Distracted by the sight of his mother, Coriolanus leapt wildly from his seat and was advancing to embrace her when, turning from supplication to anger, she exclaimed, ‘Before I allow your embrace, let me know whether I have come to an enemy or a son, whether I am a prisoner or a mother in your camp. Has a long life and helpless old age brought me to such a pass that I see you, first as an exile, and afterwards as an enemy? Could you bear to devastate this land that bore and nurtured you? However hostile and threatening the spirit in which you came, did not your anger fail when you crossed its border? When Rome was in sight, did you not reflect, “Inside those walls are my home and its gods, my mother, wife, and children?” If I had not been a mother, as it seems, Rome would not have been besieged; if I had not a son, I should have died free in a free country. But as for me, I can no longer suffer anything that will add to my wretchedness or to your disgrace and, wretched though I am, it will not be for long. These younger ones have the claim upon you, for, if you persist, you will bring them to a premature death or to a life of slavery.’ Then his wife and children embraced him, and the wailing that arose from all the throng of women, and lamentations for themselves and their country, at length broke his resolution. He embraced them and sent them away, and at once withdrew his forces from the city. Livy, ii. 40. 5-10. _A Happy Victory_ _Coriolanus._ O, mother, mother! What have you done? Behold! the heavens do ope, The gods look down, and this unnatural scene They laugh at. O my mother! mother! O! You have won a happy victory to Rome; But, for your son, believe it, O! believe it, Most dangerously you have with him prevail’d, If not most mortal to him. But let it come. Aufidius, though I cannot make true wars, I’ll frame convenient peace. Now, good Aufidius, Were you in my stead, would you have heard A mother less, or granted less, Aufidius? _Auf._ I was mov’d withal. _Cor._ I dare be sworn you were: And, sir, it is no little thing to make Mine eyes to sweat compassion. But, good sir, What peace you’ll make, advise me: for my part, I’ll not to Rome, I’ll back with you; and pray you, Stand to me in this cause. Shakespeare, _Coriolanus_, V. iii. CHAPTER III The Great Enemies of Rome