Part 12

Cornelia was no longer there to share in Aurelia's pride and Cæsar's good fortune. During the year B.C. 68, Caesar had pronounced two funeral panegyrics. One was for his aunt, Julia, the wife of that unpolished but indomitable soldier, Marius. Little is known of this lady; but at Les Baux, in Provence, there is a monument on which are represented Marius and Julia, and between them--suggestive it may be of private trials endured by the latter--Martha, the Syrian prophetess, who accompanied and advised Marius in all his adventurous undertakings. The second funeral oration delivered by Cæsar was for his faithful wife Cornelia. Matrons so young as she were not often honored with a panegyric at their obsequies; and it testifies no less to the worth of her character than to her husband's devotion that he, in this instance, transgressed the custom with the approval of the people.

It was not long, however, before Aurelia was called upon to welcome a new bride of her son, this time to the magnificence of the pontifical abode. Marriage was looked upon by the best Romans as a citizen's duty; and for a man to abbreviate his widowed regrets was not regarded as censurable conduct; though, on the other hand, the constancy of widowed matrons was held in the highest honor. The Romans, notwithstanding their aptitude for law, cared little for consistency in their distribution of privileges between men and women.

Cæsar's second wife was Pompeia, the granddaughter of Sylla, whose family Aurelia had but little cause to love. What the mother's attitude toward the new bride was we do not know. Two things are certain from the narrative of the sequel to this marriage: Aurelia continued to maintain the position of _domina_ in the house of her son, for it was she who had charge of the ceremonies of the Bona Dea which Clodius interrupted by his intrusion; and the inferences are all against the innocence of Pompeia, for, had she been faithful, Clodius would not have ventured into the house at such a time. She was divorced by Cæsar; but he took no active part in the proceedings against Clodius. When called upon to testify, he contented himself with the declaration that he knew nothing about the affair; which was true in a sense, inasmuch as he was not present. The matter might have been hushed, had it not been for the matrons, who could not brook that their sacred mysteries should be thus invaded. Terentia, the wife of Cicero, was especially persistent. She was a woman who interfered in political matters to such a degree that, when her husband was consul, she was spoken of sarcastically as being his colleague. Having a private grudge against Clodius, she so incited Cicero that the powerful advocate completely refuted the defendant's strong plea of an alibi.

Cæsar's testimony that he was uninformed as to what had happened at his house was not satisfactory to the prosecutor, who shrewdly inquired: "Why, then, did you divorce Pompeia?" The reply was: "Cæsar's wife must be above suspicion!"--a reply haughty enough to be characteristic of the man, and deemed a sufficient check to all further cross-examination. But, viewing the whole situation from our standpoint, it is impossible to refrain from the comment that, if Cæsar had been equipped with anything corresponding to a modern conscience, he could scarcely have had the effrontery to utter such a saying. Just and generous as he was, he was incapable of entertaining the idea that there should be but one code of morals for the woman and the man. If Cæsar's wife had said: "The husband of Pompeia must be above suspicion," it would have appeared as ridiculous to her contemporaries as it was impossible of realization.

We may well give as little heed as did Cæsar himself to the calumnious stigma upon his name which disgraces the pages of the historians and the verse of Catullus. Yet, setting this aside as unworthy of credence, evidence seems to prove abundantly his propensity for those gallantries which were considered among the least reprehensible immoralities by the men of his time. The names of many women were connected with that of the great soldier in a manner which is detrimental to the reputation of all concerned. Unless higher criticism of a most radical and partial kind is adopted in the study of the ancient historians, we must take their word that ladies of the highest quality surrendered to Cæsar's attractions. It is said that Pompey was wont to refer to the chief pontiff as Ægisthus; and that when he spoke of him it was with a sigh which was elicited not so much on account of Cæsar's greater success in affairs of State as by his rivalry in the affections of Mucia, who, like Clytemnestra, was won by the pontiff while her husband was absent in war. Posthumia, wife of Servius Sulpicius, Lollia, wife of Aulus Gabinius, and Tertulla, wife of Marcus Crassus, come under the same indictment. The husbands named were close friends of the man who shared with them in their conjugal rights, as well as climbed over their shoulders in political ascendency; and they served him well in the furtherance of his latter-mentioned projects. It has been argued that if Cæsar's conduct had really been as blameworthy as is alleged, he could not have retained the amity of these men; but the argument proves nothing. What if he were a sufficient adept in policy--a thing not unknown in the history of human experience--to be able to command the hands and the heads of the husbands through the hearts of their wives?

There was one woman who had for Cæsar a passionate attachment which was returned by him with an ardent and lasting affection in which political ambition played no part. This was Servilia, the half-sister of Cato and the mother of Marcus Brutus. Unfortunately, this lady's regard for her powerful lover did not carry with it the confidence and the friendship of her brother and her son. Modern writers, notably Froude and Baring Gould, strive to eliminate everything of an unworthy nature from the mutual affection which is known to have existed between Servilia and Cæsar; but their argument is devoid of historical proof. Much as we may be inclined to eradicate from the character of the great Roman everything that is unpleasant, it will not do to ignore or explain away every tittle of evidence that has been handed down by the ancient authorities on this subject. It may have been but the unfounded surmise of the gossips that it was a billet-doux from his sister which caused Cato to demand of Cæsar, during an acrimonious Senatorial debate, that he make known the contents of a note the latter had just received; nevertheless, we have it on the authority of Plutarch that Cæsar believed Brutus to be his own son. In this the great Imperator may very easily have been mistaken; but as to the fact that he had reason to believe in the possibility of such a thing, surely the conclusions of modern writers should have less weight than the plain statements of the ancient historians, which are the sole and only source of any knowledge whatsoever that we may have on the subject. It is true that slanderers were even coarser-minded and less restrained among the Romans of those days than they are in our own time; and among them Cicero was as preëminently conscienceless as he was clever. Hence, it is not necessary for us to take seriously his pun on the name of Servilia's daughter, when, remarking on the low price at which Servilia obtained some lands from Cæsar, he says: "Between ourselves, Tertia [or, a third] was deducted," intimating that the mother profited by her daughter's dishonor.

Calpurnia, the daughter of L. Calpurnius Piso, was the third wife of Cæsar. For fourteen years she occupied the Regia, the pontifical residence, as its _domina_. Thus she was the highest lady in Rome and in the Empire. That she became the consort of Cæsar for reasons of expediency is very probable; but that she was possessed of a deep and lasting affection for her husband, which was reciprocated by him with tender regard, is shown by their conduct on the eve of his death. During the years of Calpurnia's union with Cæsar, though he crowded them with events of tremendous import in the history of Rome, nothing whatever is recorded of his wife. Her name has come down to us untarnished with any scandal; which, considering the fact that the historians of that time incorporated such stories in their records on the least possible warrant, is a very strong testimony to the purity of her life, which was devoted to furthering the interests of Cæsar among his friends, caring for his home during his many and lengthened absences, and ministering to his comfort in the short respites which his innumerable cares afforded him. All that we really know of her character is revealed in his time of danger, in which everything is to her credit.

In the plot of _Julius Cæsar_, Shakespeare, with historical accuracy, introduces only two feminine characters: Calpurnia and Portia, the latter the worthy wife of the noblest of the conspirators. Were they friends, these two ladies, as their husbands were supposed to be? Did they visit each other and engage in the discussion of those topics which were then current in the atriums and gardens of Rome? Did Calpurnia sometimes spend an afternoon with Portia in her house on the Aventine; and though somewhat chilled by the austere and philosophical demeanor of the descendant of the Censor, yet cordially invite her to the more magnificent palace of Cæsar? This we do not know. Possibly the terrible event which was in store cast a shadow upon any intercourse which the women may have had; especially since Cato, the brother of Portia, had found in Calpurnia's marriage occasion for denunciation, for the reason that her father was immediately thereupon made consul.

Of the two women, Portia is much the better known; and, though she may not really have been superior to the wife of Cæsar, she may justly be taken as the best representative of the noblest type of Roman matron of that period. In her we see the effect of stoical training on the character of a normal woman. There have been many women of greater firmness of mind, more self-control, more power to witness and take part in fearsome deeds without a tremor of the lips, or a blanching of the countenance. These are abnormal women, in whose character nature had mingled an undue amount of the masculine element. But in Portia we have no Lady Macbeth; she did not and could not have instigated her husband to bloody deeds. Her character was of itself gentle and most womanly; her conduct was the result of education. She herself admitted that, if she were stronger than her sex, it was the result of being "so fathered and so husbanded." Her philosophy taught her to strive for stoical firmness, but she ever found in herself nothing but a woman's strength. This is seen in the historian's account, and is wonderfully brought out by Shakespeare in the scene in which he portrays her almost dying for news from the Capitol.

"PORTIA.--I prithee, boy, run to the senate-house; Stay not to answer me, but get thee gone: Why dost thou stay?

LUCIUS.--To know my errand, madam.

PORTIA.--I would have had thee there, and here again, Ere I can tell thee what thou shouldst do there.-- O constancy, be strong upon my side! Set a huge mountain 'tween my heart and tongue! I have a man's mind, but a woman's might. How hard it is for women to keep counsel!-- Art thou here yet?

LUCIUS.--Madam, what should I do? Run to the Capitol, and nothing else? And so return to you, and nothing else?

PORTIA.--Yes, bring me word, boy, if thy lord look well, For he went sickly forth: and take good note What Cæsar doth, what suitors press to him. Hark, boy! what noise is that?

LUCIUS.--I hear none, madam.

PORTIA.--Prithee, listen well; I heard a bustling rumour, like a fray, And the wind brings it from the Capitol.

Then, after the conversation with the soothsayer:

"I must go in.--Ay me, how weak a thing The heart of woman is! O Brutus, The heavens speed thee in thine enterprise!-- Sure, the boy heard me.--Brutus hath a suit, That Cæsar will not grant--O, I grow faint:-- Run, Lucius, and commend me to my lord; Say, I am merry: come to me again, And bring me word what he doth say to thee."

All this feeling and acute anxiety she doubtless underwent; not however, from sympathy with the motive and purpose of Brutus, though she believed in these as fully as he did, but for sheer and simple love of her husband. By nature she was no stoic--as no true woman has ever been or can be; but she had trained herself in the estimation of self-control and dignified endurance as moral excellences of the highest value. There were other women in Rome who, like Portia, had studied and adopted as their rule of life the principles of Zeno. We can see them walking amidst the frivolity of their times with the hauteur of too conscious superiority. It was a part which, if taken up by women at all, they must necessarily overdo. The principles of their philosophy might carry them far, even to death "after the high Roman fashion"; but whether the stoicism was only a mask of pride or a real grandeur of character, there was always some point at which the woman's heart showed itself. A man, whether bent on sentimental or serious purposes, needed not to stand greatly in awe of those stoical Roman ladies.

School herself in dignified impassiveness as she might, every thought of Portia's mind, as well as every impulse of her heart, betrayed her philosophy. Her affectionate solicitude allowed no sigh escaping the breast of her lord, no absent-mindedness clouding his brow and boding care, to escape her observation. It was plain to her that Brutus had some great trouble weighing upon his mind. She longed to share its knowledge, not for the gratification of curiosity, but because she could not endure to be deemed by her husband anything less than his loyal comrade. But was she worthy to be the custodian of her husband's secrets? Doubtless she was assured that they related to State affairs. It was not the custom among the Romans to put freeborn women to the torture; yet Portia, before she would ask to know her husband's mind, would test her power of enduring pain. Let Plutarch present the picture in his own fashion:

"Now Brutus, feeling that the noblest spirits of Rome, for virtue, birth, or courage, were depending upon him, and surveying with himself all the circumstances of the dangers they were to encounter, strove indeed as much as possible, when abroad, to keep his uneasiness of mind to himself, and to compose his thoughts; but at home, and especially at night, he was not the same man, but sometimes against his will his working care would make him start out of his steep, and other times he was taken up with further reflection and consideration of his difficulties, so that his wife that lay with him could not choose but take notice that he was full of unusual trouble, and had in agitation some dangerous and perplexing question. Portia, as was said before, was the daughter of Cato, and Brutus, her cousin-german, had married her very young, though not a maid, but after the death of a former husband. This Portia, being interested in philosophy, a great lover of her husband, and full of an understanding courage, resolved not to inquire into Brutus's secrets before she had made trial of herself. She turned all her attendants out of her chamber; and taking a little knife, such as they use to cut nails with, she gave herself a deep gash in the thigh; upon which followed a great flow of blood, and, soon after, violent pains and a shivering fever, occasioned by the wound. Now when Brutus was exceedingly anxious and afflicted for her, she, in the height of her pain, spoke thus to him: 'I, Brutus, being the daughter of Cato, was given to you in marriage, not like a concubine, to partake only in the common intercourse of bed and board, but to bear a part in all your good and all your evil fortunes; and for your part, as regards your care for me, I find no reason to complain; but from me, what evidence of my love, what satisfaction can you receive, if I may not share with you in bearing your hidden griefs, or be admitted to any of your counsels that require secrecy and trust? I know very well that women seem to be of too weak a nature to be trusted with secrets; but surely, Brutus, a virtuous birth and education, and the company of the good and honorable, are of some force in the forming of manners; and I can boast that I am the daughter of Cato and the wife of Brutus, in which two titles though before I put less confidence, yet now I have tried myself, and find I can bid defiance to pain.' Having spoken these words, she showed him her wound, and related to him the trial she had made of her constancy; at which, being astonished, he lifted up his hands to heaven, and begged the assistance of the gods in his enterprise, that he might show himself a husband worthy of such a wife as Portia."

From that time, she shared the secret of Brutus in his direful purpose; moreover, her heart and mind were oppressed with the added burden of anxiety for him.

Another woman in Rome had once waited with great impatience while her husband thrust the ruler from his throne; and though the plot meant the death of her own father, Tullia could ride to the Senate chamber to ascertain with her own eyes if everything were in satisfactory progress. But there is no comparison to be drawn between Tullia and Portia. There is nothing to indicate that the latter was in the least stirred by ambition. She simply believed in her husband to the extent that if it were he who purposed assassination, she must deem it justified. Yet she could not ask: "Is Cæsar yet gone to the Capitol?" without danger of swooning.

At the Imperator's palace, there was another woman whose mind was troubled with dire misgivings, and who feared that which Portia impatiently awaited to hear was done. Calpurnia's womanly instinct was quicker than the suspicion of Cæsar and his friends. She was not given to superstitious fears; but now even the very air seemed portentous of coming disaster. She dreamed, and cried out in her sleep: "They murder Caesar."

Thus has the great dramatist, in a manner which it would be folly to imitate or replace, depicted the scene:

"CALPURNIA.--What mean you, Cæsar? Think you to walk forth? You shall not stir out of your house to-day.

CÆSAR.--Cæsar shall forth. The things that threaten'd me Ne'er look'd but on my back; when they shall see The face of Cæsar, they are vanish'd.

CALPURNIA.---Cæsar, I never stood on ceremonies, Yet now they fright me. There is one within, Besides the things that we have heard and seen, Recounts most horrid sights seen by the watch. O Cæsar! these things are beyond all use, And I do fear them.

CÆSAR.-- What can be avoided, Whose end is purpos'd by the mighty gods? Yet Cæsar shall go forth; for these predictions Are to the world in general as to Cæsar.

CALPURNIA.---When beggars die, there are no comets seen; The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes.

The wife is supported in her plea by the warnings of the augurs; and Cæsar has decided to allow Mark Antony to say he is not well. But Decius, the false coward, comes, and for his private satisfaction, because Cæsar loves him, he is told that:

"Calpurnia here, my wife stays me at home: She dream'd to-night she saw my statua, Which, like a fountain with an hundred spouts, Did run pure blood; and many lusty Romans Came smiling, and did bathe their hands in it. And these does she apply for warnings and portents. And evils imminent; and on her knee Hath begged that I will stay at home to-day."

Decius easily puts a better interpretation upon the vision; and he changes Cæsar's mind by cunningly suggesting how the Senate may sneer at being adjourned until "another time,

When Cæsar's wife shall meet with better dreams."

So he leaves her sadly to reflect that his "death, a necessary end,

Will come when it will come."

Of Calpurnia we learn nothing more save that her wisdom made her quick to place her husband's papers in the hands of Mark Antony, who so successfully took upon himself the task of avenging the death of his friend.

Portia fled from Italy with her husband, and it was well for her that she did so; for under the Triumvirate there was inaugurated a reign of terror which caused the people of Rome to recall the bloody proscriptions of Sylla, and in which the wife of Cæsar's murderer would hardly have been secure. Hatred, greed, and all evil passions were let loose. It became easy for heirs to hasten to the possession of legacies by having the owners' names placed on the lists of the proscribed. The toga was given to children, in order that their property, they being then considered of age, might come into their own possession; then they were condemned to death.

During this reign of terror, the citizens of Rome were cowed by the soldiery into abject silence and inactivity; but, to their honor, it is recorded that the women did not suffer so resignedly the despoiling of their goods. A heavy contribution was levied upon fourteen hundred of the richest matrons. Led by Hortensia, the daughter of the orator, these ladies went to the Forum and appeared in the presence of the Triumvirate. Hortensia spoke. "Before presenting ourselves before you" she said, "we have solicited the intervention of Fulvia; her refusal has obliged us to come hither. You have taken away our fathers, our children, our brothers, our husbands; to deprive us of our fortune also is to reduce us to a condition which befits neither our birth, nor our habits, nor our sex; it is to extend your proscriptions to us. But have we raised soldiers against you, or sought after your offices? Do we dispute the power for which you are fighting? From the time of Hannibal, Roman women have willingly given to the treasury their jewels and ornaments; let the Gauls or the Parthians come, and there will be found in us no less patriotism. But do not ask us to contribute to this fratricidal war which is rending the Republic; neither Marius, nor Cinna, nor even Sylla during his tyranny, dared to do so." The triumvirs were inclined to drive the matrons from the Forum; but the people began to be stirred, so they yielded and set forth another edict, reducing to four hundred the number of women who were to be taxed.