ROMAN WOMEN IN THE DAYS OF THE CÆSARS.

BY H. P. HAYNES.

The condition of woman constitutes an important part of the complete history of any age or country. In her own appropriate sphere, she exerts an influence, powerful and enduring, for the political greatness, the moral grandeur, and general prosperity of a state, as well as for its social peace and harmony. In her heart dwell, for the most part, the charity, the virtue, the moral soundness of communities, and, it almost might be said, the patriotism of a people. Her character and condition are the character and condition of the society of which she is a component part. In those countries and climes where the female is made a slave, or treated with unmerited severity, the males are not men, but the most brutal of savages. Where civilization, Christianity, and refinement allow woman her proper level, man is the exponent of real humanity and intelligence. The annals of ages are but an accumulation of evidence establishing these truths.

The graver of the Athenians, in the age of Pericles, attributed the decline of those virtues which, in all ages, have been considered the brightest ornaments of the sex, and the consequent increase of vice in the republic, to the pernicious influence of the beautiful and fascinating Aspasia. To her they imputed the crime of seducing the first orator and statesman of his time. On the other hand, the stern virtue, the heroism, the self-denying patriotism of the sons of Sparta, were legacies from their mothers. They shunned no dangers, feared no enemy, shrank from no hardship, and, when they met an honorable death in combat with the invaders of Grecian soil, the brave-hearted matrons consoled themselves with the idea that for this purpose they had given birth to children.

When Carthage was for the last time besieged by the Romans, the patriotic women of that devoted city imparted to her warrior defenders a portion of their heroism and love of country, and cut off their tresses for bowstrings for the archers.

Roman history has described with great minuteness the extraordinary virtue and the excellent domestic habits of Lucretia, her sad fate, and the sympathy it awakened, and the indignation it aroused in the hearts of all good citizens. Her sacred regard for her own honor—that honor insulted by a corrupt nobleman, an unprincipled monarch—proved a death-blow to kingly power for a season in Rome. Whether the story of Lucretia be a cunningly-devised fable, or veritable, sober history, is not material, since it illustrates a principle well substantiated by all history and observation, that insults to female virtue and honor do not escape unavenged. Cleopatra, the beautiful and accomplished Egyptian queen, subdued successively the hearts of two stern Romans—heroes who had met the wildest shocks of battle undismayed, and who had never quailed with fear, nor scarce melted with pity. In her magic fingers hung, at an important crisis, the fate of the Roman empire. Her influence was as destructive as her presence was potential and commanding. These are marked instances of woman's influence, and of her characteristics.

The reign of Octavius Cæsar was the golden age of Rome. At that period, the almost unlimited control of the civilized world was hers. Her colonies were planted on every shore of the known world—the Roman eagles triumphed in every clime. Three continents paid her tribute. One intervening sea washed their shores and wafted her fleets. Extensive sway and the contributions of wealthy nations had not only rendered her proud and insolent, but corrupt, and, in a measure, cruel. The principal distinctions in her society were those of wealth and power, rather than of talents, sobriety, and virtue. The corrupt and the vile were, for the most part, the esteemed and highly favored.

There were numerous instances, it is true, of patriotism, virtue, and highmindedness among Roman citizens of this period, well worthy of imitation and remembrance. There was a sort of refinement of which the earlier Romans did not boast, and which they openly condemned. Grecian art and learning, combined with the wealth and vices introduced from the East, had wrought a great change in the national character and habits. Republican simplicity had given place to excessive extravagance and prodigality. In this, as in every age, woman acted no indifferent part in the everyday drama of Roman life. She was herself extravagant, and, if the history of that period be truly narrated, not always a discourager of vice and dissipation. Cicero, the greatest intellect Rome ever produced, with the exception, it may be, of Julius Cæsar, lived at this age in Rome, and contributed, in no small degree, to give it the title golden. He was, we are told, not only of the highest order of human intelligences, but a man of wisdom and purity of character. While he united in his own person all the noble qualifications of an able statesman, a brilliant scholar and orator, a learned and ingenious lawyer, and a good citizen, as well as a devoted father and husband, his first wife, Teruntia, was nearly the opposite. That he did not lack in kindness towards her, his known characteristics and disposition, as well as his letters to her when at a distance, fully prove. His social qualities eminently fitted him to discharge the duties of a husband in the most amiable manner. Teruntia, though of a rich and noble family, was of a turbulent and impetuous spirit, negligent, intriguing, and finally became so uncongenial a companion to the illustrious orator that he became divorced from her. He afterwards connected himself by marriage with another Roman lady of great wealth; but from her likewise he separated himself, finding her destitute of social kindness, domestic affection, and humanity.

Tullia, Cicero's daughter, is awarded a high rank among Roman ladies of her time; but she was thrice married, and as many times divorced. The cause may not have been hers so much as her husband's, or it may have been more attributable to the loose morals of the age than to either party in particular. If, however, Tullia was wanting in those domestic qualities so necessary to the permanent calm of married life, she was not destitute of learning and the polite accomplishments of her time. She is said, by Roman historians, to have been an "admirable woman"—affectionate and piously observant of her father—one of the most learned of Roman women.

In the earlier days of Rome, the noblest matrons were noted for nothing more than their excellent domestic habits—industry, frugality, and devotion to and affection for their families. The greatness of that vast empire was founded not more in the devoted patriotism and persevering energy of the Roman citizens, than in the incorruptible virtue, the sacrificing spirits, and noble hearts of Roman matrons. Not so in the declining days of the republic. Not so when the robust and vigorous youth of the nation began to tremble with advancing years, and to wreath its brow with gray hairs—a result not of age and toil and serious care, but of dissipation and inglorious ease, of wealth, and wine, and extravagant feasts. Not so when the humble cottage, the home wherein dwelt domestic peace and content, was exchanged for a marble palace, decorated with statues and paintings, lined with Tyrian couches, bespangled with gold and silver ornaments, and thronged with slaves. Not so when the Cæsars and Mark Antony ruled the imperial city with hordes of mercenary soldiers; nor when the republic was metamorphosed into an empire, and all regard to life, property, and private right had, in a measure, ceased. The social and domestic character of Roman society were so sadly changed, and foreign vice and corruption became naturalized to such an extent, that the decay of the empire is no marvel.

The simplicity and integrity of earlier times were the base on which was reared a magnificent national superstructure. Thereon was based the sure growth, the gradual, healthy expansion of Roman power, till all the tribes and nations of the earth respected and feared it. Therein consisted the peculiar glory of Rome's first estate—of her earlier conquests—that force of character and energy of action that wearied Pyrrhus, conquered Mithridates, and overwhelmed Carthage. No coward dared return from a field which he had dishonored to the bosom of his wife, his sister, or his family; for they scorned and detested cowardice and unmanly and unsoldierly behavior, while they honored bravery and patriotism, whether manifested against the invaded or in an offensive war against a foreign foe. They applauded whatever was noble, generous, and manly; though, to gratify this spirit, husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons were sacrificed on war's grim altar. The inflexible mandates of the immortal gods were to be observed at whatever cost.

The citizens were instruments in the hands of the deities to avenge wrongs, to enforce right, and to glorify the city of their birth. The great dramatic bard, in "Coriolanus," makes Volumnia, the mother of Marcius Coriolanus, say: "Hear me profess sincerely. Had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for his country than one voluptously surfeit out of action." She but spoke the spirit of her time; and her language is but the language of Roman matrons of her age. Thus grew and flourished, as by magic forces and divine ordination, the city of Romulus, the world's hope and dread, at once the saviour and destroyer of civilization, whose porous social system absorbed and quickly dissolved the mysteries of Egypt, the classic beauties of Greece, and the wealth of the "exhaustless East."

But the great distinguishing trait in the Roman woman, in the days of the republic and under the earlier kings, was her attention to household employments. This the Roman expected of his wife—it was enjoined upon her by the marriage rite. Thus, indeed, it was among most of the more enlightened nations of antiquity. The noble born of both sexes did not disdain to toil in their appropriate spheres; the prince of royal blood was proud of holding the plough and of acting the husbandman, and daughters of princes were not ashamed to ply the needle or tend the distaff.

The great veneration for home, and love for its pursuits and associations, grew weaker and weaker as the state exchanged a popular government for the reign of military dictators and kings. In the Augustan age, though instances of female virtue, nobility, and culture are not few, we find from the scanty records of female history of those times extant, which, indeed, are merely incidental, that woman is less often the ideal of self-sacrificing worth and of retiring modesty, less noted for her attachment to her family, her home, and her domestic pursuits, less careful in the training of her children, than formerly. In earlier times, no Roman matron coveted the infamous character of a masculine conspirator; no Roman woman left her quiet hearth disgracefully to insult the remains of a murdered citizen; no Roman woman had instigated a civil war, or proscribed her victims for assassination.

Fulvia, the ambitious wife of Mark Antony, did all this. After the assassination of Clodius, she raised a sedition. Imitating, or rather out-rivalling the cruelty of her husband, she joined in his proscriptions, that Roman blood might flow by Roman hands still more freely. After the great Cicero had been slain in a spirit of the most relentless and vindictive cruelty, and his head brought to Antony, Fulvia took it on her knees, broke out in a torrent of cowardly and abusive epithets on the character of the deceased, and then, with the most fiendish inhumanity, pierced his tongue with her golden bodkin. During the absence of her husband in the East, she not only endeavored to stir up insurrections, but sold the government of provinces and decreed unmerited triumphs. What an eternity of infamy should be hers for such deeds as these! What an example in the wife of a ruler for the imitation of an empire! When such a spirit actuates the female mind, when coupled with ambition, recommended by beauty and intelligence, and supported by power, it is sadly to be deplored. That ambition which at any time induces woman to step beyond her sphere, to take upon her shoulders masculine responsibilities, to take part in political struggles and sectional wrangles, to usurp the places and duties of those who were created and destined to cherish and protect her, it is, for her own sake, to be regretted. Such attempts are not only pernicious in their influence, but they tend to render those unhappy who make them. Such are the results of our reflection and observation, and such is the lesson taught by impartial history.

In the life of Fulvia, however, we do not get a fair representation of the female character of her time, but merely some of its tendencies. A spirit of insubordination to the laws of place and the rules of decorum; an overweening ambition that steps without household limits; assumption of power far beyond the reach of female duties; arrogance and haughtiness from the high official station of the husband; vindictive cruelty to avenge a fancied or a real wrong; prodigality and masculine pride, oftener perceptible in this age than formerly—were unmistakable indications of its character and tendencies. Yet the picture was not altogether sad, though at various points dark shadows were visible. Here and there the heaviness of the prospect was relieved by the most delightful views and cheering lights. The wife of the second Brutus is portrayed by the great limner of human character, in "Julius Cæsar," as worthy the beautiful tribute bestowed by her husband.

In this play, Portia is made to act the part and display the genuine qualities of a "true wife," understanding her duties as such, and manifesting all due sympathy and affection for her husband, as is shown where she beseeches Brutus to reveal to her why he is heavy in heart, the secrets of his bosom, and what designs he cherishes:—

PORTIA.

BRUTUS.

PORTIA.

BRUTUS.

In the same play, Shakspeare would have us believe that Calpurnia, wife of Cæsar, had quite persuaded her husband not to go to the senate house on the fatal ides of March, though then and there he was to be crowned and clothed with regal power. The apprehensions she had raised in his mind were, however, dispelled by Oceius Brutus.

Antony's second wife, Octavia, was quite the reverse of Fulvia in character and disposition. She was of a gentle and peaceable spirit, doing her strict duty to her husband long after he had ceased to deserve her confidence or respect. The marriage, on the whole, was an unhappy one, being suggested by policy and public expediency, and effected for the purpose of uniting two powerful factions. Octavia was, for a considerable period, instrumental in preventing a rupture between her brother and husband, though that event finally occurred, with the most disastrous consequences to Antony. Though Antony was an able general, a man of capacity and great personal courage, yet he had so involved himself in the dissipations and luxuries of the Egyptian court, whose crowning star was Cleopatra, that he was no match for the graver and more calculating Augustus. The charms of Cleopatra had completely unmanned him, and smothered, in a measure, his ambition.

Time did not serve to rally him from the lethargy, hopeless and fatal, into which her spell had thrown him. The chains which bound him grew stronger and stronger, and his desire to break them weaker and weaker. This he attributed to her unrivalled beauty and the extent and variety of her accomplishment, to depict which requires a poet's pen and limner's art.

Happy picture! yet how inadequate to convey a correct impression of her entire character or history! But that portion intended to be depicted, the winning graces, the charming exterior, her manifold accomplishments, and queenly airs, how delicately, perhaps faithfully, touched off! The gifted and happy artist was not at fault here. The usually faithful limner, we have reason to believe, was not here unfaithful. He has portrayed the Egyptian queen, as she walked along the stage with Antony, truly and well.

But Cleopatra completed the ruin of Antony. He had wellnigh ruined himself; but it was hers to give the final stroke. How little he heeded his vow to Octavia at Rome, after he had spent part of his dissolute career in Egypt!

Poor Antony! the sequel of his life, the consummation of his destiny, how just, yet how painful to be observed! Fit retribution to one forsaking a true and faithful wife, to one choosing the paths of vice and dissipation and enervating pleasures. The stern warrior, the experienced general, the able statesman and orator found, at last, in the hand of the Venus he adored, the sword of a Nemesis.

Among the many noticeable women of this age, we would not pass by with seeming indifference the three Cornelias, wives of distinguished men, themselves, "withal, well reputed." Cornelia, the daughter of Cinna, was a very estimable woman, and the wife of Julius Cæsar. The best eulogy that has been pronounced upon her character and worth is the fact related by Plutarch concerning her. It appears that, though it was at that time contrary to custom at Rome to have funeral orations on young women deceased—only on the aged—yet Cæsar, from his high appreciation of the virtues of his wife, himself pronounced hers without regard to the practice of the times. This was her highest praise—the most worthy commendation of her merit. To recommend herself to her husband thus is one of the rarest excellences of a wife.

Pompey's wife, Cornelia, was Metellus Scipio's daughter. Considering the time in which she lived, the condition of society in which she moved, and the many examples of corruption daily exhibited in and about Rome, she certainly must be regarded as a woman of remarkable character and stability of virtue. Her accomplishments were many and various, and she was equally noted for the excellency of her private character, her domestic habits, and the extent and variety of her information.

Cornelia, the mother of the Gracchi, so celebrated in Roman history, was the daughter of Scipio Africanus Major. She also occupied a high rank among the worthy women of her day. She had a masculine turn of mind, but an irreproachable character. She is said, after the death of her husband, to have trained and educated her children in the most exemplary manner. In illustration of her regard for them, is the anecdote of Valerius Maximus concerning Cornelia, wherein she is represented, after having had displayed to her by a Campanian lady very many beautiful ornaments, and having been requested in turn to display her own, as having said, pointing to her children, "Here are my ornaments."

From the days of the Cæsars, Rome's glory began to depart. The stars that sparkled in her imperial diadem one by one faded, and at last were extinguished, leaving nations long accustomed to bondage and tribute free to grope about in the night of northern barbarism. Her conquerors and destroyers, though stigmatized as cowardly barbarians, without taste, learning, or genius, and destitute of any appreciation of the uses or beauty of art, could at least boast of a higher respect for woman. Ignorant and uncultivated, they yet looked upon the gentler sex with a kindly eye, and in her presence felt a generous sentiment, noble in itself and worthy of men. They looked upon woman as on the face of the calm heavens, to draw thence a kind of holy inspiration. They regarded her as mother, sister, wife, daughter—not as slave, servant, or a temporary toy. A worthy characteristic, though manifest in Goth and Vandal, the destroyers of statues, paintings, and magnificent cities, the dismantlers of queenly Rome, or the ravagers of Tuscany.

One of the disorders of which old Rome died—she had many preying on her vitals—was the rottenness of her social system. The Roman, in the days of Augustus, could not justify himself to his family on any rules of ancient or modern propriety; and too often it happened that his family, his wife, sister, and daughter, could not vindicate their own conduct, much less atone for that of the Roman man.

The history of that age, with what afterwards befel that proud empire, teaches with a plainness that is unmistakable that, when a nation or state loses its self-respect, and the people cease to pay a proper regard to social proprieties, and due respect and deference to female character—when woman is denied the charity she merits, or when she herself is encouraged to step beyond her generously accorded limits, its heart is unsound and its path is descending.