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