The reign of Octavius Cæsar was the golden age of Rome. At that period, the almost unlimited control of the civilized world was hers. Her colonies were planted on every shore of the known world—the Roman eagles triumphed in every clime. Three continents paid her tribute. One intervening sea washed their shores and wafted her fleets. Extensive sway and the contributions of wealthy nations had not only rendered her proud and insolent, but corrupt, and, in a measure, cruel. The principal distinctions in her society were those of wealth and power, rather than of talents, sobriety, and virtue. The corrupt and the vile were, for the most part, the esteemed and highly favored.
There were numerous instances, it is true, of patriotism, virtue, and highmindedness among Roman citizens of this period, well worthy of imitation and remembrance. There was a sort of refinement of which the earlier Romans did not boast, and which they openly condemned. Grecian art and learning, combined with the wealth and vices introduced from the East, had wrought a great change in the national character and habits. Republican simplicity had given place to excessive extravagance and prodigality. In this, as in every age, woman acted no indifferent part in the everyday drama of Roman life. She was herself extravagant, and, if the history of that period be truly narrated, not always a discourager of vice and dissipation. Cicero, the greatest intellect Rome ever produced, with the exception, it may be, of Julius Cæsar, lived at this age in Rome, and contributed, in no small degree, to give it the title golden. He was, we are told, not only of the highest order of human intelligences, but a man of wisdom and purity of character. While he united in his own person all the noble qualifications of an able statesman, a brilliant scholar and orator, a learned and ingenious lawyer, and a good citizen, as well as a devoted father and husband, his first wife, Teruntia, was nearly the opposite. That he did not lack in kindness towards her, his known characteristics and disposition, as well as his letters to her when at a distance, fully prove. His social qualities eminently fitted him to discharge the duties of a husband in the most amiable manner. Teruntia, though of a rich and noble family, was of a turbulent and impetuous spirit, negligent, intriguing, and finally became so uncongenial a companion to the illustrious orator that he became divorced from her. He afterwards connected himself by marriage with another Roman lady of great wealth; but from her likewise he separated himself, finding her destitute of social kindness, domestic affection, and humanity.
Tullia, Cicero's daughter, is awarded a high rank among Roman ladies of her time; but she was thrice married, and as many times divorced. The cause may not have been hers so much as her husband's, or it may have been more attributable to the loose morals of the age than to either party in particular. If, however, Tullia was wanting in those domestic qualities so necessary to the permanent calm of married life, she was not destitute of learning and the polite accomplishments of her time. She is said, by Roman historians, to have been an "admirable woman"—affectionate and piously observant of her father—one of the most learned of Roman women.
In the earlier days of Rome, the noblest matrons were noted for nothing more than their excellent domestic habits—industry, frugality, and devotion to and affection for their families. The greatness of that vast empire was founded not more in the devoted patriotism and persevering energy of the Roman citizens, than in the incorruptible virtue, the sacrificing spirits, and noble hearts of Roman matrons. Not so in the declining days of the republic. Not so when the robust and vigorous youth of the nation began to tremble with advancing years, and to wreath its brow with gray hairs—a result not of age and toil and serious care, but of dissipation and inglorious ease, of wealth, and wine, and extravagant feasts. Not so when the humble cottage, the home wherein dwelt domestic peace and content, was exchanged for a marble palace, decorated with statues and paintings, lined with Tyrian couches, bespangled with gold and silver ornaments, and thronged with slaves. Not so when the Cæsars and Mark Antony ruled the imperial city with hordes of mercenary soldiers; nor when the republic was metamorphosed into an empire, and all regard to life, property, and private right had, in a measure, ceased. The social and domestic character of Roman society were so sadly changed, and foreign vice and corruption became naturalized to such an extent, that the decay of the empire is no marvel.
The simplicity and integrity of earlier times were the base on which was reared a magnificent national superstructure. Thereon was based the sure growth, the gradual, healthy expansion of Roman power, till all the tribes and nations of the earth respected and feared it. Therein consisted the peculiar glory of Rome's first estate—of her earlier conquests—that force of character and energy of action that wearied Pyrrhus, conquered Mithridates, and overwhelmed Carthage. No coward dared return from a field which he had dishonored to the bosom of his wife, his sister, or his family; for they scorned and detested cowardice and unmanly and unsoldierly behavior, while they honored bravery and patriotism, whether manifested against the invaded or in an offensive war against a foreign foe. They applauded whatever was noble, generous, and manly; though, to gratify this spirit, husbands, fathers, brothers, and sons were sacrificed on war's grim altar. The inflexible mandates of the immortal gods were to be observed at whatever cost.
The citizens were instruments in the hands of the deities to avenge wrongs, to enforce right, and to glorify the city of their birth. The great dramatic bard, in "Coriolanus," makes Volumnia, the mother of Marcius Coriolanus, say: "Hear me profess sincerely. Had I a dozen sons, each in my love alike, and none less dear than thine and my good Marcius, I had rather had eleven die nobly for his country than one voluptously surfeit out of action." She but spoke the spirit of her time; and her language is but the language of Roman matrons of her age. Thus grew and flourished, as by magic forces and divine ordination, the city of Romulus, the world's hope and dread, at once the saviour and destroyer of civilization, whose porous social system absorbed and quickly dissolved the mysteries of Egypt, the classic beauties of Greece, and the wealth of the "exhaustless East."
But the great distinguishing trait in the Roman woman, in the days of the republic and under the earlier kings, was her attention to household employments. This the Roman expected of his wife—it was enjoined upon her by the marriage rite. Thus, indeed, it was among most of the more enlightened nations of antiquity. The noble born of both sexes did not disdain to toil in their appropriate spheres; the prince of royal blood was proud of holding the plough and of acting the husbandman, and daughters of princes were not ashamed to ply the needle or tend the distaff.
"So it was of old
That woman's hand, amid the elements
Of patient industry and household good,