THE WOMEN: MARRIAGE, THE ROMAN MATRON, AND HER DRESS
We will assume that Silius is a married man, and that his wife is a
typical Roman dame worthy of his station in life. Her name shall be
Marcia, or, if she possesses more than one, Marcia Sabina. Marriage
does not confer upon her the name of her husband, and if she requires
further identification in connection with him, she will be referred to
as "Silius's Marcia." At an earlier date a woman owned but a single
name, but already practical convenience and pride of descent had
combined to make it desirable that she should bear a second, which
might be taken from the family either of her father or of her mother.
Thus if Silius and Marcia themselves have a daughter, she may in her
turn perhaps be called Silia Bassa, perhaps Silia Marcia.
If now we proceed to describe the position of Marcia in her conjugal
and family relations, to speak of her way of life, and to suggest her
probable character, it must be understood that the description would
by no means necessarily fit every Roman matron. Women are said to be
infinitely various, and in this respect the ancient world was
precisely like the modern. And not only has it further to be borne in
mind that there were several strata of Roman society, and that city
life differed widely from country life; there was also an actual
difference in the legal position of a wife, according to the terms
upon which she had chosen to enter the state of wedlock. In other
words, there were two forms of matrimony. According to the
old-fashioned style a wife passed into the power of the husband; her
legal position--though not, of course, her domestic standing--was the
same as that of his daughter. Once on a time he had even possessed the
right of putting her to death, but at our date that privilege no
longer existed. It was enough that she should be subject to his
authority. In that position she managed the home and family, and often
managed him as well. How far this time-honoured style of marriage was
still maintained among the lower classes of Roman society it is
impossible to tell; our information is almost entirely restricted to
the higher, or at least the wealthier, orders. It is, however,
probable that among the artisans and labourers, where the dowry of a
wife cannot have amounted to anything very considerable, this more
stringent state of matrimony was the rule. Paterfamilias was the head
and lord of the house, while materfamilias held in practice much the
same position as she did in Anglo-Saxon households of two or three
generations ago.
Meanwhile among the upper classes, but in no way legally limited to
them, an alternative and easier form of marriage had become
increasingly popular. It was one which gave to both parties the
greatest amount of freedom of which a conjugal union could reasonably
allow. The woman did not pass into the power of the man, and, short of
actual infidelity, she lived her own life in her own way, although
naturally conforming to certain recognised etiquette as a partner in a
respectable Roman _ménage_. If neither affection nor moral suasion
could preserve harmony or proper courses, either party might formally
repudiate the contract, and, after a short interval, seek better
fortune in some other quarter. There was, of course, a public
sentiment to be considered; there was family influence; there was the
characteristic Roman pride; there was often a fair measure of mutual
esteem and even affection; and there were obvious joint interests
which made for stability; but beyond these considerations there was
nothing to hamper the inclination of either husband or wife. Yet it is
a grave mistake to imagine, because there was much, and sometimes
appalling, looseness of life under a Nero, that the race of noble and
virtuous Roman matrons--the Cornelias and Valerias and Volumnias--was
extinct; and it is equally a mistake to suppose that Rome no longer
produced its honourable gentlemen filled with a sense of their
responsibilities to family and state. The satirist should not here,
nor elsewhere, be our chief, much less our only, guide. The England of
Charles II is not to be judged in its entirety by the comedies of the
time nor by the _Memoirs_ of Grammont. On this matter, however, it
will be more convenient to touch in a later paragraph. It will be best
to deal first with the system in vogue, and then to consider the sort
of woman whom it produced.
It cannot be denied that at this date, though marriage was regarded as
the normal and proper condition for men and women who desired to do
their duty by the state, and though the wise emperors did everything
in their power to encourage it, a very large proportion of the men of
the upper classes regarded it as a burden and a vexatious interference
with their liberty. It was not necessarily that they had any desire to
be vicious, nor indeed would marriage be much of a hindrance to vice;
it was that they desired to be free. The cause of their disinclination
was the same as it is sometimes alleged to be now--the increasing
demands of women, their increasing unwillingness to bear the natural
responsibilities of matrimony, their extravagant expectations, and the
impossibility of there being two masters in one house claiming equal
authority. But whereas we recognise that love is a possible adjuster
of all the difficulties, it was no tradition of the Romans that
marriage should be based on love. With them it very seldom began with
love, or even with direct personal choice, but was in most instances
entirely a _mariage de convenance_ and arranged for them as such. Even
after marriage we are told by a contemporary writer that the proper
feeling for a man to entertain for his wife is rational respect, not
emotional affection. Experience has shown that the result was too
often unsatisfactory.
It is unfortunate that the only satires or criticisms on married life
which have come down to us were written by men; one would like to hear
what the women might have said, if a woman had ever been a satirist.
There is nearly always some basis of truth in a classic satire, but
the question is "How much?" Juvenal belongs to a later generation than
that of Nero, but what he says is doubtless equally applicable to that
age. It is therefore interesting to note one or two of his objections
to contemporary woman, regarded as a wife. In the first place she is
too interfering and even dictatorial. "What madness is it," he asks of
the man whom he supposes himself to be addressing, "that drives you to
marry? How can you bear with a tyrannous woman, when there are so many
good ropes in the world, when there are high windows to throw yourself
out of, or when there is the bridge quite handy?" "Why should you be
made to wear the muzzle?" "Why take into your house some one who will
perhaps shut the door in the face of an old friend whom you have known
ever since he was a boy?" "When you displease her, she weeps, for she
keeps tears always ready to fall, but when you try to prevent her from
displeasing you, she tells you it was agreed that each should have
liberty, and that she is a human being." He goes on to attack her
faithlessness, her extravagance, her superstition, her loquacity, and
so forth. Let us by all means discount his fierce invectives;
nevertheless we must take them as but a heightened way of putting
circumstances which had a real and all too frequent existence, and
which encouraged the growing fancy for bachelordom. We shall, however,
soon look at a very different picture of domestic relations, and it is
only fair to assume that these also were by no means uncommon.
A Roman girl with a reasonable dowry might expect to be married at any
age from about 13 to 18. The Italian of the south, like the Greek,
ripens early. The legal age was 12; on the other hand to be unmarried
at 19 was to be distinctly an old maid. In the northern provinces of
the empire maturity was less early, whereas south of the Mediterranean
it was even earlier. The legal age for the bridegroom was that at
which his father or guardian allowed him to put on the "toga of the
man" and enter the Forum. Thus theoretically a Roman youth might
become a benedict when about sixteen, and Nero was only at that age
when he married his first wife Octavia. Generally speaking, however,
if Marcia was as old as 16, Silius would hardly be under 26 or 27.
The marriage, as has been said already, would commonly be a matter of
arrangement between families, sometimes effected by their own members,
sometimes by an interested friend or some other go-between. "You ask
me," writes Pliny to Mauricus, "to look out for a husband for your
niece. There is no need to look far, for I know a man who might seem
to have been provided on purpose. His name is Minicius. He is
well-connected, and comes from Brescia, which you know to be a good
old-fashioned place retaining the simple and modest manners of the
country. He is a man of active energy and has held high public office.
In appearance he is a gentleman, well-built, and with a wholesome
ruddy complexion. His father has ample means, and though perhaps your
family is not much concerned on that point, we have to remember that a
man's income is one of the first considerations in the eyes, not only
of our social system, but of the law."
A marriage of the full and regular type could only be contracted
between free citizens. There were varying degrees of the morganatic
about all others, such as marriage with a foreigner or emancipated
slave. A non-Roman wife meant that the children were non-Roman. A man
of the senatorial order could not marry a freedwoman, if he wished to
have the union recognised; also no complete marriage could be
contracted with a person labouring under degradation publicly
inflicted by the authorities or degraded _ipso facto_ by certain
occupations. For this reason the actress on the "variety" stage could
not aspire to become even an acknowledged Roman wife, much less a
member of the order which more or less corresponded to our peerage.
Nor could a Roman marry a relative within certain prohibited degrees.
He might not, in fact, marry any woman whom he already possessed what
was called "the right to kiss."
We are, however, dealing with two persons entirely beyond exception,
namely Quintus Silius Bassus and Marcia Sabina. A match has been made
between these parties, perhaps several years before the actual
marriage can take place, and while the intended bride is a mere child
of ten: even the future groom may be but a boy. When the go-between
has done his or her work to the satisfaction of both families, there
takes place a betrothal ceremony, of which the original purpose was,
of course, to bind each party morally to carry out the contract, but
which, by the year 64, might mean very little.
In theory the Roman law required the consent of both participants; a
father could not absolutely force son or daughter to marry a
particular person, nor, indeed, any person at all. But on the other
hand, according to the Roman law, neither sons nor daughters were free
to act independently of the father's will, nor to possess independent
property, so long as the father lived, or until he chose to
"emancipate." It naturally follows that paternal pressure was the
chief factor in determining a marriage, and only those men or women
whose fathers were dead, or who had been formally freed from tutelage,
were in a position absolutely to please themselves. We need not
suppose either that sons were always very amenable, or that parents
were invariably self-willed and autocratic, but it is obvious that
marriages based on mutual attraction must have been extremely few. We
will suppose that Silius is his own master, while Marcia has a father
or a guardian still alive.
At the betrothal ceremony the friends of both houses are in
attendance, a regular form of words is interchanged between Silius and
the father of Marcia, a ring is given by the man to his _fiancée_, to
be worn on the fourth finger of her left hand, and he adds some other
present, most probably some form of that jewellery of which the Roman
women were and still are so extraordinarily fond. A feast naturally
follows.
You would think this performance sufficiently binding, and binding no
doubt it was from a moral point of view, so long as there was
reasonably good behaviour on either side, or so long as neither Silius
nor Marcia's father was prepared wantonly to flout general opinion or
to offend a whole connection by simply changing his mind. On the other
hand, there was no legal compulsion whatever to carry out the
contract. The Roman world knew nothing of actions for breach of
promise. If either party chose to repudiate the engagement, they were
free so to do. In that case they were said to "send back a refusal" or
to "send a counter-notice." A family dispute, a breath of suspicion, a
change of circumstances, and even an improved prospect might be
sufficient excuse, or no excuse need be offered at all.
In the present instance, however, no such ugly missive passes between
the house of Silius on the Caelian Hill and that of Marcius on the
Aventine, the wedding takes place in due course. It will not be in May
nor in early March or June, nor on certain other dates which, for
reasons mostly long forgotten, were regarded as inauspicious. It is a
social ceremony, and neither state nor priest will have anything to do
with sanctioning or blessing it. The pillars at the sides of the
vestibules of both houses are wreathed with leaves and boughs, and the
friends and clients of both families proceed in festal array to the
house of the bride. If Marcia is very young she has taken her
playthings--dolls and the like--and has dedicated them to the
household gods as a sign that she now puts away childish things and
devotes herself to the serious tasks of life. She has then been
carefully dressed for the occasion. Her hair, however she may have
worn it before or may wear it afterwards, is for to-day made up into
six plaits or braids, which are wound into a coil on the top of her
head. As an initial rite it is parted by means of an instrument
resembling a spear, a survival of the time when a bride was a prize of
war, and when her long locks were actually divided by a veritable
spear in token of her subjection. Round this coiffure is placed a
bridal wreath, made of flowers which she must have gathered with her
own hands, and over her head is thrown a veil--more strictly a
cloth--of some orange-yellow or "flame-coloured" material, which does
not, however, like the Grecian or Oriental veil, conceal her face. On
her feet are low yellow shoes. Meanwhile the bridegroom arrives,
escorted by his friends, and he also wears a festal garland. As with
all other important undertakings of Roman life, a professional seer
will be in attendance to take care that the auspices are favourable.
Peculiar portents, very unpropitious behaviour of nature, a very
strange appearance in the entrails of a sacrificial victim, are omens
which no properly constituted Roman can afford to overlook. The
auspices being favourable--and there is reason to believe that no
undue insistence was laid on their unpropitious aspects--the bride is
led into the reception-hall, and the contract of marriage is signed
and sealed. That there should be a dowry, and a considerable one, goes
without saying. In some cases it is actually settled on the husband,
who is to all intents and purposes purchased by it; but in most it is
available for his use only so long as the marriage continues unbroken.
For the rest, the wife's property is and remains her own. Her guardian
is still her father and not her husband: her legal connection is still
with her own family and not with his. She is a Marcia and not a Silia.
If the marriage is dissolved, at least without sufficient demonstrable
provocation on her part, her father will see that her dower is paid
back. To such terms as these the parties affix their names and seals,
and a certain number of friends add their signatures as witnesses.
This done, one of the younger married women present takes the bride
and leads her across to Silius who holds her right hand in his. Both
repeat a prescribed formula of words, and all the company present
exclaims "Good luck to you!" and offers such other congratulations as
seem fit. A wedding-dinner is held, generally, but not necessarily, in
the house of the bride, and a wedding-cake, served upon bay-leaves, is
cut up and divided among the guests. It is now evening, and a
procession is formed to bring Marcia home to the house of Silius. In
front will march the torchbearers and what we should call "the band,"
consisting in these circumstances of a number of persons playing upon
the flageolet. Silius goes through a pretence of carrying off Marcia
by force--another practice reminiscent of the ancient time when men
won their brides by methods similar to those of the Australian
aborigine with his waddy. Both groom and bride are important people,
and along the streets there is many a decoration; many a window and
doorway is filled with spectators; shouts, not always of the most
discreet, are heard from all sides, and loud above all rings the
regular _Io Talasse_--whatever that may have meant, for no man now
knows, and almost certainly no one knew then. In the midst of the
procession Marcia, followed by bearers of her spindle and distaff, is
being led by two pretty boys, while a third carries a torch; Silius
meanwhile is scattering nuts or walnuts, or _confetti_ made like them,
to the crowd. Arrived on the Caelian, the bride is once more seized
and lifted over the threshold; when inside the hall, Silius presents
her with fire and water in token of her common share in the household
and its belongings; and she offers prayers to various old-fashioned
goddesses who are supposed to preside over the introduction to married
life.
If we have given with some particularity the orthodox proceedings of a
fashionable wedding, it must again be remembered that not all weddings
were fashionable, and that one or other of these details might be
omitted as taste or circumstances required. Among the poorer folk
there must often have been practically no ceremony at all beyond the
"bringing home." And if there are certain items which appear to us
trivial and meaningless, it is probably unfamiliarity which breeds our
contempt. Perhaps a far-off generation may wonder how civilised folk
in the twentieth century could perform absurd antics with rice and
slippers.
Marcia is now what was known as a "matron." Her position is far more
free than it could ever have been in Greece or the Orient, more free
indeed than it would be in any civilised country at the present time.
The Romans had at all times placed the matron in a position of dignity
and responsibility, and to this is now added the greatest liberty of
action. Her husband salutes her in public as "Madam." Since he is a
senator, and it is beginning to be the vogue to call such men "The
Most Illustrious," she also shares that title in polite reference to
herself. She is not confined to any particular portion of the house,
nor, within the limits of decorum, is she excluded from masculine
company. She is the mistress of the establishment, controlling, not
only the female slaves, but also the males, in so far as they are
engaged in the work of the household. She keeps the keys of the
store-rooms. Theoretically at least she has been trained in all the
arts of the housekeeper, and thoroughly understands domestic
management, together with the weaving and spinning which her handmaids
are to perform. The merits of the wife, as summed up in the epitaphs
of the middle classes, are those of "good counsellor good manager, and
good worker in wool." She walks or is carried abroad at her pleasure,
attends the public games in the Circus, and goes with her husband to
dinner-parties, where she reclines at the meal just as he does. When
her tutelage is past she can take actions in the law-courts, or appear
as witness or surety. Her property is at her own disposal, and she
instructs her own agent or attorney. It is only necessary that she
should guard the honour of her husband. So long as he trusts her he
will not interfere. It is only a very tyrannical spouse who will
insist that her litter or sedan-chair shall have the curtains drawn
when in the streets. We will assume that Marcia is a lady of the true
Roman self-respect and dignity, and that Silius and she live a life of
reasonable harmony.
But though there were many such Marcias, there were other women of a
very different character. There is, for instance, Flavia, who has a
perfect frenzy for "manly" sports, and practises all manner of
athletic exercises, wrestling and fencing like any man, and perhaps
becoming infatuated and practically running away with some brawny but
hideous gladiator. She also indulges frankly in mixed bathing. There
is Domitia, who is too fond Of promenading in the colonnades and
temples, where a _cavaliere servente_, ostensibly her business
man--though he does not look like it--may regularly be seen carrying
her parasol. When at home, she neglects her attire and plasters her
face with dough in order to smooth out the wrinkles, so that she may
give to anybody but her own family the benefit of her beauty. There is
the ruinously extravagant Pollia, whose passion for jewels and fine
clothes runs her deeply into debt, for which, fortunately, her husband
is not responsible. There is Canidia, who is shrewdly suspected of
having poisoned more than one husband and who has either divorced or
been divorced by so many that she has had eight of them in five years,
and dates events by them instead of in the regular way by the
consulships: "Let me see. That was in the year in which I was married
to So-and-So." There is Asinia, whose selfishness is so great, and her
affection so frivolous, that she will weep over a sparrow and "let her
husband die to save her lap-dog's life." All these women are most
likely childless, and many a noble Roman house threatens to become
extinct.
There are others, again, whose foibles are more innocent. Baebia, for
example, is merely a victim to superstition. She is always consulting
the astrologers, the witches, and the dream-readers; she is devoted to
the mystic worship of the Egyptian Isis, with its secret rites of
purification, or she is a proselyte to the pestilent notions of the
Jews. She is too much under the influence of some squalid Oriental who
carries his pedlar's basket, or whose business is to buy broken glass
for sulphur matches Meanwhile Corellia is a blue-stocking, as bad as a
_précieuse_ with a _salon_. As soon as you sit down to table she
begins to quote Homer and Virgil and to compare their respective
merits. She cultivates bright conversation in both Greek and Latin,
and her tongue goes loudly and incessantly like a bell or gong. Her
poor husband is never permitted to indulge in an expression which is
not strictly grammatical. Worse still, she probably even writes little
poems of her own. She may keep a tame tutor in philosophy, but she
makes no scruple about interrupting his lesson on morals while she
writes a little billet-doux. Pomponia is an ambitious woman, whose
mania is to interfere in elections by bringing to bear upon the
senators what has been called in recent times the "duchesses'"
influence. If her husband becomes governor of a province, she will
endeavour to be the power behind the throne, and her meddling will in
any case prove harmful to the strict administration of justice.
The remedy in such cases was divorce. In the lower orders of society a
mild personal castigation was quite legal and probably not uncommon;
but then in these lower orders divorce was by no means so convenient.
Among the upper classes its frequency made it scarcely a matter of
remark. Nothing like it has been seen until modern America. There was
no need of an appeal to the courts or of a decree _nisi_; there was
not even need of a specific plea, although naturally one would be
offered in most cases. The husband or wife (or the wife's father, if
she had one), might send a formal and witnessed notice declaring the
marriage dissolved, or, as it was called, "breaking the marriage
lines." The man had only to take this step and say with due
deliberation "Take your own property"--or, as the satirist puts it,
"pack up your traps"--"give up the keys, and begone." The woman on her
side need only give similar notice and "take her departure." The only
check lay in family considerations, in public opinion, which was
extremely lenient, in financial convenience, or in the possibility of
particularly wanton conduct being so disapproved in high quarters that
a senator or a knight might perhaps find his name missing from the
list of his order at the next revision.
It has appeared necessary to give this darker side of the social
picture, for, though assuredly not so lurid as might be gathered from
the moralists, it was dark enough. For obvious reasons it is desirable
not to elaborate. It is perhaps more profitable, as well as
refreshing, to consider the brighter side. That there were noble women
and good wives, and that the froth and scum and dregs of idle
town-life did not make up the existence of the contemporary Roman
world, may be seen from passages like the following, which are either
quoted or condensed from a letter of Pliny concerning a lady named
Arria. The events belong to the reign of Nero's predecessor Claudius.
Pliny writes: "Her husband, Caecina Paetus, was ill; so also was her
son; and it was expected that both would die. The son, an extremely
handsome and modest youth, succumbed. His mother arranged for his
funeral and carried it out, the husband meanwhile being kept in
ignorance. Not only so, but every time she came into his room she
pretended that the son was alive and better, and very often, when he
asked how the boy was getting on, she answered, 'He has slept well,
and shown a good appetite.' Then, when the tears which she had so long
kept back proved too much for her, she used to leave the room and give
herself up to grief. When at last she had dried her eyes and composed
her countenance she returned to the room. When her husband had taken
part in an intended revolt against Claudius, he was to be carried as a
prisoner across the Adriatic to Rome. He was on the point of
embarking, when Arria begged the soldiers to take her on board with
him. 'I presume,' she said, 'you mean to allow an ex-consul a few
attendants of some kind, to give him his food, and to put on his
clothes and shoes. I will do all that myself.'" Her request being
refused, "she hired a fishing-smack and followed the big vessel in
this tiny one." When Claudius ordered the husband to put himself to
death, Arria took a dagger, stabbed herself in the breast, drew the
weapon out, and handed it to him with the words: "Paetus, it does not
hurt. It is what you are about to do that hurts."
Arria doubtless is a rare type of heroine. But also of the quiet
domesticated wife we have a description from the same writer.
Unfortunately the letter is one of the most priggish of all the rather
self-complacent epistles written by that thoroughly respectable and
estimable man; but that fact takes nothing from the information for
which we are looking. Pliny is writing to his own wife's aunt. "You
will be very glad to learn that Calpurnia is turning out worthy of her
father, of yourself, and of her grandfather. She has admirable sense
and is an excellent housekeeper; she is fond of me, which speaks well
for her character. Through her affection for me she has also developed
a taste for literature. She possesses my books and is always reading
them; she even learns them by heart. When I am to make a speech in
court, she is all anxiety; when I have made it, she is all joy. She
arranges a string of messengers to let her know what effect I produce,
what applause I win, and what result I have obtained. If I give a
reading, she sits in the next room behind a curtain and listens
greedily to the compliments paid to me. She even sets my verses to
music and sings them to the harp, with no professional to teach her,
but only love, who is the best of masters. I have therefore every
reason to hope that our harmony will not only last but grow greater
every day."
And all this time, away in the country homestead and cottage, the good
Marsian or Sabine mother is a veritable pattern of domestic probity
and discipline. If she possesses handmaids, she teaches them their
work in the kitchen or at the loom; if she possesses none, she brings
up her big daughters in the right ways of modesty, frugality, and
obedience to the gods; and her tall sons religiously obey her when she
sends them out to chop the firewood in the rain and cold of the
mountain-side.
One subject of perpetual interest where women are concerned is that of
dress and personal appearance. The Roman woman emphatically pursued
the cult of beauty and personal adornment. Perhaps the first prayer
which a mother offered for an expected daughter was that she should be
beautiful. Whether she proved so or not, no pains were spared to
correct or supplement the work of nature. It is true that fashion,
except in the dressing of hair, underwent none of those rapid and
astonishing changes which perplex the unsophisticated male of to-day.
Above all, there were no hats. But all that gold and jewels,
colours--blue, green, yellow, violet--and varied stuffs--woollen,
linen, muslin, and silk--could do for dress was done by every typical
woman of means; and every device for improving the complexion, the
teeth, the hair, the height, and the figure--which, by the way, never
sought the wasplike waist--was fully exploited. We need not go too
closely into details. It will be enough to describe the ordinary
attire and the ordinary methods of beautification.
[Illustration: FIG. 91.--TOILET SCENE. (Wall Painting.)]
The conventional indoor dress consisted of, first, an inner tunic,
short and sleeveless, with a band passing over or under the breast, so
as to produce something resembling what is called the Empire figure;
second, an outer tunic of linen or half-silk, less often of whole
silk, which fell to the feet. The outer tunic was fastened on the
shoulders with brooches; it had sleeves over the upper arm, and, in
the case of adults but not of young girls, a flounce or furbelow at
the bottom. A girdle produced a fold under the breast. The garment was
commonly white, but might be bordered with coloured fringes and
embroidery; for ladies of senatorial rank it bore the broad stripe
worked in purple or gold. On the feet sandals were often worn, but for
out-of-doors these were replaced by soft shoes of white, coloured or
gilded leather, sometimes studded with pearls or other gems.
[Illustration: FIG. 92.--WOMAN IN FULL DRESS.]
When a lady left the house she threw over the indoor dress a large
mantle or shawl, much resembling the toga of the men, except that its
colour was apparently what she pleased. This article was passed over
the left shoulder and under the right arm, which was left free; it
then fell in graceful folds to the feet. Works of art show that a fold
of the shawl was frequently laid over the top and back of the head,
for which no less becoming covering had yet been introduced.
[Illustration: FIG-93.--HAIRPINS.]
The hair alone was subject to innumerable vagaries either of fashion
or of individual taste. It might have a parting or no parting; it
might be plaited over the head and fastened by jewelled tortoise-shell
combs, or by pins of ivory, silver, or bronze with jewelled heads, as
varied and ornamental as the modern hatpin; it might be carried to the
back and rest in a knot on the neck, where it was bound with ribbons;
it might be piled into a huge pyramid or "towers of many stories," so
that a woman often looked tall in front and appeared quite a different
person at the back; it might be encased in a coloured cloth or in a
net of gold thread, for which poorer people substituted a bladder. But
in all cases it was preferred that the hair should be wavy, and this
was a matter which was attended to by a special _coiffeur_ kept among
the slaves. No handmaid had a harder or more ungrateful task than the
tiring-woman, who built up and fastened the reluctant locks while the
mistress contemplated the effect in her bronze or silver mirror. There
was no rule for a woman's treatment of herself in this respect.
"Consult your mirror," is the advice of the poet Ovid, who has
hopelessly lost all count of styles, since they were "more numerous
than the leaves on the oak or the bees on Hybla." To full dress
belonged a coronal or tiara, consisting of a band of gold and precious
stones.
But who shall dare to speak of the jewellery that bedecked a Roman
matron _en grande tenue_--of the pearl and pendant earrings, the
necklaces of pearl and diamonds, the gold snake armlets with their
emerald eyes, the bangles and finger-rings, the brooches and buckles
on the shoulders and down the sleeves, the gems scattered among the
hair, the chains and châtelaines strung with all manner of glittering
articles? Says one who lived at the time: "I have seen Lollia Paulina
covered with emeralds and pearls gleaming all over her head, hair,
ears, neck, and fingers to the value of over £300,000." If Rome is the
eternal city, it is eternal in this respect at least as much as in any
other.
Who, still more bold, shall pry into her apparatus for the
beautification of her person, examining her patch-box and the innocent
little pots of rouge, vermilion, and white lead for the complexion,
and of soot to rub under the eyes? Who shall scrutinise too closely
that delicate blue which tinges her temples? Who shall dare to
question whether that yellow hair of the most approved tone, then best
seen in Germany, grew where you find it or came from some head across
the Rhine? Who shall venture to ask whether that smooth skin was
preserved by her wearing last night a mask of meal, which she washed
off this morning with asses' milk? Petronius, indeed, says that the
"lady takes her eyebrows out of a little box," and probably Petronius
knew. For her artificial teeth there is an obvious and sensible
excuse, and it is no reproach to her if, as the poet declared, "she
puts her teeth aside at night, just as she does her silks." Probably
she scents herself far too heavily, but there are many Roman men who
are just as bad.
She is ready now for all emergencies, and we may leave her, sitting in
her long-backed cushioned chair, waving in one hand a fan of peacock's
feathers or of thin wood covered with gold-leaf, and holding in the
other a ball of amber or glass to keep her hands cool and dry.