and bear an honourable testimony to your country, that it never has thought of hurting you, however terribly it has been injured by Marcius, but that it restores you to him uninjured, although possibly it will gain no better terms by so doing.”  When Valeria had spoken thus, the other women applauded, and Volumnia answered in the following words:  “My friends, besides those sufferings which all are now undergoing, we are especially to be pitied.  We have lost the glory and goodness of our Marcius, and now see him more imprisoned in than protected by the army of the enemy.  But the greatest misfortune of all is that our country should have become so weak as to be obliged to rest its hopes of safety on us.  I cannot tell if he will pay any attention to us, seeing that he has treated his native country with scorn, although he used to love it better than his mother, his wife, and his children.  However, take us, and make what use of us you can.  Lead us into his presence, and there, if we can do nothing else, we can die at his feet supplicating for Rome.”

XXXIV.  Having spoken thus, she took Virgilia and her children, and proceeded, in company with the other women, to the Volscian camp.  Their piteous appearance produced, even in their enemies, a silent respect.  Marcius himself was seated on his tribunal with the chief officers; and when he saw the procession of women was at first filled with amazement; but when he recognised his mother walking first, although he tried to support his usual stern composure, he was overcome by his emotion.  He could not bear to receive her sitting, but descended and ran to meet her.  He embraced his mother first, and longest of all; and then his wife and children, no longer restraining his tears and caresses, but completely carried away by his feelings.

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.  Think now, how unhappy we must be, beyond all other women, when fortune has made the sight which ought to be most pleasing to us, most terrible, when I see my son, and your wife here sees her husband, besieging his native city.  Even that which consoles people under all other misfortunes, prayer to the gods, has become impossible for us.  We cannot beg of heaven to give us the victory and to save you, but our prayers for you must always resemble the imprecations of our enemies against Rome.  Your wife and children are in such a position, that they must either lose you or lose their native country.  For my own part, I cannot bear to live until fortune decides the event of this war.  If I cannot now persuade you to make a lasting peace, and so become the benefactor instead of the scourge of the two nations,