deep heart as well as the imperial intellect of Coriolanus must then speak.
As to Volumnia, she is handed down the great staircase by Sir Leicester, as eloquent upon the theme as if there were a general rising in the north of England to obtain her rouge-pot and pearl necklace.
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