CORIOLANUS AND HIS MOTHER VETURIA
Many legends are told of the wars which the Romans now waged with a
fierce tribe named the Volscians.
None, perhaps, is so well known as the story I am going to tell you of
Gaius Marcius, who was named Coriolanus.
Marcius was only a lad of seventeen years of age when he fought in the
great battle of Lake Regillus. For his courage in saving the life of a
comrade on the battlefield he was crowned with a wreath of oak leaves,
as was the Roman custom.
The young lad loved his mother Veturia well. When the battle was over,
his first thought was to hasten to show her the wreath that his valour
had gained, for he had no greater joy than to please her.
When the Romans went to war with the Volscians, Marcius was with the
army which was besieging Corioli, their capital town.
One day, the defenders of the city, seeing that part of the Roman army
had withdrawn from the walls, determined to venture out to attack those
soldiers who remained.
So fierce was their onslaught, that the Romans began to give way.
Marcius, who was some distance off, saw what had happened, and with
only a few followers rushed to the aid of his comrades, at the same
time calling in a loud voice to those who were retreating to follow him.
Encouraged by the young patrician, the Romans rallied, and dashing
after Marcius, they soon forced the enemy to turn and fly back toward
the shelter of their city.
The Romans pursued the Volscians until they reached the gates, but they
did not dream of entering, for within the city were many more of the
enemy. Already the walls were manned, and a deadly rain of arrows was
descending among them.
But Marcius, crying that the gates were open, ‘Not so much to shelter
the vanquished as to receive the conquerors,’ forced his way into the
city.
With only a handful of men, he succeeded in keeping the gates of
Corioli open, until the main body of the army arrived, when the city
was taken without difficulty.
The soldiers said, as was indeed the truth, that it was Gaius Marcius
who had taken the city.
When the war with the Volscians ended, the Consul wished to reward
Marcius for this and many another courageous deed. So he ordered that
of all the booty that had been taken in the war, the tenth part should
be given to the brave young patrician. He himself gave to Marcius a
noble horse, splendidly caparisoned.
But Marcius refused to receive more than his proper share of the booty.
He begged, however, for one favour. It was that a Volscian who had
shown him hospitality and was now a prisoner, might be set free.
Shouts of applause greeted Marcius when the soldiers heard his request.
When all was again quiet, the Consul said: ‘It is idle,
fellow-soldiers, to force and obtrude those other gifts of ours on one
who is unwilling to accept them. Let us therefore give him one of such
a kind that he cannot well reject it. In memory of his conquest of the
city of Corioli, let him henceforth be called Coriolanus.’
So it was that from this time Coriolanus was the name of the young
soldier.
In Rome, as was usual after war, there was much misery, for the fields
had been left unploughed, and no seed had been sown while the plebeians
were away on the battlefield. Now the people were starving.
The Consuls sent to Etruria for food, and when it reached Rome it was
divided among the people, but still there was not enough to satisfy
their hunger.
While the people still cried for bread, the time to elect Consuls for
the following year drew near.
Coriolanus was one of the candidates. He came to the Forum, clad in his
white toga only, and drawing it aside he showed to the people the marks
of the wounds he had received in fighting for his country.
But although at first they meant to elect Coriolanus, many of
them remembered that he often spoke of their tribunes with bitter
contempt. If he were Consul, he might try to do away with the tribunes
altogether, and to whom then would the people be able to appeal against
the oppression of the haughty patricians?
When the day came to elect the Consuls, the feeling against Coriolanus
had grown so strong that he was rejected. This made him very angry with
the plebeians, nor did he try to disguise his feelings.
Soon after the elections were over, large ships laden with corn reached
Ostia. The senators were eager to feed the starving people, and as some
of the corn was a gift, they were ready to give it to them without
charging even a small sum.
But Coriolanus was indignant, and denounced in the Senate-house those
who wished to treat the people so well. The plebeians had already grown
more insolent than was fitting, owing to the favours bestowed upon
them. ‘Before you feed them,’ said the haughty patrician, ‘let them
give up their tribunes.’
When the plebeians learned what Coriolanus had said, their anger knew
no bounds. They would have forced their way into the Senate-house and
torn him to pieces, had not the tribunes protected him and calmed the
fury of the people.
‘Do not kill him,’ said the tribunes, ‘for that will only harm your
cause. We will accuse him of having broken the sacred laws, and you
shall yourselves pronounce his sentence.’
But when the tribunes summoned Coriolanus to appear before them, he
mocked both at them and at the people.
A patrician appear before the tribunes to be judged! That was to
Coriolanus a foolish idea.
But although the patrician ignored the summons, the tribunes and the
people met and declared that Coriolanus was banished from Rome.
Then Coriolanus was forced to leave the city. Hastening to the
Volscians, he threw himself upon the mercy of their chief, Attius
Tullius.
Tullius was willing to help the banished patrician to punish Rome, and
soon an army, led by the chief and by Coriolanus, was on its way to the
city. Town after town fell into the hands of the advancing army. At
length it encamped only five miles from Rome.
The Senate, in alarm at the success of the Volscians, sent to beg for
peace.
But Coriolanus sent back the Roman ambassadors, saying that unless all
the towns taken from the Volscians in the last war were restored to
them, peace would not be granted.
Such terms were scorned by the Senate, and it sent other ambassadors
to beg for easier conditions. But Coriolanus refused even to see these
messengers.
Then the priests, clad in their sacred robes, walked in solemn
procession to the camp of the enemy, to try to appease the anger of the
haughty patrician. But the efforts of the priests were vain.
Meanwhile, the matrons of Rome had been beseeching Jupiter to come to
the aid of the city.
When the priests returned, having accomplished nothing, one of these
matrons said: ‘We will go to Veturia and Volumnia and beseech them to
go plead with Coriolanus. He cannot refuse to listen to his mother and
his wife, for he loves them well.’
Veturia, who was stricken with grief that her son could betray his
country into the hands of the enemy, needed no persuasion to go to
speak with him.
Clad in black garments, she and Volumnia with her little children,
followed by a band of Roman matrons set out for the camp of the enemy.
Coriolanus, when he caught sight of his mother, leaped from his seat,
and running quickly toward her, would have kissed her, as was his wont.
But she, putting him aside, bade him first answer her question.
‘Am I the mother of Gaius Marcius,’ she asked reproachfully, ‘or a
prisoner in the hands of the leader of the Volscians? Alas! had I not
been a mother, my country had still been free.’ As his mother said
these words, his wife and children fell at his knees and clung to him.
His mother’s words did what nothing else had been able to do, for the
proud patrician could not bear to listen to her reproaches.
With tears in his eyes he cried: ‘O my mother, thou hast saved Rome,
but thou hast lost thy son.’
Then he led the Volscian army away from the city, and restored to the
Romans the towns which the enemy had taken.
Some legends tell that the Volscians were so angry with Coriolanus for
deserting them, that they slew him as a traitor; but others say that he
lived in exile until he was an old man.
Weary of exile, he is said to have cried: ‘Only an old man knows how
hard it is to live in a far country.’
[Illustration: “O my mother, thou hast saved Rome, but thou hast lost
thy son.”]