Women in Rome by Alfred Brittain - HTML preview

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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.

II

NOBLE MATRONS OF THE REPUBLIC

After the revolution, of which the tragedy of Lucretia was the

traditional cause and which ended forever monarchical rule in Rome, our

subject begins to emerge from the haziness of legendary narratives into

the clearer light of veritable history. It now becomes possible for us

to catch glimpses of the women of Rome, living and moving amid scenes

that were real and under conditions which undoubtedly prevailed.

Roman society at the beginning of the Republic was most distinctly and

rigidly classified. Not only were the people divided by the

circumstances of birth into separate classes, but the law preordained

for every person his precise station, his duties, his privileges, and

his limitations. The citizen could no more go beyond these than he could

transfer himself into another order of creation; for law, in Rome, was

as absolute as it was rigid. Speaking generally, there were two orders,

the patrician and the plebeian. A common opinion of the old writers was

that out of the influx of adventurers who crowded to Rome at its

founding Romulus chose one hundred Senators, their qualification being

that they could name their fathers. Their children were called

patricians. In the third century before Christ, when the plebeians had

wrested many privileges and offices from the unwilling higher class,

Publius Decius, himself a plebeian, uses this theory of the origin of

the patricians to great advantage. Contending in debate for the right of

his order to serve in the priesthood, he said: "Have ye never heard that

the first-created patricians were not men sent down from heaven, but

such as could cite their fathers; that is, nothing more than freeborn?

Well, I can cite my father; he was a consul; and my son will be able to

cite a grandfather." This excessive pride which Roman citizens took in

the fact that they could trace their paternity through more or less

generations must not be understood as reflecting, in any way, upon the

character of the early matrons; it arose simply from the fact that they

could so surely name their ancestry as to eliminate possibility of

descent from one of the common herd of unenfranchised inhabitants.

These latter were the plebeians. This class was made up of the

descendants of the ancient people who of old had inhabited the country,

ordinary foreigners who were attracted to the city, and the children of

captives who had been given their liberty. At first, the plebeians

enjoyed no rights whatever. They lived, it is true, under the shelter of

the walls of the city, but on the outside. They possessed no right of

suffrage, and were not allowed to interfere in any public affair. But

they were free. They held property and engaged in handicrafts and in

commerce. It soon came to pass that the increase of their number and

their importance rendered their repression by the nobles more and more

difficult. Under King Servius the plebeians became citizens; and, as is

the case in every land, the internal history of Rome contains nothing

more interesting than the indomitable and successful struggle of this

lower class to wrest ever larger privileges from the tenacious rulers.

It was not, however, until B.C. 444 that equality of rights had made

sufficient progress for matrimonial alliances to be countenanced between

patricians and plebeians. By the commencement of the Christian era all

practical distinction between these two classes had vanished.

In addition to the two principal orders, there was that of the clients.

These were in reality vassals, who preferred dependence on the great and

wealthy to living independently in a precarious liberty.

They were

called by the names of their patrons and were numbered in the latter's

tribe. By enactments of law, the patron was made responsible for the

support and protection of his clients. In return, the patrician could

depend upon his clients to fight his battles, support his cause, and

prove themselves loyal retainers of his house in both good fortune and

evil. The subservience of these clients, and the conscienceless zeal

with which they furthered the designs, even the most wicked, of their

masters, are well illustrated in the part which Marcus Claudius played

in the persecution of Virginia by the decemvir Appius.

Another dependent

class was that of the slaves. At first the number of these was

comparatively small; but as the conquering arms of Rome spread over the

world her avaricious sway, the captives dragged in barbarous triumph to

the city grew out of all proportion to the population.

They enjoyed

fewer rights and suffered under a regime more inhuman than in any other

slaveholding nation in history.

That which distinguished one class from another in early Roman society

had nothing whatever to do with the character of the occupation of the

people comprising it. The noblest of the early patricians, as well as

the commonest plebeians, tilled the soil with their own hands; nor did

they disdain to engage in trade, or even in the letting of money on

usury. Wealth was no more a consideration than occupation in

determining to which orde