V Roman Marriage
The position of woman in ancient Rome was always one of honor and respect. A Roman matron enjoyed many more social privileges and a much greater independence than did the Greek wife. In Athens the women were treated as children; and the more respectable their character, the more completely were they shut out from the social life and the public amusements of the men. In Rome, on the contrary, though the wife was subordinate to her husband and, as a rule, did not make herself conspicuous in public affairs, she was in no way secluded, and was everywhere treated with the highest respect. In the home, she was the mistress of the whole household economy, supervising the instruction of the children and governing the domestic slaves. She stood side by side with her husband, sharing in all his dignities, and in all matters pertaining to the family wielding an authority second only to his. Somewhere between the civilizations of Greece and Rome was the boundary line, starting from which the status of woman degraded to the Oriental or developed into the Occidental type. In the one case, subject to the jealous veil, the espionage of eunuch slaves, the debasing, soul-benumbing servilities of the harem; in the other, living in the open, the sole mate of one man, and, subject to her husband alone, clothed with all authority in her home. While Greece looked to the East, and subjected her women to some of those customs which characterized the harems of Babylon, Rome was essentially Western, and its women enjoyed a goodly portion of dignity and honor. Both Greeks and Romans were of the same branch of the great Aryan race, and the indications are that in the earliest times their women enjoyed equal freedom; but Greece, to a certain extent, fell under the influence of Semitic ideas, which saw in the wife a voluptuous possession to be jealously guarded. The Roman woman, on the other hand, was taught to prize and protect her own virtue.
The comparatively free and respected position of the matrons of republican Rome accounts in no small degree for the glory and greatness of the State. Where woman is treated as a slave, there is no genuine love of liberty. Great men can only be born of noble mothers; and nobility, feminine as well as masculine, can only flourish in freedom. Veturia and Cornelia were mistresses in their homes; they knew no restraint in their goings save the requirements of honor, they were respected by their husbands and reverenced by all men; therefore, in ways natural to such mothers, they were able to fit their sons for deeds worthy of men.
In the Roman house there were no secluded women’s quarters corresponding to those of eastern nations; and the Roman women walked abroad, frequented the public theatres, and took their places at festive banquets with the men, Conelius Nepos, writing on this subject, says: “What Roman is ashamed to bring his wife to a feast; and does she not occupy the best room in the house, and live in the midst of company? But in Greece the case is far otherwise; for a wife is neither admitted to a feast, except among relations, nor does she sit anywhere but in the innermost apartment of the house, which is called the gynæconitis, and into which nobody goes who is not connected with her by near relationship.” The most important room in the Roman house was the atrium. Here, in the midst of her slaves, the mistress pursued her domestic occupations; here was placed the lectus genialis or adversus, in ancient times the real, afterward the symbolical, bridal bed, her own proper seat of honor.
Notwithstanding this independent position of the women, Roman marriage, if it be judged by the strict letter of its laws and customs, was not very indulgent to the weaker sex. But, as we have indicated in preceding chapters, the power of the father of the family was much greater in theory than it was in reality. Roman wedlock was of two kinds: matrimonium justum and non justum; that is, marriage in due form, and marriage without the perfect ceremonies. The first required the right on either side to fulfil a lawful marriage according to the ancient rites. In the earliest times, equality of condition was demanded, patricians and plebeians being allowed to marry only in their own class. After B.C. 445, this restriction was removed; but it was still necessary that both parties to the contract should be citizens. But even in cases where the ancient rites were not permitted, marriage, if it took place, was regarded as none the less lawful and binding. Among the Romans, first cousins were not allowed to marry, though in the days of the emperors the restrictions of consanguinity were not strictly adhered to; Agrippina was married to Claudius, who was her uncle.
A contract of legal marriage was made in three different ways, called, respectively, usus, confarreatio, and coemptio. Us us, or usage, was when a woman, with the consent of her parents or guardians, lived with a man a whole year without dowry, whom he cannot portion off to anyone. And Horace says that “Queen Money, when she gives a spouse with an ample dowry, seems to give at the same time beauty, nobility, friends, and conjugal fidelity.” Juvenal supposes someone to argue that Cesennia, a woman of his time, is, by her husband’s showing, the best of wives. But he answers: “She brought him a thousand sestertia; that is the price at which he calls her chaste. It is not with Venus’s quiver that he grows thin, or with her torch that he burns. It is from that his fires are fed; from her dowry it is that the arrows are sent. She has purchased her liberty; therefore, even in her husband’s presence she may exchange signals, and answer her billets-doux. A rich wife, with a covetous husband, has all a widow’s privileges.”
In the early days of the Republic, dowries were very small. The daughters of the greatest men, says Valerius Maximus, often brought nothing in marriage save the glory of their fathers or of their families. Scipio, when commanding in Spain, petitioned the Senate to allow him to return, so that he might arrange the marriage of his daughter. The Senators, in order that the State might not be deprived of the services of so able a general, refused his request, but took upon themselves the duty of marrying the maiden. They chose for her a husband, and assigned to her from the public treasury a marriage portion of eleven thousand ases. This doubtless was at the time considered ample, though Seneca, in the later days of luxury, declared that it would not suffice to purchase a mirror for the daughter of a freedman. In those same early days, when wealth was reckoned in small figures, a woman called Megulla was surnamed Dotata, or “The Great Fortune,” because she had fifty thousand ases, less than eight hundred dollars of our money. But as wealth increased, the marriage portions of the women became correspondingly great, until in the time of Martial a dowry equivalent to three-quarters of a million dollars was not uncommon. The wife’s dowry was, of course, at the disposal of her husband; but his right to it ceased in case of the dissolution of the marriage, except when the wife sought divorce without just cause, in which case the husband was allowed to keep a sixth of the dowry for each of their children, to the amount of three-sixths. If, however, the wife died before her husband, and left no children, her dowry reverted to her father, so that he might not suffer the double affliction of losing both his money and his daughter. Sometimes the wife reserved to herself a part of the marriage portion, in order that she might have something to spend for which she had not to give account to her husband; occasionally also, there went with the bride a slave, who, it was stipulated, was not to be subject to the husband’s disposal or command. The wife of Apuleius, who married him when she was a widow and possessed four million sesterces in her own right, transferred only three hundred thousand in the marriage settlement. This power of the wife to own personal property of a non-distrainable character afforded the Roman an opportunity, such as is frequently seized to-day by men on the verge of bankruptcy, to secure his assets by making them over to his wife.
It often happened, of course, that a maiden’s family, though honorable, was not in such circumstances that she could base her hopes of marriage upon the tempting bait of a rich dowry. Then her personal qualities were her sole reliance. In the later days of the Republic, Roman parents seem to have been fully appreciative of the desirability of a liberal education for their daughters. Even in the most wealthy families, before the days when Roman society entered upon its decadence, the girls were zealously instructed in those domestic duties which would prepare them to become good housewives. In addition to this, they were thoroughly trained in both Greek and Latin literature, especial attention being given to the poets. Their accomplishments also included music, singing, and dancing; for these, says Statius, helped to procure a husband. But we may be certain that in those times, as in the present, the natural anxiety of many a mother caused her to resort to other arts besides that of music, in order to provide a good match for her none too much sought after daughter. If the comedies are to be credited, that which the father’s wealth could not accomplish it was hoped might be attained through the mother’s wiles. “Look at the mothers,” says one of Terence’s characters; “they are carefully occupied in lowering their daughters’ shoulders, in drawing in their waists to make them look slender. Is there one of them who is inclined to be stout? The mother immediately exclaims, ‘she is an athlete,’ and diminishes the girl’s meals until, in spite of constitutional tendencies, she has rendered her daughter as thin as a spindle.”
A girl, by means of either her real or artificial qualities, has won the regard of some young Roman; let us witness, so far as they may be ascertained from the ancient authors, the ceremonies of her betrothal and nuptials. The consent of the parents of both parties must first be obtained. If the suitor is regarded with favor, the father of the maiden says: “I give up to you my dear daughter, and may it be happy for me, for you, and for her.” Then the betrothal or espousal takes place. This is a family festival; everyone connected with the house makes it a holiday. The relatives are invited to share in the rejoicing and also to witness the contract of engagement. The Roman maiden did not engage herself to be married in the manner Ruskin complained of as characterizing modern times,—by moonlight, starlight, gaslight, candlelight, or anything but daylight. Her engagement was a solemnity which took place under the eyes of all her relatives and as many friends as her father cared and could afford to invite. The inevitable augurs are also present, in order that they may ascertain, by examining the entrails of some bird, whether or not the Fates will be propitious. Their verdict will largely depend upon the manner in which they are treated by the parties concerned; for Cato declared that he never could understand how two members of this profession could look each other in the face without laughing. One wonders if any Roman girl ever availed herself of the science of these gentlemen to escape an undesirable suitor; for in the minds of most of the people the superstition was so firmly implanted that if an augur could have been induced to perceive misfortune in the auspices, that would have been sufficient to prevent the engagement. But we will suppose that the signs are pronounced favorable. A stipula, or straw, is broken between the parties, signifying that a contract is made. The agreement is also put in writing, for the sake of future reference. The man gives the maiden a plain iron ring, which he places upon the finger next to the smallest on the left hand, there being a belief that a nerve runs from that finger directly to the heart. He also gives presents to those who have made themselves useful in helping to bring about the engagement, and he receives a present from the girl. The contract of betrothal was not irrevocable; but for either party to withdraw from it was much more likely to result in a suit at law than is the case at the present time; and the Roman had the advantage over the jilted man in our day, in that it was not considered that damages for a breach of promise were properly due only to a woman. Marriage engagements were frequently of long continuance among the Romans; for sometimes even infants were betrothed. The minimum age at which the marriage could legally take place was twelve for the girl and fourteen for the man.
The selection of the wedding day was a matter in which more than the inclination and the convenience of the parties concerned had to be considered; the important thing was to choose a fortunate day. Ovid says: “There are days when neither widow nor virgin may light the torch of Hymen; she who is married then will surely die.” The Calends, the Ides, and the Nones were especially to be avoided. The whole month of May was considered particularly unfavorable, because it was devoted to the propitiation of the Lemurs, or the evil spirits. It was a common saying that no good woman would marry in the month of May. February was also avoided. June, on the contrary, of all the months in the year, was believed to be the most propitious for marriages, but not until after the Ides, or the thirteenth day. Ovid states, on the authority of the wife of the flamen dialis, that for a fortunate marriage it was necessary to wait until the refuse from the Temple of Vesta had been carried by the Tiber to the sea; and this was not supposed to be accomplished until the thirteenth of June.
The friends of our couple have decided upon a day which, in the common opinion, has no predilection for mischief. Everything necessary for the performance of the marriage ceremonies is provided. These ceremonies are of the nature of ancient usages rather than legal requirements. They are intensely symbolical, and are calculated to impress upon the minds of the bride and bridegroom a lively sense of the duties belonging to the new relationship into which they are entering.
This Roman bride is relieved of one grave anxiety which usually accompanies the anticipatory pleasure in an approaching modern wedding. It is not necessary for her to give any thought as to the color and fashion of her wedding dress. This was always the same among the Romans; and even if that worn by the maiden whose marriage is now being described should happen to be an heirloom from her great-grandmother, she need not fear that it is out of style. It consists of a long white robe, woven in a particular manner. If the circumstances of her family have improved, she may perhaps sew a purple fringe around the border; but that is absolutely the only change allowed. This robe will be fastened around her waist with a woollen girdle, white wool being always a symbol of chastity. This will be tied in a Hercules knot, to loose which, at the end of the ceremonies, will be the husband’s privilege. Her hair, allowed to fall around her shoulders, on the wedding morn is parted with the head of a spear. Plutarch and other writers say that this custom had its origin in the rape of the Sabines, and betokened the fact that the first Roman marriages were brought about by capture, and that it accordingly also indicated that a wife should be in subjection to her husband. Over her head the bride wears a yellow or flame-colored veil, this hue being held to be of good significance. Her brow is also crowned with a chaplet of vervain, gathered and wreathed by her own hands, for this herb signifies fecundity. Her shoes are also of yellow, and so constructed as to make her appear taller than her real height.
Thus attired, the bridal party go first to the temple, for the purpose of offering sacrifice, as Virgil says, “above all, to Juno, whose province is the nuptial tie.” The victim considered as most appropriate is a hog; and care is to be taken to throw the gall of the animal as far away as possible, with the hope that in like manner all bitterness will be put far away from this conjugal union. Then, if the ceremony of confarreatio is used, the couple, having returned to the bride’s home, are seated side by side, with a sheepskin covering both chairs; by which it is signified that although the man and the woman occupy two different parts of the house, they are nevertheless united by a common bond. The chief priest now gives the wedded pair the sacred cake, which they eat together in token of the fact that they are henceforth to share with each other the necessaries of life. Although the modern wedding cake has developed into something far more elaborate than the simple Roman wafer of flour, water, and salt, the probability is that the former had its origin in the latter.
The appearance of the star Venus in the sky is the signal for the bride’s departure to her new home. In a formal manner, her father hands her over to her husband’s family, for he only can sever the bond which holds her to his guardianship. Henceforth her husband has the right by law to exercise over her that authority which has been held by her father. There is a pretence made of taking her by force from the arms of her mother or her sisters, in memory of the violent abduction of the Sabine women. Then the bridal party walk in procession to the husband’s house. Preceding them, lighting the way, are four married women carrying torches. The bride is directly attended by three boys, in selecting whom the important thing to be borne in mind is to take only those who have both parents living, otherwise it would be an extremely bad omen. Two of these support her by the arms, while the other carries a flambeau of white pine before her to dissipate all lurking enchantments and dispel all evil incantations. Then follow maid-servants with a distaff, a spindle, and wool, intimating that she is to labor at spinning, as did the Roman matrons of the old time. After these comes a boy, who for this occasion is named Camillus; his office is to carry in an open basket other instruments for feminine work; and especially it has been remembered to include playthings and toys for the bride’s prospective children. All the relatives and friends join in this festive procession. In place of the rice which in these days accompanies the adieus bestowed on a newly wedded pair, the Roman bride was the target for all the jests and raillery which the wit of the spectators might suggest. When she reaches her new home, the bridegroom, standing in the doorway, which is decked with garlands of flowers, inquires who she is. Her reply is: “Where thou art Caius, there am I Caia;” thus beautifully intimating that comradeship in all things which is the ideal of marriage. Then, after the bride has anointed the doorposts with the fat of swine in order to turn away all enchantments, she is lifted over the threshold, which, being consecrated to Vesta, it would be a bad omen for the bride to touch with her foot. Her husband now presents her with the keys, for she is henceforth to be intrusted with the management of his house. Both touch fire and water, in token that they together share these essentials of life and well-being. A yoke is placed about their necks, symbolizing that which they have taken upon themselves in their marriage; from this comes the word conjugium. The first joint act of the bride and bridegroom is to unite in the worship of the household gods, the husband thus introducing his wife to the guardian spirits of his home—the most sacred things of his family. She is henceforth to be associated with him in his domestic worship, and she has become a sharer in the inheritance of fame left by his ancestors, who are venerated in the adoration of their Manes. These solemn observances being ended, now follows the banquet. At this, the bride reclines on the same divan with her husband at the head of the table; for she is already hostess where he is host. Now has come the opportunity for boisterous hilarity. The solemnities are all completed, and the remaining time is wholly given up to the merriment which is always deemed a fitting accompaniment to the first adventure of a couple among the changes and chances of the marriage state. All the guests join in singing the Thalassius,—a chant in which every bridegroom is congratulated on being as fortunate in his lot as was that traditional Quirite who obtained the brightest flower of the Sabine maidens.
The banquet being ended, the bride is conducted by the matrons to the nuptial chamber, which is always the atrium, or the central room of the house. Here is placed the lectus genialis, richly adorned and covered with flowers. The bridegroom throws nuts among his former companions, as a sign that he is now forsaking the life of his boyhood for the responsibilities of man’s estate. After his departure, the young people entertain the newly married couple by singing outside the door fescennine verses, in which is indulged a liberty of expression to which modern ears are unaccustomed.
Commonly, the songs chanted at the celebration of Roman marriages had no literary merit whatever, and were chiefly characterized by their grossness; but sometimes these occasions inspired the genius of the best poets, from which resulted some of the most beautiful Latin verse. Catullus has three such pieces. In his Nuptial Song, youths and maidens are represented as contending with each other in improvised versification. Hesperus, the evening star, is reproached by the virgins and lauded by the young men as being the signal for the bride to leave her mother’s arms for those of her husband. In the last chorus, both parties unite in exhorting the young wife to use complaisance with her husband, and not to “strive against two parents who have bestowed their own rights along with thy dowry on their son-in-law.” The Marriage of Peleus and Thetis, the longest of the poems of Catullus, may not have been intended to be sung at a wedding; though that is a question on which classic scholars are not agreed. It treats of marriage, however, in a very interesting and original fashion; and may throw some light on Roman customs, notwithstanding the fact that the characters introduced are the offspring of the gods. “The mansion, in every part of its opulent interior, glitters with shining gold and silver; white are the ivory seats; goblets gleam on the tables; the whole dwelling rejoices in the splendor of regal wealth. In the midst of the mansion is placed the genial couch of the goddess, inlaid with polished Indian tooth, and covered with purple dyed with the shell’s rosy juice. This coverlet, diversified with figures of the men of yore, portrays the virtues of heroes with wondrous art.” Then follows the principal part of the poem, which is a description of the pictures worked upon the tapestry of the bed. The subject of these is the history of Ariadne. We are to imagine the poet standing by the couch and pointing out the incidents portrayed, with their causes and consequences. This being concluded, the gods, and especially the Parcæ, are introduced to the marriage feast; and the latter, as they spin their thread, “utter soothsaying canticles.”
Catullus has given us a veritable example of the Roman wedding song in his epithalamium on the marriage of Manlius and Julia. Of this Julia we know nothing further than that she was of the Cotta family; Manlius was of the illustrious lineage of the Torquati. If only there were historic warrant for believing that this couple were as charming in their personalities as they are described in this poem, and that all the good wishes therein expressed did really materialize, the marriage of Manlius and Julia might stand for all time as the summum bonum of wedded felicity. A few stanzas from Lamb’s translation will serve to illustrate the character of the epithalamium, and will also fairly indicate the place and nature of sentiment in the Roman conception of the marriage relation.
“When Venus claim’d the golden prize,
And bless’d the Phrygian shepherd’s eyes;
No brighter charms his judgment sway’d
Than those that grace this mortal maid;
And every sigh and omen fair
The nuptials hail, and greet the pair.
“Propitiate here the maiden’s vows,
And lead her fondly to her spouse;
And firm as ivy clinging holds
The tree it grasps in mazy folds,
Let virtuous love as firmly bind
The tender passions of her mind.
“Ye virgins, whom a day like this
Awaits to greet with equal bliss,
Oh! join the song, your voices raise
To hail the god we love to praise.
O Hymen! god of faithful pairs;
O Hymen! hear our earnest prayers.
“Invoked by sires with anxious fear,
Their children’s days with bliss to cheer;
By maidens, who to thee alone
Unloose the chaste, the virgin zone;
By fervid bridegrooms, whose delight
Is stay’d till thou hast bless’d the rite.
“Raise, boys, the beaming torches high!
She comes—but veil’d from every eye;
The deeper dyes her blushes hide;
With songs, with pæans greet the bride!
Hail, Hymen! god of faithful pairs,
Hail, Hymen! who hast heard our prayers.
“Riches, and power, and rank, and state,
With Manlius’ love thy days await;
These all thy youth shall proudly cheer,
And these shall nurse thy latest year.
Hail, Hymen! god of faithful pairs!
Hail, Hymen! who hast heard our prayers.
“Oh! boundless be your love’s excess,
And soon our hopes let children bless;
Let not this ancient honor’d name
Want heirs to guard its future fame;
Nor any length of years assign
A limit to the glorious line.
“Let young Torquatus’ look avow
All Manlius’ features in his brow;
That those, who know him not, may trace
The knowledge of his noble race;
And by his lineal brow declare
His lovely mother chaste as fair.
“Now close the doors, ye maiden friends;
Our sports, our rite, our service ends.
With you let virtue still reside,
O bridegroom brave, and gentle bride,
And youth its lusty hours employ
In constant love and ardent joy.”
The bluntly practical disposition of the Romans reveals itself even in their attitude toward that phase of human life which preëminently furnished scope for romance. In their expressions concerning marriage, its physical basis is acknowledged with unnecessary frankness. No vestige is found among them of any pretence of belief in that exalted communion which, though it is probably nothing more than an imaginary refinement, is commonly talked of as Platonic love. There is no idealizing of the amatory emotions,—such as we are accustomed to in novels which are not “realistic”—thereby affording an opportunity to ignore the lower aspect.
A woman, after marriage, retained her former name; but it was joined to that of her husband, as, for example, Julia Pompeii, Terentia Ciceronis. She was also called domina, the mistress. On the day after her marriage, the Roman bride, by a sacrifice which she offered to the Lares, formally took possession of her position as mistress of the household. Then she assumed the control of the servants and slaves, setting them their tasks and taking upon herself the superintendence of all things in the home. By unwritten law, no servile work was required of the Roman matron, unless she were so poor as not to own a slave. She might spin, and, indeed, it was to her credit if she thus diligently employed herself, for this was an occupation which the most cherished traditions would not permit the noblest to despise. It was carried on in the atrium, where the matron sat surrounded by her husband’s ancestral images and where she received her friends. When she went abroad, she was known to be a matron because of her stola; the inner side of the walk was given to her by every Roman citizen she might happen to meet; and if anything indecent was said or done in her presence, it was an offence which might be punished by law.
In the earliest times, the dissolution of the marriage bond was of extremely rare occurrence, for the praiseworthy reason that the manners of the people were such that there seldom arose an occasion for divorce. In those first ages, however, the laws concerning this matter were characterized by an exceeding severity and unfairness to the woman. In no case was she allowed to divorce her husband; though she might be put away by him, not only for conjugal infidelity and such crimes as using drugs to prevent the possibility of childbearing, or for deceiving him by the introduction of fictitious children, but even if she counterfeited his keys or surreptitiously drank his wine, and, in the earliest times, if she drank wine at all. Carvilius is said to have been the first Roman to put away his wife; but it is difficult to believe that, notwithstanding the fact that laws providing for such a proceeding existed from the time of the kingdom, no divorce really took place until B.C. 231. Probably certain circumstances connected with this divorce gave it such notoriety that it was the first which impressed itself upon the attention of the historians. It is said that Carvilius, though he loved his wife, divorced her on account of barrenness, he having, with many other citizens, made a vow to marry for the sake of offspring.
In later times, the women gained the right to secure divorce; and as morals began to show the signs of decadence, there was nothing so indicative of the terrible laxity which prevailed as the trivial causes for which husbands and wives were allowed to separate. Incompatibility of temperament was the common complaint. In the ancient and nobler times, there was a small temple dedicated to Viriplaca, the marital peacemaker; and when a difference occurred between husband and wife, they met and entered into explanations before the goddess, usually with the result of a restoration of harmony; but Viriplaca was gradually forgotten, and matrimonial chaos ensued.
When this laxity came to be the prevailing rule, the wife who was rich and, moreover, inclined to be in any way disagreeable held her husband at her mercy. If he divorced her without any considerable fault of hers, or if they parted by mutual consent, she took her dowry and left him with the children. If, as was very likely to be the case, he had married her for her property, he was obliged to be submissive. Plautus says: “The portionless wife is subject to her husband’s will; wives with dowries are as executioners for their husbands.” Martial, inveighing against a miserly woman who will not furnish her husband with a new cloak as a New Year’s gift, says: “Why, Proculeia, do you cast off your husband in the month of January? This is not in your case a divorce; it is a good stroke of business.” During the worst times, the law restricted the number of divorces obtainable by an individual to eight. If we are to believe Juvenal, there were women who were sufficiently enterprising to reach the limit in five years. The satirist describes them as leaving the doors only recently adorned, the tapestry used for the marriage festival still hanging on the house, and the branches still green upon the threshold. Seneca says that in his time it had come to such a pass that women reckoned the years, not by the names of the consuls, but by the husbands they had divorced.
Yet, notwithstanding—perhaps it would be more correct to say, on account of—this excessive willingness on the part of the women to enter into contracts of marriage, it became necessary in the time of the first empire to decree severe penalties against celibacy; and bonuses were awarded to those in whose families children were born. Even as early as B.C. 121, Metellus the Censor, complaining in the Senate of the increasing tendency to avoid the responsibilities of matrimony, said: “Could we exist without wives at all, doubtless we should rid ourselves of the plague they are to us; since, however, nature has decreed that we cannot dispense with the infliction, it is best to bear it manfully, and rather look to the permanent conservation of the State than to our own passing comfort.”
In a condition of society in which the most conspicuous women were unrestrained by any worthy ideals of the responsibilities of wifehood, and where men were at liberty, and found abundant opportunity, to gratify their basest propensities with no fear of any reproof other than being made the subject of humorous allusion, it is not to be wondered at that the latter were inclined to shun the cares and the vicissitudes of marriage. Juvenal claimed that a good wife was rarer than a white crow; and Pliny held that celibacy alone afforded an unobstructed road to power and fortune. The former’s terrible sixth satire was written as a warning against matrimony. “And yet you are preparing your marriage covenant, and the settlement, and betrothal, in our days; and are already under the hands of the master barber, and perhaps have already given the pledge for her finger. Well, you used to be sane, at all events! You, Postumus, going to marry! Say, what Tisiphone, what snakes, are driving you mad? Can you submit to be the slave of any woman, while so many halters are to be had? so long as high and dizzy windows are accessible, and the Æmilian bridge presents itself so near at hand?” The women are accused of every enormity known in that Rome where vice attained such proportions as have never been approached in any civilization in the history of the world. But it is contrary to the office of the satirist to present a true picture of the whole. Writing of vice, he sees nothing but iniquity; of the good he has nothing to say, for it is not in his province. That even then there were good women we know full well. Julia, the aunt of Cæsar; Octavia, faithful to her marriage vows despite the ill returns she received from Mark Antony; Agrippina, the beloved and faithful wife of the noble Germanicus; Livia also, the wife of Augustus, whose matrimonial fidelity—whatever may have been her character in other respects—no suspicion ever assailed. If these women, in their high stations, could exemplify all the best traditions of the matrons of the old time, we may be sure that there were innumerable good wives in the commoner ranks.
Out on the Appian Way, there is to be seen one of the strangest monuments that a grotesque fancy ever devised. It is the tomb of Marcus Vergilius Eurysaces, who was baker to the apparetores. The monument consists of a row of great cylinders representing measures for grain. Upon these, in three tiers, are huge kneading troughs, placed with their mouths turned outward. Above is a frieze representing various incidents connected with the baker’s trade. There is evidence that originally there was a similar monument standing by the side of this, for an inscription was found which reads: Antistia was my wife; she was the best woman alive; of whose body the remains which are left are in this bread basket. Here was a man of the people who appreciated his wife. Doubtless Antistia was a good woman, and lived happily with the baker, just as there were myriads of other faithful pairs whose names are not recorded on monuments nor have any place in history.
And yet, even the highest Roman standards of morality were not such as have been evolved through many centuries of inculcation of Christian principles. Among the best of the pagan Romans, concubinage was looked upon as a defensible institution. The laws in regard to citizenship shut out a large class of women from the privilege of marriage with freeborn Romans; as, for instance, the daughters of foreigners who had not been naturalized. These could only become mistresses or enter into left-handed marriages. If a citizen who was unmarried wished to live with such a woman, of course no ceremony was needed; there was nothing binding about the union, and at the same time it was not considered to be in any wise indecent. On more than one tomb there is found an inscription to “the beloved concubine,” Acte held this relationship with the Emperor Nero; and to her credit it surely must be allowed that she was the only person near him against whom he did not maliciously turn, and who seemed to have with him some slight influence for good. Antoninus Pius, one of the very best of the Roman emperors, when his beloved Faustina died, took a concubine. He would not marry again, because he did not wish to bring his four children under the uncertain care of a stepmother. And having before him the domestic history of more than one imperial family in which were exhibited the tender mercies of such a stepmother as was Livia the wife of Augustus, Antoninus may well be excused for his precaution. What was the name of the woman he took we do not know, nor are we informed as to her character; only, Marcus Aurelius says: “I am thankful to the gods that I was not longer brought up with my father’s concubine.”