CLARK Roman Women
CLARK Roman Women
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By GILLIAN CLARK
I
Times have changed for Roman women. To an undergraduate - even
a woman undergraduate - reading Greats some fifteen years ago, they
were obviously a fringe topic, worth at most a question on the General
Paper. There were pictures of dresses and hairstyles, in most of which
it looked impossible to move. There were snippets of anthropology
from Plutarch, as that a bride had her hair parted with a spear
(Moralia 285b): entertaining, but about as relevant to the views of a
bride in the late Republic as are wearing a veil (to symbolize being
under authority) and being pelted with confetti (in hopes of many
children) to a bride in the 1980s. There was an account of forms of
marriage, with, usually, a panegyric of a Roman matron and a denuncia-
tion of the laxity of the late Republic and immorality of the early
Empire; and a handful of brief biographies: Cornelia, Sempronia, Arria.
This information would be found somewhere around chapter 15 of
a general handbook, once the author had dealt with the serious business
of life, like the constitution and the courts and education and the army
and the provinces. J. P. V. D. Balsdon's book made a difference, since
he never forgot that he was writing about human beings, who worried
about their children and ran their households and had long days to
fill. But the real change came in the 70s, as the Women's Movement
- a decade late - got through to the classics. First there was the new
perspective offered by general feminist histories, though their scholar-
ship was second-hand and often wild; then articles and books, though
still only a few, trying to answer the sort of questions it now seems
so odd we did not ask.' What did Roman women do all day, besides
getting dressed? How did they feel about it? What else could they have
done? Were they oppressed, and did they notice? Why do we know
so little about half the human race?
The perspective has shifted, and that may bring different pieces of
evidence into focus; some of the questions are different too. But it is
still not easy to answer them. We are still working with evidence
strongly biassed towards the upper classes and the city of Rome. The
lives of women not in, or in contact with, the senatorial class, can only
be guessed at from inscriptions, if someone troubled to put one up.
And even within the senatorial class, it was not the women who wrote.
They wrote, as always, letters, their conversation might be admirable
and their language reflect the purer Latin of a bygone age.2 There
survive two letters of Cornelia to her sons, if they are genuine, and
an item from Agrippina's memoirs, which Tacitus consulted (Annales
4.53); but the only extended work of literature to survive from the
period I shall concentrate on, that of the late Republic and early Empire,
is the elegies of Sulpicia, and they are not so much a revelation of the
inner experience of womankind as a demonstration that women can
write conventional elegiacs too.3 Moreover, there is little Roman
literature which is concerned with the daily life and experience of
particular people: the lives of women tend to be incidental to oratory
or history or philosophy or agriculture, or to the emotions of an elegiac
poet.
II
What then can be said? There is an obvious temptation to generalize,
and to apply pieces of information regardless of time, class, or place.
But sometimes the generalizations hold for a wide range of society,
and sometimes they can be made more precise. To begin at the
beginning: a girl's chances of being reared were less than her brother's.
Patria Potestas, as the jurist Gaius observed (Institutes 1.55) was
uniquely strong in Rome, and if a father decided that his new-born
child was not to be reared there was no law (before the time of the
Severi) to prevent him.4 The foundling girls of Plautus' (Casina 39 ff.,
Cist. 124) and Terence's (Heaut. 627 ff.) standard plots may not be
evidence for Roman practice, for they may have been taken over from
Greek models which had to find some way of getting well-born girls
out of their seclusion to meet well-born boys. But Cicero (de legibus
3.19) and Seneca (de ira 1.15.2) reveal that deformed babies were
exposed (as they still are, though less obtrusively, if the handicap is
bad enough), and it was part of a midwife's training to decide which
babies were worth rearing.' Healthy but inconvenient babies might
also be left to die. Musonius Rufus (p. 80 ff. Hense) in the mid-first
century A.D. devoted one of his lectures on ethics to the question
whether one should rear all one's children. The rich do not, he says,
so that there shall be fewer children to share the family property;
Petronius (Sat. 116) and Tacitus (Ger. 19, Hist. 5.5) echo the complaint.
Since the law required property to be shared among sui heredes,it must
have been a temptation. Among the poor, there was no question of
splitting up an estate. Pliny (Pan. 26.5) praises Trajan's extension of
the grain-dole to children:
'There are great rewards to encourage the rich to rear their children,
and great penalties if they do not. The only way the poor can rear
their children is through the goodness of the princeps.'
If a family did, from greed or necessity, expose a child, it would
off the kitchen table failed, there seem to have been back-street
abortionists using the knitting-needle technique.12
Abortion, like infanticide, was not a crime before the time of the
Severi, and then the crime was not against the foetus, who was not
a person in law, but against the defrauded husband.13 Why was it not
made illegal before? There was strong feeling against abortion, which
was taken to be proof of vanity (Seneca, ad Helviam 16.1) or, worse,
of adultery (Juvenal 6.592 ff.) on the part of the mother. Perhaps it
was simply too difficult to prove deliberate as against spontaneous
abortion: Soranus' (1.14) list of causes for the latter make one wonder
how anyone ever managed to have a baby.'4
An unwanted pregnancy may yet produce a wanted child, but there
were some practices which may have prevented, at least among the
upper classes, the emotional bonding of mother and baby. Many
mothers did not breast-feed, because it is tiring, but expected to use
a wet-nurse.'5sThe wet-nurse's own baby had perhaps died, or been
exposed, or was expected to manage on some substitute for breast-milk
- which last was a major cause of child mortality in the nineteenth
century. If Soranus' instructions (2.11.17, 2.12.19 ff.) reflect general
practice, the new-born was washed, swaddled, and then put somewhere
to be quiet, and to be fed, if at all, the equivalent of glucose (boiled
honey and water): Soranus advocated breast-feeding but thought
colostrum was bad for babies. So the mother might scarcely have seen
the child before the decision to expose it. Poorer people could not afford
luxuries of feeling. It may have seemed better to expose the child and
hope for the fairy-story to come true and the child to be rescued by
some wealthy childless couple. Just occasionally it did. Slavery or a
brothel (Plautus, Cist. 124) were more likely fates, but even that may
have seemed more like putting a child to be raised 'in service', where
the chances were better and at least there was food.'6
III
If, then, a Roman girl survived her parents' possible indifference, or
resignation, to her death, and if she did not despite their best efforts
die anyway, what would her life be like?
If she were a slave, she might have little time with her parents: she,
or they, could be sold at any time, and there are epitaphs of very young
children who had been freed by someone other than the master who
freed either parent. But it may have been a relative who bought out
the child, since at least the family was united enough for the epitaph
to be made. Some slave families did manage gradually to buy the
freedom of spouses and children."7 What a slave girl did depended on
the size and type of household to which she belonged. She was most
IV
Fourteen was evidently a proper age for marriage. It was assumed to
be the age of menarche, though if a girl had not reached puberty the
marriage might well be arranged anyway, and menstruation encouraged
by massage, gentle exercise, good food, and diversion.27 The legal
minimum age of marriage, as fixed by Augustan legislation which
followed Republican precedent, was 12: earlier marriage was not
penalized, but was not valid until the girl reached 12. (It followed that
she could not be prosecuted for adultery.)28 Some marriages were
certainly pre-pubertal. Augustus' own first wife was vixdum nubilis,
and Suetonius (Divus Aug. 62.1) found it worth recording that he sent
her back intacta. One girl (ILLRP 793) was 'taken to her husband's
bosom' at 7: perhaps the marriage was not consummated, though
Petronius (Sat. 25-6) relates (in order to shock?) the defloration of
a seven-year-old. By contrast, the daughters of Germanicus were
almost on the shelf - instabat virginum aetas - when they married. They
were 15 and 17 (Tacitus, Ann. 6.15).29
Plutarch, not surprisingly, thought that Roman girls married too
young, and that Lycurgus was right in ensuring that brides should
be ready for childbearing. Romans, he says, were more concerned to
ensure an undefiled body and mind (Moralia 138e). Evidently they
thought they had to catch the girls young to be sure. Doctors supposed
that sexual desires began at puberty, especially in girls who ate a lot
and did not have to work;30 society made provision for such desires
instead of trying to sublimate them. Epictetus (Enchiridion40) remarks
sadly that when girls are fourteen they begin to be called kuria, the
address of a grown woman: then they see that there is nothing for it
but to go to bed with men, and begin to make themselves pretty in
hopes. (His solution is for them to learn that men really admire them
for modesty and chastity - and then, one supposes, they may go to
bed with philosophers.) So marriage at fourteen was, in one sense,
practical. But were girls in any sense ready for it? Physically, no:
teenage pregnancies were known to be dangerous, and Soranus (1.7,
1.9.42) stoutly disagrees with the school of thought which held that
conception is good for you. Emotionally, Roman girls were better pre-
pared than the innocent bride envisaged by Xenophon in the Oeconomi-
cus (3.11 ff., 4.7 ff.) who had spent fifteen years seeing, hearing, and
saying as little as possible, and whose mother's advice on marriage was
simply sophronein, 'be good'. Nepos (pr. 6) remarks on one striking
contrast between Roman and Greek mores: the materfamilias was at
the centre of the household's social life. Visitors found her in the atrium
(maybe even doing her woolwork) and conversed with her; she went
out shopping, to visit friends, to temples, theatres, and games. Decorum
might require her to be suitably dressed and chaperoned, and restrained
to the point of discourtesy in returning a greeting, but decorum is not
always observed. Probably she had her daughters with her on some
of these occasions; she may even have taken them to dinner-parties,
though some people thought that girls learnt rather too much when
out to dinner.31 A society which did not segregate women, and which
praised wives for being pleasant company, gave married life a far better
chance than did the conventions of classical Athens.32 A fourteen-year-
old who had grown up in it, expecting to be grown up at fourteen,
might well be reasonably mature. And where the expectation of life
was nearer 30 + than 70 +, there was no use in delaying recognized
adulthood to 16 or 18.
The pressure of mortality was the underlying reason for early
marriage. Tullia, Cicero's cherished daughter, was engaged at 12, and
married at 16, to an excellent young man. She was widowed at 22,
remarried at 23, divorced at 28; married again at 29, divorced at 33
- and dead, soon after childbirth, at 34. The evidence of inscriptions
shows that she was not untypical.33 So the fathers who arranged the
marriages had good reason to start making alliances, and getting grand-
children, fast.
Fathers arranged marriages: but that was not all there was to it. A
8393.50 ff.) his acute distress when she offered him a divorce (they
were childless), though he said that marriages as happy and long-lasting
as theirs, uninterrupted by death or divorce, were a rarity. Augustus
and Livia had one (Suetonius, Divus Aug. 99.1). The ideal was long-
lived, harmonious, fertile marriage." But the death rate was not the
only impediment.
Marriages were in the interest of the family rather than the indi-
vidual, and Roman naming customs seem to reflect the underlying
feeling. A British girl has a personal name (or names) and a family
name; when she marries she may take her husband's surname, since
a wife belongs with her husband not her father, or retain her maiden
name to show that she is not a dependent wife. A Roman woman, in
a system apparently unique in Italy,"3had only one name, the feminine
form of her father's gentilicium; she shared it with her sisters and her
cousins and her aunts on the father's side, and kept it unchanged
through life no matter how many marriages she went through. Of course
there had to be devices to stop everyone getting muddled: pet-names
(Livilla), public-school systems (Antonia Major and Minor, Claudia
Prima, Secunda, and Tertia), sometimes a husband's name (Octavia
Marcelli): but we still do not know for certain which of three sisters
called Clodia was Catullus' love. We do not know whether it occurred
to any such woman to feel more like a token Octavia, a female of the
Octavii, than like Octavia who was someone in her own right: but some
of the more ruthless divorces, and the general approach to choosing
a marriage-partner, do give that impression.
A woman who married cum manu did indeed pass out of her father's
potestas and into her husband's, on a par with his daughter - with two
major exceptions. A daughter could not compel her father to anything,
but a wife could compel her husband to divorce; and although a
husband with manus over his wife controlled all that she possessed and
inherited, and need surrender only her dowry if they divorced, wives
do seem to have kept control over some property (perhaps by sheer
force of character or connections).36 A woman married sine manu, as
seems to have been the norm by the mid-first century B.C., remained
in her father's potestas, needed his consent to any major financial trans-
action, and might have her marriage ended by him even against her
wish. Spouses had once been exempted from the ban (in the lex Cincia
of 204 B.C.) on making gifts of property above a certain limit: they
came to be forbidden to give each other property except where the
wife's gift would enable her husband to reach a required census.
Plutarch (Moralia 265e) hopefully says that the point of this was to
encourage spouses to think of all property in common, not as his or
hers; the Digest, with more frankness, that it was ne mutuo amore invicem
pains over the upbringing of their sons, from breast-feeding and super-
vised education to (in the case of Atia) fending off lustful older women.
The letters of Cornelia reveal just how to put pressure on a son.45
Roman moralists, praising these women, did not remark that the result
of their devotion was sons with a marked sense of their own import-
ance, even at the expense of the Roman commonwealth. But what other
outlet could such women find for their talents and energies?
V
a
Running great household might, in fact, be as challenging as many
executive jobs, especially if the materfamilias concerned herself with
investments and clientes. The lex Voconia of 169 B.C. had tried to prevent
women from being left in control of large inheritances, but it applied
only where a man entered on the census list for the first class had an
only daughter, and even then could be circumvented by leaving the
money to a trusted friend who would pass it on.46 Many women were
extremely wealthy, though families of course differed in the extent to
which women managed their own wealth. 'Turia' ran the house and
left investments to her husband (ILS 8393.38 ff.); Terentia, to judge
from Cicero's grumbles about her and her agent, managed her own:
they included silvae, rented agerpublicus, a vicus, and some tenements.47
Sometimes it is not possible to tell whether a woman - for instance,
Eumachia (CIL 10.810-2), patroness of the fullers and donor of public
buildings at Pompeii - was a manager or just an owner. Women could
make wills; though technically they were required to 'change family'
(a legal formality) before doing so, but the sources never suggest any
difficulty.48A widow sui iuris, managing her own affairs with only token
reference to her guardian and her agnates (or free from tutela altogether
if she had borne enough children), and old enough (that is, fifty) to
escape the obligation to remarry and have more children, was Rome's
nearest approach to a legally independent woman.49 There cannot have
been many such; and there were no career women. What career, after
all, was open?
Women did not vote, did not serve as iudices, were not senators or
magistrates or holders of major priesthoods. They did not, as a rule,
speak in the courts: Valerius Maximus (8.3) found only three instances,
and becomes quite apoplectic about the one who enjoyed herself and
did it again. She seems to have provoked a praetorian ruling that no
woman should usurp the masculine role of advocate.50 As a rule, women
took no part in public life, except on the rare occasions when they
were angry enough to demonstrate, which was startling and shocking.
Before the debate on the lex Oppia, says Livy (34.1.5), 'the married
women could not be kept at home by respect for authority, sense of
are thought suitable for women, and women might do the heavier tasks
which are thought more appropriate for men: it depends on physical
strength, necessity, or the demands of the time. All human tasks, I
think, are common to men and women, and nothing is necessarily
exclusive to one or the other sex. But some tasks, obviously, are more
suited to one nature, and some to the other.'
Musonius was perhaps influenced by the prospect of exile, in which
the Stoic sage and his wife might have unexpected tasks. But public
opinion was not with him. People feared, he says (as perhaps Seneca's
father feared), that women who did philosophy would get over-
confident, leaving the house to mix with men and talk logic (or worse)
when they should be at home getting on with the woolwork. Musonius
answered (p. 12) that philosophy would not make women neglect their
duties, but ensure that they did them better: though Epictetus (ap.
Arrian fr. 15) claimed that some women used Plato's Republicto justify
their promiscuity. One may doubt whether an exceptional women who
did go outside traditional sex-r6les would have got a better reception
than Fulvia, who was reported as a masculinized monster - and subject
to female gusts of passion just the same.54 The answer to Musonius
might well be Juvenal's sixth satire.
A social system which restricted women to domestic life, and prevail-
ing attitudes which assumed their inferiority, must seem to us oppress-
ive. I know of no evidence that it seemed so at the time. The legal
and social constraints detailed above may have frustrated the abilities
of many women and caused much ordinary human unhappiness. But
there evidently were, also, many ordinarily happy families where
knowledge of real live women took precedence over the theories, and
women themselves enjoyed home, children, and friends. There were
some women who enjoyed the political game, and who found an
emotional life outside their necessary marriages.55 And there were
certainly women who found satisfaction in living up to the standards
of the time. They were, as they should be, chaste, dutiful, submissive,
and domestic; they took pride in the family of their birth and the family
they had produced; and probably their resolution to maintain these
standards gave them the support which women in all ages have found
in religious faith. But the religious feelings of Roman women, as
opposed to the acts of worship in which they might take part, are
something of which we know very little. A woman whose child was
ill might make, and gladly pay, a vow for his safety: but did she pray
for strength and patience while nursing him, and feel that some divine
power was sustaining her, or was she supposed to rely on her virtutes?56
The empress Livia put on a performance of Augustan perfection.
Dio (58.2.5 ff.) professes to record her explanation of how she kept
Augustus' love so long. She never had lovers; she went amiably along
with what Augustus wanted; she never interfered; and she pretended
not to notice his mistresses. Horace (Odes 3.14.5) got as near as he
dared (since everyone knew she had left her first husband while
pregnant with his child) to calling her univira, a one-man woman. The
senate gave her the privileges of a mother of three children, though
her marriage to Augustus produced only a stillborn son. She made
her husband's clothes; she combined traditional chastity with modern
charm; and she was, within the limits she herself accepted, a woman
of great power.57 This, presumably, is one picture of the ideal Roman
women: and it might be a woman's ideal as well as a man's. The most
moving expression of the ideal is in the elegy for Cornelia written by
Propertius (4.11), a poem sometimes (though without evidence) re-
garded as a recantation, since he portrayed his own love as a subverter
of standards. Propertius' Cynthia is independent, probably adulter-
ous,58 concerned not about house and children but about love-affairs
and literature. His Cornelia claims that she has followed the tradition
of her family, and her mother (who was Scribonia, Augustus' divorced
wife) must approve her. She is univira, chaste, and fertile. She is an
example to her own children. Her children have survived her, and she
has seen her brother consul. She does not say, though it was true, that
she has seen her husband consul and censor: perhaps that was not part
of her pride in what she was as a representative of her family. But
she thinks, though she puts it tentatively, that he will grieve for her
and care for their children. It had been a good life.
The son of Murdia, in the age of Augustus, made her a public eulogy.
Some of what he said has happened to survive (ILS 8394), and, since
we should not otherwise know of her existence, may make the best
epitaph for the women who did not make the history books.
'What is said in praise of all good women is the same, and straight-
forward. There is no need of elaborate phrases to tell of natural good
qualities and of trust maintained. It is enough that all alike have the
same reward: a good reputation. It is hard to find new things to praise
in a woman, for their lives lack incident. We must look for what they
have in common, lest something be left out to spoil the example they
offer us. My beloved mother, then, deserves all the more praise, for
in modesty, integrity, chastity, submission, woolwork, industry, and
trustworthiness she was just like other women.'
NOTES
* I am grateful to undergraduates, sixth-formers, and their teachers in and around Glasgow
who raised questions about earlier versions of this paper; to Dr Jane Gardner for a paper which
made me rethink several answers; and to Mrs. M. T. Griffin for many helpful suggestions.