The conditions which governed the life of woman in the earliest days of
Roman history are too far removed from the searchlight of historical
investigation for us to essay to indicate them with any degree of
fulness and accuracy of detail. While it is true that the ancient
writers have bequeathed to us records of historic events from the very
founding of their nation, the source of their information is very
questionable and its authenticity extremely doubtful. Rome did not
cultivate literature until very late in her history; she was too greatly
preoccupied in her rôle of conquering the world. At a time when every
Greek was acquainted with the noblest poetry produced by his gifted
race, Rome had not produced a single writer whose name has been
preserved. And if at that time she had possessed any men of letters, it
is quite certain that there were few of her citizens who would have been
able to read their works. Hence, when the first attempt was made to
write her history, the authors depended principally for their material
on traditions and legends which, as is the case with all such lore, had
gained greatly in marvellousness at the expense of historical value. In
addition to these sources, it is probable that during the early
centuries annals were kept of the principal happenings in the State.
According to Cicero, they were written at the end of each year by the
high priest. These records were used by the first historians; and it is
likely that the latter were not so greatly restrained, by their literary
conscience, from enlarging on the material, as they were tempted,
according to the power of their imagination, to present a picture both
interesting and satisfactory to the national pride. In many cases, as
where the exact words of their characters are reported, the ancient
historians evidently deemed that any deficiencies in the matter of proof
were abundantly atoned for by the explicitness of the information given.
As to the historical value of legends, that is a question upon which
modern writers are inclined to disagree. Since the inauguration of the
higher criticism, it has been the fashion for extremists entirely to
disown any belief in the _dramatis personæ_ of ancient traditions. They
claim that the names and the actions thus celebrated usually represent
natural forces and historic evolutions; though, to the ordinary student,
this would seem to require a remarkable amount of poetic inventiveness
on the part of an undeveloped people. Moreover, it is not, perhaps,
without reason that the student often looks upon the manner in which
modern scholars reject the traditional contributions of the old
historians as being a little arbitrary. What traveller has not found his
patience sorely tried, while viewing with reverence the reputed site of
some heroic or sacred occurrence of far-off days, as he recalled to
memory the fact that the latest authorities hold that, while the thing
might have taken place a few miles to the east or a short distance to
the north, it, for certain erudite but unconvincing reasons, could not
possibly have occurred on the spot where it has been located by the
continuous belief of centuries?
The story of Rome from its founding to the end of the regal period, as
it is told in the ancient classics, is no longer accepted as history. It
is, for the most part, classified with those mythical creations with
which an uncultured people endeavor to account for the origin and the
evolution and revolutions of their race. Yet, passing over the
marvellous and the manifestly impossible, why may we not at least claim
the right to believe the compilers of these ancient legends, when they
tell us of certain names that were great in the beginning of their
nation? Modern criticism may be right in asserting that it is not likely
that the city on the Tiber was called Roma because a man named Romulus
selected an uninhabited site and built upon it. Yet why may we not be
allowed to believe that in those early times there was one hero so
strong and masterful that he came to be known as preëminently the "Man
of Rome"? The character may have been a real one, even though the city
gave him his name, instead of the reverse, as later generations
surmised. And inasmuch as there is an Alexandria, not to speak of
innumerable modern "villes" with well-known surnames for prefixes, it
need not be thought a thing entirely incredible that the ancient city
was really called after the man who established its importance.
It is the habit of modern historians to look with suspicion upon stories
such as those which form our sole material for any personal illustration
in this present chapter, because they are of a kind so generally found
in the legends of all nations. But may not the multiplication of these
long-lived narratives, instead of disproving the intrinsic truth of any
given one, simply serve to illustrate the fact that, human nature being
a permanent factor, the doings of men under similar circumstances, in
any age or locality, will be marked by a uniformity of character? For
our present purpose, however, if in such twilight as is given by
long-preserved monuments and ancient relics, we choose to fancy that we
perceive, moving about in their daily life, the feminine forms of
traditional lore, the combination will only serve to form a more human,
and really not less accurate, picture.
The limits of our subject do not require that we should go back so far
as the epoch of Æneas, the hero of Troy; nor need we take into
consideration the part which he and Lavinia, his wife, may have played
upon the Latin shores. Their traditional coming to Italy simply serves
to indicate the fact that nearly all the tribes which inhabited the
country at the commencement of Roman history were of the same branch of
the great Aryan race as the Greeks. The Romans were the brothers of the
Greeks. The former were of that same lithe, supple-bodied,
straight-featured type which the wonderful art of the latter has
enthroned, for all the ages, as the noblest realization of ideal
physical beauty.
But when we consider the rude conditions under which life was passed, it
is probable that the highest examples of feminine grace would, in many
respects, be open to severe criticism from the civilized and artificial
taste which has prevailed in after ages. Those were the days of Arcadian
simplicity, which poetry has peopled with sweet and enticing Phyllises
and Chloes, whose only occupation was to listen to the pipings of
languishing shepherds. But, in reality, though life was simple and wants
were few, the women, as in all semi-civilized communities, gave an
overplus of labor in return for the special exertions of the men in the
chase and the combat. Hence, though the poetic conception may be
alluring, we are compelled to believe that the reality possessed but few
advantages that could arouse the envy of a modern village maiden. The
woman of earliest Rome was wholly a product of nature, endowed only
with the unfailing charms of femininity, which were solely reinforced
with the perfect health and vigor which come from a simple life.
Of such a type we may imagine Rhea Sylvia, the legendary mother of
Romulus and Remus. She was the daughter of a king, but one who was not a
monarch in the later significance of the title. Of kings there were many
in the Latium of those days. The title meant merely the patriarch of a
clan, or the head man of a small city. The regal abode was probably a
small, round structure, built of wood and roofed with straw. It may have
consisted of only one room, with a hole in the ceiling to admit light
and allow the smoke to escape. Of furniture there was little more than
rude tables and grass or leaf covered couches, together with the Lares,
or household gods. But though life conditioned by such meagre
accessories was simple, it was by no means idle, and there existed no
such contempt for labor and handicraft among the Latin tribesmen as grew
up in later times. The king himself followed the plow, while his wife
and daughters were busy with the distaff and spindle, the hand loom and
the needle. It was the duty of the women to spin the wool and to make
all the clothing for the household. Education consisted solely of the
training in the requirements of this simple life, and was provided by no
school other than the daily experience which the boys and girls gathered
among their elders. The art of writing was in the earliest days not
entirely unknown, though, during long years of slow development, it was
employed only in painting public records on leaves and skins; or, if
greater permanence was required, the records were scratched upon tablets
of wood. The amusements of the people consisted mainly of the festivals
and athletic games which were held in honor of the gods. If it might
only be believed that this life was as pleasant as it is pictured by
Virgil, it would be easy to sympathize with the poet when he declares
that he pined for such an existence himself. "The husbandman cleaves the
earth with the crooked plow.... Winter comes: the Sicyonian berry is
pounded in the oil presses; and the autumn lays down its various
productions.... Meanwhile, the sweet babes twine around their parents'
necks; his chaste family maintain their purity. The swain himself
celebrates festal days; and extended on the grass, where a fire is in
the middle, and where his companions crown the bowl, invokes thee, O
Lanæus, making libation. On an elm is set forth to the masters of the
flock prizes to be contended for with the winged javelin; and they strip
their rustic bodies for the friendly struggle." Elsewhere the poet
describes a home scene, where the man is working by the light of the
winter fire: "Meanwhile, his spouse, cheering by song her tedious labor,
runs over the webs with the shrill shuttle; or over the fire boils down
the liquor of the luscious must, and skims with leaves the tide of the
trembling cauldron. This life of old the ancient Sabines followed; this,
Remus and his brother strictly observed; thus Etruria grew in strength;
and thus too did Rome become the glory and beauty of the world."
Unlike their sisters of Greece, the women of Rome were never secluded;
yet their duties and responsibilities were strictly confined to domestic
bounds. Here, however, while the husband was master, the wife was
mistress. She took equal part with him in the worship of the family
Lares, which worship was a prominent feature in every Roman household;
and if he were a priest, she, by her marriage to him, became a
priestess. But, except in certain religious institutions, she had not
the slightest active connection with State or public affairs. That is,
she had no such connection in theory and according to law; but it was in
Rome as it has been in all ages and in all countries: there were no laws
or customs that could prevent a woman who possessed gifts of mind and
cherished ambitious projects from gaining some tool by means of whom her
hand might turn the affairs of State to her will.
To this strenuous class of women, however, Rhea Sylvia did not belong.
Her euphonious name has been preserved, not because of any active
influence which she wielded over the destinies of men, but because,
through the simple function of motherhood, she introduced into the
history of the world a strong man. She was the daughter of Numitor, to
whom his father had bequeathed the kingdom of the Sylvian clan. But
Amulius, another son, had driven his brother into exile, and, in order
to secure himself in his usurpation, had put all his nephews to death.
Rhea was spared, probably on account of the fact that the law did not
allow women to reign, and hence her existence held no threat.
Nevertheless, since of the women of princely houses are born possible
claimants to thrones. Amulius deemed it best that some preventive
measure should be taken. He evidently did not wish to commit unnecessary
barbarities; and he also liked, if possible, to cover his
self-protective actions with a gloss of seeming generosity. Rhea Sylvia
should be the priestess of Vesta. Hers should be the honorable duty of
guarding the perpetual fire which burned on the sacred hearth of the
city. Thus she, as was befitting the daughter of Numitor, would be held
in as high regard among the people as the queen herself. Incidentally,
this would also preclude the possibility of any grandson appearing to
claim the throne of the exiled Numitor; for the Vestals were most
rigidly pledged to a life of constant virginity. But how often have the
gods, and sometimes even Nature herself, thwarted the most cunningly
devised schemes of men! Upon this truism Amulius must have reflected,
when, without any previous declaration of her intention, Rhea Sylvia
introduced to the community a sturdy pair of twins. She declared that
Mars was the father of her offspring; either, as Livy discreetly
remarks, because she believed it to be so, or because a god seemed the
most creditable author of her offence. In those times, the possibility
and the frequent occurrence of such matches were devoutly believed, and
the first historians freely availed themselves of this belief to enhance
the glory of their race, or of a powerful family, by establishing for it
the reputation of a divine origin. The idea of superhuman parentage was
also a convenient means by which to account for, and sometimes excuse,
the unusual character and extraordinary deeds of ancient heroes. In
those days, when men's faith was simple and uncritical, belief in divine
incarnation presented no serious difficulty.
It is evident, however, that Amulius was not greatly impressed with a
sense of the sacredness of the children of the warrior-god. He threw the
mother into prison, and ordered her sons to be drowned in the Tiber.
But, as is usually and fortunately the case in legendary history, this
order was intrusted to one who was either too pitiful or too careless to
give it thorough execution. The infants, in their cradle or upon a rude
raft, were set afloat on the river, which was at that time in flood; the
waters, however, quickly subsided, and the boys were left alive on dry
ground. Their cries attracted a shepherd named Faustulus, and by him
they were carried to his home, where they were reared by his wife
Laurentia. This woman is given a bad name by the ancients. They say
that she was also called Lupa; and Lupa being the name applied to a
woman of unchaste character, as well as the term used to designate a
she-wolf, in this manner the sceptics accounted for the marvellous story
of the sons of Rhea being suckled by a wolf. But whatever may have been
the failings of Laurentia, if there be any truth whatever in the legend,
she made atonement by preserving the life of the founder of Rome. We
will not follow these traditions in their well-known details. Whether or
not Romulus was indeed the first to select the site of the city which
was to spread over seven hills by the Tiber and from them dominate the
world is as impossible to determine as it would be unimportant to our
subject if ascertained. The purpose before us is solely to inquire what
part and lot woman had in the founding of the infant State. That her
rôle was mainly a passive one may be taken for granted, as being in
accordance with the status of the weaker sex in the childhood of every
race and nation.
The ancient historians, who accepted the Romulus legend without
question, portray for us the growing town, so sturdily and rapidly
advancing in power and fame as to excite the wonder and the jealousy of
neighboring communities. One cause to which is attributed this
prosperity is interesting, since it led to a famous episode in which
women played a leading though an unwilling part. We are told that
Romulus opened within, the bounds of the city an asylum, or place of
refuge, where fugitives from justice or from servitude were received
under the protection of the gods. This attracted new citizens in great
numbers, but such as contributed nothing to the respectability of the
new State. The new-comers were, almost entirely, unmarried men; and soon
the paucity of women in Rome gave cause for grave concern. Romulus had
appointed a number of the leading citizens, whom he named as Senators,
to assist him in the government. But it was not in the power of these
city fathers to aid him materially in securing a continued growth of the
community, unless wives could be provided. Ambassadors were despatched
to the neighboring States, requesting treaties of alliance, and
especially begging the privilege of intermarriage. Owing, doubtless, to
the questionable character of the newly acquired inhabitants of Rome,
this was a favor which no city was disposed to grant. Everywhere the
ambassadors were confronted with the suggestion that an asylum be opened
for women also, for only by such a plan could suitable mates be obtained
for the men of Rome. Another reason, however, why wives were hard to
obtain was the fact that women were comparatively scarce throughout
Latium. The custom of exposing female infants to death was prevalent
there, as in many other ancient races, daughters being looked upon as a
source of weakness and expense to a family, as sons were a gain and a
strength. Wives, however, being a necessity, the fathers of boys often
secured as brides for their sons girls as soon as they were born. This
laid upon the parents of the latter the obligation to spare their lives
and rear them. There is no evidence that the purchase of wives was ever
a custom among the Romans. Indeed, the opposite was from time immemorial
the practice; a dower went with the bride. Hence it is easy to see why
the Latin fathers were unwilling to bestow their daughters,--who were
not likely to remain on their hands for lack of suitors,--and especially
the dowers that went with them, upon the adventurous young men who had
sought at Rome asylum from justice or vengeance.
But in those ages, and especially in such a matter as the winning of
wives, diplomacy was a resource not wholly depended upon. Among the
marriage ceremonies of later times, there was a custom of parting the
hair of the Roman bride with a spear. In this we find a reminiscence of
the period when marriage by capture was resorted to when there seemed
urgent necessity. Thus Romulus determined that what could not be gained
by fair means should be obtained by the best method which came to hand.
At the festival of the god Consus, appropriately the deity who presided
over hidden deliberations, the seizure of the Sabine maidens was planned
and carried out; and thus the Romans took to themselves wives. How
closely this well-known story corresponds with facts, of course, cannot
be determined. Possibly many of its details are attempts of later ages
to account for wedding customs, the origin of which had been forgotten.
But it is very probable that marriage by capture was common in the
embryonic civilization of early Rome. And there may have been one
occasion when this rude method of wooing was adopted in so flagrant and
wholesale a manner that it led to a war with the Sabines, by which the
remembrance of the event was perpetuated in the traditions of the
people. Michelet, commenting on this story in his brilliant manner,
says: "The progress of humanity is striking. Springing in India from
mystical love, the ideal of woman assumes in Germany the features of
savage virginity and gigantic force; in Greece, those of grace and
stratagem, to arrive among the Romans at the highest pagan morality, to
virgin and conjugal dignity. The Sabines only follow their ravishers on
compulsion, but, become Roman matrons, they refuse to return to the
paternal mansion, disarm their fathers and their husbands, and unite
them in one city." Plutarch says that it was in order to obtain
forgiveness that the Romans assured certain privileges to their wives.
No labor other than spinning should be demanded of them; they should
take the inside of the path; nothing indecent should be done or said in
their presence; they should not be summoned before the criminal judges;
and their children should wear the _pretexta_ and the _bulla_. Thus in
the time of the Greek historian the barbarism of the old times was
forgotten, and to the primitive constitution was attributed all the
civilization which it required centuries to bring about.
As fair Helen brought woe to Troy, so the abduction of the Sabine
maidens was followed by the bitter vengeance of their indignant
masculine relatives. If we may believe the old historians, the women
soon became reconciled to their enforced condition as wives of the
Romans. Doubtless the writers drew this conclusion more from their
knowledge of the yielding disposition of feminine nature than from any
precise acquaintance with the facts. It being totally uncustomary for
the woman to be allowed any decision in the matter, it was a thing of
small importance to her whether she was taken by her husband, without
either her consent or that of her father, or whether she was given by
her father to her husband, equally without being consulted.
The Sabines waited patiently for a favorable opportunity; and when it
came, they attacked the Romans with good success. They even gained
possession of the strongest fortifications of the city. But, according
to the legend, they could not have won such advantage had it not been
for the love of gaud of Tarpeia, the daughter of one of the captains of
Romulus. Tatius, the King of the Sabines, induced her to open for him
the gates, promising as a reward the golden bracelets which his soldiers
wore upon their left arms. It is noticeable that the difficulties which
must have surrounded an interview between the king and the maiden are
discreetly ignored by the tradition. She agreed to open the gate, on the
pretence of going forth to draw water for the sacrifice, and the Sabine
men were thereupon to rush in. Everything took place as arranged, except
that the misguided Tarpeia received much more than she had bargained
for. Her request was for "that which they wore upon their left arms,"
not remembering the fact that upon that arm they also carried their
shields. The soldiers, as they entered, either through haste, or because
they hated treachery though willing to avail themselves of it, threw at
her their shields as well as their bracelets, and the girl was crushed
to death beneath their weight. A part of the hill which the Sabines thus
gained was ever afterward called the Tarpeian Rock; and it became a
place of execution, traitors being hurled from its summit. There is much
about this story which justifies the suspicion that it arose from, or at
least was adopted by, a desire on the part of the Romans to explain a
defeat, rather than from any verifiable historical foundation. It looks
like a case of the natural vanity of warlike men saving itself by means
of an ungallant slur on the characteristic vanity of women.
Taking the account as it stands, matters were now very serious for the
Romans. The enemy had gained the citadel, and a bloody conflict ensued.
But the women whose abduction had brought on these troubles were also to
be the means of making peace. As the battle was raging, the two armies
were astounded to behold the Sabine women rushing from the homes of the
Romans, not to make their escape, but to throw themselves between the
combatants. With tears, they entreated their fathers and brothers to
hear them. Their plea was voiced by a captive named Hersilia, who some
historians hold was the wife of that Hostilius who afterward became King
of Rome, while others claim that she had been taken by Romulus himself.
Plutarch gives us her speech--of course, drawing from his own
imagination, though he is not far from what might have been the truth;
for anyone may guess what would be likely on such an occasion. She said:
"It is true we were ravished away unjustly and violently by those whose
wives we now are; but that being done, we are bound to them by the
strictest bonds, so that it is impossible for us not to weep and tremble
at the danger of the men whom once we hated. You now come to force away
wives from their husbands, and mothers from their children. Which shall
we call the worse, their love making or your compassion? Restore to us
our parents and kindred, but do not rob us of our husbands and children.
We entreat you not to make us twice captive." Whereupon, the Sabines
learning that their daughters were not yearning to be rescued, and
having no other good reason for carrying on the fight, a truce was
declared. With a zealous determination to leave nothing unaccounted for,
the tradition relates how the women took their kindred into the city and
proudly exhibited the comforts and indulgences they enjoyed with their
husbands, whose wooing had been so unmannerly. This might well be, as
the Sabines were a pastoral people and unaccustomed to what were to them
the luxuries of city life. So peace was made; and we are told that it
was in commemoration of this event that the ladies of Rome ever
afterward celebrated the festival of the Matronalia on the first of
March. It was their custom to ascend in the morning in procession to the
temple of Juno, and place at the feet of the goddess the flowers with
which their heads were crowned. In the evening, in memory of the tokens
of gratitude which the Sabine women received from their Roman husbands,
they remained at home, adorned in their best attire, waiting for the
customary gifts of their husbands and friends. At a date far later, we
find Tibullus debating with himself, in an exquisite little poem, what
gift he shall send to his beloved Neæra on the Calends of March. With
the customary valuation which an author sets upon his own productions,
he decides that he can give her nothing more acceptable than a copy of
his poems, beautifully bound and adorned.
Every nation has its traditional Golden Age, a period to which the
poetic philosophers of degenerate after times love to refer in the
assumption that then all things were at their best and men were
perfectly happy. So all Roman ideals of civic concord are concentrated
in and derived from the legendary reign of Numa Pompilius. He is
described as not seeking the kingdom, but preferring the pleasures of
reflection in a quiet life with Tatia, his like-minded and noble wife.
But the honor was forced upon him, and he reigned in the spirit of a
true philosopher. He formulated laws and established a system of morals
in accordance with principles worthy of Marcus Aurelius. To him is given
the credit of organizing the religious institutions of the Romans, and
especially the college of Vestal Virgins. We have seen that, before his
time, to certain maidens was assigned the duty of guarding the sacred
fire, and at the same time their virgin purity. But Numa was said to
have formulated the rules of the order, to have assigned precisely its
duties, and to have built a house for Vesta. But there is not the least
doubt that around the name Numa have clustered, and to him have been
attributed, many advances in civilization which were the growth of
centuries. This seems especially probable in view of the fact that Numa
was a Sabine, one of the pastoral race which was naturally less advanced
in culture than the people who were gathered in cities.
What improvement may have found its way into the conditions of feminine
life during this period, it is difficult to determine. The useful arts
are said to have grown greatly in favor. Numa is credited with having
instituted guilds for the encouragement of flute blowers, goldsmiths,
coppersmiths, carpenters, fullers, dyers, potters, and shoemakers. Life
would thus become more comfortable, and also be brightened by that which
was pleasurable and ornamental. This supposes an enlargement of the
sphere of the home, a consequent increasing of the interests and
responsibilities of the women, and a softening effect upon their nature.
There is also an indication that, as in ancient Germany, though the
women may have had no part in the direct government of the State, yet
the counsels of certain of their sex were followed by the lawmakers with
a reverence akin to religion. There is a strong suggestion of feminine
influence in the legends concerning the marital relations of Numa.
Plutarch relates that Tatia, Numa's estimable first wife, was separated
from him by death after thirteen years of wedded felicity, and that
after this he never married again, but sought to console himself by
melancholy ramblings in the fields and woods. This gave rise to the
story that, in a certain grove, he was accustomed to meet the goddess
Egeria, who not only favored him with her love, but also endowed him
with the wisdom to perform his duties with marvellous success. On the
other hand, Livy, who probably knew neither more nor less about it, says
that Numa consecrated this grove, with its grotto and spring of living
water, to the Muses, who were accustomed there to meet his wife Egeria.
Whether this Egeria is to be regarded as a mortal woman, perhaps the
lawful wife of the king, or, what is considerably less likely, a divine
being, cannot be decided from these traditions. But they surely have a
value in that they indicate the willingness of the earliest Romans to
attribute excellence in statesmanship on the part of their best men to
the inspiration of members of the fair and gentle, sex.
After the death of Numa, the Romans elected as their king Tullus
Hostilius, and thus a turbulent warrior succeeded the peace-loving
lawgiver. In this reign, instead of the poetic anachronism which
portrays an abnormally advanced civilization, we are brought back again
to earth and to history and to a more accurate description of the
progress of the people. Much is revealed in the story by which Livy, in
his inimitable manner, accounts for the Sororium Tigillium, or the
Sister's Post, a monument which he says was existent in his own day.
Here we not only encounter the terrible right of the father of a family
over the lives of his children, but we also see that the tender
instincts of a woman's love were accounted as nothing in comparison with
loyalty to the family and her duty of hatred to the enemies of the
State. The heroic Horatius, single-handed after the death of his
brothers, had slain the three champions of the Alban army, and thus
provided the first taste of the delight of subjugation to the city which
was destined to become the mistress of the world. In the triumphal
return to Rome, Horatius marched foremost of all the army, carrying
before him the spoils of the three Alban brothers. As they neared the
Porto Capena, the Roman women came forth to welcome the victors home.
Among the rest came Horatia, the sister of the youthful conqueror. As
she ran to embrace him, she noticed upon his shoulder a familiar robe;
in fact, it was a soldier's tunic which she had wrought with her own
hands for one of the vanquished Curiatii, to whom she had been
betrothed. The truth flashed upon the damsel's mind in an instant. Her
lover was dead, and that by the hand of her brother. With tears and
lamentations, she began to call upon the name of her betrothed. Possibly
with her cries of grief she joined bitter upbraidings of her brother,
who had saved himself and Rome at the cost of her bereavement. His
sister's lamentations, in the midst of his own triumph and the great
public rejoicing, so greatly angered the excited youth that he drew his
sword and stabbed her to the heart. As he did this, he cried: "Go with
thy unseasonable love; go and rejoin thy betrothed, thou who forgettest
thy dead brothers, and him who remains, and thy country! So perish every
woman who shall dare to lament the death of an enemy!" This atrocious
murder raised, of course, a profound sensation among the people. They
did not know which ought to outweigh the other: his awful crime or his
brilliant exploit for the public good. The king appointed duumvirs to
try him. By these he was condemned to be beaten with rods, within or
without the walls of the city, and then to be hanged.
But the law gave to Horatius the right of appeal to the people, and in
this second trial he found an effective advocate in his own father. The
old man declared that he considered his daughter deservedly slain. Were
it not so, he said, he would by his own authority as father have
inflicted punishment on his son. It seems probable, however, that
Horatius senior took this course of argument, not because he did not
regret his daughter, but because he hoped thereby to save himself from
being bereft of all his children. "Go, lictor," he said, "bind those
hands which but a little while since, being armed, established
sovereignty for the Roman people. Strike him within the town, if thou
wilt, but in presence of these trophies and spoils; without the town,
but in the midst of the tombs of the Curiatii. Into what place can you
lead him where the monuments of his glory do not protest against the
horror of his punishment?" The tears of the father and the intrepidity
of the son won for the latter absolution; but the father was commanded
to make expiatory sacrifices, and these were ever afterward continued in
the Horatian family. As a further punishment, a beam was laid across the
street and the young man made to pass under it, with veiled head, as
under a yoke.
Chronologically, this seems to be the appropriate place to introduce
some reference to another race which, to no small extent, affected the
early history of Rome and also the status of the Roman woman. From
Etruria came the ancestor of the Tarquins, that proud dynasty which
provided two legends of the extreme opposite types of women: Tullia, the
cruel and ambitious queen, and Lucretia, the ideal of conjugal
faithfulness. Tanaquil, the never-forgotten helpmeet of an able man,
also came from this people.
The Etruscans have ever been a puzzle to historians and one of the
principal enigmas in ethnology. Entirely unlike the Hellenic or Italiote
races in appearance as well as in customs, even the ancients were at a
loss to surmise whence this remarkable people originated. Dionysius
says, "they claimed alliance with no people in the world." Inquiry
regarding them would not be so interesting, were it not that they have
left such an abundance of proofs of their proficiency in art and
advancement in civilized industry. At the time of which we are writing,
they possessed the very respectable beginning of a literature. We have
nearly two thousand of their inscriptions; but hardly a word are we able
to interpret, for the Etruscan language is to-day what the Egyptian
hieroglyphics were before Champollion. These people were the artists and
the manufacturers for all Italy. In the museums of Europe are to be seen
specimens of their art, such as statues, beautifully ornamented vases,
bas-reliefs, and jewelry, which can but excite the wonder of the
beholder by the richness of their execution. Their tombs have been
found to contain great quantities of such treasures, which they were in
the habit of burying with their chiefs. Reclining on one of these tombs
are the carved effigies of a man and his wife, represented as though
resting upon a couch. If these figures give as correct an idea of the
appearance of the Etruscans as they indicate artistic ability, they were
a thickset people, with retreating foreheads, aquiline noses, and eyes
rather oblique--all suggestive of the Asiatic type. The barbarous
religious ideas of the Etruscans rendered the race gloomy and
fatalistic. Their priests were supposed to be experts in divining the
future; and their gods often required to be propitiated with human
sacrifices. Their civilization had a powerful effect upon that of Rome.
In Etruria women were treated with a respect unusual among the races of
that time; and it may have been owing to this influence that the women
of Rome enjoyed so much more liberty than their sisters of Greece. On
the other hand, to the Etruscans' characteristic delight in cruel sports
has been attributed the introduction of gladiatorial contests in the
arena at Rome.
The traditional account of the origin of the Tarquin family is very
uncertain historical data, the founder being represented as the son of a
foreigner in Tarquinii, a city of Etruria, and his name Lucumo; while
history seems to indicate that the _lucumon_ was an Etruscan chief
magistrate. However, we will take the legendary account as it stands. In
it we are told that Lucumo had married a noble maiden of Tarquinii,
called Tanaquil, a name that in after times became a household word
among the Romans. When they wished to hold before their daughters the
ideal of a good housewife, they exhorted them to emulate Queen Tanaquil.
She was also called Caia Cæcilia, "the good spinner"; and to her memory
and industry all young brides paid honor. From what is told of her,
however, she seems rather to have been an extraordinary type of the
women whose ambitions urge their husbands in the quest of high political
position and whose wise intuitions help to support their spouses in
those positions when attained.
These Etruscans were wealthy; but Lucumo could hope for no place of
influence in Etruria, for the reason that he was the son of a foreigner.
It is to Tanaquil, however, that the credit is given of having persuaded
him to migrate to Rome. We can imagine her argument to have been that,
in the new State, where all the nobility were of recent origin and where
men were elevated for merit rather than for family descent, the courage
and energy of her husband would give him the best chances of success.
The story relates that, as they were about to enter Rome, an eagle
swooped down from the skies and seized Lucumo's cap in its talons. After
flying around the chariot with loud screams, to their great astonishment
the bird replaced the cap on the man's head. In those times, the
movements of birds were looked upon as the surest kind of omens, as
indeed they were so regarded for centuries afterward; and among the
first historians, the tradition of the entrance into Rome of a man
destined to be its king, in which there was no mention made of an omen,
would simply indicate a defect in the narrative which literary justice
would require them to make good. Tanaquil, availing herself of the
science of augury, in which the Etruscans were especially expert,
declared that this was a sign that the highest honors were to be heaped
upon her husband's head. Down to very late times, Romans, even those of
the keenest intellect, were largely influenced in their actions and
decisions by such signs; and it is easy to see how omens might seem
valid, inasmuch as they contributed in no small degree to their own
fulfilment by encouraging or depressing those who thoroughly believed in
them.
[Illustration 2:
_THE CONVERT
After the painting by G. R. C. Boulanger
The noble matron Pomponia Græcina has been credited
by tradition with having found consolation for the sorrows
of the times in that new faith which was undermining
old Rome, both literally in the catacombs and figuratively
in the rapidity with which it was making converts;
but we know not with certainty..... Græcina was
accused of yielding to foreign superstitions. This may
have been owing to the peculiarities of her manner. She
had been the close friend of that Julia, daughter of Drusus,
whom Messalina had forced to kill herself. From this
time on, for the space of forty years, Græcina wore nothing
but mourning, and was never seen to smile..... When
the charge of entertaining foreign superstitions was laid
against her, she was, in accordance with the ancient law,
consigned to the adjudication of her husband..... She
was adjudged innocent._]
In the city, our legendary Etruscan changed his name to Lucius
Tarquinius Priscus. His riches and talents soon availed with the Romans,
and he was appointed guardian to the king's children. When Ancus died,
Tarquin succeeded in persuading the people to elect him to the throne;
and he was not mistaken in his estimation of his own fitness for that
position, for his rule was in every way beneficial. He enlarged the
territory of the State and undertook many worthy public works. To this
period is attributed the building of the great subterranean sewers for
draining the city. Lasting, though inelegant, monuments these; for after
twenty-five centuries have passed away, and after so many Romes have
arisen and fallen above them, the _cloacae_ of Tarquinius Priscus still
remain and admirably serve their purpose. The historians further tell us
that this Etruscan introduced into the kingly style a magnificence
hitherto unknown in Rome. This was especially manifested in his
embroidered robes, which were the skilful work of Tanaquil the Spinner.
Here was a queen who might have been taken for the model of the virtuous
woman depicted in the Book of Proverbs. The heart of her husband could
safely trust in her. She did him good and not evil all the days of her
life. "She seeketh wool and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands."
But Tanaquil was as well qualified to assist her husband in his
political projects as to array him in a manner befitting his station.
This is evidenced by her behavior at his death, which took place at the
hand of assassins. We will allow Livy to relate in his own words what
happened, "When those who were around had raised up the king in a dying
state, the lictors seized on the men who were endeavoring to escape.
Upon this followed an uproar and concourse of the people, wondering
what the matter was. Tanaquil, during the tumult, orders the palace to
be shut up, thrusts out all who were present; at the same time, she
sedulously prepares everything necessary for dressing the wound, as if a
hope still remained; yet, in case her hopes should disappoint her, she
projects other means of safety. Sending immediately for Servius,--who
had married her daughter,--after she had showed him her husband almost
expiring, holding his right hand, she entreats him not to suffer the
death of his father-in-law to pass unavenged, or his mother-in-law to be
an object of insult to their enemies. 'Servius, she said, 'if you are a
man, the kingdom is yours, not theirs, who, by the hands of others, have
perpetrated the worst of crimes. Exert yourself, and follow the guidance
of the gods. Now awake in earnest. We, too, though foreigners, have
reigned. Consider who you are, not whence you have sprung. If your own
plans are not matured by reason of the suddenness of this event, then
follow mine.' When the uproar and violence of the multitude could
scarcely be withstood, Tanaquil addressed the populace from the upper
part of the palace through the windows facing the new street--for the
royal family resided near the temple of Jupiter Stator. She bids them be
of good courage; tells them that the king was stunned by the suddenness
of the blow; that the weapon had not sunk deep into his body; that he
was already come to himself again; that the wound had been examined, the
blood having been wiped off; that all the symptoms were favorable; that
she hoped they would see him very soon; and that, in the meantime, he
commanded the people to obey the orders of Servius Tullius. That he
would administer justice, and perform all the functions of the king.
Servius comes forth with the trabea and the lictors, and, seating
himself on the king's throne, decides some cases, but with respect to
others pretends that he will consult the king. Therefore, the death
being concealed for several days, though Tarquin had already expired,
he, under pretence of discharging the duties of another, strengthened
his own interest. Then, at length, the matter being made public, and
lamentations being raised in the palace, Servius, supported by a strong
guard, took possession of the kingdom by the consent of the Senate,
being the first who did so without the orders of the people."
Of course, however much or little of all this may have really taken
place, the effect of the account is greatly heightened by the brilliant
imagination of the historian. But we believe that at least there is
enough historical truth in it to show that the early Romans did not
consider able statecraft on the part of women an entire impossibility.
In regard to Tanaquil's after career as queen-dowager, the legends are
totally and regrettably silent; and it is left to us to surmise without
data as to how the new king held his own with such an extraordinarily
clever mother-in-law; but, from what has just been related, he would
seem to have had both the wisdom to appreciate her counsels and the
ability to put them into effect.
The Tarquinian dynasty was prolific of remarkable women; and in the
legendary history they are set over against each other in sharp
contrast. We have had the good queen, now we encounter the bad. Again it
is the story of a woman who was ambitious, but this time of one who
possessed no moral sentiment to soften her methods, whose respect for
that which is honorable in woman weighed nothing against her desire for
position. Expediency being furthered by cruelty, she could easily
overcome her feminine instincts. She was an exaggerated specimen of that
type of which Shakespeare has given an unfading picture in Lady
Macbeth. More than this, Tullia represented for the Romans the very acme
of wickedness. All feminine virtue with them culminated in filial
obedience and marital faithfulness; Tullia murdered her husband and
plotted against her father, and was accessory to his death. The Romans
were not abstract thinkers; and it is more than likely that this legend
is an accumulation, in one imaginary concrete example, of all feminine
depravity, rather than a veritable account of a historic personage. Yet
we have no good reason to doubt that there was a vicious Tullia, on
whose character this ideal of wickedness was erected.
Servius, the good king, had two daughters, Tullia being the younger.
These young women were married to the two sons of Tarquinius Priscus,
Lucius and Aruns; the eider daughter being given to the elder son. The
consequence of this arbitrary choice on the part of the parents was that
a most contrary assortment was made. A stirring and prideful man found
himself coupled with a woman of easy, good-natured disposition; and a
man of contented mind and contemplative habits was afflicted with a
high-spirited and ambitious wife. The haughty Tullia could not endure
the thought that there was no material in her husband either for daring
or energetic action. She gave her regard to Lucius, who, as she
considerately informed Aruns, was worthy to be called a man. She went so
far as to intimate to Lucius that if the gods had been possessed of
sufficient good judgment to have given her the only man who could
appreciate her abilities she would soon see the crown in her own house,
instead of in that of her father. This inspired the young man; and they
both agreed that the mistakes of the deities should be rectified. It
soon conveniently happened that two deaths gave the opportunity for a
reassortment; and the nuptials of Lucius and Tullia were quickly
celebrated.
Having thus far hurried forward the matter, it was not in the nature of
the woman to wait patiently for death to make vacant the throne of the
aged Servius. She said that she wanted a husband who would rather
possess a throne than hope for it. She stimulated Lucius's courage by
asking why he allowed himself to be called a prince, if he had not the
spirit to take his own. She suggested that, his grandfather having been
a merchant, perhaps it would be as well for him to return to Tarquinii,
the original home of the family, and engage in the same peaceful
occupation; which is evidence that the facile keenness of a woman's
power of expression is not a development of modern education. Being thus
encouraged, Lucius, as probably many another statesman has done,
considered it more advisable to take the chances of public strife than
to live in the certainty of domestic unrest. The time seeming
propitious, he repaired with an armed band to the Senate house and
seated himself on the throne. King Servius appeared, but no one thought
it worth while to hinder Lucius from throwing the aged ruler down the
steps of the Senate house; which he manfully did.
Tullia was the instigator of this _coup d'état_; and impatient to learn
its success, she drove to the Forum, and, calling her husband from the
Senate chamber, was the first to hail him as king. But Lucius commanded
her to return home; and the tradition runs that as she was going thither
her chariot wheels passed over the dead body of her royal father as it
lay in the narrow street. More of the story of this Roman
personification of filial iniquity we are not told, except that, in
accordance with the inevitable rule of legendary history, she met the
Nemesis of her crimes on a later day. The manner of it we shall see in
the expulsion of her family from Rome.
The reign of Lucius Tarquin, surnamed Superbus on account of his
extraordinary pride, was strong and tyrannous; but its effect was the
aggrandizement of Rome and the increase of her power in Italy. He is
credited with some extensive public works, the chief of which was the
Capitol. This temple he erected upon the hill which had from time
immemorial been held sacred to Jove; for thereupon the people had
ofttimes beheld the deity, as Virgil says, "with his right hand shaking
his black shield, and summoning the storm clouds to him." For his
architectural undertakings the Roman king hired skilled Etruscan
workmen, which indicates that his own subjects were as yet laggards in
the pursuit of the arts and sciences. Indeed, everything goes to show
that the only infant industries which the Romans zealously cultivated at
this time were warfare and such agriculture as was necessary to supply
the wants of their abstemious life. For their few artistic needs, they
depended almost entirely upon the other Italian cities, which in these
respects were further advanced.
In the traditional history of the reign of Tarquin Superbus there is
included a legend concerning the Sibyl of Cumæ. Of those mysterious
women called Sibyls, ten were reputed to have flourished in various
parts of the ancient world. She of Cumæ was said to have lived one
thousand years; seven hundred of which had expired when Æneas came to
Italy and profited by her advice. The probable fact is that there
existed a school, or at any rate a succession, of pythonesses at Cumæ,
and it is borne out by the fact that to the Sibyl are given no less than
seven different names by various ancient authors. These prophetic women
used to write their predictions on leaves, which they placed at the
entrance of their grotto; and it was very necessary to secure these
leaves before they were dispersed by the wind, since, once scattered,
they could never again be brought together. It seems, however, that the
pythonesses at times transmitted their wisdom in a more substantial
manner; for the Sibyl who came to the palace of Tarquin brought with her
nine volumes, which she offered for sale at a very high price. On the
monarch's refusal to buy them, she burned three of the books, and
demanded the same amount for the remaining six. Tarquin declined to
purchase these, and she immediately committed three more to the flames,
asking the same sum of money for the remainder. This extraordinary
conduct so excited the king's curiosity that he bought the books; and
the Sibyl vanished, never again to be seen. It is very appropriate that
the last of the Sibyls should disappear just as we begin to find
verifiable history taking the place of traditional lore.
What the contents of these books were, or whether the king found reason
very greatly to regret that he did not accept the Sibyl's first offer of
the whole nine, we do not know. That they were highly valued by the
Roman people is shown by the fact that a college of priests was
instituted to have the care of them; and they remained in existence
until the time of Sylla, when they were destroyed in the flames of the
Capitol. The Sibylline verses now extant are universally deemed to be
spurious.
The name of Tarquin has been placed on the world's roll of dishonor
because of the part one of his family played in that sad story which
describes how the rule of the kings of Rome came to an end under a cloud
of blackness and blood. The tragedy of Lucretia is one of those pictures
which are preserved forever on account of their simplicity and
naturalness. The figures are almost titanic in their strength; but they
will be recognized as typical of humanity in all time. The actions are
coarse, because they proceed from the fundamental virtues and vices
which are never separate from the hearts of men and women. The great
English dramatist has idealized the workings of thought and conscience
in the principal actors; but there was really nothing except bare,
unadorned humanism in every situation. There was the tyranny which
always accompanies unbridled power; there was the honest soldier's
outspoken pride in the unrivalled beauty and goodness of his wife at
home; there was the brutal animalism of the man who heeded no higher
instincts; there was the wounded heart that saw no hope but to retrieve
honor at the expense of life; there were ensuing grief and revenge. In
all this there is nothing subtle, nothing strange, to human knowledge.
It simply masses together all the general experiences of the universal
man. Yet here is one of the world's most notable dramas; and the picture
is interesting, because it portrays with strong colors in one scene all
the great motives and traits which sway and color human life.
Lucretia was the daughter of a Roman noble, and she was the wife of
Collatinus, one of the Tarquinian family. The Roman army was investing
the city of Ardea, the capital of the Rutulians; and the young princes
had too little to occupy their time, as the sequel shows, to keep them
out of mischief. One day, they were drinking and conversing in the tent
of Sextus, the king's son. Soldier fashion, being occupied with wine,
their talk turned on the subject of women. Each man extolled the
superior charms of his own wife or betrothed. Their conversation
doubtless did not range beyond lawful wedded mates, or those who were
such in prospect; for in the Rome of those days there existed no class
of demi-monde, nor, indeed, were there many women whose reputation for
chastity would be liable to criticism even in the freedom of a soldiers'
camp. Life then was austere, and morality was intensive rather than
extensive. The gallant contention waxed more and more enthusiastic among
the comrades, until Collatinus said that there needed to be no dispute
about the matter; that it could be easily seen in a few hours how far
his Lucretia exceeded all the rest. Whereupon he challenged them all to
ride to Rome and let the matter be decided as each one found his wife
occupied on his unexpected arrival. To this they agreed, and immediately
galloped to Rome, which they reached in the dusk of the evening. The
king's sons found their wives spending their time in luxurious
entertainments; whether or not they agreed on any one as being superior
to the others, we are not told. But Collatinus's home was some miles out
in the country, so that it was visited last of all. Late as it was, they
found Lucretia, with her maids, spinning wool in the atrium, or middle
hall of the house. Collatinus and his friends were gladly welcomed by
the industrious Lucretia, and were provided with bountiful
entertainment; and they were not slow to vote that she had easily won
the contest. But the beauty of Lucretia's person and mind had made far
too deep an impression on Sextus, the son of Tarquin. Throughout the
journey back to camp he was revolving in his mind how he might again
make a visit to the house at Collatia, in which he did not desire the
company of its master.
A few days later, Sextus appeared at Lucretia's door and met a kindly
welcome, in which her pure mind mingled no misgiving. There were no
locks on the inner doors of the Roman house; for, as Shakespeare makes
poor Lucretia tell her story:
"... to the dreadful dead of dark midnight,
With shining falchion in my chamber came
A creeping creature with a flaming light,
And softly cried, 'Awake, thou Roman dame,
And entertain my love; else lasting shame
On thee and thine this night I will inflict,
If thou my love's desire do contradict.'"
His threat was to murder both the lady and one of her male slaves, and
to place them so that it would appear that he had killed them to avenge
the honor of Collatinus. Thus we may see how poor Lucretia could truly
plead:
"Mine enemy was strong, my poor self weak,
And far the weaker with so strong a fear;
My bloody judge forbad my tongue to speak;
No rightful plea might plead for justice there;
His scarlet lust came evidence to swear
That my poor beauty had purloin'd his eyes,
And when the judge is rob'd, the prisoner dies."
The next day, she sent messengers to call her husband and her father.
They hastened to her at once, the former bringing with him Brutus, who
was to be the leader in liberating Rome from the infamous race of
Tarquin. When Lucretia had told her story, she made her relatives first
swear that the criminal should not go unpunished. To this they savagely
pledged themselves; but they tried to console her with the fact that,
her mind being pure, she had incurred no guilt. Lucretia replied; "It
remains for you to see to what is due to Tarquin. As for me, though I
acquit myself of guilt, from punishment I do not discharge myself; nor
shall any Roman woman survive her dishonor in pleading the example of
Lucretia." Thus saying, she drew a knife which she had concealed in her
garments, and plunged it into her heart.
Brutus, while they were all overcome with grief, gently drew the weapon
from the wound; and holding it up, dripping as it was with Lucretia's
life blood, he cried: "By this blood, most pure before the pollution of
royal villainy, I swear, and I call you, O gods, to witness my oath,
that I shall pursue Lucius Tarquin the Proud, his wicked wife, and all
their race, with fire and sword, and all other means in my power; nor
shall I ever suffer them or any other to reign at Rome." In this oath
Collatinus and the others joined. They carried the dead body of Lucretia
to Rome, and succeeded in giving the populace the last incentive
necessary to drive out the already hated Tarquins. Thus the misfortunes
of noble Lucretia brought vengeance upon the wickedness of Tullia; for
the historian says that "she fled from her house, both men and women
cursing her wherever she went and invoking on her the Furies, the
avengers of parents."
What portion of these stories of the women of legendary Rome may be
accepted as fact, and what must be relegated to the realm of fiction, it
is not within the capacity of research to ascertain. Probably we shall
not be far wrong if we consider these legends as moralizings founded on
facts. Tullia represented to the Romans all the viciousness against
which women were warned; in Lucretia, there were accumulated all the
virtues to which a woman was taught to aspire. They were pictorial moral
discourses; and, just as the moral character of a modern age might be
discovered from the sermons of the period, so these legends represent
what was lowest and highest in the ethical conceptions of earliest
Rome.