VIII

"This youth, the blissful vision of a day,Shall just be shown on earth, then snatched away,"

"This youth, the blissful vision of a day,

Shall just be shown on earth, then snatched away,"

she was startled by the description of her own son, and, hiding her face, she burst into tears; and when the poet uttered the words "Tu Marcellus eris," which he had wisely withheld to the end of the passage, she could endure no more and swooned because of the intensity of her sorrowful emotion. The information that she ordered Virgil to be presented with ten thousand sesterces for every line of the passage relating to her son is interesting, but does not add particularly to the beauty of the scene. Shortly after this, occurred her death. Augustus caused certain public buildings which he was at this time erecting to be dedicated in honor of his sister.

Now that Julia was married, she was freed to some extent from that severe discipline in which Augustus deemed it necessary to bring up the girls of his family. Her training had been very strict. She had even been obliged, at a time when other girls of far inferior birth were perfecting themselves in more fashionable accomplishments, to assist her aunt and her stepmother in spinning wool for her father's clothes. She was denied any freedom of intercourse with the youths of her own age. Augustus once wrote to a young nobleman: "You have not behaved with proper respect in paying a visit to my daughter at BaiÃ¦." But natural inclination, always stronger than discipline in determining the direction of a moral career, led Julia into evil courses. For many years, however, her father saw nothing less innocent in her conduct than that wit and gayety of spirit which he easily condoned. She well knew how to turn the edge of the mild rebukes of a fond parent. On one occasion, seeing her surrounded at a public exhibition by a number of the young fashionables of the city, and noticing that she did not maintain that dignity of deportment which he thought becoming in the daughter of an emperor, Augustus wrote her a letter expressing his displeasure and holding up before her the example of Livia, who encouraged in her company none but "grave and reverend signiors." Julia had a ready reply; this was the note scribbled on a tablet and sent back to her father: "These young men will also have become old fogies by the time I am an old woman." One day, later in her life, her father found a slave engaged in plucking the gray hairs from his daughter's head. This operation suddenly ceased on his entrance, and he feigned not to have noticed it. Then he asked abruptly: "Julia, which would you rather be--gray or bald?" "Why, father, gray, of course," "You little liar," replied Augustus, "see here," and he held up some of the gray hairs which had fallen on her dressing gown.

Shortly after the death of Marcellus, Julia was again married, this time to the great warrior Agrippa, the staunch friend of her father. This also was distinctly a political marriage. Julia was eighteen, Agrippa was forty-two, while at the time of betrothal he was already wedded to Marcella, the daughter of Octavia. The usual divorce severed these bonds, and Marcella was given to Antonius, the son of the triumvir. Both Octavia and Scribonia were desirous of this matrimonial readjustment. They probably saw that Julia needed a firm disciplinarian like Agrippa to keep the questionable proclivities of her character from attaining too exuberant a freedom. It is also likely that they hoped that this union would result in heirs who would frustrate the expectations of Livia and her sons. But to their check thus played, Livia, in due time, answered with a decisive mate. To Julia and Agrippa there were born three sons and one daughter, named respectively Lucius, Caius, Agrippa Posthumus, and Julia. Thus Tacitus relates the dÃ©nouement: "Augustus had adopted Lucius and Caius into the CÃ¦sarian family; and although they had not yet laid aside the puerile garment, his ambition was strong to see them declared princes of the Roman youth, and even mentioned for the consulship; at the same time, he affected to decline these honors for them. Upon the death of Agrippa, they were cut off, either by a decease premature but natural, or by the arts of their stepmother Livia: Lucius on his journey to the armies in Spain, Caius on his return from Armenia, ill of a wound. And as Drusus had been long since dead, Tiberius Nero was the only surviving stepson. On him every honor was accumulated, he was adopted by Augustus as his son and a colleague in the Empire ... and this was brought about, not by the secret machinations of his mother, as heretofore, but at her open suit. For over Augustus, now aged, she had obtained such absolute sway that he had banished his only surviving grandson, Agrippa Posthumus, a person of clownish brutality, with great bodily strength, but convicted of no heinous offence."

Julia had by this time worked out her own condemnation. Those stories of her flagrant misconduct which for years had been part of the common gossip of the baths and porticoes of the city at last reached the ears of her father. He tried not to believe them. Gazing fondly upon his only child, he said; "Just like her I am sure that Claudia must have looked, of whom our forefathers told that she was slandered. But she proved her innocence." Those to whom he said this listened respectfully; but behind his back they sneered. After Agrippa's death, Julia had made another political marriage. Tiberius had been compelled to put away his wife, Vipsania, the daughter of Agrippa, whom he dearly loved,--she was probably the only human being for whom this morose man ever had any real affection,--and was forced, much against his will, to replace her by Agrippa's widow. Tiberius knew Julia as her father did not; and, rather than live with her, he betook himself to a voluntary exile in Rhodes. By thus doing, he seemed to frustrate all his mother's plans for his advancement; but she, with deadly persistency, determined that there should be in CÃ¦sar's family no other candidate for the imperial position, which must soon be vacated. There is some hint of Julia's misdoings coming to light through the discovery of a plot, in which Livia had no part, to shorten the emperor's days; but there is no proof, nor does it seem probable, that Julia was a conspirator against her father's life. She was probably the tool of others. Augustus, however, was constrained to institute an investigation, which revealed to him all the turpitude of his daughter's conduct; she was banished to an island in the Bay of Naples, and there strictly guarded until the day of her death.

The case of Julia gives no occasion for pity, except for the gray-haired old man who had lost by death all those upon whom he had rested his ambitious hopes for the future of his house. None were left save Livia,--probably Augustus himself never for a moment entertained a suspicion that his wife was the cause of his misfortunes,--Tiberius, whom he never loved, and this woman, whom he wished had died in her infancy. And yet the edge is taken from any sympathy one might have for Augustus, when it is remembered that, notwithstanding his stern demand for chastity on the part of the women of his own family and all of noble birth, his own conduct, if Suetonius reports truthfully, was no better than that of his daughter. But to condemn licentiousness in their women and to practise it themselves did not seem to the men of Rome to be either illogical or inconsistent.

Julia represented the prevalent social conditions of her time. Licentiousness, like a cancer, was eating into the heart of Roman society; and this was to grow still worse. It must be admitted also that female degeneracy kept pace with the increase of woman's influence in the political world. Livia and Agrippina the Elder were exceptions; but the rule was, and has been in all history, that the activity of women in State affairs was accompanied by an abundance of meretricious amatory intrigues. It is a remarkable fact that in the history of the Roman woman--and possibly this statement might be given a much wider application--there is no instance where any individual woman designedly helped to bring about the enactment of a law for the public weal. Female politics always had for their object the advancement of the female politician's own personal interests or those of some male favorite. And women could never have favorites outside their own families with safety to their honor. Whenever women have sought high favors either from men or for men, their personal charms have ever been their principal argument and illicit love their chief inducement.

One of the most radical of the early changes made in the Roman constitution was brought about by the piqued vanity of a woman. Fabius Ambustus, a man of power and renown in the ancient Republic, had two daughters. One of them was married to a patrician named Sulpicius, while the other was espoused to Stolo, a plebeian tribune. This office was the highest to which at the time a man of plebeian birth could lawfully aspire. One day the wife of Stolo, being at her sister's house, was startled by the sound of the lictor's staff at the door--a mode of announcement to which plebeian ears were unaccustomed. Being laughed at by Sulpicia, she went to her own home in high dudgeon, and henceforth neither Fabius Ambustus nor Stolo could gain any relief from her complaints until they had brought it to pass that the Senate consented to the conferring of magisterial office upon plebeians, with the consequence that her husband also might be attended by a lictor with his axe and rods. The story is important because it illustrates the greater portion of the Roman woman's interest in politics.

Livia was now the sole woman of influence in the imperial palace. Scribonia had voluntarily accompanied her daughter into exile; and the daughter of Julia, who had inherited both her mother's name and her failings, was banished from the city. It was not difficult now for Livia to secure the adoption of Tiberius by Augustus as his son and also as his heir. This, however, was not done without causing some misgivings in the minds of the Romans, who, as Tacitus says, feared to be under bondage to a woman "with the ungovernable spirit peculiar to her sex."

On the nineteenth of August, A.D. 14, Livia and the intimate friends of Augustus were gathered around the emperor's deathbed. "Tell me," said the great emperor, "have I played well my part?" Posterity has never questioned the nature or the truth of their answer. Then he said: "Let all applaud and clap their hands." His last words, which throw more light on the character of this great woman than all the good and bad that is said of her, were: "Livia! live mindful of our union; and now, farewell."

The Augusta had sent urgent messengers to recall her son; and she caused the people to be kept in ignorance of the true condition of her husband until the news of his death and of the succession of Tiberius could be announced at the same time. But, although she had labored so persistently, and, if the historians are correct, so unscrupulously, for the accession of her son, with the death of Augustus, Livia's power also came to an end. Tiberius was impatient of any female interference, even that of his mother. She was made priestess of the deified Augustus; but Tiberius declared that public honors should be adjudged to women with extreme moderation, and he refused to allow a lictor to be appointed for her service. Still, after a fashion of his own, he treated her with the greatest respect until the day of her death; and he always allowed her politic counsels to have considerable weight in his decisions, well aware that no one else would so jealously guard his interests.

There is one incident which redounds to the credit of Tiberius, whose sadly damaged reputation needs everything that can be said in his favor, and which is worth noticing because it not only illustrates his manner of dealing with the imperious Augusta, but also indicates the kind of purposes for which the political power of influential women was exercised. Livia, presuming on her position, demanded that Piso should be punished for insulting her by suing Urgulania, one of her favorites, for the payment of money which was clearly due to him. Tiberius refused so unjust a request, but gave his mother to understand that no less a person than himself would plead her cause before the judges. He fulfilled his word by loitering so long on his way to the court that by the time he reached it the judges had awarded the claimant his right, so that the empress found no way open by which she could save her friend except by paying the money herself.

Livia's old age was embittered to herself, and still more discredited with many of her contemporaries, by a new phase of the old feud which had for so long rent the imperial family. Agrippina, the daughter of Julia and Agrippa, had been married to Germanicus, the son of Antonia and the elder Drusus. In the wedded life of these two was exemplified an excellence of conjugal union that was almost perfect. Germanicus was a brave and able soldier and a man whose moral character was far superior to the standard of his time. Agrippina was a woman whose purity of life was worthy of the principles which guided the matrons of the ancient Republic, but whose disposition would not permit her to relinquish any privilege which was open to the women of the new times and warranted by her position.

Livia's grudge against Agrippina seems to have been a continuation of the old discord between the Claudian and the Julian branches of the governing house. Each of these women had her adherents, who by their machinations and recriminations made peace an utter stranger in the imperial palace. Livia, however, possessed a threefold advantage over Agrippina: the latter was precluded by her nature from adopting against an enemy any nefarious design--a scruple of which history has been able to discover no trace in the conduct of the former lady; the Augusta was strongly supported in her dislike by the Emperor Tiberius; and Agrippina was away from Rome a great part of the time. She elected to accompany her husband, even on his most dangerous expeditions. On one occasion, when their lives were threatened by the mutinous legions and he urged her to depart to safer quarters, she proudly answered that, being the granddaughter of the deified Augustus, she was not so degenerate as to shrink from danger.

To what extent this animosity between the two ladies was carried it is difficult to determine. Some historians claim that it resulted in placing another awful crime to Livia's account. Germanicus died in Seleucia in the thirty-fourth year of his age, of some mysterious malady; and there were many who at once whispered that Livia had been the means of bringing about his death by poisoning. But there is no proof of this, and a careful study of the known facts causes it to seem improbable. There was no motive for such an act, beyond the fact that the husband of Agrippina was exceedingly popular with the army and the people; but this was offset by his undoubted and enthusiastic devotion to Tiberius. The facts, so far as they are now ascertainable, are these: Piso, who was Proconsul of Syria, was instigated by his wife Plancina to acts of disrespect and animosity against Germanicus and Agrippina. This woman, who was of an exceedingly masculine temperament,--as is shown among other things by her habit of taking part in the exercises of the cavalry,--was a great favorite with Livia and shared her closest confidence. Plancina is said to have kept about her a woman named Martina, who had an evil reputation as being expert in the use of poisonous drugs, but of whose existence nothing more is known than the little that is told in this connection, Germanicus, on his deathbed, declared that he was cut short in his career by the dark devices of a woman. The news of his decease did not affect Livia with the same degree of sorrow as it did the populace; which fact tended to strengthen suspicion in the minds of the latter. But all this proves nothing, even though Piso, despairing of acquittal, destroyed himself during his trial, after having written a letter protesting his innocence. Nor does the fact that Plancina was protected by Livia furnish any proof that the aged and much-maligned empress was guilty of instigating the crime, if crime it was.

Agrippina, after the body of her husband had been burned on the funeral pyre, set forth in the depth of winter on her journey to Rome with his ashes. At every port where the fleet touched she received a sad but an imposing ovation. All the friends of her husband crowded to Brundusium, where she was to disembark; but they could not agree as to whether she should be received in respectful silence or with some more demonstrative expression of their sympathy. Tacitus thus depicts the affecting scene: "Nothing was settled when the fleet came sweeping slowly in, not rigged out in sprightly fashion, but wearing the ensigns of sadness. When, however, the widow descended from the ship, bearing the funeral urn in her hand, accompanied by her two infants and with her eyes steadily fixed on the ground, one simultaneous groan burst from the entire assemblage." Neither Tiberius, nor Livia, nor Antonia, the mother of Germanicus, attended the funeral. Tacitus gives the reasons that were alleged, but does not decide which was nearest the truth. "Tiberius and Livia either thought public lamentation beneath their dignity, or else they feared lest if folk peered into their faces their hypocrisy would be discovered. Whether sickness detained Antonia, or overmuch sorrow and inability to go through the ceremony, is not known. I would rather believe that she was held back by Tiberius and Livia, who did not leave the palace, that they might seem to mourn in private."

Agrippina had been exhorted by her dying husband, "as she would cherish his memory, and for the sake of their children, to divest herself of her unyielding spirit, and humble herself to Fortune in the storm of her displeasure; and, on her return to the city, not to irritate, in a competition for the mastery, those who were more than a match for her." Such advice given to a Roman matron would have appeared unnecessary to the men of the old regime; but there was now a throne in Rome, and consequently women jostled each other for the place of power behind it.

Agrippina needed just such counsel; but her nature would not allow her to profit by it. Irreproachable in her life, her virtues were not beautified by the divine gift of good humor; and she possessed no philosophy. Her mind was of that sort, more common among women than men, in which an idea having once been entertained is henceforth unassailable and undetachable by reason. Than this class of mind there is nothing more exasperating in human knowledge, and it is not to be wondered at that she irritated Tiberius. These two angered each other on every occasion of their meeting: the emperor by his cruel persecution of Agrippina's friends, and she him both by her air of martyrdom and by her evident and constant suspicion that he was planning some nefarious project against herself.

There lacked not ambitious men at the time who were ready to gather around the noble widow on the pretence of siding with her in her complaints against the emperor; they even sought to raise a party for the advantage of her children. She probably lent herself to some extent to these schemes, but not in sufficient degree to bring upon herself the violence of the suspicious and resentful Tiberius. Nevertheless, all her sons perished, except Caligula, whom a destiny unkind to the Roman people protected from the fate of his brothers.

Sejanus, the all-powerful favorite of the emperor, adroitly fanned the ever-smoldering animosity which naturally existed between Tiberius and Agrippina. He warned her to beware of poison, after having informed Tiberius that the matron suspected that the emperor had designs on her life. So, when the emperor politely handed her fruit, calling her attention to its excellence, she silently passed it to the slaves. "Can I avoid," he exclaimed to Livia, "treating this woman with harshness, when she accuses me to my face of seeking to poison her?"

The favorite Sejanus aimed at removing every heir to the imperial throne, in order that at the death of Tiberius he might rule in name, as he already did in effect. To achieve this end, he first seduced Livilla, the wife of the son of Drusus Tiberius; then he procured by her means the death of Drusus and asked Livilla in marriage. This the emperor refused. At length,--not, however, until after Agrippina's sons had been destroyed,--Antonia, the mother of Livilla, was constrained to write to Tiberius of the conspiracy of Sejanus, and by her means he was brought to justice. Livilla was starved to death by the command of her mother.

Livia seems to have been at all times an obedient and submissive wife. She was honored by the confidence of her husband. She shared in the knowledge of his deepest political projects, and her advice was asked in regard thereto. But there is no indication that she ever sought to dictate. It was otherwise, however, with Tiberius. Whether Livia considered that a mother's prerogative was more commanding than that of a wife, or that a larger share of the rule might be claimed by her on account of the fact that she had secured it for Tiberius, certain it is that the latter found there was not enough room for himself and the Augusta in the imperial palace. Suetonius informs us that on one occasion, when Tiberius had haughtily objected to his mother's sharing the government with him, Livia produced some letters which Augustus had written to her complaining of the pride and arrogance of Tiberius. The discovery that his mother had treasured these letters against him for so many years so wounded the emperor that he immediately left the city, and he never again saw his mother except for a few hours on one occasion.

It is said that during her last days, when there was little more to hope for and nothing else to do, Livia strove to defend Agrippina from the machinations of Sejanus and the hatred of Tiberius. For twenty years she had done somewhat to relieve the hardship of her daughter-in-law Julia's exile; but she never sought to have her recalled. Tacitus says that, having secretly overthrown her stepchildren in their prosperity, it was her custom to make an open show of compassion toward them in their adversity.

Livia the Augusta died in A.D. 29, at the age of eighty-five. The verdict of the historian is that she had been a stepmother to the commonwealth of Rome; and this perhaps expresses her politics better than any other term that could be employed. A faithful wife, a fond mother, she had relentlessly witnessed the removal of every obstacle in the way of Tiberius. For the sake of her son, she had done and suffered everything; for the people, she had done nothing. Her powerful influence had at all times been directed by her emotions; and if we should carry the study to the end of the Empire, bringing into review all the consorts and female associates of the emperors, this would still be the summary of the story of the Roman woman in politics.

Tiberius refused to permit the apotheosis of Livia; but after his death the highest honors which a superstitious people could devise were paid to her memory. Claudius caused her to be deified, and the worship of Livia was constituted one of the functions of the Vestals. An idealized statue of her was placed in the temple of Augustus. Medals were impressed with the image of her head, and it was ordered that when the women of Rome had occasion to swear, it should be "By Livia."

On the whole, the Roman people, who understood Livia's character better than it is possible for us to do at this late day, judged her very kindly. Her virtues, which were conjugal and domestic, were always popularly respected, though not generally followed. Her pride and cruel vices were readily condoned, because they were considered indispensable to the policy of rulers. Her husband was a successful statesman; he maintained his position on the throne and accomplished much for the best interests of the Empire. Livia was a successful politician; she kept the people enamored of her supremacy, but furthered no interests save those of herself and her son.

Soon after the death of Livia, Agrippina was banished to the island of Pandataria, where her mother Julia had been confined for so many repentant years. It seems that her redoubtable spirit would not allow her to submit to this tyranny without a struggle; and so brutal were the soldiers in enforcing the emperor's command upon her who had once been known as "The Mother of the Camps," that she lost the sight of one of her eyes. After four years of miserable exile, she ended her life in the "high Roman manner" by voluntary starvation.

In the Capitol Museum there is a seated figure of Agrippina. It is one of the noblest pieces of statuary in the world. In it is seen none of that feminine sweetness which endeared the young wife of Germanicus to the hearts of the Roman legions; but there is that proud consciousness of moral dignity which Livia could not rival and that imperial manner which Tiberius could not cow. It is a sad, strong-hearted woman. One could fancy that a composite of all the noblest Roman matrons might have made just such a picture. Or it might be the goddess Roma, in whose personification are included the femininity of her daughters and also the sternness of her sons.

In the daughter of Germanicus we have another Agrippina, who was a much more adroit politician than her mother. She was shrewder even than Livia, and more unprincipled; and was favored beyond parallel in position, for she was daughter by adoption of Tiberius, mother of Nero, sister of Caligula, and wife of Claudius. The last mentioned relation gave her a much more effective position of vantage than Livia had enjoyed--first, on account of Claudius's incapacity, and also because the Romans had allowed themselves to drift further away from the old republican ideas. Hereafter we shall study the character of Agrippina and shall be compelled to place her among those notorious women who helped to make the Neronian age the most corrupt period in the world's history. Here we notice but briefly her political ambitions. She managed the emperor, securing with slight persuasion the appointment or the dismissal of the most important State officers. She established colonies in her own name. Nor was she satisfied to remain merely the power behind the throne. When Caractacus the British king was carried prisoner to Rome, and for his courageous bearing gained for himself his wife and his brothers from the emperor, the prisoners did homage not only to Claudius, but also to Agrippina. The empress occupied a second throne and received an equal share of the gratitude of the prisoners and the plaudits of the people. Here was seen, as Tacitus remarks, a spectacle strange and unauthorized by any former custom. A woman had never before presided over the Roman ensigns. Agrippina boldly claimed to be a partner in the Empire which her ancestors had wrested from the ancient republican suffrage.

It was with Agrippina the Second as it had been with Livia, every political aspiration was concentrated upon one object--the elevation of her own son to the imperial rule, and all the activities emanating from her energetic, resourceful nature were employed in hewing a path for Nero's advancement. Woe befell the persons who stood in that path or seemed likely at any time to have it in their power and inclination to impede that advancement. They were ruthlessly cut down in that unrelenting manner of which only an ambitious woman is capable. There were no public works, nothing broad-minded, no thought of the common good: the sole motif of the Roman woman in politics was personal preferment.

There was in ancient Rome a street called Argiletus, which we learn from Martial was occupied principally by booksellers. Here those works which are cherished not alone for their antiquity, and some others possibly as good but which in the misfortunes of many centuries have disappeared, were bought fresh from their authors' hands and sold to the eager lovers of literature. Here, when a new piece by Virgil or Horace was announced, the reading public would flock, urged by the most commendable form of curiosity known to the cultured human mind. Here hundreds of scribes were employed in the multiplication of copies of those classics over which in later days have labored scores of generations of youthful students, with deep regret that those classics were not written in their own mother tongue. Those shops, ortaberna libraria, were the lounging places of the famous men who created this literature and of those who did good service to posterity by constituting themselves the patrons of the geniuses of their age, who otherwise would have been as indigent and as barren as are the neglected authors of our own times. The men and women who received an ancient author in the name of a poet are entitled to receive a poet's reward. In the shops of Secundus and the Sosii brothers, the literati of Rome and their admirers gathered to indulge in that most fascinating of all conversational intercourse: book talk.

While it is probable that the presence of women was not so marked and frequent in these haunts of the cultured fraternity as it is in the book shops and publishing houses of modern times, this does not signify that the ladies of Rome did not take a deep and influential interest in literature. Did not Augustus dedicate a public library in the name of his sister Octavia? There was in the Roman world a reading public so great as to appear to us nothing less than marvellous in view of the lack of the printing press; but slaves who could be set to copying were plentiful, and if a lady wished a copy of the poems of Propertius or Catullus she could procure it for a small sum in the street Argiletus, or she could borrow it from a friend and have it transcribed at home.

Great attention was paid to the education of girls in Greek and Latin literature. Even those of the poorer class received this instruction; for such an accomplishment, especially if assisted by personal attractions, often availed in place of a rich dowry to secure a desirable match. Women also were not rare who, like Sempronia, could write verses of sufficient merit to be mentioned by the serious historians of their times, though unfortunately their productions have not been preserved to us. Mommsen, commenting on the flood of literature which characterized the period of the commencement of the Empire, assures us that "The female world also took a lively part in these literary pursuits; the ladies did not confine themselves to dancing and music, but by their spirit and wit ruled conversation and talked excellently on Greek and Latin literature; and when poetry laid siege to a maiden's heart, the beleaguered fortress not seldom surrendered likewise in graceful verses. Rhythm became more and more the fashionable plaything of the big children of both sexes."

If it can be shown that the law of the "survival of the fittest" operates with any degree of inevitability in the preservation of books, we shall be obliged to conclude that few of the writings that owed their existence to the lady authors of ancient Rome were remarkable for their merit. It is difficult even to indulge a natural desire to be gallant by assuming that to the accidents of time may be attributed the loss of much that was worthy of preservation; for the number of female writers who are mentioned in contemporary works as having attained to any great degree of excellence in authorship is remarkably limited. Some, however, there are. Pliny says: "Pompeius Saturninus has lately read to me some letters he says are from his wife. I fancied myself listening to Plautus or Terence in prose. Whether they are his wife's, as he affirms, or his own, as he denies them to be, he is entitled to equal credit: in the one case, for producing such compositions; in the other, for transforming his wife, a mere girl when he married her, into such a learned and finished woman." Martial also tells of a young woman who, he says, had the eloquence of Plato, the austerity of the Porch, and composed verses worthy of a chaste Sappho. Sidonius Apollinaris recites a list of Latin poetesses; but of them all there is only one whose work may be read at the present time. We do not refer to Balbilla, who wisely engraved her verses and also her genealogy upon the leg of the statue of Memnon; the fact that these have endured is attributable solely to the lasting nature of the medium upon which they were written.

Sulpicia, the only Roman poetess whose work is still extant and well authenticated, lived in the time of the Emperor Domitian. She came of a famous patrician family, many members of which had been able men of affairs in their time. She was a great and highly respected friend of the poet Martial, to whose two epigrams on herself and her husband we are indebted for almost all that we know of this talented woman. Her husband's name was Calenus; and with him she lived for fifteen years, in a felicity of reciprocated conjugal affection which, notwithstanding the degeneracy of the age, seems to have been ideal. Martial bears testimony not only to her surpassing ability as a votary of the poetic muse, but also to the fact that in her life and character she exemplified a purity such as would beautify any age or society.

There is in existence but one poem known to have been written by Sulpicia; it was called forth by an act of tyranny which she rebuked with as much beauty as spirit. During the reign of Domitian, the philosophers were banished from Rome by edict of the emperor. Those against whom this measure was particularly directed were of the Stoic school; this fact helps to explain the cause of their expulsion and also the poem which Sulpicia wrote upon the occasion. Their tenets inculcated an independence of thought and manner which was entirely at variance with that servility which could allow the people to rest peacefully under the despotism of such a ruler as was Domitian. The philosophers were considered, and probably justly so, a menace to the government of the tyrant. Whether Sulpicia was directly connected with these people and whether she was included in the edict of banishment, we do not know; in any case, it is quite clear that her sympathies were entirely with the expelled philosophers. Her satire on this incident bewails the weakness that had evidently fallen upon the Roman race, causing men to submit so easily to such tyranny as that to which her friends were subjected. She asks if "the Father of the Gods" is about to allow the Romans to revert to primeval barbarism, "to stoop again to acorns and the pure stream"; or if he has forsaken them for the care of other nations. She declares that "adversity alone is salutary for a State," "for when the love of country urges them to defend themselves by arms, and to regain their wives, held prisoners with their household gods, they combine like wasps when their home and citadel is assaulted." Then she implores her divine patroness that at least her husband may not be unwilling to abandon this inglorious ease and to leave Rome and its vicinity, since all the good and estimable have been driven from it. The poem is a noble, high-spirited production; and it proves Sulpicia to have been a woman of extraordinary intelligence and a fearless exponent of principles and ideas which the majority of men in her time found it more convenient to forget.

Sulpicia was also the author of a poem on conjugal affection which is most highly commended by Martial; but unfortunately it has been lost. Indeed, from the reference in the beginning of her satire to her "thousand sportive effusions," we gather that she was a prolific writer and that all her poetry was not of the philosophic or didactic kind.

With this brief reference to Sulpicia, our account of woman's creative participation in Roman literature must end for want of material. The real part which the women of the Roman world played in the formation of the literature of their time must be sought rather in the view which the authors present of their character and the inspiration which the poets drew from their love and friendship. That is to say, we meet the Roman woman in the poetic art of her nation as the model and also as the motive, but not as the artist. But it is very essential that we should give attention to both these phases of feminine life. Hitherto we have dealt only with historic personages, and those of the highest class; to obtain a complete view of the Roman woman, it is necessary to see her in that broader light in which she is sketched by the makers of other literature than history. And in order that our attention may not be confined to the women of one class, we must take notice of those ladies of whom the poets sing and to whom they address their effusions.

First let us consider the woman drawn by Roman creative art. In her image, as it is portrayed in literature, we see the real person of flesh and blood, as she appeared to the literary artists. Virgil says: "Woman is a fickle and ever changeable creature;" and yet he must have found in the women of his time the qualities with which he endowed Queen Dido. She is a Roman woman, because she is the creation of a Roman. She is an ideal queen; yet one who governs her kingdom in the same manner in which a noble matron presided over the activities of her household, "dispensing justice and laws to her subjects" from the middle room, or atrium, of the temple, and "in equal portions distributing their tasks or settling them by lot." Furthermore, she is a true woman. She is the sole contribution of Roman poetry to that gallery of imaginary men and women who, having their existence only in literature, are immortal because they faithfully represent the real. In Dido, Virgil, though he calls her a Sidonian, shows how a woman of pagan Rome could love; and how, her heart being broken and her pride injured by rejection, she could die in the high-spirited manner peculiar to her prideful race.

But in all Latin poesy there is no other character such as Dido. When we turn to Plautus and Terence, we learn a great deal about women, but we encounter none that live and move and have a being. These authors did not lay their scenes in the houses of the patricians or in the seats of the mighty; they show us a class of women that we have not hitherto met. Having studied the highest, we now turn to the lowest stratum of Roman society. We are introduced to a class of people who traffic in female beauty; and much insight is gained into that laxity of morals which was countenanced both by the laws and customs of ancient Rome. Here we are informed of the multitude of girls who were carefully trained and educated, both in mind and person, that they might make profit for their owners by the prostitution of their charms. We meet these girls as they are being sent to school in order that, at the same time, their intellects may be developed and their commercial value enhanced. In these plays, we are shown the women of the brothel; and we are less astounded at the greatness of their number than we are at the complacency with which their existence was tolerated in Roman society. These women were principally unfortunates who had been captured in war or were born in slavery, and the only redeeming feature in the picture of their situation is the intimation that now and again one, by signal success in a bad business, might hope to earn her freedom.

It is said that because a sacrifice of virtue is made by one class of women, the members of another class are enabled to live purely. If we accept Juvenal's description of the character of the Roman women as a true one, it must be concluded that the morality of the more fortunate ladies gained little by the immorality of those who were courtesans perforce or by profession; but in satire it is essential to fasten upon the worst, and to hold it up to public ridicule as representative of the whole. There is no balance, no justice, no offsetting the indecent by that which is noble and good. The Roman woman was not at any period such a morally deformed creature as Juvenal paints her; nor could the ladies who patronized literature have been quite so disagreeable as he would have us believe. It is certain that he was not blessed with a patroness, or, in his description of the Roman "bluestocking," the shafts of satire would not have been embittered with so much prejudice. Yet, as indicating how some men regarded the devotion to belles-lettres which was affected by the women, we will quote what the great satirist says on the subject. After depicting some monstrously disagreeable females, he declares:

"But she is more intolerable yet,Who plays at critic when at table set:Calls Virgil charming, and attempts to provePoor Dido right in venturing all for love.From Maro and MÃ¦onides she quotesThe striking passages, and, while she notesTheir beauties and defects, adjusts her scales,And accurately weighs which bard prevails.The astonished guests sit mute; grammarians yield,Loud rhetoricians, baffled, quit the field;Even auctioneers and lawyers stand aghast,And not a woman speaks.--So thick and fastThe wordy shower descends, that you would swearA thousand bells were jangling in your ear,A thousand basins clattering. Vex no moreYour trumpets and your timbrels, as of yore,To ease the laboring moon; her single yellCan drown their clangor, and dissolve the spellShe lectures too in Ethics, and declaimsOn the Chief Good!--but, surely, she who aimsTo seem too learned, should take the male array;A hog, due offering, to Sylvanus slay,And, with the Stoic's privilege, repairTo farthing baths, and strip in public there.Oh, never may the partner of my bedWith subtleties of logic stuff her head;Nor whirl her rapid syllogisms round,Nor with imperfect enthymemes confound.Enough for me. If common things she know,And boast the little learning schools bestow.I hate the female pedagogue, who poresO'er her Palaemon hourly; who exploresAll modes of speech, regardless of the sense,But tremblingly alive to mood and tense;Who puzzles me with many an uncouth phraseFrom some old canticle of Numa's days;Corrects her country friends, and cannot hearHer husband solecize without a sneer."

"But she is more intolerable yet,

Who plays at critic when at table set:

Calls Virgil charming, and attempts to prove

Poor Dido right in venturing all for love.

From Maro and MÃ¦onides she quotes

The striking passages, and, while she notes

Their beauties and defects, adjusts her scales,

And accurately weighs which bard prevails.

The astonished guests sit mute; grammarians yield,

Loud rhetoricians, baffled, quit the field;

Even auctioneers and lawyers stand aghast,

And not a woman speaks.--So thick and fast

The wordy shower descends, that you would swear

A thousand bells were jangling in your ear,

A thousand basins clattering. Vex no more

Your trumpets and your timbrels, as of yore,

To ease the laboring moon; her single yell

Can drown their clangor, and dissolve the spell

She lectures too in Ethics, and declaims

On the Chief Good!--but, surely, she who aims

To seem too learned, should take the male array;

A hog, due offering, to Sylvanus slay,

And, with the Stoic's privilege, repair

To farthing baths, and strip in public there.

Oh, never may the partner of my bed

With subtleties of logic stuff her head;

Nor whirl her rapid syllogisms round,

Nor with imperfect enthymemes confound.

Enough for me. If common things she know,

And boast the little learning schools bestow.

I hate the female pedagogue, who pores

O'er her Palaemon hourly; who explores

All modes of speech, regardless of the sense,

But tremblingly alive to mood and tense;

Who puzzles me with many an uncouth phrase

From some old canticle of Numa's days;

Corrects her country friends, and cannot hear

Her husband solecize without a sneer."

It may be that the horror of learned women which was affected by Juvenal arose from his realization of that proverb which declares the inability of two who are engaged in the same trade to maintain intimate and happy relations. Whether or not he was so unfortunate as to learn this by personal experience, we have no means of ascertaining; but it is certain that while many of the Roman authors gained inspiration and influence from the women with whom they were connected, others discovered in their matrimonial relations a want of harmony unfavorable to the cultivation of the muse. In Terentia, for example, Cicero was burdened with a wife who entirely lacked that power of sympathy which is the glory of womanhood. Terentia did not appreciate her brilliant husband; and she could not anticipate the honor in which she might have been held by posterity, had she proved herself the devoted wife of so famous a man. But, after all has been said, she probably knew Cicero better than he is known by posterity. He alleged that she was so overbearing that at last he was compelled to divorce her; but in Terentia the old adage was justified which says that what is one man's poison is another man's pleasure, for, being repudiated by Cicero to the great relief of himself, she was at once accepted by the historian Sallust; and in as much as there appears to have been no other motive for their union, it seems probable that the bond between them was that of sentiment.

Then there was that other Terentia, who was such a trial to the patience of MÃ¦cenas, the great patron of literature in the days of Augustus. Her he repudiated so often, and yet received back so regularly, that it was said of him that he had been married a thousand times, and yet all the while had but one wife.

There was another class of women which furnished many of the names intimately connected with Roman poetry, not for what these women themselves did, but because of their intimate relations with the poets. As the exquisite tracery of primordial ferns is sometimes found embedded in the carboniferous strata, so these women, whose names would otherwise have perished with their generation, were, by the chances of their birth and fortune, brought into connection with literary men, and their memory has thus been preserved in Latin poesy. It is to Martial himself that we are indebted for the information that, returning to his country home after many years of absence in Rome, he finds comfort for the lack of his urban pleasures and conveniences in the society of Marcella, a lady of uncommon intellectual development and grace of person. Her relation to the poet was rather that of patroness than mistress. It would seem unimportant either way; yet she assisted in the production of literature more durable than the Empire, and her name is known to posterity.

Every reader of Horace knows of Lydia, Glycera, Phyllis, and Barine. Who were they? To have found them in that ancient Rome, it would have been necessary to go, not to houses such as have been described as the homes of the imperial women, but to thoseinsulÃ¦,or huge tenements, in which the great mass of the people lived. There these women inhabited one room or many, according as their poverty or wealth would warrant. The latter depended largely upon their youth and beauty; for these women were light-o'-loves, who were inured to the changes and chances of their position, and could turn from one lover to another with as few heart pangs as were suffered by their inconstant friends. In many cases, they were the daughters of unnaturalized foreigners, whom Roman citizens could not marry and to whom no lot other than that of the mistress was open. That such women were the intimates of Horace is revealed by the manner in which he descants in his Satires on the danger attending liaisons with married women--so also is the sincerity of that affection to which he swears in his Odes. Speaking of those ladies who were not eligible for marriage bonds, he says: "When I am in the company of such an one, she is my Ilia and Ã†geria; in short, I give her any tender name."

The favorite of Horace seems to have been Lydia, of whose undistinguished fame he tells, but does not inform us on what account she was famous. Among the amorous epistles in which he addresses her, there is more than one that reveals his jealous knowledge of the fact that he is not the sole recipient of her favors. As a punishment for her occasional inhospitable treatment of him, he writes an insulting ode in which it is averred that she has grown too old for lovers and that her slumbers will no more be disturbed by the serenade. Horace possessed the ability, and did not lack the meanness, to castigate these women in his poetry after the most shameful manner; and that not for their moral delinquencies, but because of the suspension of their preferences for himself. Witness the manner in which he gloats over the fading of the charms of Lyce, who had sometime disdained his advances: "Wrinkles and snowy hair render you odious. Now neither Coan purples nor sparkling jewels restore those years which winged time has inserted in the public annals. Whither is your beauty gone? Alas! or whither your bloom? Whither your graceful deportment? What have you remaining of her, of her who breathed loves and ravished me from myself? Happy in accomplishments next to Cynara, and distinguished for an aspect of graceful delicacies. But the Fates granted but a few years to Cynara, intending to preserve Lyce for a long time, to rival in years the aged raven; that the fervid young fellows might see, not without excessive laughter, that torch, which once so brightly scorched, now reduced to ashes."

As a finale at once to his love epistles and amorous relationships, he invites Phyllis to an entertainment in his country villa on Maecenas's birthday; and among the provisions for this festive occasion he mentions a caskful of Albanian wine, upward of nine years old, besides parsley for the weaving of chaplets, and ivy to bind her hair. "Come, then, last of my loves: learn with me such measures as you may recite with your lovely voice; our gloomy cares shall be mitigated with an ode."

Through Ovid we learn of Corinna, who was his mistress and the heroine of his love elegies; but his passion for her was no more sincere than we should expect from that manual of libertinism--hisArs amatoria. This work is the glorification of animalism and indirectly a defamation of woman. It assumes with the most undisguised frankness that the root and source of the principal part of the attention which men pay to women is their availability for the purpose of satisfying amatory desire, and it alleges the theory that any woman will capitulate the citadel of her honor, if only it be besieged with indefatigableness and resource. It was by such poetry as this that the women of Rome were prepared for that carnival of vice into which they threw themselves with such frenzied abandonment in the days of Claudius and Nero. In the eroticism of Latin poetry is revealed a society in which illicit love is put to the experiment; in Roman history is made manifest the resulting moral chaos.

The master of this school was Catullus; and he immortalized one Lesbia, who was the principal heroine in his love poems. It has been said by one of the best-informed students of Roman literature that the poems of Catullus to Lesbia are unique in Roman letters for the intensity and self-oblivion of the passion they portray. We learn from Apuleius that Clodia was the real name of Lesbia; and it is supposed that the latter name was given her by her lover because of his admiration of the Lesbian poetess. Many have concluded from the statement of Apuleius that Lesbia was the notoriously fascinating sister of Clodius, the woman whom Cicero so mercilessly pilloried before the judges; but the possibility of this seems to be precluded by the fact that Catullus incited a poem to Cicero in which he terms him the "best of all advocates "--a courtesy which hardly could have been overlooked or forgiven by the woman to whom the advocate had given such ample cause for hatred.

Many of Catullus's brightest pieces are addressed to Lesbia; but all are touched by the poet's consciousness of her inconstancy. At last she leaves him, and he bids her adieu in the lines which have thus been so beautifully rendered by Moore:

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