5 I fytmll Uttivmitg §itog: THE GIFT OF A.^gntq^ lialTrU 97*t J DATE DUE m^ft^ ^•^WNMi* 4S. usn •y 86 r*s 4 « nrf* - ^ iMwn^ *138U 1 sr IFEt^ fetiiife ""**" »»^5ie found, they might performV a cereraotiy which exactly reproduced all the rites of sepulture ^nd it nras believed that in this way, in the absence of the body,'riiewenclos&d the soul in the tomb. Eurip., Helen., lOGl, 1240l/Scholiast, ad Find. Fyth., IV. 284. Virg., VI..603; XII. 2^ " Iliad, XXIir. 221. Pausanias, II. 7, 2. Eurip., AIL, 463. Virg., JEn., III. 68. Catul., 98, 10. Ovid, Trist., III. 3," 43; Fast., IV. 852; Metam., X. 62. Juvenal, VII. 207. Martial, I. 89; V. 35; IV. 30. Servius, ad ^n., II. 644; III. G8 ; XI. 97. Tacit., Agric., 46. 2 18 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK 1 serve him in the tomb, as they had done during his life. After the taking of Troy, the Greeks are about to return to their country ; each takes with him his beauti- ful captive ; but Achilles, who is under the earth, claims his captive also, and they give him Polyxena.' A verse of Pindar has preserved to us a curious vestige of the thoughts of those ancient generations. Phrixus had been compelled to quit Greece, and had fled as far as Colchis. He had died in that country; but, dead though he was, he wished to return to Greece. He appeared, therefore, to Pelias, and directed him to go to Colchis and bring away his fioul. Doubtless this soul regretted the soil of its native country, and the tomb of its family ; but being attached to its corporeal remains, it could not quit Colchis without them.* From this primitive belief came the necessity of burial. In order that the soul might be confined to this subterranean abode, which was suited to its second life, it was necessary that the body to which it remained attached should be covered with earth. The soul that had no tomb had no dwelling-place. It was a wander- ing spirit. In vain it sought the repose which it would naturally desire after the agitations and labor of this life ; it must wander forever under the. form of a larva, or phantom, without ever stopping, without ever receiv- ing the ofierings and the food which it had need of. Unfortunately, it soon became a malevolent spirit ; it tormented the living ; it brought diseases upon them, i-avaged their harvests, and frightened them by gloomy apparitions, to warn them to give sepulture to its body ' Eurip., me., passim; Ale, Iphig., 162. Iliad, XXIII. 166. Virg., JSn., V. 77; VI. 221; XI. 81. Pliny, N. H., VIII. 40. Suet., Ceesar, 84. Lucian, De Luctu, 14. * Pind., Pyihic, IV. 284, ed. Heyne; see the Scholiast. CHAP. I. NOTIONS ABOUT THE SOUL AND DEATH. 19 and to itself. From this came the belief in ghosts. AH antiquity was persuaded that without burial the soul was miserable, and that by burial it became forever happy. It was not to display their grief that they performed the funeral ceremony, it was for the rest and happiness of the dead.' We must remark, however, that to place the body in the ground was not enough. Certain traditional rites had also to be observed, and certain established formulas to be pronounced. We find in Plautus an account of a ghost ; * it was a soul that was compelled to wander because its body had been placed in the ground without due attention to the rites. Suetonius relates that when the body of Caligula was placed in the earth without a due observation of the funeral ceremonies, his soul was not at rest, and continued to appear to the living until it was determined to disinter the body and give it a burial according to the rules. These two examples show clearly what efiects.were attributed to the rites and formulas of the funeral cere- mony. Since without them souls continued to wan- der and appear to the living, it must have been by them that souls became fixed and enclosed in their tombs ; and just as there were formulas which had this virtue, there were others which had a contrary virtue — that of evoking souls, and making them come out for a time from the sepulchre. We can see in ancient writers how man was toi"- mented by the fear that after his death the rites would | • Odyssey, XI. 72. Eurip., Troad., 1085. Hdts., V. 92. Virg., VI. 371, 379. Horace, Odes, I. 23. Ovid, Fast., V. 483. Pliny, Epist., VII. 27. Suetonius, GaVig., 59. Servius, ad ^n., III. 68. ' Plautus, MosieUaria. / 20 ABTCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK 1. not be observed for him. It was a source of constant inquietude. Men feargd-dfiath less th an the privation of burial ; for rest and eternal happiness were at stake. We ought not to be too much surprised at seeing the Athenians put generals to death, who, after a naval victory, had neglected to bury the dead. These gen- erals, disciples of philosophers, distinguished clearly between the soul and the body, and as they did not believe that the fate of the one was connected with the fate of the other, it appeared to them of very little con- sequence whether a body was decomposed in the earth or in the water. Therefore they did not brave the tempest for the vain foiinality of collecting and burying their dead. But the multitude, who, even at Athens, still clung to the ancient doctrines, accused- these gen- erals of impiety, and had them put to death. By their victory they had saved Athens ; but by their impiety they had lost thousands of souls. The relatives of the dead, thinking of the long-suffering which these souls must bear, came to the tribunal clothed in mourning, and asked for vengeance. In the ancient cities the law condemned those guilty of great crimes to a terrible punishment — the privation of burial. In this manner they punished the soul itself, and inflicted upon it a punishment almost eternal. We must observe that there was among the ancients another opinion concerning the abode of the dead. They pictured to themselves a region, also subterranean, but infinitely more vast than the tomb, where all souls, far from their bodies, lived together, and where re- wards and punishments were distributed according to the lives men had led in this world. But the rites of burial, such as we have described them, manifestly dis- agree with this belief— a certain proof that, at the epoch CHAP. I. NOTIONS ABOUT THE SOUL AND DEATH. 21 when these rites were established, men did not yet be- lieve in Tartarus and the Elysian Fields. The earliest opinion of these ancient generations was, that man lived in the tomb, that the soul did not leave the body, and that it remained fixed to that portion of ground where tlie bones lay buried. Besides, man had no account to I'ender of his past life. Once placed- in the tomb, he had neither rewards nor punishments to expect. This is a very crude opinion surely, but it is the beginnihg of the notion of a future life. The being who lived under ground was not suf- ficiently free from human frailties to have no need of food ; and, therefore, on certain days of the year, a meal was carried to eveiy tomb. Ovid and Vii'gil have given us a description of this ceremony. The observance continued unchanged even to their time^ although religious beliefs had already undergone great changes. According to these writers, the tomb was surrounded with large wreaths of grasses and flowers, and cakes, fruits, and flowers were placed upon it ; milk, wine, and sometimes even the blood of a victim were added.' We should greatly deceive ourselves if we thought that these funeral repasts were nothing more than a sort of commemoration. The food that the family brought was really for the dead — exclusively for hira. What proves this is, that the milk and wine were poured out upon the earth of the tomb ; that the earth was hollowed out so that the solid food might reach the dead ; that if they sacrificed a victim, all its flesh was burnt, so that none of the living could have any part of it ; that ' Virgil, ^n., III. 300 et seq. j V. 77. Ovid, Fast, II. 635-542. 22 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I. they pronounced certain consecrated formulas to in- vite the dead to eat and drink; that if the entire familj were present at the meal, no one touched the food ; that, in fine, when they went away, they took great care to leave a little milk and a few cakes in vases ; and that it was considered gross impiety for any living person to touch this scant provision destined for the needs of the dead.' •These usages are attested in the most formal manner. " I pour upon the earth of the tomb," says Iphigenia in Euripides, "milk, honey, and wine; for it is with these that we rejoice the dead."' Among the Greeks there was in front of every tomb a place destined for the immolation of the victim and the cooking of its flesh.^ The Roman tomb also had its cvMna, a species of kitchen, of a particular kind, and entirely for the use of the dead.* Plutarch relates that after the battle of Platsea, the slain having been buried upon the field of battle, the Platseans engaged to offer them the funeral repast every year. Consequently, on each anniversary, they went in grand procession, conducted by their first magisti-ates to the mound under which the dead lay. They offered the departed milk, wine, oil, and perfumes, and sacrificed a victim. When the provisions had been placed upon the tomb, the Platseans pronounced a formula by which they called the dead to come and partake of this repast. This ceremony was still per- formed in the time of Plutarch, who was enabled to witness the six hundredth anniversary of it.* A little > Hdts.,II. 40. Eurip., /Tec, 636. Pausanias, II. 10. "Virgil, V. 98. Ovid, Fast., II. 566. Lucian, Charon. " .ffisch., Choeph., 476. Eurip., Iph., 162. ' Euripides, Electra, 613. * Festus, V. Culina. ' Plutarch, Aristides, 21. CHAP. II. THK WORSHIP OF THE DEAD. 23 later, Lucian, ridiculing these opinions and usages, filiows how deeply rooted they were in the common mind. "The dead," says he, "are nourished by the provisions which we place upon their tomb, and drink the wine which we pour out there ; so "^hat one of the dead to whom nothing is offered U condemned to perpetual hunger.'" These are very old forms of belief and are quite groundless and ridiculous ; and yet they exercised empire over man during a great number of generations. They governed men's minds ; we shall soon see tliat they governed societies even, and that the greater part of the domestic and social institutions of the ancients was derived from this source. CHAPTER II. The Worship of the Dead. This belief very soon gave rise to certain rules of conduct./ Since the dead had need of food and drink, it appeared to be a duty of the living to satisfy this need. The care of supplying the dead with sustenance was not left to the caprice or to the variable senti- ments of men; it was obligatory. Thus a complete religion of the dead was establishedj whose dogmas might soon be effaced, but whose rites endured until the triumph of Chiistianity. The dead were held to be sacred beings. To them the ancients applied tiie most respectful epithets that could be thought of; they ' Lucian, De Luctu. 24 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I. called them good, holy, happy. For them they had all the veneration that man can have for the divinity whom he loves or fears. In their thoughts the dead were gods.' This sort of apotheosis was not the privilege of great men ; no distinction was made among the dead. Cicero says, " Our ancestors desired that the men who had quitted this life should be counted in the number of the gods." It was not necessary to have been even a virtuous man : the wicked man, as well as the good man, became a god ; but he retained in the second life all the bad inclinations which' had tormented Lim in the flrst.^ The Greeks gave to the dead the name of subter- ranean gods. In JEschylus, a son thus invokes his deceased father: "O thou who art a god beneath the*'' earth." Euripides says, speaking of Alcestis, " Near her tomb the passer by will stop and say, ' This is now a thrice happy divinity.' "* The Romans gave to the dead the name of Manes.t^ "Render to the manes what is due them," says Cicero; " they are men who have quitted this life ; consider them as divine beings."* The tombs were the temples of these divinities, and they bore the sacramental inscription, Dis Manibm, and in Greek, ^colg x^ovlotg. There the god lived -Slsch., Choeph., 469. Sophocles, Antig., 451. Plutarch, 'Jolon, 21; Rom. Quest., 52; Gr. Quest., 5. Virgil, V. 47- V". 80. '' Cicero, Ve Legib., 22. St. Augustine, City of God, IX. IJ ; VIII. 26. ;> J , , ' Eurip., Ale, 1003, 1015. * Cicero, Be Legib., II. 9 Varro, in St. Augustine, Citj, of God, VIII. 26. " ■' CHAP. 11. THB WOESHIP OF THE DBAD. 25 beneath the soil, manesque sepuUi, says Virgil. Be- fore the tomb there was an altar for the sacriiices, as before the temples of the gods.' We find this worship of the dead among the Hel- lenes, among the Latins, among the Sabines," among the Etruscans ; we also find it among the Aryas of India. Mention is made of it in the hymns of the Reg- Veda. It is spoken of in the Laws of Manu as the iaost ancient worship among men. We see in this book that the idea of metempsychosis Lad already passed over this ancient belief, even before the religion of Brahma was established; and still beneath the worship of Brahma, beneath the doctrine of metemp- sychosis, the religion of the souls of ancestors still subsists, living and indestructible, and compels the author of the Laws of Manu to take it into account, and to admit its rules into the sacred book. Not the least singular thing about this strange book is, that it has preserved the rules relative to this ancient belief^ whilst it was evidently prepared in an age when a belief entirely different had gained the ascendency. ^ This proves that much time is required to transform a human belief, and still more to modify its exterior forms, and the laws based upon it!} At the present day, even, after so many ages of revolutions, the Hindus continue to make offerings to their ancestors. This belief and these rites are the oldest and the most persist- ent of anything pertaining to the Indo-European race. This worship was the same in India as in Greece and ' Virgil, JEn., IV. 34. Aulua Gellius, X. 18. Plutarch, Bom. Quest, 14. Eurip., Troades, 96; Elevtra, 613. Sue- tonius, Nero, 50. » Varro, De Ling. Lat, V. 74. ■', 26 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK L Italy. The Hindu had to supply the manes with the ^ recast, which was called sraddha. "Let the master of the house make the sraddha with rice, milk, roots, and fruits, in order to procure for himself the good- will of the manes." The Hindu believed that at the moment whei. he offered this limeral repast, the manes of his ancestore came to seat themselves beside him, and took the nour- ishment which was offered them. He also believed that this repast afforded the dead great enjoyment. "When the sraddha is made according to the rites, the ancestors of the one who offers it experience un- bounded satisfaction." ' Thus the Aryas of the East had, in the beginning, the same notions as those of the West, relative to man's destiny after death. Before believing in metemp- sychosis, which supposes an absolute distinction be- tween the soul and the body, they believed in the vague and indefinite existence of man, invisible, but not immaterial, and requiring of mortals nourishment and offerings. The Hindu, like the Greek, regarded the dead as divine beings, who enjoyed a happy existence ; but their happiness depended on the condition that the offerings made by the living should be carried to them regularly. If the sraddha for a dead person was not offered regu- larly, his soul left its peaceful dwelling, and became a wandering spirit, who tormented the living; so that, if the dead were really gods, this was only whilst the living honored them with their worship. The Greeks and Romans had exactly the same be- lief. If the funeral repast ceased to be offered to the ' LamofManu, I. 95; III. 82, 122, 127, 146, 189, 274. CHAP. n. THE WOESHIP OF THE DEAD. 27 dead, they immediately left their tombs, and became ■wandering shadeB, that were heard in the silence of the night. They reproached the living with their negli- gence; or they sought to punish them by afflicting them with diseases, or cursing their soil with sterility. In a word, they left the living no rest till the funeral feasts were re-established. The sacrifice, the offering of nourishment, and the libation restored them to the tomb, and gave them back their rest and their divine attributes. Man was then at peace with them.' If a deceased person, on being neglected, became a malignant spirit, one who was honored became, on the other hand, a tutelary deity. He loved those who brought him noxu'ishment. To protect them he con- tinued to take part in human affairs, and frequently played an important part there. Dead though he was, he knew how to be strong and active. The living prayed to him, and asked his support and his favors. When any one came near a tomb, he stopped, and said, " Subterranean god, be propitious to me." ' We can judge of the power whicli the ancients attributed to the dead by this prayer, which Electra addresses to the manes of her father : " Take pity on me, and on my brother Orestes ; make him return to this country ; hear my prayer, O my father ; grant my • Ovid, Fast., II. 549-556. Thus in JSschylus: Clytem- nestra, V arned by a dream that the manes of Agamemnon are irritated against her, hastens to send ofierings to his tomb. * Eurip., Ah„ 1004 (1016) : "They believe that if we have no care for those dead, and if we neglect their worship, they will do us harm, and that, on the contrary, they do us good if we render them propitious to us by offerings." Porphyry, De Aistin , II. 87. See Horace, Odes, II. 23; Plato, Lavii, IX. p. 926, 927. 28 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK : wishes, receiving my libations." These powerful god did not give material aid only ; for Electra adds, " Giv me a heart more chaste than my mother's, and pure hands." ' Thus the Hindu asks of the manes " tha in his family the number of good men may incivas* and that he may have much to give." These human souls deified by death were what th Greeks called demons, or heroes?' The Latins gav them the name of Lares, Manes, Genii. " Our ances tors believed," says Apuleius, " that the Manes, whei they were malignant, were to be called larvce ; the; called them Lares when they were benevolent am propitious." " Elsewhere we read, " Genius and Lar i the same being ; so our ancestors believed." ■* And ii Cicero, " Those that the Greeks called demons we eal Lares."' This religion of the dead appears to be the oldes that has existed among this race of men. Before raei had any notion of Indra or of Zeus, they adored th dead ; they feared them, and addressed them prayers It seems that the religious sentiment commenced ii this way. It was perhaps while looking upon the dea( ' ^soh., Choeph., 122-133. * The primitire sense of this last word appears to have bee that of dead men. The language of the inscriptions, which i that of the common people among the Greeks, often employs : in this sense. Boeckh, Corp. inscript., Nos. 1629, 1723, 1781 1784, 1786, 1789, 3398. Ph. Lebas, Monum. de Moree, p. 201 Vide Theognis, ed. Welcker, V. 313. The Greeks also gave t one dead the name of Saifimv. Eurip. Ale, 1140, et Scho! ^seh., Pers., 620. Fausanias, VI. 6. ' Servins, ad Mn., III. 63. * Censorinus, 3. ' Cicero, Timceus, 11. Dionysius Halicarnasseus translate Lar famUiaris by o xa%' oixiav (gcos. {Antiq. Rom., IV. 2.) OHAP. III. THE SACP.BD FIRE. 29 that man first conceived the idea of the supernatural, and began to have a hope beyond what he saw. Death was the first mystery, and it placed man on the track of other mysteries. It raised his thoughts from the visible to the invisible, from the transitory to the eternal, from the human to the divine. CHAPTER III. The Sacred Fire. In the house of every Greek and Roman was an altar; on this altar there had always to be a small quantity of ashes, and a few lighted coals.' It was a sacred obligation for the master of every house to keep the fire up night and day. Woe to the house where it was extinguished. Every evening they covered the coals with ashes to prevent them from being entirely consumed. In the morning the first care was to revive this fire with a few twigs. The fire ceased to glow upon the altar only when the entire family had perished ; an extinguished hearth, an extinguished family, were synonymous expressions among the ancients.' ' The Greeks called this altar by various names, |?mjios, Iffjfago, iaria; this last finally prevailed in use, and was the name by which they afterwards designated the goddess Vesta. The Latins called the same altar ara ox focus, = Bomeric Rymns, XXIX. Orphic Hymns, LXXXIV. He- siod. Opera, 732. iEsch., Agam., 1056. Eurip., Berc. Fur., 603, 599. Thuc, I. 136. Aristoph., Plut., 795. Cato, De Rt Rust., 143. Cicero, Pro Domo, 40. Tibullus, I. 1, 4. Horace, Upod., ir. 43. Ovid, A. A., I. 637. Virgil, II. 512. 30 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK 1. It is evident that this usage of keeping fire always upon an altar was connected with an ancient belief. The rules and the rites which they observed in regard to it, show that it was not an insignificant custom. It was not permitted to feed this fire with every sort of wood; religion distinguished among the trees those that could be employed for this use from those it was impiety to make use of.' It was also a religious precept that this fire must always remain pure ; ' which meant, literally, that no filthy object ought to be cast into it, and figuratively, that no blameworthy deed ought to be committed in its presence. There was one day in the year — among the Romans it was the first of March — when it was the duty of every family to put out its sacred fire, and light another immediately.^ But to procure this new fire, certain rites had to be scrupulously observed. Especially must they avoid using flint and steel for this purpose. The only processes allowed were to concen- trate the solar rays into a focus, or to rub together rapidly two pieces of wood of a given sort.* These diflerent rules sufficiently prove that, in the opinion of the ancients, it was not a question of procuring an ele- ment useful and agreeable; these men saw something else in the fire that burnt upon their altars. This fire was something divine ; they adored it, and offered it a real worship. They made offerings to it of whatever they believed to be agreeable to a god — ' Virgil, VII. 71. Pestus, v. Felids. Plutarch, Numa, 9. » Eurip., Berc. Fur., 715. Cato, De Ee Rust., US. Ovid, Fast., III. 698. ^ Macrob. Saturn., 1. 12. * Ovid, Fast., III. 143. Festus, v. Felids. Julian, Speech on the Sun. CHAP. m. THE SACKED PIEE. 31 flowers, fruits, incense, wine, and victims. They be- lieved it to have power, and asked for its protection. They addressed fervent prayers to it, to obtain those eternal objects of human desire — health, wealth, and happiness. One of these prayers, which has been pre- served to us in the collection of Orphic Hymns, runs thus : " Render us always prosperous, always happy, O fire; thou who art eternal, beautiful, ever young; thou who nourishest, thou who art rich, receive favor- ably these our offerings, and in return give us happiness and sweet health." ' Thus they saw in the fire a beneficent god, who main- tained the life of man ; a rich god, who nourished him with gifts; a powerful god, who protected his house and family. In presence of danger they sought refuge near this fire. When the palace of Priam is de- stroyed, Hecuba draws the old man near the hearth. " Thy ai-ms cannot protect thee," she says ; " but this altar will protect us all." " See Alcestis, who is about to die, giving her life to save her husband. She approaches the fire, and in- vokes it in these terms : " O divinity, mistress of this house, for the last time I fall before thee, and address thee my prayers, for I am going to descend among the dead. Watch over my children, who will have no _ mother; give to my boy a tender wife, and to my girl a noble husband. Let them not, like me, die before the time ; but let them enjoy a long life in the midst of happiness." ' ' Orphic Hymns, 84. Plaut., Captiv., II. 2. Tibull., I. 9, U. Ovid, A. A., I. 637. Plin., Nat, Mist., XVIII. 8. ' Virgil, ^n., II. 523. Horace, Epist., I. 6. Ovid, Trist., IV. 8, 22. ' Eurip., Alt; 162-168. 32 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I. In misfortune man betook himself to his sacred tire, and heaped reproaches upon it; in good fortune lie returned it thanks. The soldier who returned from war thanked it for having enabled him to escape the perils, ^schylus represents Agamemnon returning from Troy, happy, and covered with glory. His first act is not to thank Jupiter ; he does not goto a temple to pour out his joy and gratitude, but makes a sacri- fice of thank-offerings to the fire in his own house.' A man never went out of his dwelling without address- ing a prayer to the fire ; on his return, before seeing his wife or embracing his children, he must fall before the fire, and invoke it.' The sacred fire was the Providence of the family. The worship was very simple. The first rule was, that there should always be upon the altar a few live coals ; for if this fire was extinguished a god ceased to exist. At certain moments of the day they placed upon the fire diy herbs and wood ; then the god manifested himself in a bright flame. They offered sacrifices to him ; and the essence of every sacrifice was to sustain and reani- mate the sacred fire, to nourish and develop the body of the god. This was the reason why they gave him wood before everything else; for the same rea- .son they afterwards poured out wine upon the altar, — the inflammable wine of Greece, — oil, incense, and the fat of victims. The god received these offerings, and devoured them ; radiant with satisfaction, he rose above the altar, and lighted up the worshipper with his brightness. Then was the moment to invoke him ; and the hymn of prayer went out from the heart of man. ' Msch., Agam., 1015. * Cato, De Be Rust,, 2. Eurip., Here. Pur., 523. (THA.P. ni. THE SACRED TIEE. 33 Especially were th« meals of the family religious acts. The god presided there. He had cooked the bread, and prepared the food ; ' a prayer, therefore, was due at the beginning and end of the repast. Before eating, they placed upon the altar the first fruits of the food ; before drinking, they poured out a libation of wine. This was the god's portion. No one doubted that he was present, that h« ate and drank ; for did they not see the flame increase as if it had been nourished by the provisions offei-ed ? Thus the meal was divided between the man and the god. It was a sacred cere- mony, by which they held communion with each other." This is an old belief, which, in the course of time, faded from the minds of men, but which left behind it, for many an age, rites, usages, and forms of language of which even the incredulous could not free themselves. Horace, Ovid, and Petronius still supped before their fires, and poured out libations, and addressed prayers to them.^ This worship of the sacred fire did not belong ex- clusively to the populations of Greece and Italy-. We find it in the East. The Laws of Manu, as they have come to us, show us the religion of Brahma completely established, and even vergilig towards its decline ; but they have preserved vestiges and remains of a religion , still more ancient, — that of the sacred fire, — which the worship of Brahma had reduced to a secondary rank, but could not destroy. The Brahmin has his fire to keep night and day; every morning and every evening he feeds it with wood ; but, as with \he Greeks, this ' OTid, Fast., VI. 316. " Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 64 ; Comm. on Hesiod, ii- Ilomerit Hymns, 29. » Horace, Sat., II. 6, 66. Ofid, Fast., II. 631. Petronius, 60. 3 34 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK muBt be the wood of certain trees. As the Greeks an Italians offer it wine, the Hindu pours upon it a fe niented liquor, which he calls soma. Meals, too, ai religious acts, and the rites are scrupulously describe in the Laws of Manu. They address prayers to tl) file, as in Greece; they offer it the first fruits of ric l)iitter, and honey. We read that " the Brahmin shoul not eat the rice of the new harvest without havin offered the first fruits of it to the hearth-fire; for tli sacred fire is greedy of grain, and when it is not hoi ored, it will devour the existence of the negligci Brahmin." The Hindus, like the Greeks and the R mans, pictured the gods to themselves as greedy n( only of honors and respect, but of food and drinl Man believed himself compelled to satisfy their hung( and thirst, if he wished to avoid their wrath. Among the Hindus this divinity of the fire is calle Agni. The Rig-Veda contains a great number c hymns addressed to this god. In one it is said, " < Agni, thou art the life, thou art the protecto/ o man. ... In return for our praises, bestow upon tl: father of the family who implores thee glory an riches. . . . Agni, thou art a prudent defender and father; to thee we owe life ; we are thy family." Thi the fire of the hearth is, as in Greece, a tutelary powe Man asks abundance of it : " Make the earth ever li eral towards us." He asked health of it : " Grant thi I may enjoy long life, and that I may arrive at old ag like the sun at his setting." He even asks wisdom c it: "O Agni, thou placest upon the good way tl man who has wandered into the bad. . . . Ifwehai committed a fault, if we have gone far from thee, pa don us." This fire of the hearth was, as in Greec essentially pure : the Brahmin was forbidden to thro anything filthy into it, or even to warm his feet by : CHAP. in. THE SACKED FIEE. 35 As in Greece, the guilty man could not approach his hearth before he had purified himself. It is a strong proof of the antiquity of this belief, and of these practices, to find them at the same time among men on the shores of the Mediterranean and amons those of the peninsula of India. Assuredly the Greeks did not borrow this religion from the Hindus, nor the Hindus from the Greeks. But the Greeks, the Italians, and the Hindus belonged to the same race ; their an- cestors, in a very distant past, lived together in Central Asia. There this creed originated and these rites were established. The religion of the sacred fire dates, there- fore, from the distant and dim epoch when there were yet no Greeks, no Italians, no Hindus ; when there were only Aryas. When the tribes separated, they can-ied this worship with them, some to the banks of the Ganges, others to the shores of the Mediterranean. Later, when these tribes had no intercourse with encli other, some adored Brahma, others Zeus, and still others Janus; each group chose its own gods; but all pre- served, as an ancient legacy, the first religion which they had known and practised in the common cradle of their race. If the existence of this worship among all the Indo- European nations did not sufficiently demonstrate its high antiquity, we might find other proofs of it in the ■religious rites of the Greeks and Romans. In all sac- rifices, even in those offered to Zeus or to Athene, the first invocation was always addressed to the fire.' Every prayer to any god whatever must commence and end with a prayer to the fire." At Olympia, the ' Porphyry, De Abstin., II. p. IOC. Plutarch, De Frigido. ' Homeric Hymns, 29 ; Ibid., 3, v. 33. Plato, Cratyhis, 18. 36 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK t first sacrifice that assembled Greece offered was to the hearth-tire, the second was to Zeus.' So, too, at Rome, the first adoration was always addressed to Vesta, who was no other than the hearth-fire. Ovid says of this goddess, that she occupied the first place in the religious practices of men. We also read in the hymns of the Rig- Veda, " Agni must be invoked before all the other gods. We pronounce his venerable name before that of all the other immortals. O Agni, whatever other god we honor with our sacrifices, the holocaust is always offered to thee." ' It is certain, therefore,, that at Rome in Ovid's time, and in India in the time of the Brahmins, the fire of the hearth took precedence ■,»f all other gods ; not that Jupiter and Brahma had not acquired a greater importance in the religion of men, but it was remembered that the hearth-fire was much older than those gods. For many centuiies he had held the first place in the religions worship, and the newer and greater gods could not dispossess him of this place. The symbols of this religion became modified in the course of ages. When the people of Greece and Italy began to represent their gods as persons, and to give each one a proper name and a human form, the old worship of the hearth-fire submitted to the common law which human intelligence, in that period, imposed upon every religion. The altar of the sacred fire was personified. They called it kaila, Vesta; the name was the same in Latin and in Greek, and was the same Besychius, &tp' sarias. Diodorus, VI. 2. Aristoph., Birds, 865. ' Pausaniaa, V. 14. ' Cicero, De Nat. Deorum, II. 27. Ovid, Fast, VI. 804. CHAP. III. THE SACEED FIBB. 37 that in the common and primitive language designated an altar. By a process frequent enough, a common noun had become a proper name. By degrees a legend was formed. They pictured this divinity to themselves as wearing a female form, because the word used for altar was of the feminine gender. They even went so far as to represent this goddess in statues. Still they could never efface the primitive belief, according to which this divinity was simply the fire upon the altar ; and Ovid himself was forced to admit that Vesta was nothing else than a "living flame." ' If we compare this worship of the sacred fire with the worship of the dead, of which wo have already spoken, we shall perceive a close relation between them. Let us remark, in the first place, that this fire, which was kept burning upon the hearth, was not, in the thoughts of men, the fire of material nature. What they saw in it was not the purely physical element that warms and burns, that transforms bodies, melts metals, and becomes the powerful instrument of liuman in- dustry. The fire of the hearth is of quite another nature. It is a pare fire, which can be produced only by the aid of certain rites, and can be kept up only with certain kinds of wood. It is a chaste fire ; the union of the sexes must be removed fhr from its presence.' They pray to it not only for riches and health, bat also for purity of heart, temperance, and wisdom. "Render UB rich and flourishing," says an Orphic hymn ; " make us also wise and chaste." Thus the lieai'th-flre is a sort of a moral being; it shines, and warms, and cooks the ' Ovid, Fast., VI. 291. ' Hesiod, Opera, 731. Plutarch, Coram, on Hes,, frag. 43. 38 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK : sacred food ; but at the same time it thinks, and has conscience ; it knows men's duties, and sees that tlie; are fulfilled. One might call it human, for it has th double nature of man ; physically, it blazes up, it move* it lives, it procures abundance, it prepares the repasi it nourishes the body; morally, it has sentiments an( affections, it gives man purity, it enjoins the beautifu and the good, it nourishes the soul. One might sa; that it supports human life in the double series of it manifestations. It is at the same time the source o: wealth, of health, of virtue. It is truly the god oi human nature. Later, when this worship had beei assigned to a second place by Brahma or by Zeus, ther still remained in the hearth-fire whatever of divine wa most accessible to man. It became his mediator witl the gods of physical nature; it undertook to carry b heaven the prayer and the offering of man, and to briuj the divine favors back to him. Still later, when the; made the great Vesta of this myth of the sacred firs Vesta was the virgin goddess. She represented in th world neither fecundity nor power; she was order, bu not rigorous, abstract, mathematical order, the in: perious and unchangeable law, (i^ttyx/?, which was earl perceived in physical nature. She was moral ordei They imagined her as a sort of universal soul, whic' regulated the different movements of worlds, as th human soul keeps order in the human system. Thus are we permitted to look into the way o thinking of primitive generations. The principle o this worship is outside of physical nature, and is foun in this little mysterious world, this microcosm — man. This brings us back to the worship of the deac Both are of the same antiquity. They were so closel associated that the belief of the ancients made but on CHAP. ni. THE SACKED FIEE. 39 religion of both. Hearth-fire demons, heroes, Lares, all were confounded.' We see, from two passages of Plautns and Columella, that, in the common language, they said, indifferently, hearth or domestic Lares ; and we know that, in Cicero's time, they did not distingiiisli the hearth-fire from the Penates, nor the Penates from the Lares.' In Servius we read, " By hearth the an- cients understood the Lares;" and Virgil has writ- ten, iudifferenlJy, hearth for Penates and Penates for hearth." In a famous passage of the JEneid, Hector tells ^neas that he is going to intrust to hira the Trojan Penates, and it is the hearth-fire that he commits to his care. In another passage jEneas, invoking these same gods, calls them at the same time Penates, Lares, and Vesta.* We have already seen that those whom the ancients called Lares, or heroes, were no other than the souls of the dead, to which men attributed a superhuman and divine power. The recollection of one of these sacred dead was always attached to the hearth-fire. In ador- ing one, the worshipper could not forget the other. Tljey were associated in the respect of men, and in their prayers. The descendants, when they spoke of the hearth-fire, recalled the name of the ancestor : " Leave this place," says Orestes to his sister, "and advance towards the ancient hearth of Pelops, to hear my ' Tibullus, II. 2. Horace, Odes, IV. 11. Ovid., Trist, III. 13 ; V. 5. Tlie Greeks gave to their domestic gods or heroes the epithet of iipinrioi or i(irio«;foi. ' Plaut., Aulul., II. 7, 16 — In foco nostra Lari. Coluniolla, XI. 1, 19 — Laremfocumque familiar em. Cicero, Pro Domo, 41 ; Pro Quintio, 27, 28. •" Servius, in ^n.. III. 13i * Virgil,, IX. 259; V. 744. 40 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I. words." ' So, too, -^neas, speaking of the sacred fire which he transports across the waters, designates it by the name of the Lar of Assaracns, as if he saw in this fire the soul of his ancestor. The grammarian Serving, who was very learned in Greek and Roman antiquities (which were studied much more in his time than in the time of Cicero), saj's it was a very ancient usage to bury the dead in tlie houses; and he adds, "As a result of this custom, they honor the Lares and Penates in their houses." This expression establishes clearly an ancient relation between the worship of the dead and the hearth-fire. We may suppose, therefore, that the domestic fire was in the beginning only the symbol of the worship of the dead ; that under the stone of the hearth an ancestor I'eposed ; that the fire was lighted there to honor him, and that this lire seemed to preserve life in him, or represented his soul as always vigilant. This is merely a conjecture, and we have no proof of it. Still it is certain that the oldest generations of the race from which the Greeks and Romans sprang worshipped both the dead and the hearth-fire — an an- cient religion that did not find its gdds in physical nature, but in man himself, and that has for its object the a Contemporary with the first ages of the Aryan race, it became rooted so deeply in the ' Euripides, Orestes, 1140-1 ll2. ' Servius, in JEn., V. 84 ; VI. 152. See Plato, Minos, p. 315. CHAP. IT. DOMESTIC RELIGION. 41 I minds of this race that thd brilliant religion of the Greek Olympus could not extirpate it; only Christianity could do this. We shall see presently what a power- ful influence this religion exercised upon the dotnestic and social institutions of the ancients. It. was con- ceivecl and established in that distant age when this race was just forming its institutions, and determined the direction of their progress. CHAPTER IV. The Domestic Beligiou. We are not to suppose that this ancient religion resembled those founded when men became more en- lightened. For a great number of centuries the human race has admitted no religious doctrine except on two conditions : first, that it proclaimed but one god ; and, second, that it was addressed to all men, and was accessible to all, systematically rejecting no class or race. But this primitive religion fulfilled neither of these conditions. Not only did it not offer one only god to the adoration of men, but its gods did not ac- cept the adoration of all men. They did not offer themselves as the gods of the human race. They did not even resemble Brahma, who was at least the god of one whole great caste, nor the Panhellenian Zeus,, who was the god of an entire nation. In this primitive religion each god could be adored only by one family. Religion was purely domestic, j^ We must illustrate this important point; otherwise the intimate relation that existed between this ancient J 42 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK ] leligion and the constitution of the Greek and Romai family may not be fully understood. The worship of the dead in no way resembled tin Christian worship of the saints. One of the first rule of this worship was, that it could be offered by eacl family only to those deceased persons who belongei to it by blood. The funeral obsequies could be reli giously performed only by the nearest relative. As ti the funeral meal, which was renewed at stated seasons the family alone had a right to take part in it, an( every stranger was strictly excluded.' They believet that the dead ancestor accepted no offerings save fron bis own family; he desired no worship save from hii own descendants. The presence of one who was no of the family disturbed the rest of the manes. Th< law, therefore, forbade a stranger to approach a tomb. To touch a tomb with the foot, even by chance, was ai impious act, after which the guilty one was expectec to ,pacify the dead and puiify himself. The word bj which the ancients designated the worship of the deac is significant ; the Greeks said noTgiiiZsiv, the Roman! said parentare. The reason of this was because th< prayer and offering were addressed by each one only t( his fathers. The worship of the dead was nothing mor< than the worship of ancestors.^ Lucian, while ridicul ing common beliefs, explains them clearly to us wher • Cicero, Be Legib., II. 26. Varro, L. L., VI. 13 — Ferun epulas ad sepulcrum quibus jus Hi parentare. Gaius, II. 5 6 — Si modo mortuifunus ad nos periineat. Plutarch, Solon. ' Pittacus omnino accedere quemquam vetat infunus aliorum Cicero, De Legib., II. 26. Plutarch, Solon, 21. Demosthenes in Timocr. Isaeus, I. ^ In the beginning at least; for later the cities had their loca and national heroes, as we shall see. « CHAP, IV. DOMESTIC EBLIGION. 43 he says the man who has died without leaving a son, receives no offerings, and is exposed to perpetual hunger.' In India, as in Greece, an offering could be made to a dead person only by one who had descended from him. The law of the Hindus, like Athenian law, for- bade a stranger, even if he were a friend, to be invited to the funeral banquet. It was so necessary that these banquets should be offered by the descendants of the dead, and not by others, that the manes, in their resting- place, were supposed often to pronounce this wish: " May there be successively born of our line sons who, in all coming time, may offer us rice, boiled in millc, honey, and clarified butter."' Hence it was, that, in Greece and Rome, as in India, it was the son's duty to make the libations and the sacrifices to the ii^iifis of his father and of all his ances- tors. To fail in this duty was to commit the grossest act of impiety possible, since the interruption of this worship caused the dead to fall from their happy state. This negligence was nothing less than the crime of parricide, multiplied as many times as there were an- cestors in the family. If, on the contrary, the sacrifices were always ac- complished according to the rites, if the provisions were carried to the tomb on the appointed days, then the ancestor became a protecting god. Hostile to all who had not descended from him, driving them from his tomb, inflicting diseases upon them if they ap- proached, he was good and provident to his own family. ' Lucian, De Ludu. ' Laws o/Manu, III. 138; III. 274. 44 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK : There was a perpetual interchange of good office between the living and the dead of each family, Th ancestor received from his descendants a series o funeral banquets, that is to say, the only enjoyment tha was left to him in his second life. The descendan received from the ancestor the aid and strength o which he had need in this. The living could not d without the dead, nor tlie dead without the living Thus a powerful bond was established among all th generations of the same family, which made • of it i body forever inseparable. Every family had its tomb, where its dead went t( repose, one after another, always together. This torn! was generally near the house, nor far from the door "in order," says one of the ancients, " that the sons, ir entering and leaving then* dwelling, might always meei their fathers, and might always address them an invo cation." ' Thus the ancestor remained in the midst of his relatives ; invisible, but always present, he continuec to make a part of the family, and to be its father. Im- mortal, happy, divine, he was still interested in all of his whom he had left upon the earth. He knew theii needs, and sustained their feebleness; and he who still lived, who labored, who, according to the ancient ex- pression, had not yet discharged the debt of existence, he had near him his guides and his supports — his forefathers. In the midst of difficulties, he invoked their ancient wisdom ; in grief, he asked consolation of them ; in danger, he asked their support, and after a fault, their pardon. Certainly we cannot easily comprehend how a man could adore his father or his ancestor. To make of ■ Eur^ides, Helena, 1163-1168. CHAP, rv. DOMESTIC EELIGIOIf. . 45 man a god appears to us the reverse of religion. It is almost as difficult for us to comprehend the ancient creeds of these men as it would have been for them to understand ours. But, if we reflect that the ancients had no idea of creation, we shall see that the mystery of generation was for them what the mystery of crea- tion is for us. The generator appeared to them to be a divine being ; and they adored their ancestor. This sentiment must have been very natural and very strong, for it appears as a principle of religion in the origin of almost a,ll human societies.. We find it among the Chinese as well as among the ancient Getse and Scyth- ians, among the tribes of Afiica as well as among those of the new world.' The sacred fire, which was so intimately associated with the worship of the dead, belonged, in its essential character, properly to each family. It represented the ancestors ; it was the providence of a family, and had nothing in common with the fire of a neighboring family, which was another providence.* Every fire pro- tected its own and repulsed the stranger. The whole of this religion was enclosed within the walls of each house. The worship was not public. All the cere- monies, on the contrary, were kept strictly secret.' Performed in the midst of the family alone, th«y were concealed from every stranger. The hearth was never placed either outside the house or even near the outer ' Among the Etruscans and the Romans it was a custom for every religious family to keep the images of its ancestors ranged around the atrium. Were these images simple family portraits, or were they idols? ' 'Earia naTQiia, focus patrius. So in the Vedas Agiii is sometimes invoked as « domestic god. » Isaeus, VIII. 17, 18. 46 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK door, where it would have been too easy to see.' Th Greeks always placed it in an enclosure,'' which pn tected it from the contact, or even the gaze, of th profane. The Romans concealed it in the interior o the house. All these gods, the sacred fire, the Lare and the Manes, were called the consecrated gods, c gods of the interior. To all the acts of this religio secrecy was necessary.' If a ceremony was looke upon by a stranger, it was disturbed, defiled, made ui fortunate simply by this look. There were neither uniform rules nor a commo ritual for this domestic religion. Each family w£ most completely independent. No external power ha I the right to regulate either the ceremony or the creec There was no other priest than the father : as a pries he knew no hierarchy. The pontifex of Rome, or th archon of Athens, might, indeed, ascertain if the fathe of a family performed all his religious ceremonies ; bi he had no right to order the least modification of then Suo quisque ritu sacrifida facial — such was the abs( lute rule." Every family had its ceremonies, which wei peculiar to itself, its particular celebrations, its formuk of prayer, its hymns.* The father, sole interpreter an sole priest of his religion, alone had the right to teac it, and could teach it only to his son. The rites, th forms of prayer, the chants, which formed an essentii part of this domestic religion, were a patrimony, a sacre property, which the family shai-ed with no one, an ' This enclosure was called ?g«os. ' Stoi iitijfioi, dii Penates. ' Cicero, De Arusp. Resp., 17. ■* Varro, De Ling. Lat., VII. 88. " Hesiod, Opera, 763. Maorobius, Sat., I. 10. Cic, L Legih., H. 11. CHAP. IV. DOMESTIC EBLIGION. 47 which they were even forbidden to reveal to strangers. It was the same in India. " I am strong against my enemies," says the Brahmin, " from the songs which I receive from my family, and which my father has trans- mitted to me." ' Thus religion dwelt not in temples, but in the house ; each house had its gods ; each god protected one fam- ily only, and was a god only in one house. We cannot reasonably suppose that a religion of this character was revealed to man by the' powerful imagination of one among them, or that it was taught to them by a priestly caste. It grew up spontaneously in the human mind ; its cradle was the family ; each family created its own gods. This religion could be propagated only by generation. The father, in giving life to his son, gave him at the same time his creed, his worship, the right to continue the sacred fire, to offer the funeral meal, to pronounce the fornmlas of prayer. Generation established a mys- terious bond between the infant, who was born to life, and all the gods of the family. Indeed, these gods were his family — deal iy/eveXg ; they were of his blood — Ocol aivaiftoi,,' The child, therefore, received at his birth the right to adore them, and to offer them sac- rifices; and later, when death should have deified him, he also would be counted, in his turn, among these gods of the family. ' Rig- Veda, Langlois' trans., v. i. p. 113. The Laws of Manu often mention rites peculiar to each family. YII. 3 ; IX. 7. ' Sophocles, Antig., 199; Ibid., 659. Corap. natqmoi fltoi in Aristophanes, Wasps, 388; iEschylus, Pers., 404; Sophocles, Electra, 411; fleoi yeri^Xioi, Plato, Laws, V. p. 729; Di Oeneris. Ovid, Fast, II. 48 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK 1 But we must notice tbis peculiaTi'ty — that the domes- tic religion was transmitted only from male to male. Tills was owing, no doubt, to the idea that genera- tion was due entirely to the males.' The belief of primitive ages, as we find it in the Vedas, and as we find vestiges of it in all Greek and Roman law, was that the repi-oductive power resided exclusively in ihe father, The father alone possessed the mystei-ious principle of existence, and transmitted the spark of life. From this old notion it followed that the domestic worship always passed fi-ora male to male ; that a woman participated in it only through her father or her hus- band ; and, finally, that after death women had not the same part as men in the worship and the ceremonies of the funei-al meal. Still other important conse- quences in private law and in the constitution of the family resulted from this: we shall see them as we proceed. ' The Vedas call the sacred Are the cause of male posterity. See the MUakchara, Oriannes' trans., p. 139, BOOK SECOND. THE FAMILY. CHAPTER I, Beligion was the constituent Principle of the ancient Family. Ib" we transport ourselves in thought to those an- cient generations of men, we find in each house an altar, and around this altar the family assembled. The family meets every morning to address its first prayers to the sacred fire, and in the evening to invoke it for n last time. In the course of the day the members are once more assembled near the fire for the meal, of which they partake piously after prayer and libation. In all these religions acts, hymns, which their fiithers have handed down, are sung in common by the family. Outside the hoUse, near at hand, in a neighboring field, there is a tomb — the second home of this family. There several generations of ancestors repose together ; death has not separated them. They remain groui)ed in this second existence, and coutinne to form an in dissoluble family.' ' The use of family tombs by the ancients is incontestable; it disappeared only when the beliefs relative to the worship of the dead became obscured. The words Tut/io? naT^(j,o:, TMfog T.rir 4 49 y 50 THE FAMILY. BOOK I Between the living part and the dead part of th family there ia only tliis distance of a few steps whic separates the house from the tomb. On certain dayi which are determined for each one by his domesti religion, the living assemble near th'^ir ancestors ; the offer them the funeral ineal, pour ont milk and wine t them, lay out cakes and fruits, or burn the flesh of victim to them. In exchange for these offerings the; ask protection; they call these ancestors their godf and ask them to render the fields fertile, the housi prosperous, and their hearts virtuous. Generation alone wan not the foundation of thi ancient family. "\Yhat proves this is, that the sister di( not bear the same relation to the family as the brother that the emancipated son and the married danghte: ceased completely to form a part of the family ; and, ii fine, several other important provisions of the Greel TcQOYirojv, appear contiuiially in Greek writers, as tumuliis pa trius or avitns, sepulcrum gentis, are found in Koman writers See Demosthenes, ire ^uJmZ., 28; in Macart., IS. Lycurgus, t'j Leoor., 25. Cicero, De Offic, 1. 17. De Legih., II. 22 — Mortuim exto-a gentem inferri fas negant. Ovid, Trist., IV. 3, 45 Velleius, II. 119. Suetonius, Nero, 50; Tiberivs, 1. Digest XI. 5; XVIII. 1, 6. There is an old anecdote that shows \wv necessary it was thought to be that every one should be buriec in the tomb of his family. It is related that the Lacedaemonians when about to join battle with the Messenians, attached to theii right arms their name, and those of their fathers, in order that, ir case of death, each body might be recognized on the field of battle, and transported to the paternal tomb. Justin, III. 5. See JSschylus, Sept., 889 (914), ruifiov nax^imv laxai. The Greek orators frequently refer to this custom : Isasus, Lysias, or Demosthenes, wlien he wishes to prove that such a man be- longs to a certain family, and has the right to inherit its property, rarely fails to say that this man's father is buried in the tomb of this family. CHAP, i; RELIGION THE CONSTITUENT PRINCIPLE. 51 and Rofnah laws, that ^e shall have bcoasion to ex- amine farther along. Nor is the family principle natural affection. For Greek and Roman law makes no account of this senti- ment. The sentiihent may exist in the heart, but it is not in the law. The father may have affection for his daughter, but he cannot will her his property. The laws of succession — that is tO' say, those laws which most faithfully reflect the ideas that men had of the family — are in open contradiction both with the order of birth and with natural affection.' The historians of Roman laws, having very justly remarked that neither birth nor affection was the foun- / datioii of the Roman family, have concluded that this ^ foundation must be found in the power of the father or husband. They make a sort of piimordial institu- ^ tion of this power; but they do not explain how this power was established, unless it was by the superiority of strength of the husband over the wife, and' of the father over the children. Now, we deceive ourselves sadly when we thus place force as the origin of law. We shall see farther on that the atithority of the father or husband, far from having been a first cause, was- itself an effect; it was derived from religion, and was established by religioii. Superior strength, therefore, was not the principle that established the family. The members of the ancient family were united by something more powerful than birth, affection, or j^hys- / ical strength ; this was the religion of the sacred fire, and of dead ancestors. This caused the family to form ' It must be underatood that we here speak of the most an- cient law. We shall soon see that, at a later date, these early laws were modified. ; 52 THE FAMILY. BOOK II a single body, both in this life and in the next. The ancient family was a religious rather than a natura] J association ^ and we shall see presently that the wife was counted in the family only after the sacred cere- mony of marriage had initiated her into the worship ; that the son was no longer counted in it when he had renounced the worship, or had been emancipated; that, on the other hand, an adopted son was counted a real son, because, though he had not the ties of blood, he had something better — a community of worship ; that the heir who refused to adopt the worship of this fam- ily had no right to the succession; and, finally, that relationship and the right of inheritance were governed not by birth, but by the rights of participation in the worship, such as religion had established them. Re- ligion, it is true, did not create the family; but certainly it gave the family its rules; and hence it comes that the constitution of the ancient family was so different from what it would havei^been Lf it had owed its foun- dation to natural affection. The ancient Greek language has a very significant word to designate a family. It is inlauov, a word which signifies, literally, t/iat which is near a hearth. A family was a group of persons whom religion per- mitted to invoke th-e same sacred fire, and to offer the funeral repast to the same ancestors. CHAP H. MAEEIAGE. 53 CHAPTER II. Marriage. The first institution tliat the domestio religion estab- iished, probably, was maniage. We must remark that this worship of the sacred fire and of ancestors, which was transmitted from male to male, did not belong, after all, exclusively to man ; woman had a part in it. As a daughter, she took part in the religious acts of her father; as a wife, in those of her liusband. From this alone we see the essential character of the conjugal union among the ancients. Two families live side by side; but they have different gods. In one, a young daughter takes a part, from her infancy, in the religion of her father; she invokes his sacred fire; every day she offers it libations. She surrounds it with flowers and garlands on festal days. She asks its pro- tection, and returns thanks for its favoi^ This paternal fire is her god. Let a young man of the neighboring family ask her in marriage, and something more is at stake than to pass from one house to the other. She must abandon the paternal fire, and henceforth invoke that of the husband. She must abandon her religion, practise other rites, and pronounce other prayers. She must give up the god of her infancy, and put herself under the protection of a god whom she knows not. Let her not hope to remain faithful to the one while honoring the other; for in this religion it is an im- mutable principle that the same person cannot invoke two sacred fires or two series of ancestors. "Prom the 64 THE FAMILY. BOOK JI. hour of maniage," says one of the ancients, "the wife has no longer anything in common with the domestic religion of her fathers; she sacrifices at the hearth of her husband." ' Marriage is, therefore, a grave step for the yonng girl, and not less grave for the husband ; for this religion requires that one shall have been born near the sacred fire, in order to have the right to sacrifice to it. And yet he is now about to bring a stranger to this hearth ; with her he will perform the mysterious ceremonies of his worship ; he will reveal the rites and formulas which are the patrimony of his family. There is nothing more precious than this heritage; these gods, these rites, these hymns which he has received from his fathers, are what protect him in this life, and promise him riches, happiness, and virtue. And yet, instead of keeping to himself this tutelary power, as the savage keeps his idol or his amulet, he is going to admit a woman to share it with liim. Thus, when we penetrate the thoughts of these an- cient men, we see of how great importance to them was the conjugal union, and how necessary to it was the intervention of religion. Was it not quite necessaiy that the young girl should be initiated into the religion that she was henceforth to follow by some sacred ceremony ? Was not a sort of ordination or adoption necessary for her to become a priestess of this sacred fire, to which she was not attached by birth ? Maniage wag this sacred ceremony, which was to produce these important efiects. The Greek and Ro- man writers habitually designate marriage by a word indicative of a religious act.' Pollux, who lived in the ' Stephen of Byzantium, jtetjo. ' Qvett yvtfiov, sacrum nuptiale. CHAP. II. MAEEIAGE. 55 time of the Antonines, but who was well instructed in the ancient usages of his langaage^ says, that in ancient times, instead of designating marriage by its particular name, •i&fio;, thpy designated it simply by the word tHoc, which signifies sacred ceremony,' as if marriage had been, in those ancient times, the ceremony sacred above all others. Now, the religion that created marriage was not that of Jupiter, of Juno, or of the other gods of Olympus. The ceremony did not take place in a temple ; it was performed in a house, and the domestic god presided. When the religion of the gods of the sky became pre- ponderant, men could not help invoking them also in the prayers of marriage, it is true; it even became habitual to go to the temple before the marriage, and offer sacrifices to these gods. These sacrifices were called the preludes of marriage ; ' but the principal and essential part of the ceremony always took place before the domestic hearth. Among the Greeks the marriage ceremony consisted, oo to speak, of three acts. The first took place before the hearth of the father, iyyiiiyo-ts ; the third before the hearth of the husband, lilog ; the second was the passage from the one to the other, ■do/iinj/ij' 1. In the paternal dwelling, in the presence of the future bridegroom, the father, surrounded ordinarily • Pollux, III. 3, 38. ' HQoriXeia, Tt^oyafiia, PolIUX, III. 38. ' Homer, HI, XVIII. 391. Hesiod, Seutum, v. 275. Herod- otus, VI. 129, 130. Plutarch, Theseus, 10 1 Lycurg., passim. Solon, 20; Aristides, 20; Gr. Quest., 27. Deniosthcpes, in Siephanum, II. Isseus, III. 39. Euripides, Selena, 722-725 ; Fhen., 315. Harpocration, t. r'a/ii/'Aia. Pollux, III. c. 3. The same usage among the Macedonians, Quiutus Curtius, VIII. 16. 56 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. by his family, offers a sacrifice. The sacrifice con- cluded, he declares — pronouncing a sacramental formu- la;— that he gives his daughter to the young man. This declaration is absolutely indispensable to the marriage ; for the young girl would not be able to go at once to worship at the hearth of her husband, if her father had not already separated her from the pater- tal hearth. To enable her to adopt her new religion, she must be freed from every bond that attaches her to her first religion. 2. The young girl is cnrried to the house of the hus- band. Sometimes the husband himself conducts her. In certain cities the duty of bringing her belongs to one of those men who, among the Greeks, were clothed with a sacerdotsl character, and who were called heralds. The Lride was usually placed upon a car; her face was cove: ud with a veil, and on her head was a crown. The crown, as we shall often have occasion to see, was used in all the ceremonies of this worship. She was dressed in white. White was the color of the vestments in all the religious acts. She was preceded by a torch — the nuptial torch. For the whole dis- tance they sang around her religious hymns, whose refrain was S iSjUi^y, & i/iii'ais. This hymn they called the hymeneal, and the importance of this sacred chant was St) great that they gave its name to the whole ceremony. The biide dares not go of her own accord into her new dwelling. Her husband must take her, and simu- late a seizure by force. She must cry out, and the women that accompany her must pretend to defend her. Why this rite ? Is it a symbol of the modesty of the bride ? This is hardly probable : the moment for shame has not yet come ; for what is now to take place CHAP, n MAEEIAGB. 57 is a veligious ceremony. Was it not to mark more strongly that the wife, who was now to sacrifice to this fire, had herself no right there, that she did not ap- proach it of her own free will, and that the master of the plnce and of the god introduced her by an act of his power? However this may be, after a feigned straggle, the husband raises her in his arms, and carries her through the doorway, taking great care, however, that her feet do not touch the sill. What precedes is only a preparation, a prelude to the ceremony. The sacred act now commences in the bouse. 3. They approach the hearth; the wife is brought into the presence of the domestic divinity. She is sprinkled with the lustral water. She touches the sacred fire. Prayers are repeated. Finally, the husband and wife share between themselves a cake or a loaf. This sort of light meal, which commences and ends with a libation and a prayer, this sharing of nourish- ment in presence of the fire, puts the husband and wife in religious communion with each other, and in com- munion with the domestic gods. The Roman marriage closely resembled that of Greece, and, like it, comprised three acts — traditio, deductio in domum, confarreaHo.^ ' Varro, L. L., 61. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, II. 25, 26. Ovid, Fasi., II. 658. Plutarch, Ram. Quest., I. 29; Romul., 15; Plin., N. B., XVIII. 3. Tacit. Ann., IV. 16; XI. 27. Juvenal, Sat. X. 320-336. Gaius, Insl., I. 112. Uplian, IX. Digest, XXIII. 2, 1. Festus, v. Eapi. Macrobius, Sat., I. 15. Servius, ad ^n., IV. 168. The same custom among the Etrus- cans, Varro, De Re Rust., II. 4. The same custom among the ancient Hindus, Laws of Manu, III. 27-30, 172 ; V. 152 ; VIII. 227; IX. 194. Mitakchara, Orianne's trans., p. 166, 167, 236, 58 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. 1. The young giil quits the paternal hearth. As she is not attiiched to this hearth by her own right, but through the father of the family, the authority of the father only can detach her from it. The tradition is, therefore, an indispensable ceremony. 2. The young girl is conducted to the house of the husband. As in Greece, she is veiled. She wears a crown, and a nuptial torch precedes the cortege. Those about her sing an ancient religious hymu. The words of this hymn changed doubtless with time, accom- modating themselves to the vaiiations of belief, or to those of the language ; but the sacramental refrain continued from age to age without change. It was the word Talassie, a word whose sense the Komans of Horace's time no more understood than the Greeks understood the word ifdvai-e, and which was, probably, the sacred and inviolable remains of an ancient formula. The cortege stops before the house of the husband. There the bride is presented with fire and water. The fire is the emblem of the domestic divinity ; the water is the lustral water, that serves the family for all religious acts. To introduce the bride into the house, violence must be pretendpfJ, as in Greece. The hus- band must take her in his arms, and carry her over the (Bill, without allowing her feet to touch it. 3. The bride is then led before the hearth, where the Penates, and all the domestic gods, and the images of ancestors, are grouped around the sacred fire. As in Greece, the husband and wife oflfer a sacrifice, pouring out a libation, pronouncing prayers, and eating a cake of wheaten flour (pdnis farreusi)} ' We shall speak presently of other forms of marriage in use among the Romans, in which religion had no part. Let it suffice to say here, that the sacred marriage appears to us to be the CHAP. II. MAEEIAGB. 59 This cake, eaten during the recitation of prayers, in the presence and under the very eyes of the domestic divinitiies, makes the union of the husband and wife sacred. Henceforth they are associated in the same worship. The wife has the same gods, the same rites, the same prayers, the same festivals as her husband. Hence this old definition of marriq,ge, which the jurists haye preserved to us : Nupticp sunt divini juris et kumani communicaHo ; and this other : Uxor sociq, humancB rei atque divinee.^ This is because the wife participates in the worship of the husband ; this wife whom, according to the expression of Plato, the gods themselves have introduced into the house. The wife, thus married, also worships the dead; but it is not to her own ancestors that she carries the fivner ral repast. S,he no longer has this right. Marriage has completely detached her from the family, and has interrupted all the religious relations that she had with it. Her offerings she carries to the ancestors of her husband ; she is of their family ; they have becoine her ancestors. Marriage has Ijeen for her a second bii'tli ; she is henceforth the daughter of her husband ; J?^«<» laco, say the jurists. One could not belong to two fiamilies, or to two dornestic religions ; the wife belongs entii'ely to her husbajidis family, and to his religion. We shall see the consequences of this rule in the right pf sqpcessiqn. The institution of sacred marriage must be as old in the Inf3p-European race as the domestic religion ; for the one could not exist witbout the q^her. This religion oldest; for it corresponds to the most ancient beliefs, and dis- appeared only as tho?e beliefs died out. ' Digest, XXIII. title 2. Code, IX. 32, 4. Dionysiusi pf Haliparnassus, II. 25 : JCoikuios xQVI^ii'^f"f ""' t^S^,^- Stephen of Byzantium, a-ur^a. 60 THE FAMILY. BOOK H, taught man that the conjagal union was something more than a relation of the sexes and a fleeting affeo- tion, and united man and wife by the powerful bond of the same worship and the same belief. The marriage ceremony, too, was so solemn, and produced eflfects so grave, that it is not surprising tliat these men did not think it permitted or possible to have more than one wife in each house. Such a religion could not admit of polygamy. We can understand, too, that such a marriage was indissoluble, and that divorce was almost impossible. The Roman law did indeed permit the dissolution of the marriage by coemptio, or by usus. But the dissolu- tion of the religious marriage was very difficult. For that, a new sacred ceremony was necessary, as religion alone could separate what religion had united. The effect of the confarreatio could be destroyed only by the diffarreatio. The husband and wife who wished to separate appeared for the last time before the com- mon hearth ; a priest and witnesses were present. As on the day of marriage, a cake of wheaten flour was presented to the husband and wife.' But, instead of sharing it between them, they rejected it. Then, in- stead of prayers, they pronounced formulas of a strange, severe, spiteful, frightful character," a sort of maledic- tion, by which the wife renounced the worship and gods of the husband. From that moment the religious bond was broken. The community of worship having ceased, every other common interest ceased to exist, and the marriage was dissolved. ■ Festus, T. Diffarreatio. Pollux, III. c. 3 : Icnonoun}]. We read, in an inscription, Sacerdos confarreaiionum et diffar- reationum. Orelli, No. 2648. * 0qixi>iri, ttXXixoTa, axuSqAna. Plutarch, Som. Quest , 60. CHAP., in. CONTINUITY OF THE FAMILY. 61 CHAPTER III. Continuity of the Family. Celibacy forbidden. Divorce in Case of Sterility. Inequality between the Son and Daughter. The belief relative to the dead, and to the worship that was due them, founded the ancient family, and gave it the greater part of its rules. We have seen above that man, after death, was reputed a happy and divine being, but on the condition that the living con- tinued to ofiFer him the funeral repasts. If these offer- ings ceased, the dead ancestor fell to the rank of an unhappy and malevolent demon. For when these ancient generations began to picture a future life to themselves, they had not dreamed of rewards and pun- ishments ; they imagined that the happiness of the dead depended not upon the life led in this state of existence, but upon the way in which their descendants treated them. Every father, therefore, expected of his posterity that series of funeral repasts which was tg,- assure to his manes repose and happiness. This opinion was the fundamental principle of do- mestic law among the ancients. From it followed, in the first place, this rule, that every family must per- petuate itself forever. It was necessary to the dead that the descendants should not die out. In the tomb where they lived this was the only inquietude which they experienced. Their only thought, their only in- terest, was, that there should be a man of their blood to carry them oflferings at the tomb. The ' Hindu, 'too. 62 THE FAMILY. BOOK 1 believed that the dead repeated continually, "Mi there be born in our line sons who shall bring us ric milk, and honey." The Hindu also had this sayinj "The extinction of a family causes the ruin of the r ligion of this family ; the ancestors, depiived of the offe in'g of cakes, fall into the abode of the unhappy." ' Tl men of Italy and Greece long held to the same notior If they have not left us in their writings an opinion i clearly expressed as in the old books of the East, the laws, at least, remain to attest their ancient opinion At Athens the law made it the duty of the first magi trate of the city to see that no family should becon extinct.'' In the same way, the Roman law made pr vision that no family should fail and become extinci We read in the discourse of an Athenian orate " There is no man who, knowing that he must die, so careless about himself as to wish to leave his fami without descendants ; for then there would be no oi to render him that woi-ship that is due to the dead.' Every one, therefore, had an interest in leaving son after him, coiivinced that his immortal happinei depended upon it. It was even a duty towards thoi ancestors whose happiness could last no longer ths the family lasted. The Laws of Manu call the olde son " the one who is begotten for the accomplishmei of a duty." / Here we touch upon one of the most remarkab I characteristics of the ancient family. The religion thi Vhad founded it required that it should never peiish. When a family becomes extinct, a worship dies ot We must take these families at a time before the belie ' Bhagavad-Gita, I. 40. « Isaeus, VII. 30-32. " Cicero, De £egib.,ll. 19. * Isseus, VII. 30. CHAP. in. CELIBACY FOKBIDDEN. 63 had yet been altered. Each one of them posseBsed a religion and gods, a pi'ecious trust, over which it was required to watch. The greatest misfortune that its piety had to fear, was that its line of descendants might cease and come to an end ; for then its religion would disappear from the earth, its fire would be extinguished, and the whole series of its dead would fall into obliv- ion and eternal misery. The great interest of human life was to continue the descent, in order to continue the worship. In view of these opinions, celibacy was a grave im- y piety and a misfortune ; an impiety, because one who did not marry put the happiness of the manes of the family in peril ; a misfortune, because he himself would receive no woi'ship after his death, and could not know " what the manes enjoyed." Both for himself and for his ancestors it was a sort of damnation. We can easily believe that in the absence of laws such a belief would long be sufficient to prevent celi- bacy. But it appears, moreover, that, as soon as there were laws, they pronounced celibacy to be wrong, and a punishable oftence. Diohysius of Halicarnassus, who had searched the ancient annals of Biome, asserts that he had seen an old law which required young people to marry.' Cicero's treatise on the laws — a treatise which almost always reproduces, under a philo- sophic form, the ancient laws of Rome — contains a law which forbids celibacy." At Sparta, the legislation of Lycurgus deprived^ the man who did not marry of all the rights of citizenship.' We know from many anecdotes, that when celibacy ceased to be forbidden ' Dionysiu8 of Halicarnassus,. IX. 22. » Cicero, De Legib., III. 2. ' Plutarch, Lycurg., Apoth. of the Lacedamonians. 04 THE FAMILY. BOOK H. by laws, usage still forbade it. Finally, it appears from a passage of Pollux, that in many Greek cities the law punished celibacy as a crime.' This was in accordance with the ancient belief: man did not belong to himself; he belonged to the family. He was one member in a series, and the series must not stop with him. He was not born by chance ; he had been intro- duced into life that he might continue a worship ; he must not give up life till he is sure that this worship will be continued after him. But to beget a son is not sufficient. The son who is to perpetuate the domestic religion must be the fruit of a religious marriage. The bastard, the natural son, he whom the Greeks called vddog, and the Romans spurius, could not perform the part which religion assigned to the son. In fact, the tie of blood did not of itself alone constitute the family ; the tie of a com- mon worship had to be added. Now, the son born of ^ a woman who had not been associated in the worship of the husband by the ceremony of marriage could not himself take any part in the worship.' He had no right to offer the funeral repast, and the family was not perpetuated for him. "We shall see, farther on, that for the same reason he had not the right of in- heritance. Marriage, then, was obligatory. Its aim was not / pleasure; its principal object was not the union of two ! beings who were pleased with each other, and who 1 wished to go united through the pleasures and the \ trials of life. The effect of marriage, in the eyes of \ religion and of the laws, was the union of two beings ' Pollux, Til. 48. ' Isseus, VII. Demosthenes, in Macart. CHAP. ni. DITOKCE IN CASE OP STERILITY. 65 in the same domestic worship, in order to produce from them a third who would be qualified to continue the worship. We see this plainly by the sacramental formula that was pronounced in the act of marriage. Ducere uxorem liberum qucerendbrum causa was the Roman expression; Tialdov in' diQoia ynjalhiv was the Greek.' This marriage having been contracted only to per- petuate the family, it seemed just that it should be broken if the wife was sterile. The right of divorce, in this case, always existed among the ancients ; it is even possible that divorce was an obligation. In India religion piSscribed that the sterile woman should be re- placed by another at the end of eiglit years.'^ That tlie duty was the same in Greece and Rome, there is no formal text to prove. Still Herodotus meiitions two kings of Sparta who were constr.iined to repudiate their wives on account of sterility.'' As to Rome, every one knows the history of Carviiius Ruga, whose divorce is the first of which the Roman annals make mention. "Carviiius Ruga," says Aulus Gellius, " a man of rank, separated from his wife by divoi'ce because he could not have children by her. He loved. her tenderly, and had no reason to complain of her conduct; but he sac- rificed his love to the sanctity of his oath, because he had sv\ orn (in the formula of marriage) that he took her to wife in order to have children." * Religion demanded. that the family should never bc- ' Menander, /r. 185, ed. Didot. Alciphron,. I. 16. Msa\\., Agam,., 1166, ed. Hermann. ' Laws of Marm,lS.. 8\.- 3 Herodotus, V. 39; VI. 61. < Aulus Gellius, IV. 3. Valerius Maximus, II. 1, 4. Dionjrs., II. 25. 5 66 THE FAMILY. BOOK H. come extinct; all affection and all natural right had to give way before this absolute rule. If the sterility of a marriage was due to the husband, it was no less necessary that the family should be continued. In that case, a brother or some other relative of the husband had to be substituted in his place. The child born of such a connection was 'held to be the son of the hus- band, and continued his worship. Such were the rules among the ancient Hindus. We find them again in the laws of Athens, and in those of Sparta.' So pow- erful was the empire of this religion ! So much did religious duty surpass all others ! For a still stronger reason, ancient laws prescribed the marriage of the widow, when she had had no chil- dren, with the nearest relative of her husband. The son born of such a union was reputed to be the son of the deceased.' The birth of a daughter did not fulfil the object of the marriage; indeed, the daughter could not continue the worship, for the reason that on the day of her marriage she renounced the family and wor- ship of her father, and belonged to the family and religion of her husband. The family, like the worship, was continued only by the males — a capital fact, the consequences of which we shall see farther on. It was, therefore, the son who was looked for, and who was necessary; he it was whom the family, the ances^tovs, and the sacred fire demanded. "Through liim," according to the old laws of the Hindus, " a father pays the debt due to the manes of his ancestors, and assures immortality to himself." This son was not less ' Xenophon, Gov. of the Laced. Plutarch, Solon, 20. Xoivs ofManu, IX. 121. = Laws of Manu, IX. 69, 146. The same ia true of the Hebrews- Deuteron., 28. CHAP. in. IWEQUALrfT OP SOIT AKD DAUGHTEE. 67 precious in the eyes of the Greeks ; for hiter he was to perform the sacrifices, offer the funeral repast, and preserve by his worship the domestic religion. In accordance with this idea, old ^schylus calls the son the savior of the paternal hearth." The entrance of this son into the family was signal- ized by a religious act. First, he had to be accepted by the father, who, as master and guardian of the hearth, and as a representative of his ancestors, had to decide whether the new comer was or was not of the family. Birth formed only the physical bond ; the declaration of the father formed the religions and moral bond. This formality was equally obligatory in Greece, in Rome, and in India. A sort of initiation was also required for the son, as we have seen it was for the daughter. This took place a short time after birth — the ninth day at Rome, the tenth in Greece, the tenth or twelfth in India.' On that day the father assembled the family, assembled witnesses, and offered a sacriiice to his fire. The child was presented to the domestic gods; a female carried him in her arms, and ran, carrying him, several times round the sacred fire.' This ceremony had a double object; first, to purify the infant — that is to say, to free him from the stain which the ancients supposed he had contracted by the mere fact of gestation ; an.d, second, to initiate him into the domestic worship. From this moment the infant was admitted into this sort of sacred society or small church that was called the family. He possessed its religion, he practised its rites, he was ' Msch., Choeph., 264 (262). * Aristophanes, Birds, 922. Demosthenes, in Bosot.,p. 1016. Macrobius, Sat., I. 17. Laws of Manu, II. 30. ^ Plato, Thecetetus. Lysias, in Harpocration, v. 'AiiipiJQofi n. 68 THE FAMILT. BOOK II. qualified to repeat its prayers ; he honored its ances- tors, and at a later period he would himself become an honored ancestor. CHAPTER IV. Adoption and Emancipation. Thb duty of perpetuating the domestic worship was the foundation of the law of adoption among the ancients. The same religion which obliged a man to many, which pronounced a divorce in case of sterility, which, in case of impotence or of premature death^ substituted a relative in ])lace of the husband, still offered to a family one final resource to escape the so much dreaded misfortune of extinction ; this resource was the right of adoption. "He to whom nature has denied a son can adopt one, so that the funeral cere- monies-may not cease." Thus speaks the old legislator of the Hindus.' We have a curious plea of an Athe- nian orator in a case where the legitimacy of a son's adoption was contested. The defendant shows us first the motive for which one adopted a son. "Menecles," he says, " did not wish to die without children ; he was desirous of leaving behind him some one to bury him, and in after time to perform the ceremonies of the funeral worship." He then goes on to show what will happen if the tribunal annuls his adoption ; what will happen, not only to himself, but to the one who has adopted him. Menecles is dead, and still it is the in terest of Menecles that is at stake. « If yon annul my ' Laws of Manu, 130 10. CHAP. IV. ADOPTION AND EMANCIPATION. 69 adoption, you will leave Meneeles, who is dead, with- out a son ; and consequently no one will perform the sacrifices in his honor, no one Avill offer him the funeral repast, and thus he will be without worship." ' To adopt a son, was then, to watch over the per- petuity of the domestic religion, the safety of the sacred fire, the continuation of the funeral offerings', and the repose of the manes of the ancestors. Tliere being no reason for adoption, except the necessity of preventing the extinction of a worship, it was per- mitted only to one who had no son. The law of the Hindus is formal on this point." That of the Athe- nians is not less so ; all the orations of Demosthenes against Leochares are proof of this.^ No particular passage proves that this was the case in the old Roman law, and we know that in the time of Gaius a man might have at the same time sons by nature and sons by adoption. It appears, however, that this point was not admitted as legal in Cicero's time ; for in one of his orations the orator expresses himself thus: "What is the law concerning adoption ? Why, that he may adojit children who is no longer able to have children himself, and who failed of having them when he was of an age to expect it. To adopt is to seek, by regular and sacerdotal law, that which by the ordinary process of nature he is no longer able to obtain." * Cicero attacks the adoption of Clodius, taking the ground that the man who has adopted him already has a son, and ' Isseus, II. 10-46. ' Laws of Manu, X. 168, 174. Dattaca- Sandriea, Oriaii< ne 9 trans., p. 260. ' See also Isseus, II. 11-14. < Cicero, Pro Domo, 13, 14. Aulus Gellius, V. 19. 70 THE FAMILY. BOOK n. he declares that this adoption is contrary to sacer- dotal law. When a son was adopted, it was necessary, first of all, that he should be initiated into a form of worship, "introduced into a domestic religion, brought into the presence of new Penates." ' Adojition, therefore, was accompanied by a ceremony very like that which took place at the birth of a son. In this way the new comer was admitted to the hearth, and associated in the new religion. Gods, sacred objects, rites, prayers, all be- came common between him and his adopted father. They said of him. In sacra transiit — He has passed to the worship of the new family.' By this very ceremony he renounced the worship of the old one." We have seen, indeed, that accordr ing to this ancient belief, the same man could not sac- rifice at two hearths, or honor two series of ancestors. Admitted to a new house, the old became foreign to him. He no longer had anything in common with the hearth near which he was born, and could no longer offer the funeral repast to his own ancestors. The ties of birth were broken ; the new tie of a common worship took the ascendency. The man became so completely a stranger to his own family, that, if he happened to die, his natural father had no right to take charge of the funeral, or to conduct the procession. The adopted son could not return again to the old family; or, at most, the law permitted this only when, having a son, he left that son to take his place in the adoptive fam- ily. They considered that, the perpetuity of this family ' 'Eni TCI icglt aytir. Is£ens, VII. Venire in Sacra, Cicero, Pro Domo, 13 ; in Penates adsdscere, Tacitus, Hist., I. 15. ' Valerius Maximus, VII. 7. ' Amissis sacris paternis, Cicero, ibid. OHAP. V. OB" KIKSHIP. 71 being thus assured, he might leave it; but, in tliis case, he severed all the ties that bound him to his own son.' Emancipation corresponded, as a correlative, to adop- tion. In order that a son might enter a new family, it was necessary that he should be able to leave the old ; that is to say, that he should be emancipated from its religion." The principal effect of emancipation was the renunciation of the worship of the family in which one was born. The Romans designated this act by the very significant name of sacrorum detestatio." CHAPTER V. Of Einship. Of what the Romans called Agnation. Plato says that kinship is the community of the same domestic gods." When Demosthenes wishes to prove that two men are relatives, he shows that they practise the same religious rites, and offer the funeral repast at the same tomb. Indeed, it was the domestic religion that constituted i-elationship. Two men could call themselves relatives when they had the same gods, the same sacred fire, and the same funeral repast. Now, w© have already observed that the right to ' Isseua, VI. 44; X. 11. Demosthenes, against Leochares. Antjphon., Frag., 15. Comp. Laws of Mamu, IX. 142. " Consueiudo apud antiquos fuit ut qui in familiam irans- iret prius se abdicaret ah ea in qua natus fiierai. Servius, ad JEn., 11. UG. " Aulus Gelllus, XV. 27. • Plato, Laws, V. p. 729. 72 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. offer sacrifices to the sacred fire was transmitted only from male to male, and that the worship of the dead was addressed to the ascendants in the male line only. It followed from this rule that one could not be related through females. In the opinion of those ancient gen- erations, a female transmitted neither being nor wor- ship. The son owed all to the father. Besides, one could not belong to two families, or invoke two fires ; the son, therefore, had no other religion or other family than that of the father.' How could there have been a maternal family? His mother herself the day on which ^he saci'ed rites of mnrriage were performed, had abso- lutely renounced her own family; from that time she had offered the funeral repast to her husband's ances- tors, as if she had become their daughter, and she liad no longer offerc 1 it to her own ancestors, because she ■was no longer i-onsidered as descended from tbem. She had preserved neither religious nor legal connection with the family in which she was born. For a still stronger reason her son had nothing in common with this family. The foundation of relationship was not birth ; it was worship. This is seen clearly in India. There the chief of the family, twice each month, offers the funeral repast; he presents a cake to the manes of his father, anolhei' to his paternal grandfather, a third to his great- graudtiither; never to those from whom he is descended on the mother's side, neither to his mother, nor to his mother's father. Afterwards, ascending still higher, but always in the same line, he makes an offering to fourth, fifth, and sixth ascendant. The offering to these last is ' Patris, non matris, familiam sequiiur. Digest, 60, tit 16, § 196. CHAP. V. DP EO&IAN AGNATION. 73 lighter; it i.s a libaliim of water and a few grains of rice. Such is the funeral repast; and it is according to the accomplishment of these rites that relationsliip is reckoned. When two men, who offer their funeral repasts separately, can, each one, by ascending through a series of six ancestors, find one who is common to both, they are akin. They are called samanodacas, if the common ancestor is one of those to whom they offer only the libation of water ; sapindas, if he is of those to whom the cake is presented.' Counting ac- cording to our usage, the relation of the sapindas would go to the seventh degree, and that of the sa- manodacas to the fourteenth. In both cases the rela- tionship is shown by the fact that both make an offer- ing to the same ancestor; and we see that in this system the relationship through females cannot be admitted. The case was the same in the West. There has been much discussion as to what the Roman jurists understood by agnation. But the problem is of easy solution as soon as we bring agnation and the domestic religion together. Just as this religion was transmitted only from male to male, so it is attested by all the ancient jurists, that two men can be " agnates " only when, ascending from male to male, they were found to have common ancestors.' The rule for agnation was, then, the same as that for worship. There was between these two things a manifest relation. Agna- tion was nothing more than relationship such as re- ligion had originally established it. ' Laws of Manu, y. 60; MitaJcchara, Ormnne'a trans., -p. 213. '■' Gaius, 1. 156 ; III 10. Ulpian, 26. Institutes of Tustinian, 111. 2; III. 5. 74 THE FAMILY. BOOK II To rendei this trath clearer, let us trace the genea logical table of a Roman family. L. Cornelius Scipio, died about 250 B. C. Fublius Scipio. Cn. Scipio. Luc. Scipio Asiaticua. P. Scipio Africanus. P. Scipio Nasica I , ! , I Luc. Scipio Asiaticus. P. Scipio. Cornelia, P. Scip. Nasica I I wife of Sempr. Gracchus. | Scipio Asiaticus. Scip. ^milianus. { Scip. Serapio, Tib. Sempr. Gracchus. In this table, the fifth generation, which lived to wards the year 140 B. C, is represented by four per sonages. Were they all akin? According to oui modern ideas on this subject, they were ; in the opinion of the Romans, all were not. Now, let us inquire if they all had the same domestic worship; that is tc say, if they all made offerings to the same ancestors, Let us suppose the third Scipio Asiaticns, who alone remains of his bi"anch, offering the funeral repast oq a particular day ; ascending from male to male, he finds for the third ancestor Publius Scipio. Again, Scipio .i^milianus, offeiing his sacrifice, will meet in the series of his ascendants this same PubUus Scipio. Scipio Asiaticus and Scipio ./Smilianus are, therefore, related to each other. Among the Hindus they would be called sapindas. On the other hand, Scipio Serapio has foi a fourth ancestor L. Cornelius Scipio, who is also the fourth ancestor of Scipio jEmiUanus. They are, there- fore, akin. Among the Hindus they would be called samanodacas. In the judicial and religious language of the Romans, these three Scipios are agnates — the two first are agnates in the sixth degree, the third U their agnate in the eighth degree. The case is not the same with Tiberius Gracchus CHAP. V. OF SOMAN AGNATION. 75 This man, who, according to our modern customs, ■would be nearest related to Scipio ^^railianus, was not related to him in the remotest degree. It was of small account, indeed, for Tiberius that he was the son of Cornelia, the daughter of the Scipios. Neither he nor Cornelia herself belonged to that family, in a religious point of view. He has no other ancestors than the Sempronii; it is to them that he offers the funeral re- past ; in ascending the series of liis ancestors he never comes to a Scipio. Scipio ^milianns and Tiberius Gracchus, therefore, are not agnates. The tie of blood does not suffice to establish this relationship ; a com- mon worship is necessary. We can now understand why, in the eyes of the Roman law, two consanguineous brothers were agnates, while two uterine brothers were not. Still we cannot say that descent by males was the immutable principle on which relationship was founded. It was not by birth, it was by worship alone, that the agnates were recognized. The son whom emancipation had detached from the worship was no longer the agnate of his father. The stranger who had been adopted, that is to say, who had been admitted to the worship, became the agnate of the one adopting him, and even of the whole family. So true is it that it was religion that established relationship. There came a time, indeed, for India and Greece, as well as for Rome, when relationship of worship was no longer the only kind admitted. By degrees, as this old religion lost its hold, the voice of blood spoke louder, and the relationship of birth was recognized in law. The Ro- mans gave the name ofcognatio to this sort of relation- ship, which was absolutely independent of the rules of the domestic religion. When we read the jurists 76 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. from Cicero to Justinian, we see the two systems as rivals of each other, and contending in the domain of law. Bat in the time of the Twelve Tables, agnation was the only relationship known, and this alone con- ferred the right of inheritance. We shall see, farther on, that the case was the same among the Greeks CHAPTER VI, The Right of Property. Heee is an institution of the ancients of which we must not form an idea from anything that we see around us. The anoients founded the right of property on principles different from those of the present gen- eration ; as a result, the laws by which they guaranteed it are sensibly different from ours. We know that there are races who have never snc- oeeded in establishing among themselves the right of private property, while others have reached this stage only after long and painful experience. It is not, indeed, an easy problem, in the origin of society, to decide whether the individual may appropriate the soil, and establish such a bond between his being and a portion of the earth, that he can say, This land is mine, this is the same as a part of me. The Tartars have an idea of the right of property in a case of flocks or herds, but they cannot understand it when it is a question of land. Among the ancient Germans the earth belonged to no one ; every year the tribe assigned to each one of its members a lot to cultivate, and the lot was changed the foJVowing year. The German was CHAP. VI. THE EIGHT OF PEOPERTY. 77 proprietor of the harvest, but not of the hind. ' The case is still the same among a part of the Semitic race, and among some of the Slavic nations. On the other hand, the nations of Greece and Italy, from the earliest antiquity, always held to the ide.i of private property. We do not find an age when the soil was common among them; ' nor do we find any- thing that resembles the annual allotment of land which was in vogue among the Germans. Arid here we note a I'einarkable fact. While the races that do not accord to the individual a property in the soil, allow, him_ at least a right to thefruits of his labor, — that is to say, to his harvest, — precisely the contrary custom prevailed among the Greeks. In many cities the citizens were ] required to store their crops in common, or at least the / greater part, and to consume them in common. The/ individual, therefore, was not the master of the corn which he had gathered; but, at the same time, by, a y singular contradiction, he had an absolute property 'in the soil. To him the land was more than the harvest. It appears that among the Greeks the conception of pyiyate property was developed exactly contrary to what appears to.be the natural order. It was not applied to the harvest first, and to the soil afterwards, but fol- lowed the inverse order. ' Some historians have expressed the opinion that at Kome property was at first public, arid did not become private till Kuma's reign. This error comes from a false interpretation of three passages ofPlutarch (Numa, 16), Cicero (Republic, II. 14), and .Bionysius of Halicarnassus (II. 74). These three authors Bay, it is true, that Numa distributed lands to the citizens, but they indicate very clearly that these lands were conquests of his predecessor, agri quos bello Romulus ceperat. As to the Roman soil itself — ager Bomanus — it was private property from the origin of the city. 78 THE FAMILY. BOOK 11 There are three tilings which, from the most ancient times, we find founded and solidly established in these Greek and Italian societies: the domestic religion; the family ; and the right of property — three things which had in the beginning a manifest relation, and which appear to have been inseparable. The idea of private property existed in the religion itself. Every family had its hearth and its ancestors. These gods could be adored only by this family, and protected it alone. They were its property. Now, between these gods and the soil, men of the early ages saw a mysterious relation. Let us first take the hearth. This altar is the symbol of a sedentary life ; its name indicates this.' It must be placed upon the ground; once established, it cannot be moved. The god of the family wishes to have a fixed abode ; materially, it is difBcult to transport the stone on which he shines ; religiously, this is more difficult still, and is permitted to a man only when hard necessity presses him, when an enemy is pursuing him, or when the soil cannot support him. When they establish the hearth, it is with the thought and hope that it will always remain in the same spot. The god is installed there not for a day, not for the life of one man merely, but for as long a time as this family shall en- dure, and there remains any one to support its fire by sacrifices. Thus the sacred fire takes possession of the soil, and makes it its own. . It is the god's property. " And the family, which through duty and religion remains grouped around its altar, is as much fixed to , the soil as the altar itself. The idea of domicile follows ' 'Earla, "orijiti, stare. See Plutarch, De prima frigido, 21 ; Macrob., I. 23 ; Ovid, Fast., VI. 299. OHAP. VI. THB EIGHT OF PBOPEETT. 79 naturally. The family is attached to the altar, the altar is attached to the soil ; an intimate relation, there- fore, is established between the spil aud the family. There must be his permanent home, which he will not dream of quitting, unless an unforeseen necessity con- strains him to it. Like the hearth, it will always occupy this spot. ' This spot belongs to it, is its prop- erty, the property not simply of a man, but of a family, whose different members must, one after another, be born and die here. Let us follow the idea of the ancients. Two sacred fires represent two distinct divinities, who are never united or confounded ; this is so true, that even inter- marriage between two families does not establish an alliance between their gods. The sacred fire must be isolated — that is to say, completely separated from all that is not of itself; the stranger must not approach it at the moment when the ceremonies of the worship are performed, or even be in sight of it. It is for this reason that these gods are called the concealed gods, /ui!/(ot, or the interior gods, Penates, In order that this religious rule may be well observed, there must be an enclosure around this hearth at a certain distance. It did not matter whether this enclosure was a hedge, a wall of wood, or one of stone. Whatever it was, it marked the limit which separated the domain of one sacred fire from that of another. This enclosure was deemed sacred.' It was an impious act to pass it. The god watched over it, and kept it under his care. They, therefore, applied to this god the epithet of ^gxiios.' This enclosure, traced and protected by re- ' 'Eqxoe [eqov. Sophocles, Traehin., 606. ' At an epoch when this ancient worship was almost eflFaced by the younger religion of Zeus, and when they associated him 80 THE FAMI1.Y. BOOK II. ligion, was the most certain emblem, the most un- doubted mark of the right of property. Let us return to the primitive ages of the Aryan race. The sacred enclosure, which the Greeks call e§Koc^ and the Latins herctum, was the somewhat spa- cious enclosure in which the family had its house, its flocks, and the small field that it cultivated. In the midst rose the protecting fire-god. Let us descend to the succeeding ages. The tribes have reached Greece and Italy, and have built cities. The dwellings' are brought nearer together: they are not, however, contiguous. The sacred enclosure still exists, but is of smaller proportions; oftenest it is reduced to a low wall, a ditch, a furrow, or to a mere open space, a few feet wide. But in no case could two houses be joined to each other ; a party wall was supposed to be an im- possible thing. The same wall could not be common to two houses; for then the sacred enclosure of the gods would have disappeared. At Rome the law fixed two feet and a half as the widlh of the free space, which was always to separate two houses, and this space was consecrated to "the god of the enclosure."' A result of these old religious rules was, that a com- munity of property was never established among the with the fire-god, the new god assumed the title of Ijztro;. It is not less true that, in the heginning, the real protector of the enclosure was the domestic god. Dionysius of Halicarnassus asserts this (I. 68), when he Says that the fltoi tQxiioi are the same as the Penates. This follows, moreover, from a compari- son of a passage of Pausanias (IV. 17) with a passage of Eu- ripides {Troad., 17), and one of Virgil {JEn., II. 514) ; the three passages relate to the same fact, and show that Zcif iijxtrog was no other than the domestic Sre. ■ ' Festus, V. Ambitus. Varro, L. L., V. 22. Servius, ad ^n., II. 469. CHAP. VI. THE RIGHT OF EROPEETT. 81 aneients. A phalansteiy was never known among them. Even Pytbaigoraa did not succeed in establish- ing institutions which the most intimate religion of men resisted. Neither do we find, at any epoch in the life of the ancients, anything that resembled that multitade of villages so general in France during the twelfth century. Every family, having its gods and its worship, was required to have its particular p'ace on the soil, its isolated domicile, its property. According to the Greeks,, the sacred fire taught mon to build houses; ' and, indeed, men who were fixed by their religion to one spot, which they believed it their duty not to quit, would soon begin to think of raising in that place some solid structui-e. The tent covers the Arab, the wagon the Tartar; but a family that has a domestic hearth has need of a permanent dwelling; The stone house soon succeeds the mud cabin or the wooden hut. The family did not build for the life of a single man, but for generations that were to succeed each other in the same dwelling. The house was always placed in the sacred en- closure. Among the Greeks^ the square which com- posed the enclosure was divided into two parts ; the first part was the court ;, the house occupied the sec- ond. The hearth, plaxjed near the middle of the whole enclosure, was thus at the bottom of the court, and near the entrance of the house. At Rome the dispo- sition was diflferent, but the principle was the snme. The hearth remained. in the middle of the enclosure, but the buildings rose round it. on .four sides, so as to enclose it within a little court. We can easily understand the idea thp,t inspired tliis ' Diodorjis, V. 68. 82 THE FAMILY. BOOK I system of construction. The walls are raised aroum the hearth to isolate and defend it, and we may saj as the Greeks said, that religion taught men to buiL houses. In this house the family is master and pro l^rietor ; its domestic divinity assures it this righl The house is consecrated by the perpetual presena of gods ; it is a temple which preserves them. "What is there more holy," says Cicero, "what ii there more carefully fenced round with every descrip tion of religious respect, than the house of each indi vidual citizen ? Here is his altar, here is his hearth here are his household gods ; here all his sacred rights all his religious ceremonies, are preserved." ' To entei this house with any malevolent intention was a sacri- lege. The domicile was inviolable. According to a Roman tradition, the domestic god repulsed the robber, and kept off the enemy.^ Let us pass to another object of worship — the tomb: and we shall see that the same ideas were attached to this. The tomb held a very important place in the religion of the ancients ; for, on one hand, worship was due to the ancestors, and on the other, the principal ceremony of this worship — the funeral repast — was to be performed on the very spot where the ancestors rested.' The family, therefore, had a common tomb, where its members, one after another, must come to sleep. For this tomb the rule was the same as for the hearth. It was no more permitted to unite two families in the same tomb than it was to establish two domestic hearths in the same house. To bury one out ' Cicero, Pro Domo, 41. ' Ovid, Fast., V. 141. ' Such, at least, was the ancient rule, since they believed that the funeral repast served as food for the dead. Eurip., Ti oad., 381. CHAP. VI. THE EIGHT OF PEOPERTT. 83 of the family tomb, or to place a stranger in thia tomb, was equally impious.'. The domiistic religion, both in life and in death, separated every family from all others, and strictly rejected all appeai"ance of com- munity. Just as the houses could not be contiguous, so the tombs could not touch each other ; each one of them, like the house, had a sort of isolating enclosure. How manifest is the character of private property in all this ! The dead are gods, who belong to a particular family, which alone has a right to invoke them. These gods have taken possession of the soil ; they live under this little mound, and no one, except one of the family, can think of meddling with them. Furthermore, no one has the right to dispossess them of the soil which they occupy; a tomb among the ancients could never be destroyed or displaced ; '' this was forbidden by the severest laws. Here, therefore, was a portion of the soil which, in the name of religion, became an object of perpetual property for each family. The family ap- propriated to itself this soil by placing its dead here ; it was established here for all time. Th*^ living scion of this family could rightly say. This land is mine. It was so completely his, that it was inseparable from him, and he had not the right to dispose of it. The soil where the dead rested was inalienable and impre- ' Cicero, De Legib., 11.22; II. 26. Gains, Instit.,ll. 6. Digest, XLVII., tit. 12. We must note that the slave and the client, as we shall see, farther on were a part of the family, and were buried in the common tomb. The rule which prescribed that every man should be buried in the tomb of his family, ad- mitted of an exception in the case where the city itself granted a public funeral. * Lycurgus, against Leocrates, 25. At Rome, before a burial- place could be changed, the permission of the pontiffs was required. Pliny, Letters, X. 73. 8^ THE FAMILY. BOOK U. seriptible. The Roman law requLce^ that, if a family soldthe field where the tomb was situated, it should still retain the ownership of this tomb, and should always preserve the right to cross the field, in order to per- form the ceremonies of its worship.' The ancient usage was to inter the dead, not in cemeteries or by the road-side, but in the field belong- ing to the family. This custom of ancient times is attested by a law of Solon,, and by several passages in Plutarch. We learn from an oration of Demosthenes^ that even in bis time, each family buried its dead in its own field, and that when a domain was bougbt in Attica, the burial-place of the old proprietors was found there.'' As for Italy, this same cuptom is proved to have existed by the laws of the Twelve Tables, by passages from two jurisconsults, and by this sentence of Siculns Flaccus: "Anciently theije were two ways of placing the tomb; some placed It on oiie side pf the field, others towards the middle."' Prom this custom we can see that the idep, of prop- erty was easily extended froin th,e small mound to the field that surrounded this mound. In the w:orl^3 of the elder Cato there is a formula according to which the Italian laborer prayed the manes to watch oyer his field, to take good > care against the thief^ and to bless him with a good harvest. Thus these souls of the dead extended tutelary action, and with it their right of prop- erty, even to the boundaries of the domain. Through ' Cicero, De Legib., II./24. Digest, XVIII. tit. 1. 6. ' Laws of Solon, cited by Gaius in Digest, X. tit. 1. 13. De- mosthenes, against Oallicles. Plutarch, Aristides, 1. ' Siculus Flaccus, e^it. Go?z,|(. 4. SeeFragm.terminalia, edit. Goez, p. 147. Pomponius,' in D,ig,^t, XLVII. tit. 12. 5 Paul, in Digest, VIII. 1, 14. CHAP. Vl. THE EIGHT OF PilOPEETT. 85 thiem the family was sole master in this field. The tomb had established an indissoluble union of the fam- yiy with tlie laiid ^^ that of ownership. ^ In the gi'eater number of ptimitiV6 societies the right of property was established by religion'. In the Bible, the Lord said to Abraham, "I am the Lord, that brought thee out of TJr of the Chaldees, to give thee this land, to inherit it ; " and to Moses, " Go up hence, . . . into the land which I svvare unto Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, saying. Unto thee will I give it." Thus God, the primitive proprietor, by right of creia- tion, delegates to man his ownership ovfer a part of the soil.' There was something analogous among the an- cient GrfeoD-Italiati' peoples. It was not the religion of Jupiter that founded this right, it is true ; pel-haps beeause this religion did not yet exist. The gods who conferred npon evi^ry family its right to a portion of the soil, wei'e the domestic gods, the saci'ed fire, and the manes. The first religion that exercised its empire oh their minds was also the one that established the right of property among them. It is clearly evident that private property was an in- stitution that the domestic ifeligiOh had need of. This Religion required that both dwellings and burying- places shoiild be separate from each other; living in common was, therefore, impOBsible. The same religion required that this hearth should be fixed to the soil, that the tomb should neither be destroyed nor dis- placed. Suppress the right of property, and the sacred five would be wittiotit '■& fixed place, the faiwilies would ' Same tradition among the Etruscans : " dwwm Jupiter ter- rum EirUria sihi iiinditd/eU, constUuit j'ussiique meUri campos signarique aQr'Os.'' Auctores Rei AgraricB, in the ifragment en- titled Idem Vegoia Arrunti, edit. Goez. 86 THE PAMILT. BOOK U become confounded, and the dead would be abandonee and without worship. By the stationary hearth anc the permanent burial-place, the family took possessioi of the soil ; the earth was in some sort imbued and pen etrated by the religion of the hearth and of ancestors Thus the men of the early ages were saved the trouble of resolving too difficult a problem. Without discus sion, without labor, without a shadow of hesitation they anived, at a single step, and merely by virtue of their belief, at the conception of the right of property this right from which all civilization springs, sinc( by it man improves the soil, and becomes improvec himself. 1<<^ Religion, and not laws, first guaranteed the right ol property. Every domain was under the eyes of house hold divinities, who watched over it.' Every field hac to be surrounded, as we have seen for the house, bj an enclosure, which separated it completely from the domains of other families. This enclosure was not i wall of stone; it was a band of soil, a few feet wide which remained uncultivated, and which the plougt could never touch. This space was sacred ; the Ro man law declared it indefeasible ; ' it belonged t( the religion. On certain appointed days of eacl month and year, the father of the family went rount his field, following this line ; he drove victims before him, sang hymns, and offered sacrifices.' By thii ceremony he believed he had awakened the benevo ' Lares agri cusiodeSy TibuUus, I. 1, 23. Religio Larm posita in fundi villceqve conspectu. Cicero, JJe Legih., II. 11. ' Cicero, De Legib., I. 21. •* Cato, Be Re Rust., 141. Script. Rei Agrar., edit. Goez, p 308. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, II. 74. Ovid, Fast., II. 639 Strabo, "V. 3. CHAP, ^I. TaE EIGHT OF PBOPEETT. 87 lence of his gods towards his field and his house ; above all, he had marked his right of property by- proceeding round his field with his domestic worship. The path which the victims and prayers had followed was the inviolable limit of the domain. On this line, at certain points, the men placed large stones or trunks of trees, which they called Termini. We can form a good idea as to what these bounds were, and what ideas were connected with them, by the manner in which the piety of men established them. ■ " I'his," says Seculus Flaccus, " was the manner in which our ancestors proceeded: They conimenced by digging a small hole, and placing the Terminus upright near it ; next they crowned the Terminus with garlands of grasses and flowers ; then they ofiered a sacrifice. The victim being immolated, they made the blood flow into the hole ; they threw in live coals (kindled, prob- bly, at the sacred fire of the hearth), grain, cakes, fruits, a little wine, and some honey. When all this was consumee Orat., I. 63.) 108 THE TAinLY. BOOK It In these distant days we distinguish one institution which must have survived a long time, which had a considevahle influence upon the future constitution of societies, and without which this constitution could not be explained. This is the right of primogeniture. The old religion established a difference between the older and the younger son. ''The oldest," said the ancient Aiyas, " was begotten for the accomplishment of the duty due the ancestors ; the others are the fniit of love," In virtue of this original superiority, the oldest had the privilege, after the death of the father, of presiding at all the ceremonies of the domestic wor- ship; he it was who offered the funeral repast, and pronounced the formulas of prayer; "for the right of pronouncing the prayers belongs to that son who came into the world first." The oldest was, therefore, heir to the hymns, the continuator of the worship, the religious chief of the family. From this creed flowed a rule of law : the oldest alone inherited projjerty. Thus says an ancient passage, which the last editor of the Laws of Manu still inserted in the code : " The oldest takes possession of the whole patrimony, and the other brothers live under his authority as if they were under that of their father. The oldest son performs the duties towards the ancestors ; he ought, therefore, to have all." ' Greek law is derived from the same religious beliefs as Hindu law ; it is not astonishing, then, to find here also the right of primogeniture. Spai-ta preserved it longer than other Greek cities, because the Spai-tans ' Laws of Manu, IX. lOS-107, 126. This ancient rule was modified as the old religion became enfeebled. Even in the code of Manu we find articles that authorize a division of the inheritance. I!HAP. Vn. THE BIGHT OF SUCCESSION, 109 were longer faithful to old institutions ; among them the patrimony was indivisible, and the younger brothers had no part of it.' It was the same with many of the ancient codes that Aristotle had studied. He infoi-ms us, indeed, that the Theban code prescribed absolutely that the number of lots of land should remain un- changeable,, which certainly excluded the division among brothers. An ancient law of Corinth also pro- vided that the number of families should remain in- variable, which could only be the case where the right of the oldest prevented families from becoming dis- membered in each generation.' Among the Athenians we need not expect to find this old institution in full vigor in the time of De- mosthenes; but there still existed at this epoch what they called the privilege of the elder.' It consisted in retaining, above his proportion, the paternal dwelling — an advantage which was materially considerable, and which was still more considerable in a religions point of view; for the paternal house contained the ancient hearth of the family. While the younger sons, in the time of Demosthenes, left home to light new fires, the oldest, the true heir, remained in possession of the pa- ternal hearth and of the tomb of his ancestors. He alone also preserved the family name.* These were the ves- tiges of a time when he alone received the patrimony. We may remark, that the inequality of the law of primogeniture, besides the fact that it did not strike the'minds of the ancients, over whom religion was all- ■ Fragments of the Greek Historians, Didot's Coll., t. IL p. 211. ' .Aristotle, Polit., II. 9 ; II. 3. " JI(it(!fieia, Demosthenes, Pro Phorm.. 34. * Demosthenes, in Boeot. de nomine. 110 THE FAMILT, BOOK II, powerful, was corrected by several of their customs. Sometimes the younger son was adopted into a family; and inherited property there ; sometimes he married an only daughter; sometimes, in fine, he received some extinct family's lot of land. When all these resources failed, younger sons were sent out to join a colony. As to Rome, we find no law that relates to the right of primogeniture; but we are not to conclude from this that the right was unknown in ancient Italy. It might have disappeared, and even its traces have been efiaced. What leads us to believe that before the ages known to us it was in force is, that the existence of the Roman and Sabine gens cannot be explained without it. How could a family reach the number of several thousand free persons, like the Claudian family, or several hundred combatants, all patricians, like the Fabian family, if the right of primogeniture had not maintained its unity during a long series of generations, and had not increased its numbers from age to age by preventing its dismemberment ? This ancient right of primogeniture is proved by its consequences, and, so to speak, by its works.' ' The old Latin language, moreover, has preserved a vestige ■which, feeble as it is, deserves to be pointed out. A lot of land, the domain of a family, was called sors ; sors patrimonium sig- nificat, says Festus. The word consortes was -applied then to those who had among them only a single lot of land, and lived on the same domain. Now, the old language designated by this word brothers, and even those quite distantly related. This bears witness to a time when the patrimony and the family were indivisible. (Festus, v. Sors. Cicero, in Verrem, II. 323. Livy, XLI. 27. Velleius, I. 10. Lucretius, III. 772; VL 1280). CHAP. Vm. AUTHOKITT IN THE FAMILY. Ill CHAPTER VIII. Authority in the Family. 1. TTie Principle and Nature of the Paternal Power among the Ancients. The family did not receive ita laws fi-om the city. If the city had established private law, that law would probably have been different from what we have seen. It would have established the right of property and the right of succession on different principles ; for it was not for the interest of the city that land should be in- alienable and the patrimony indivisible. The law that permitted a father to sell or even to kill his son — a law that we find both in Greece and in Rome — was not established by a city. The city would rather have said to the father, " Tour wife's and your son's life does not belong to you any more than their liberty does. I will protect them, even against you; you are not the one to judge them, or to kill them, if they have committed a crime ; I will be their judge." If the city did not Bjieak thus, it is evident that it could not. Private law existed before the city. When the city began to write its laws, it found this law already established, living, rooted in the customs, strong by universal ob- servance. The city accepted it, because it could not do otherwise, and dared not modify it, except by degrees. Ancient law was not the work of a legislator; it was, on the contrary, imposed upon the legislator. It had its birth in the family. It sprang up spontaneously from the ancient principles which gave it root. It flowed from the religious belief which was universally 112 THE FAMILY. BOOK H. admitted in the primitive age of these peoples, which exercised its empire over their intelligence and their wills. A family was composed of a father, a mother, chil- dren, and slaves. This group, small as it was, required discipline. To whom, then, belonged the chief author- ity? To the father? No. There is in every house something that is above the father himself. It is the domestic religion ; it is that god whom the Greeks called the hearth-master, — kana dianoiva, — whom the Romans called ILar familiaris. This divinity of the interior, or, what amounts to the same thing, the belief that is in the human soul, is the least doubtful author- ity. This is what fixed rank in the family. The father ranks first in presence of the sacred fire. He lights it, and supports it ; he is its priest. In all religious acts his functions are the highest; he slays the victim, his mouth pronounces the formula of prayer which is to draw upon him and his the protection of the gods. The family and the worship are perpetuated through him ; he represents, himself alone, the whole series of ancestors, and from him are to proceed the entire series of descendants. Upon him rests the do- mestic worship ; he can almost say, like the Hindu, "I am the god." When death shall come, he will be a divine being whom his descendants will invoke. This religion did not place woman in so high a rank. The wife takes part in the religious acts, indeed, but she is not the mistress of the hearth. She does not derive her religion from her birth. She was initiated into it at her marriage. She has learned from her husband the prayer that she pronounces. She does not represent the ancestors, since she is not descended from them. She herself will not become an ancestor; CHAP. ^ai. AUTHORITY IN THE FAMILY. 113 placed in the tomb, she will not receive a special wor- ship. In death, as in life, she counts only as a part of her husbasd. Greek law, Roman law, and Hindu law, all derived from this old religion, agi'ee in considering the wife as always a minoT. She could never have a hearth of her own ; she was never the chief of a worship. At Rome she received the title of mater familias ; but she lost this if her husband died.' Never having a sacred fire which belonged to her, she had nothing of what gave authority in the house. She never commanded ; she was never even free, or mistress of herself. She was always near the hearth of another, repeating the prayer of another ; for all the acts of religious life she needed a superior, and for all the acts of civil life a guardian. The Laws of Menu say, "Woman, during her in- iancy, depend* upon her father ; during her youth, upon her husband ; when her husband is dead, upon her sons ; if she has no son, on the nearest relative of her hus- band ; for a woman ought never to govern herself according to her own will."' The Greek laws and- those of Rome are to the same effect. As a girl, she is under her father's control ; if her &ther dies, she is governed by her Iwothers.; married,, she is under thei guardianship of her husband; if tlie husband dies, she does not return to her own family, for she has re- nounced that forever by the sacred maraage;' the widow remains, subject. to the goardianship of her hus- band's agnates — that is to say, of her own sons, if she ' Festus, V. Mater famiUis. « Laws ofManu, V. 147, 148 ' She returned only in case of divorce. Demosthenes, in Eubulid., 41. 8 L-^ 114 THE FAMILT, BOOK n. has any, or, in default of sons, of the nearest kin- dred.' So complete is her husband's authority over her, that lie can, upou his death, designate a guardian for her, and even chooseher a second htisband.' To indicate the power of the husband over the wife, the Romans had a very ancient expression, which their jurisconsults have preserved ; it is the word mames. It is not easy to discover the primitive sense of this word, The commentators make it the expression of material force, as if the wife was placed under the brutal hand of the husband. It is quite probable that this is wrong. The power of the husband over the wife results in no wise from his superior strength. It came, like all private law, from the religious belief that placed man above woman. What proves this is, that a woman who had not been married according to the sacred rites, and who, consequently, had not been as- sociated in the worship, was not subject to the marital povver.^ It was marriage which created this subordi- nation, and at the same time the dignity of the wife. So true is it that the right of the strongest did not constitute the family. Let us pass to the infant. Here nature speaks for itself, loud enough. It demands that the infant shall have a protector, a guide, a master. This religion is in accord with nature; it says that the father shall be the ' Demosthenes, ire Siepfe., II. ; in Aphob. Fl\ita.vch, Tfiemist., 82. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, II. 25. Gaius, I. 149, 155. Aulus Gellius., III. 2. Macrobius, I. 3. ' Demosthenes, in Aphobum; pro Phormione. ' Cicero, Topic, 14. Tacitus, Ann., IV. 16. Aulus Gellius, XVIII. G. It will be seen farther on, that, at a certain epoch, new modes of marriage were instituted, ar.d that they had the same legal effects as the sacred marriage. CHAP. Tm. AUTHORITY rw THE FAMILY. 115 chief of the worship, and that the son shall merely aid him in his sacred functions. But nature requires thia subordination only during a certain number of years ; religion requires more. Nature brings the son to his majority; religion does not grant it to him, according to ancient principles ; the sacred fire is indivisible, and the same is true of property. The brothers do not separate at the death of their father ; for a still stronger reason they could not separate from him during his life. In the rigor of primitive law, the sons remained attached to the father's hearth, and, consequently, subject to his authority; while he lived they were minors. We may suppose that this rule lasted only so long as the old domestic religion remained in full vigor. This unlimited subjection of the son to the father disap- peared at an early day at Athens. It subsisted longer at Sparta, where a patrimony was always indivisible. At Rome the old rule was scrupulously observed ; a son could never establish a separate hearth during his father's life; married even, and the father of children, he was still under parental authority.' Besides, it was the same with the paternal as with the marital authority; its principle and condition were the domestic worship. A son born of concubinage was not placed under the authority of the father. Between his father and himself there existed no community of religion ; there was nothing, therefore, that conferred ' When Gaiua said of the paternal power, Jus proprium est eivium Romanorum, we must understand that in his time the Roman law recognized this power only in the Roman citizen : this does not mean that the power had not existed before in other places, or that it had not been recognized by the law of other cities. 116 THE FAMILY. BOOK H. authority upon the one and commanded obedience of the other. Paternity, of itself, gave the father no rights. Thanlcs to the domestic religion, the family was a email organized body; a little society, which had its chief and its government. Nothing in modern society can give us an idea of this paternal authorityi In prim- itive antiquity the father is not alone the strong man, the protector who has power to command obedience; he is the priest, he is heir t6 the hearth, the continuator of the ancestors, the parent stock of the descendants, the depositary of the mysterious rites of the worship, and of the sacied formulas of prayer. The whole religion resides in hira. The very.name by which he is called — pater — con- tains in itself some curious information. The word is the same in Greek, in Latin, and in Sanskrit; from which we may conclude that this word dates from a time when the Hellenes, the Italians, and the Hindus still lived together in Central Asia. What was its signification, and what idea did it then present to the minds of men? We can discover this; for the word has preserved its primary signification in the foi'mulas of religious language and in those of judicial language. When the ancients, invoking Jupiter, called him pater hominum deorumque, they did not intend to say that Jupiter was the father of gods and men, for they never considered him as such ; they believed, on the contrary, that the hnman race existed before him. The same title oi pater was given to Neptune, to Apollo, to Bac- chus, to Vulcan, and to Pluto. These, assuredly, men never considered as their fathers ; so, too, the title of .mater was applied to Minerva, Diana, and Vesta, who were reputed three virgin goddesses. In judicial Ian- CHAP. VIII. AUTHORITY IN THE FAMILY. lit guage, moreover, the title of pater, or pater familias, might be given to a man who had no children, who was not married, and who was not even of age to contract marriage. The idea of paternity, therefore, was not attached to this word. The old language had another word which properly designated the father, and which, as ancient as pater, is likewise found in the language of the Greeks, of the Romans, and of the Hindus (ffdnitar, yewriTi/iQ, geniter). The word pater liad an- other sense. In religious language they applied it to the gods'; in legal language to every man who had a Avorship and a domain. The poets show us that they applied it to every one whom they wished to honor. The slave and the client applied it to their master. It was synonymous with the words rex, &vu^, ^uadsig. It contained in itself not the idea of paternity, but that of power, authority, majestic dignity. That such a word should have been applied to the father of a family until it became his most common appellation, is assuredly a very significant fact, and one whose importance will appear to all who wish to under- stand ancient institutions. The history of this word suffices to give us an idea of the power which the father exelieised for a long time in the family, and of the senti- ment of veneration which was due him as a pontiff and a sovereign. 2. Mrmmeration of the Hights that composed Pater- nal Power, Greek and Roman laws recognized in the father this unlimited power with which religion had at first clothed him. The numerous and diverse rights which these laws conferred upon him may be divided into three 118 THE FAMILY. BOOK H. classes, according as we consider the father of a family as a religious chief, as the master of the property, or as a judge. I. The father is the supreme chief of the domestic religion ; he regulates all the ceremonies of the wor- ship, as he understands them, or, rather, as he has seen his father perform them. No one contests his sacer- dotal supremacy. The city itself and its pontiffs can change nothing in his worship. As priest of the hearth he recognizes no superior. As religious chief, he is responsible for the perpetuity of the worship, and, consequently, for that of the fam- ily. Whatever affects this perpetuity, which is his firet care and his first duty, depends upon him alone. From this flows A whole series of rights: — The right to recognize the child at its birth, or to reject it. This right is attributed to the father by the Greek laws,' as well as by those of Rome. Barbarous as this is, it is not contrary to the principles on which the family is founded. Even uncontested filiation is not sufKcient to admit one into the sacred circle of the family ; the consent of its chief, and an initiation into its woi'ship, are necessaiy. So long as the child is not associated in the domestic religion, he is nothing to the father. The right to repudiate the wife, either in case of sterility, because the family must not become extinct, or in case of adultery, because the family and the de- scendants ought to be free from all debasement. The right to give his daughter in marriage — that is to say, to cede to another the power which he has over her. The right of marrying his son ; the marriage of the son concerns the perpetuity of the family. ' Herodotus, I. 69. Plutarch, Alcib., 23 ; Agesilaus, 3. CHAP. VIU. AUTHOEITY IN THE FAMILY. 119 The right to emancipate^ that is to say, to exclude a son from the family and the worshij). The liglit to adopt — that is to say, to introduce a stranger to the domestic hearth. The right, at his death, of naming a guardian for bis wife and children. It is necessary to remark that all these rights be- longed to the father alone, to the exclusion of all the other members of the family. The wife had not tlie right of divorce, at least in primitive times. Even when a widow, she could neither emancipate nor adopt. She was never the guardian even of her own children. In case of divorce, the children remained with the father, — even the daughters. Her children were never in her power. Her consent was not asked for the marriage of her own daughter.' __ II. We have seen above that property was not understood, originally, as an individual right, but as a family right; The fortune, as Plato says, formally, and as all the ancient legislators say, implicitly, belongs to the ancestors and the descendants. This property, by its very nature, could not be divided. There could be in each family but one proprietor, which was the family itself, and only one to enjoy the use of property — the father. This principle explains several peculiarities of ancient law. The property not being capable of division, and rest- ing entirely on the head of the father, neither wife nor children had the least part in it. The dotal system, and even the community of goods, were then unknown. The dowry of the wife belonged, without reserve, to the husband, who exercised over her dowry not only ' Demosthenes, in Euhul., 40 and 43. Gaius, I. 165. Ulpian, VIII. 8. Institutes, I. 9. Digest, I. tit. 1, 11. 120 THE FAMILT. BOOK n. the rights of an administrator, but of an owner. What- ever the wife might have acquired during her maniage fell into the hands of her husband. She did not even recover her dower on becoming a widow.' The son was in the same condition as the wife ; he owned nothing. No donation made by him was valid, since he had nothing of his own. He could acquire nothing; the fruits of his laboi', the profits of his trade, were his father's. If a will was made in his favor by a stranger, his father, not himself, received the legacy. This explains th*) provision of the Roman law which forbade all contracts of sale between father and son. If the father sold to the son, he sold to himself^ as the son acquired only for the father." We see in the Roman laws, and we find also in the laws of Athens, that a father could sell his son.' This was because t'je father might dispose of all the prop- erty of the family, and the son might be looked upon as pi-operty, since his labor was a source of income. The father might, therefore, according to choice, keep this instrument of labor, or resign it to another. To resign it was called selling the son. The texts of the Roman law that we have do not inform us clearly as to the nature of this contract of sale, nor on the reservations that might have been contained in it. It appeare cer- tahi ili^.t tlie son thus sold did not become the slave of tlie purchaser. His liberty was not sold ; only his labor. ' Gains, II. 98. All these rules of primitive law were modi- fied by the pretorian law. = Cicero, De Legib., 11. 20. Gaius, II. 87. Digest, XTIII. lit. 1, 2. '■> Plutarch, Solon, 13. Dionys. of Halic, II. 26. Gaius, I. 117; I. 132; IV. 79. Ulpian, X, 1. Livy, XLI. 8. Festus, t. Deminutus, cra,iP. Tin. authoeity in the family. 121 Even in this state the son remained subject to the paternal authority, which proves that he was not con- sidered to have left the family. We may suppose that this sale had no other effect than to cede the possession of the son for a time by a sort of contract to hire. Later it was employed only as an indirect means of emancipating the sou. III. Plutarch informs us that at Rome women could not appear in court even as witnesses.' We read in the jurisconsult Gaius, " It should be known that noth- ing can be granted in the way of justice to persons under power — that is to say, to wives, sons, and slaves. For it is reasonably concluded that, since these persons can own no property, neither can they reclaim anything in point of justice. If a son, sub- ject to his father's will, has committed a crime, the action lies against the father; nor has the father him- self any action against his son." ' From all this it is clear that the wife and the son could not be plaintiffs or defendants, or accusers, or accused, or witnesses. Of all the family the father alone could appear before the tribunal of the city; public justice existed only for him ; and he alone was responsible for the crimes committed by his family. Justice for wife and son was not in the city, because it was in the house. The chief of the family was their judge, placed upon a judgment seat in virtue of liis marital and parental authority, in the name of the fam- ily and under the eyes of the domestic divinities." ' Plutarch, PubKcola, 8. ' Gains, II. 96 ; IV. 77, 78. ' There came a time when this jurisdiction was modified ; the lather consulted the whole family, and formed it into a tribunal, over which he presided. Tacit., XIII. 32. Digest, XXIII. tit. 1, 5. Plato, Laws, IX. 122 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. Livy relates that the senate, wishing to extirpate the worship of Bacchus from Rome, decreed the pun- ishment of death against all who had taken part in it. The decree was easily executed upon the citizens, but when it came to the women, who were not the least guilty, a grave difficulty presented itself; the women were not answerable to the state; the family alone had the right to judge them. The senate respected this old principle, and left to the fathers and husbands the duty of pronouncing the sentence of death against the women. This judicial authority, which the chief of the family exercised in his house, was complete and without a2}peal. He could condemn to death like the magistrate in the city, and no authority could modify his sentence. " The husband," says Cato the Elder, "is the judge of his wife ; his power has no limit ; he can do what he wishes. If she has committed a fault, he punishes her; if she has drank wine, he condemns her; if she has been guilty of adultery, he kills her." The right was the same in regard to children. Valerius Maximus cites a certain Atilius who killed his daughter as guilty of unchastity, and everybody will recall the father who put his son, an accomplice of Catiline, to death. Facts of this nature are numerous in Homan history. It would be a false idea to suppose that the father had an absolute right to kill his wife and children. He was their judge. If he put them to death, it was only by virtue of his right as judge. As the father of the family was alone subject to the judgment of the city, the wife and the son could have no other judge than him. Within his family he was the only magistrate. We must also remark that the paternal authority was not an arbitrary power, like that which would be CHAP. IX. MOEAI,S OP THE ANCIENT FAMILY. 123 derived from the right of the strongest. It had its foundation iu a belief which all shared alike, and it found its limits in this same belief For example : the father had the right to exclude his son from the fam- ily ; but he well knew that if he did this the family ran a risk of becoming extinct, and the manes of his .ances- tors of falling into eternal oblivion. He had the right to adopt a stranger ; but religion forbade him to do this if ha had a son. He was sole proprietor of the goods ; but he had not, at least originally, a right to alienate them. He could repudiate his wife ; but to do this he had to break the religious bond which mar- riage had established. Thus religion imposed upon the father as many obligations as it conferred rights. Such for a long time was the ancient family. The spiritual belief was sufficient without the need of the law of force, or of the authority of a social power to constitute it regularly, to give it a discipline, a govern- ment and justices and to establish private-law in all its details. CHAPTER IX. Morals of the Aacieut Family. HiSTOHT does not study material facts and institu- tions alone ; its true object of study is the h^man mind : it should aspire to know what this mind has believed, thought, and felt in the different ages" of the life of the human race. We described, at the opening of this book, the an- cient opinion which men held concerning their destiny after death. We have shown how this creed produced 124 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. domestic institutions and private law. It remaiiis to discover what its action was upon morals in primitive societies. Without pretending that this old religion created moral sentiments in the heart of man, we may at least believe that it was associated with them to fortify them, to give them greater authority, to assure their supremacy and their right of direction over the conduct of men, sometimes also to give them a false bias. The religion of "these primitive ages was exclusively domestic ; so also were morals. Religion did not say to a man, showing him another man. That is thy brother. It said to him, That is a stranger ; he can- not participate in the religioxis acts of thy hearth ; he cannot approach the tomb of thy family ; he has other gods than thine, and cannot unite with thee in a com- mon prayer ; thy gods reject his adoration, and regard him as their enemy ; he is thy foe also. In this religion of the hearth man never supplicates the divinity in favor of other men ; he invokes him only for himself and his. A Greek proverb has re- mained as a souvenir and a vestige of this ancient isola- tion of man in prayer. In Plutarch's time they still said to the egotist, You sacrifice to the hearth." This signified, Tou separate yourself fi-om other citizens ; you have no friends ; your fellow-men are nothing to you; you live solely for yourself and yours. This proverb pointed to a time when, all religion being around the hearth, the horizon of morals and of aflfeo- tion had not yet passed beyond the narrow circle of the family. It is natural that moral ideas, like religious ideas, ' 'Eariif Btiiis. Pseudo-Plutarch, ed. Dubner, V. 167. CHAP. IX, MOKALS OF THE ANCIENT FAMILY. 125 should have their commencement and progresa, and the god of the primitive generations in this race was very small ; by degrees men made him larger ; so morals, very narrow and incomplete at first, became insensibly enlarged,; until, fi'om stage to stage, they reached the point of pi:oielaiming the duty of love to- wards all mankind. The point of departure was the family, and it was under the influence of the domestic religion that duties first appeared to the eyes of man. Let us picture to ourselves this religion of the fire and of the tomb in its flourishing period. Man sees a divinity near him. It ia present, like conscience it- self, to his minutest actions. This fragile being finds himself under the eye of a witness who never leaves him. He never feels himself alone. At his side in the house, in the field, he has protectors to sustain him- in the toils of life, and judges to punish his guilty ac- tions. " The Lares," said the Romans, " are formida- ble divinities, whose duty it is to punish mankind, and to watch over all that passes in the interior of the house." The Penates they also describe as "gods who enable us to live ; they nourish om- bodies and regulate our minds," ' Men loved to apply to the holy iire the epithet of chaste, and they believed that it enjoined chastity upon - mortals. No act materially or morally impure could be committed in its presence. The first ideas of wrong, of chastisement,, of expia- tion, seem to have come from this. The man who felt guilty no longer dared to approach his own hearth; his god repelled him. He who had shed blood was no longer allowed to sacrifice, or to offer libations, or ' Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 61. Macrobius, Sat., III. 4. 126 THE FAMILY. BOOK- H. prayer, or to offer the sacred repast. The god was so severe that he admitted no excuse ; he did not dis- tinguish between an invohintary murder and a pre- meditated crime. The hand stained with blood could no longer touch sacred objects.' To enable a man to renew his worship, and to regain possession of his god, he was required at least to purify himself by an expiatory ceremony.' This religion knew pity, and had rites to efface the stains of the soul. Narrow and material as it was, it still knew how to console man for his errors. If it absolutely ignored the duties of chanty, at any rate it traced for man with admirable precision his family duties. It i-endered marriage obligatory ; celi- bacy was a crime in the eyes of a religion that made the perpetuity of the family the iirst and most holy of duties. But the union which it prescribed could be accomplished only in the presence of the domestic divinities ; it is the religious, sacred, indisso- luble union of the husband and wife. No man could omit the rites, and make of marriage a simple contract by consent, as it became in the latest period of Greek and Roman society. This ancient religion forbade it, and if one dared to offend in this particular, it pun- ished him for it. For the son sprung from such a union was considered a bastard, that is to say, a being who had neither place nor sacred fire ; he had no right 1 •) perform any sacred act ; he could not pray.' This same religion watched with care over the purity of the family. In its eyes the greatest of crimes '. was adultery. For the first rule of the worship was i ' Hdts., I. 35. Virgil, ^n., II. 719. Plutarch, Theseus, 12. = ApoUonius of Ehodes, IV. 70i-707. iEsoh., Ohoeph., 96. " Isaeus, VIZ. Demosthenes, in Mwart. CHAP. IX. MORALS OF THK ANCIENT FAMILY. 127 that the sacred fire should be transmitted from father to son, and. adultery disturbed the order of birth. An- other rule was, that the tomb should contain only mem- bers of the family ; but the son born of adultery was a stranger. If he was buiied in the tomb, all the princi- ples of the religion were violated, the worship defiled, the sacred fire became impure; every offering at the tomb became an act of impiety. Worse still, by adultery the series of descendants was broken ; the family, even though living men knew it not, became extinct, and there was no more divine happiness for the ancestors. The Hindu also says, " The son born of adultery annihilates in this world and in the next the offerings made to the manes." Here is the reason that the laws of Greece and Rome give the father the right to reject the child just born. Here, too, is the reason that they are so rigor- ous, so inexorable, against adultery. At Athens the husband is allowed to kill the guilty one. At Rome the husband, as the wife's judge, condemns her to death. This religion was so severe that a man had not even the right to pardon completely, and that he was forced at least to repudiate his wife.^ These, then, are the first moral and domestic laws discovered and sanctioned. Here is, besides the nat- ural sentiment — ap irapei'ious religion, which tells the husband and wife that they are united forever, and ' Laws of Mann, III. 17S. * Demosthenes, in Near., 89. Though this primitive moral- ity condemned adultery, it did not reprove incest; religion authorized it. The prohibitions relative to marriage were the reverse of ours. One might marry his sister (Demosthenes, in Near., 22 ; Corn. 'Se^aa., 'procemium ; id., Life of Cimon ; Minu- cius Felix, in OUavio), but it was forbidden, as a principle, to marry a woman of another city. 128 THE FAMILY. BOOK Tl. that from this union flow rigorous duties, the neglect of which brings with it the gravest consequences in this life and in the next. Hence came the serioms and sacred character of the conjugal union among the an- cients, and the purity which the family long preserved. This domestic morality prescidbed still other duties. It taught the wife that she ought to obey ; the hus- band, that he ought to command. It instructed both to respect each other. The wife had rights, for she had her place at the sacred fire ; it was her duty to see that it did not die, out.' She too, then, has her priest- hood. Where she is not found, the domestic worship is incomplete and insufficient. It was a great misfor- tune to a Greek to have a " hearth deprived of a wife."' Among the Romans the presence of the wife was so necessary in the sacrifices that the priest lost his office on becoming a widower." It was, doubtless, to this division of the domestic priesthood that the mother of the family owed the veneration with which they never ceased to surround her in Greek and Roman society ; hence it came that the wife had the same title in the family as the hus- band. The Romans said pater familias and mater /amilias / the Greeks, olxoSean6irjg and oixSionoina ; the Hindus, grihapati and grehapatni. Hence also came this formula, which the wife pronounced in the Roman marriage : uM tu Ccmts, ego Caia — a formula which tells us that, if in the house there was not equal authority, there was equal dignity. As to the son, we have seen him subject to the ' Cato, 143. Dionys. of Halic, II. 22. Laws of Manu, III. G2; V. 161. * Xenophon, Govt, of the Lacedamonians, ' Plutarch, Som. Quest., 60. CHAP. IX. MOKALS OP THE ANCIENT FAMILY. 129 authority of a father, who could sell him or condemn him to death. But this son had also his part in the worship ; he filled a place in the religious ceremonies ; Ms presence on certain days was so necessary that the 'Roman wTio bad no son was forced to adopt a fictiiious one for those days, in order that the rites might be per- formed.' And here religion establislied a very power- ful bond between father and son. They believed in a second life in the tomb — a life happy and calm if the fnneral repasts were regularly oBfcred. Thus the father is convinced ttiat Ms destiny ^er this life will depend upon the care that his son will take of his tomb, and the son, on Tiis part, is convinced that his father will be- come a god after death, wliom he will have to invoke. "We can imagine how much respect and Teeiproc;il affection this Taelief would establish in the family. The ancients gave to the domestic virtues the name of piety — the obedience of the son to his father, the love which he tore to lis mother. This was piety — /jietes erga parentes. The attachment of the father for the child, the tenderness of the mother, — these, too, were piety — pietas ergaWberos. Evei'y thing in the family was divine. The sense of duty, natural affection, the religious idea, — all these were confounded, were con- sidered as one, ^nd wfire expressed by the same word. It will, peAaps, appear strange to find love of home counted among the virtues; but it was so counted among the ancients. This sentiment had a deep and powerful hold upon their minds. Anchises, when he sees Troy in fl'ames, is still unwilling to leave his old home. TJlysses, when .countless treasures, and immor- tality itself, are oW&r&A feina,, wisihes only again to •see the flame of his own heartb-fiire. Let us come down to ' Dionys. of Halic, II. 20, 22. 9 130 THIS FAMILY. BOOK II. Cicero's time ; it is no longer a poet, but a statesman, who speaks: "Here is my religion, here is my race, here are the traces of ray forefathers. I cannot express the charm which I find here, and which penetrates my heart and my senses." ' We must place ourselves, in thought, in the midst of these primitive generations to understand how lively and powerful were these senti- ments, which were already enfeebled in Cicero's day. For us the house is merely a domicile — a shelter ; we leave it, and forget it with little trouble ; or, if we are attached to it, this is merely by the force of habit and of recollections; because, for us, religion is not there; our God is the God of the universe, and we find him everywhei-e. It was entirely different among the an- cients ; they found their principal divinity within the house : this was their providence, which protected them individually, which heard their prayers, and granted their wishes. Out of the house, man no longer felt the presence of a god ; the god of his neighbor was a hostile god. Then a man loved his house as he now loves his church." Thus the religion of the primitive ages was not foreign to the moral development of this part of hu- manity. Their gods enjoined purity, and forbade the shedding of blood ; the notion of justice, if it was not born of this belief, must at least have been fortified by it. These gods belonged in common to all the mem- bers of the same family ; thus the family was united by a powerful tie, and all its members learned to love and respect each other. These gods lived in the in- ' Cicero, De Legih., ir. 1. Pro Domo, 41. " Of the sanctity of the aomieile, which the ancients always spoke of as inviolable, Demosthenes, in Androt., 52; in Ever- gum, 60. Digest, de in jus iioc, II. 4. CHAP. X. THE GENS AT EOME AND IN GREECE. 13] terior of each house ; a man loved his house, his home, fixed and durable, which he had received from his an- cestors, and which he transmitted to his children as a sanctuary. Ancient morality, governed by this belief, knew no charity; but it taught at least the domestic virtues. Among this race the isolation of the family was the commencement of morals. Duties, clear, precise, nnd imperious, appeared, but they were restricted within a narrow circle. This narrow character of primitive morals we must recollect as we proceed ; for civil so- ciety, founded later on these same principles, put on the same character, and several singular traits of an- cient politics are explained by this fact.' CHAPTER X. The Gens at Rome and in Greece. We find in the writings of Roman jurists and in Greek writers the traces of an antique institution which appears to have had its flourishing period in the first ages of Greek and Italian societies, but which, be- coming enfeebled by degrees, left vestiges that were hardly perceptible in the later portion of their history. We speak of what the Romans called gens., and the Greeks y^voc. • What is said of ancient morals in this chapter is intended to apply to those peoples that afterwards became Greeks and Ro- mans. This morality was modified with time, especially among the Greeks. Already in the Odyssey we find new sentiments and other manners. 132 THE FAMILY. BOOK 0. As the nature and constitution of the gens .have beem much discussed, it may not be amiss here ilo point oJit what has conetirtuted the difEoulty of the problem. The ffens, as we shall see presently, formed a body whose •constitution was radically aristocratic Xt was through their internal organization that the patiicians of Rome and the Enpatrids of Atbens were able to perpetuate their pilvileges for so long a time. 2fo sooner had the popular pasjty gained the upper hand, than they .attacked this old insititution with all their power. If they bad been able completely to destroy jt, they would probably not liave left us the slightest memorial of it. But it was siogularly eEdowed with vitality, and deeply rooted in their maaneE%uad they could not entirely blot it out. They therefore contented themselves with modifying it. They took away its essen- tial character, and left only its external features, which were not in the way of the new regime. Thus, at Rome, the plebeians undertook to form ffentes, in imitation of the patricians ; at Athens they attempted .to overthrow the gentes,to blend them together, and to replace them by the demes, which were established in imLtatioa of them. We .shaU have to return to the subject when we speak of the revolutions. Let it suffice here for us to remark, that fliis .proibaud alteration which the democracy introduced into the regime of the ffens is of a nature to mislead those who undertake to learn its primitive constitution. Indeed, almost all the in- formation concerning it that has come down to us dates from the epoch when it had been thus transformed, and shows us only ithat paat whieh the revolutions had ■alowed to subsist. Let us suppose that, twenty centuries hence, all knowledge of the middle ages has perished; that there CHAE. X. THE GENS JtT HOME AND IN GREECE. J3S remain no documents relating to what passed before the levalutian of 1789 j aJid- that,: notwithstainding this, an historian of that time wishes to form an idea of insti- tutions of an earlier- date. The only documents that he would have at Jiand would show him the. nobiMty of the ffliineteenth century — that is to say, something very different from tbat of feudalism', hut he would snspecfc that a great revolution had taken place, and he would riglitly conclude that this institution, like all the others, must have been modified. This nobility, wliich his au- thorities would describe to- him,, would- no longec be for him an-ythaig but the shadow or the enfeebled, aind altei-ed ioniage of anotbcr nobirlitj, incomparably more powerful. Finally, if be examined with attention the sligliiit remains of ancient monuments, a few ex- pressions preserved in the language, a few terms escaiped- from th« law, vague soavenira oi- sterile re- grets, he wonlid perhaps be able to> conjecture 8ome>- thing concernang the feudal system, and wouW obtain an idiea of the institratioms of the raiddie' ages; tJiat. would not be very far from the truth. The difficulty would assiirexUy be great; nor is it less for himi who to-day desires to wnderstand the amtique gens; for he baa no information regarding it except what dates froioii a time when it was no longer anything but a shadkrw of itself. We will commence by anaiiyziBg all that the ameienA writers tell us of the gens ; that is to say, what remained of it at the- epoch when, it was aJjieadiy greatly changed. Then, by the' aid of these remaibs, we shall aittempt to catch a glitnpse of the- veritable system of the anti'qu'e' yens. 134 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. 1. What Ancient Writers tell us of the Gene. , If we open a Roman history at the time of the Punic wars we meet three pei'sonages, whose names are Claudius Pulcher, Claudius Nero, and Claudius Centho. All three belong to the same gens — the Claudian gens. Demosthenes in one of his orations produces seven witnesses, who certify that they belong to the same yivog, that of the Brytidse. What is remarkable in this example is, that the seven persons cited as mem- bers of the same yi^og are inscribed in six different demes. This shows that the yifo; did not correspond exactly with the deme, and was not, like it, a simple administrative division.' Here is one fact established : there were gentes at Rome and at Athens. We might cite examples rela- tive to many other cities of Greece and Italy, and conclude from them that, in all probability,, this in- stitution was universal among these ancient nations. Every gens had a special worship ; in Greece the tnembers of the same gens were recognized " by the fact that they had performed saciifices in common from a vfery early period." ^ Plutarch speaks of the place where the Lycomedse sacrificed, and .lEschines speaks of the altar of the gens of the Butadse.' ' Demosthenes, in, Necer., 71. Plutarch, Themist., 1. Ma- chines, Be Falsa Legat., 147? Bceckh, Corp. Insc, 385. Koss, Demi Attici, 2i. The gens among the Greeks is often called noT^a. Pindar, passim. ' Hesychius, '/trcjjTai. Pollux, III. 52, Harpocration, iqytmn;, ^ Plutarch Themist , I. .^Isch., De Falsa Legat., 147. CHAP. X. THE GENS AT EOME AND IN GREECE, 135 At Rome, too, each gens bad religious ceremonies to perform; the day, the place, and the rites were fixed by its particular religion.' When the capital is be- sieged by the Gauls, one of the Fabil, clothed in re- ligious robes, and carrying sacred objects in his hands, is seen to go out and cross the enemy's lines; he goes to oflfer sacrifice on the altar of his gens, which is situ- ated on the Quirinal. In the second Punic war, another Fabius, whom they called the Shield of Rome, is making head against Hannibal. Certainly it is of the fii-st importance to the republic that he remains with his army ; and yet he leaves it in the hands of the im- prudent Minucins: this is because the anniversary of the sacrifice of his gens has arrived, and he must be at Rome to perform the sacred act.' It was a duty to perpetuate this worship from genera- tion to generation, and every man was required to leave sons after him to continue it. Claudius, a per- sonal enemy of Cicero, abandoned ,bis gens to enter a plebeian family, and Cicero says to him, " Why do you expose the religion of the Claudian gens to the risk of becoming extinct through your fault ? " The gods of the gens — Dii gentiles — protected no other gens, and did not desire to be invoked by an- other. Ifo stranger could be admitted to the religious ceremonies. It was believed that if a stranger had a •part of the victim, or even if he merely assisted at the sacrifice, the gods of the gens were ofiended, and all the members were guilty of grave impiety. Just'^is every gens had its worship and its religious ' Cicero, De Arusp. Sesp., 15. Dion. Halic, XI. 14. Fes- tus, Propudi. » Livy, V. 46 ; XXII. 18. Valer. Max., 1. 1, 11. Polybius, III. 94. Pliny, XXXIV. 13. Macrobiu8, III. 6. 136' THE FjVMItT. BOOK 11. festivals, so also it bad its common tomb. We reaxJ' in an oration of I)emo6thene», " This' man, having lost his children, buiied them' in the tomb of his fathers, in that tomb' that is- common tO' all those of his gens." The rest of the oration sho'ws that no stranger could be^ buried in this tomb. In another discourse, the same orator speaks of the tomb where the gens' of the Busel- idae buried its members, and where every year it per- formed its funeral sacrifices: "this burial-place is a large field, surrounded with an enctosu-re; according to the ancient custom." "' The same was the case among the Romans. Vel- leius Patereulus spcats of the tomb- of the QuintHian gens, and Suetonius informs us that the Claudian gens had one on the slope of the Capitoline Hill. The ancient l':iw of Rome permits the members' of a gens to inherit flora each other. The Twelve Tables^ declare that, in default of" sons and of agnates, the gtnUlis' is the natural heir. According' to this code, therefore, th'e gentiVes are nearer akin than the cog- nates; that is to say, nearer than those related through females. Nothing is more ctosely united than the members of a gens. Unrted in the celebration of the same sa- cred ceremonies, they mutually &\& each other iii all the ucc ds of life. The entire gens is- responsible for the debt of one of its members;- it redeem'S' the prison- er and pays the fine of one condemned. If one of its members becomes a ma^trate; it unites to pay the expenses incident to the magistracy." The accused was accompanied, to the tribunal by all ' Demosthenes, in Macaii,^ 79 ;, im Hubad., 28. ' Livy, V. 32. Dinn. Halici, XIII. 6. Appiany^nnii.,. 28. CHAP. X. THE GBNS AT ROUE AND IN GREECE. 137 the members of his gens; this marks the close reiaition wMeh the law estaWished between a man and the body of which he forni«d a part. For a man to ptead or bear witness against one of his own gens' was an aict contrary to religion. A certain Claudius, a man of some rank, was a personal enemy of Appiua Claiudiua the Decemvir J yet when the latter wa&pkced on trial, and was menaced with death, this Claudius appeared in his defence, and implored the people in Ws favor, but n-ot without giving themi notice that he took this step " not on account of any affection which he bore th& accused, but as a duty." If a member of a gems could not accuse another member before a tribunfll of the city, this was because there was a tribun-al in the gens itself. Each gens bad its chief, who was' at the same time its judge, its priosty and its military cGmmander,' Every one knows that when the Sabine family of the Claudii established itself at Rome^the three thousand persons who composed it obeyed a single chief. Later, when the Fabii took upon' themselves th« whole war • agsiinsli the TeienteSj we see that this gen» had its chief, who spoke in ita name before the senate, and who led it. agaiinat the enemy.' In Greece, too, each gens bad its: chief; the insevip- tions confirm this, and they show us that this chief generally bore th« title of airchom.* Finally, ini Eome, as in Gireeeci the' gen's had its assemblies j it passed' laws which its members were boond to obey, and which the eity viseiS respected.* I Dion. Halic, II. 7. ' Ibid., IX. 5. " Boeekh, Corp'. Mserip^ 397, 399. Ross, Demi AttM, 24. * Livy, VI. 20; Suetonius, TUier., 1. Ross, Demi AiHoi, 2i. 138 THE FAMILY. BOOK n. Such are the usages and laws which we find still in force at an epoch when the gens was already enfeebled and almost destroyed. Such are the remains of this ancient institution. a. An Mcamination of certain Opinions that have been put forth to explain the Roman Gens. On this subject, which lias long been the therae of learned controversy, several theories have been offered. Some say that the gens was nothing more than a simi- larity in name ; ' others, that the word gens designated a sort of factitious relationship. Still others hold that the gens was merely the expression of a relation be- tween a family which acted as pati'ons and other fami- lies that were clients. But none of these explanations answer to the whole series of facts, laws, and usages which we have just enumerated. Another opinion, more plausible, is, that the gens was a political association of several families who were ori- ginally strangers to each other ; and that in default of ties of blood, the city established among them an im- aginary union and a sort of religious relationship. But a first objection presents itself: If the gens is only a factitious association, how are we to explain the fact that its members inherited from each other? Why is the gentilis preferred to the cognate? It has been seen above what the rules of succession were, and we have pointed .out the close and necessary relation which religion had established between the right of inheritance and mas- ■ Two passages of Cicero, Tuscul., I., 16, and Topica, 6, have tended to confuse the question. Cicero, like most of his con- temporaries, appears not to have understood what the ancient gens really was. CHiP. X. THE GEJfS AT EOME AKD IK GREECE. 139 culine kinship. Can we suppose that ancient law de- viated so far from this principle as to accord the right of succession to the gentiles if they had been strangers to each other? The best established and most prominent character- istic of the gens is, that, like the family, it had a worship. Now, if we inquire what god each adores, we find almost always that it is a deified ancestor, and that the altar where the sacrifice is offered is a tomb. At Athens the Eu- molpidse worshipped Eumolpus, the author of their race ; the Phytalidse adored the hero Phytalus; the Butadse, Butes; the Buselidae, Buselus; the Lakiadse, Lakios; the Amynandridse, Cecrops.' At Rome the Claudii are descended from a Clausus ; the Caecilii honored as chief of their race the hero CsbcuIus ; the Calpurnii, a Calpus ; the Julii, a Julus ; the ClcBlii, a Cloelus.' We may easily suppose, it is true, that many of these genealogies were an afterthought ; but we must admit that this sort of imposture would have had no motive if it had not been a constant usage among the real gen- tes to recognize and to worship' a common ancestor. Falsehood always seeks to imitate the truth. Besides, the imposture was not so easy as it might seem to us. This worship was not a vain formality for parade. One of the most rigorous rules of the religion was, that no one should honor as an ancestor any except those from whom he was really descended; to offer this worship to a stranger was a grave impiety. If, then, the members of a gens adored a common ancestor, it was because they really believed they were descended ' Demosthenes, in Macart., 79. Pausanias, I. 37. Inscrip' Hon of the Amynandridcs, cited by Ross, p. 24. ' ifestus, CaculuSy Calpurnii, Clcelii. 140 THE FAMILT. BOOK IT. from him. To counterfeit a tomb, to establish anniver- saries and an annual woi'ship, would have been to carry falsehood into what they held most dear, and to triflte- with religion. Such a fiction was possible in the time of Caesai', when the old family religion was eh^r- ished by nobody. But if we go back to the time when this creed- was in its vigm-, we camnot imagine that sev- eral families, taking part in the same imposture, could say to each other, We will pretend to have a common ancestor ; we will erect him a tomb ', we will offer him funeral repasts;; and our descendanits shall adore him in all future time. Such a thought could not have pre- sented itself to their minds, or it would have been scouted as an impiety. In the difficult problems oftea found in history, it iis well to seek from the terms of lamguage all the instruc- tion which they can afford. An institution is some- times explained by tho word that designates it. Now, the word ffens means exactly the same as the word ffenus / so completely alike are they that we can take the one for the other, and say, indifferently, gena Fahia and gemus Fahium; both correspond to the verb gig- nere and to the substantive geniim, precisely as fifog corresponds to yetvav and to yotEig. All these words convey the same idea of filiation. The Greeks also deagfnated the members of a yhio? by the word 6iJiciy&' IttKTE?,, which signifies nourished by the same milk. Let these words be compared with those which we are ac- castomed to translate by fa/mily — the Latin familia^ the Greek hms,. Neither of these last has the sense of generation or of kinship. The true signification of familia is property; it designates the field, the house, money, and slaves; and it ib for this reason that the Twelve Tables say, in speaking of the heir, familidm CHAP. X. THE GENS AT EOME AND IN GREECE. 141 •nancitor — let him take the &u.ccesaioH. As to -Siaos, it is dear that this w©rd presents to the mimd noathei-idca than tJaat of property orof idomieiLe, And yet these are the words tfcat we haibitaally translate by family. Now, is it admissible that terms whose intrinsic meaning is thai lof domicile or property were often used to designaite a family, and that other words wiioae primairy sense is iili- latiiom, birth, patea-nity, ihaye never designated anything but an artificial aasoeiation ? Certainily this would not be in conformity with -tlie logic, so dai-eot and clear, of , the sineient languages. It is unquestionable that thej Oreeks ;aiid the Romans attaebed to th« words gens and yiKog ■tjitte idea of a common origin. This idea migh.t have become obscured after the gens was modified, bui .the wiord ihas remaisaed to bear witoess of it. The theory that presents the gens as a factitious association has •.against it, tJier€.foi«, 1st, the old legis- Jation, which gives the gentiles the right of inheritance ; 2, the old religion, which allowed a aommon worship only where there was a common iparenitage ; .3d, the .ternw ■of language, which .attest in ithe gens a .common origia. The theory has also this other def&e4 .that it supposes liuman societies to have commenced by a couvention ^nd an artifice — a position which hietofical .science can- not adtnift as true. 3. The Gens is the Family stiU holding its primitive Organization .and its Unity. All the evidence pi-esents us the gens as united by ithe tie of biilth. Let ius again oons,uJ.t language : the names of the genties, in Gneece ,as well as in Rome, all fcave the form which was used in the .two languages for patronyraiieB. Claudius signifies (the «ob of Olausus, and Baitadse, the sons of Bjitea. 142 THE FAMILY. BOOK. D. Those who think they see in the gens an artificial association, set out from a false assumption. They suppose that a gens always consisted of several families having diflferent names, and they cite the Cornelian gens, which did indeed include Scipios, Lentuli, Cossi, and Syllae. But this is very far from having heen a general rule. The Marcian gens appears never to have had more than a single line. We also find but one in the Lucretian gens, and but one in the Qiiintil- ian gens, for a long time. It would certainly be very difficult to tell what families composed the Fabian gens, for all the Fabii known in history belong manifestly to the same stock. At first they all bear the same sur- name of Vibulanus ; they all change it afterwards for that of Ambustus, which they replace still later by Maximus or Dorso. We know that it was customary at Rome for all patricians to have three names. One was called, for example, Publius Cornelius Soipio. It may be worth the while to inquire which of these three names was considered as the true name. Publius was merely a name placed before — prmnomen ; Scipio was a name added — agnomen. The true name was Cornelius ; and this name was at the same time that of the whole gens. Had we only this single indication regarding the an- cient gens, it would justify us in affirming that there were Cornelii before there were Scipios, and not, as it is often said, that the family of the Scipios associated with others to form the Cornelian gens. History teaches us, in fact, that the Cornelian gens was for a long time undivided, and that all the mem- bers alike bore the surname of Maluginensis, and that of Cossus. It was not till the time of the dictator Carailliis that one of its branches adopted the surname of Scipio, CHAP. X. THE GENS AT BOMB AND IN 6EBECE. 143 A little later another branch took the surname of Rufus, which it replaced afterwards by that of Sylla. The Lentuli do not appear till the tirae of the Samnite wars, the Cethegi not until the second Punic war. It is the same with the Claudian gens. The Claudii remained a long time united in a single family, and all bore the surname of Sabinus or of Regillensis, a sign of their oi'igin. We follow them for seven generations without seeing any branches formed in this family, although it had become very numerous. It was only in the eighth, that is to say, in the time of the first Punic war, that we see three branches separate, and adopt three sur- names which became hereditary with them. These were thePulchri, who continued during two centuries; the Centhoa, who soon became extinct, and the Neros, who continued to the time of the empire. From all this it is clear that the gens was not an association of families, but that it was the family itself. It might either comprise only a single line, or produce several branches; it was always but one family. Besides, it is easy to account for the formation of the antique gens and for its nature, if we but refer to the old belief and to the old institutions that we have already described. We shall see, even, that the gens is derived very naturally from the domestic religion and from the private law of the ancient ages. Indeed, what did this primitive religion prescribe ? That the ances- tor, that is to say, the man who was first buried in the tomb, should be perpetually honored as a god, and that his descendants, assembled every year near the sacred place where he reposed, should ofl'er him the funeral repast. This fire always kept burning, this tomb always hon- ored with a worship, were the centre around which all 144 THE I-AMILT. iBOOK H. later generations came to live, and by whidh all tfee branches of the family, however numerous they might be, remained grouped in a single body. What more does private law tell us of those ancient ages? Wliile studying the nature of aathoMty in the ancient faTniily, we saw that the son did not iseparate fiiom the father ; whi'le studying the rules for the transmission of the patrimony, we saw that, on aocoHmt of the right of pri- mogeniture, the yoninger brothers did not separate from the oldest. Hearth, tomb, patiiwony, all these, in the beginning, were indivisible. The family, conseqfuently, was also indivisible. Time did not dismember it. This indivisible family, which developed through ages, per- petuating its worship and its name from century to century, was really the antique gens. The gens was the family, but the family having preserved the umVy which its religion ■enjoined, and having attained all the development whicli ancient private law permitted it to attain.' ' We need not repeat what we liave already said of agnation -(B. II., ch. v). We can see that agnaiio and gentilitas — the relationship of the gentiles — flowed from tlie same principles, and were ifilationships of the same nature. The j)a6sage in Hm iaw of ,the Twelve Tahles which assigns the inheritance to Jhfi gentHes, in defa.u\t ot agnati, embarrassed the jurisconsults, and led to the opinion that ther,e was an essential difference between these two kinds of kinship. But this difference is nowhere found. One was agnalius, as one was gent'^is, by masculine de- scent and Che religious bond. There was only a differemce of (degsroe, which ibesgan when the branches of the same gens were separated. The .ag,ttatus was a member of the .branch ; the gen- tilis of the gens. There was therefore the same distinction between the terms gentilis and agnatvs as between the words gens and familia. Familiam dicimvs omnium agnatorum, says tJlpian in the Digest, L. tit., 16, § 198. One, when he was the agnate of a man, was, for a still etronger reason, his geirti- (iOAP. X. THE GENS AT ROME AND IN GREECE. 145 This tiTith admitted, all that the ancient writers have told us of the gens becomes clear. T)ie close unity which we have remarked among its members is no longer surprising ; they are related by birth, and the worship which they practise in common is not a fiction ; it comes to them from their ancestors. As they are .'i single family, they have a common tomb. For the same reason the law of the Twelve Tables declares them qualified to inherit each other's property. For the same reason, too, they bear the same name. As all had, in the beginning, a single undivided patrimony, it was a custom, and even a necessity, that the entire gens should be answerable for the debt of one of its mem- bers, and that they should pay the ransom of the pris- oner and the fine' of the convict. All these rules be- came established of themselves while the gens still retained its unity; when it was dismembered they could not disappear entirely. Of the ancient and sa- cred unity of this family there remain persistent traces in the annual sacrifices which assembled the scattered members ; in the name that remained common to them ; in the legislation which recognized the right oi gentiles to inherit ; in their customs which enjoined them to aid each other.' lis ; but he could not be a gentilis without being an agnate. The law of the Twelve Tables gave the inheritance, in default of ag- nates, to those who were only gentiles of the deceased, that is to say, who were of his gens, without bring of his branch or of his famiUa. ^ The use of patronymics dates from this high antiquity, and is connected with this old religion. Every gens transmitted the name of the ancestor from generation to generation with tlip same care as it perpetuated its worship. What tlie Konians called nomen was this name of the ancestor which all the members of the gens bore. A day came when each branch, becoming 10 146 THE FAMILY. BOOK IL 4. The Family {Gens) was at fast the only Form of Society. What we have seen of the family, its domestic re- ligion, the gods which it had created for itself, the laws that it had estahlished, the right of primogeniture on which it had been founded, its unity, its develop- ment from age to age until the formation of the gens, its justice, its priesthood, its internal government, — car- ries us forcibly, in thought, towards a primitive epoch, when the family was independent of all superior power, and when the city did not yet exist. When we examine the domestic religion, those gods who belonged only to one family and exercised theii providence only within the walls of one house, this worship which was secret, this religion which would independent in certain respects, marked its individaality by adopting a surname {fognmaenC). Each person was, moreoTer, distinguished by a particular denomination, agnomen, as Oaius, or Quintus. But the true name, the official name, the sacred name, was that of the gens ; this, coming from the first Icnown ancestor, was to last as long as the family and the gods lasted. It was the same in Greece. Every Greek, at least if he belonged to an ancient and regularly established &mily, had, like the Roman patrician, three names. One was his individual name; another was that of his father ; and as these two generally alter- nated with each other, they were, together, equivalent to the hereditary cognomen, which at Borne designated a branch of the gens. Lastly, the third name was that of the entire gens. Ex- amples : MiXriairii Kifiiavoe JaxiuStig, and in the following gen- eration, Kifiiav MtXriuSov jlaxiudiiq. The Lakiadse formed a ylvos, as the Cornelii formed a gens. It was the same with the Butadae, the Phytalidse, &c. Pindar never extols his heroes without recalling the name of their ysvoj. This name, in Greek, usually ended in iiiijs or aJijs, and thus had an adjective form, just as the name of the gens among the Romans invariably ended in CHAP. X, THE GENS AT ROME AND IN GEEECB, 147 not be propagated, this antique morality which pre- scribed the isolation of families, ■— it is clear that beliefs of this nature could not have taiken root in the minds of men, except in an age when larger societies were not yet formed. If the religious sentiment was satis- fied with so narrow a conception of the divine, it was because human associations were then narrow in pro- portion. The time when men believed only in the domestic gods was the time when there existed only families. It is quite true that this belief might have subsisted afterwards, and even for a long time, when cities and nations existed. Man does not easily free himself from opinions that have once exercised a strong influence over him. This belief might endure, there- fore, even when it was in disaccord with the social state. What is there, Indeed, more contradictory than to live in civil society and to have particular gods in ivs. This was none the less the true name. In daily life a man might be called by his individual surnanje ; but in (he official language of politics or religion, his complete name, and above all the name of the Yivog, was required. (Later the democracy substituted the name of the deme for that of the 'ylvog.) The history of names followed a different course in ancient from what it has followed in modern times. In tho middle ages, until the twelfth century, the true name was the individual or baptismal name. Patronymics came quite late, as names of estates or surnames. It was just the reverse among the an- cients ; and this difference is due to tlie difference of the two religions. Tor the old domestic religion, the family was the true body, of which the individual was but an inseparable mem- ber ; the patronymic was, therefore, the first name in date and in importance. The new religion, on the contrary, recognized in the individual complete liberty and entire personal indepen- dence, and was not in the least opposed to separating him from the family. Baptismal names were, therefore, the first, and for a long time the only, names. 148 THE FAMILY. BOOK H. each family ? But it is clear that this contradiction did not always exist, and that at the epoch when this belief was established in the mind, and became power- ful enough to form a religion, it corresponded exactly with the social state of man. Now, the only social state that is in accord with such a belief is that in which the family lives independent and isolated. In such a state the whole Aryan race appears to have lived for a long time. The hymns of the Vedas confirm this for the branch from which the Hindus are descended, and the old beliefs and the old private laws attest it for those who finally became Greeks and Romans. If we compare the political institutions of the Aryas of the East with those of the Aryas of the West, we find hardly any analogy between them. If, on the con- trary, we compare the domestic institutions of these various nations, we perceive that the family was con- stituted upon the same principles in Greece and in India ; besides, these principles were, as we have al- ready shown, of so singular a nature that we cannot sup- pose this resemblance to have been the work of chance. Finally, not only do these institutions offer an evident analogy, but even the words that designate them are often the same in the different languages which this race has spoken from the Ganges to the Tiber. From tills fact we may draw a double conclusion : one is, that the origin of domestic institutions among the na- tions of this race is anterior to the period when its different branches separated ; the other is, that the origin of political institutions is, on the contrary, later than this separation. The first were fixed from the time when the race still lived in its ancient cradle of Central Asia. The second were formed by degrees in CHAP. X. THE GElSra AT ROME AND IN GREECE. 149 the different countries to which its migrations con- ducted. We can catch a glimpse therefore of a long period, during which men knew no other form of so- ciety than the family. Then arose the domestic reli- gion, which could not have taken root in a society otherwise constituted, and which must long have been an obstacle to social development. Then also was established ancient private law, which was found later to be in disaccord with the interests of a more extended social organization, but which was in perfect harmony with the state of society in which it arose. Let us place ourselves, in thought, thei'efore, in the midst of those ancient generations whose traces have not been entirely effaced, and who delegated their beliefs and their laws to subsequent ages. Each family has its religion, its gods, its priesthood. Religious isolation is a law with it; its ceremonies are secret. In death even, or in the existence that follows it, families do not mingle ; each one continues to live apart in the tomb, from which the stranger is excluded. Every family has also its property, that is to say, its lot of land, which is inseparably attached to it by its religion ; its gods — Termini — guard the enclosure, and its Maues keep it in their care. Isolation of property is so obli- gatory that two domains cannot be contiguous, but a band of soil must be left between them, which must be neutral ground, and must remain inviolable. Finally, every family has its chief, as a nation would have its king. It has its laws, which, doubtless, are unwritten, but which religious faith engraves in the heart of every man. It has its court of justice, above which there is no other that one can appeal to. Whatever man really needs for his material or moral life the family possesses within itselE It needs nothing from without ; it is an organized state, a society that suffices for itself. 150 THE FAMILY. BOOK JX. But this family of the ancient ages is not reduced to the proportions of the moflern family. In larger sociei- ties the family separates and deereases. But in thd absence of every other social organization, it extends, develops, and ramifies without becoming divided. Sevei-al younger branches remain grouped around an older one, near the one sacred fire and the common tomb. Still another element entered into the composition of this antique family. The reciprocal need which the poor has of the rich, and the rich has of the poor, makes servants. But in this sort of patriarchal regime ser- vant and slave were one. We can see, indeed, that the principle of a free and voluntaiy service, ceasing at the will of the servant, would ill accord with a social state in which a family lived isolated. Besides, the domestic religion did not permit strangere to be ad- mitted into a family. By some means, then, the ser- vant must become a member and an integrant part of the family. This was efieoted by a sort of initiation of the new comer into the domestic worship. A curious usage, that subsisted for a long time in Athenian houses, shows us how the slave entered- the family. They made him approach the fire, placed him in the presence of the domestic divinity, and pourisd- lustral water upon his head. He then shared with the family some cakes and fruit.' This ceremony bore a certain analogy to those of marriage and adoption. It doubtless signified that the new comer, a stranger the day before, should henceforth be a member of the family, and share in its reli^on. And thus the slave ' Pemosthenes, in Stephannm, I. 74. Aristophanes, Pluiits, 7G8. These two writers clearly indicate a ceremony, but do not describe it. The scholiast of Aristophanes adds a few details. CHAP. X. THE GEKS AT EOMB. AXD IN GEEECE. 151 joined m the prayera, and took part in the festivals.' The fire pi-oteeted him ; the religion of the Lares be- longed to him as well as to his master. This is why the slave was buried in the biirial-plaoe of the famlly.- But by the very act of acquiring this worship, and, the right to pray, he lost his liberty. Religion was a chain that held him. He was bound to the family for his whole life and after his death. His master could raise him fi-om his base servitude, and treat him as a fi-ee man. But the servant did not on this account quit the family. As he was bound to it by his worship, he could not, without impiety, sep- arate from it. Tinder the name of fieedman, or that of client, he continued to recognize the authority of the chief or patron, to be under obligationa to him. He did not marry without the consent of the master,, and his children continued to obey this, master. There was thus formed in the midst of the great family a certain number of small families of clients and subordinates^ The Romans atti'ibuted the establish- ment of clientship to Romulus, as if an instLtution of this nature could have been the work of a man. Client- ship i» older than Romulus. Besides,, it has existed, in other countries, in Greece as well as in all Italy. It was not the cities that established and regulated it ; th€y, on the contrary,, as we shall presently see, weak- ened and destroyed it by degrees., Clientship is an institution of the domestic law, and existed in families before there were cities. ' Ferias in famuKs habento, Cicero, De Legib. II. 8; II. 12. 2 Quum dominis, turn, famulis religio Larum. Cicero, De Legib., II. 11. Comp. iEsch., Agam., 1035-1038. The slave could even perform a religious act in the name of his master. Cato, De Re Bust., 83. ^ 152 THE FAMILY. BOOK. II. We are not to judge of the clientship of earlier ages from the clients that we see in Horace's time. The client, it is clear, was for a long time a servant attached to a patron. But there was then something to give him dignity ; he had a part in the worship, and was associated in the religion of the family. He had the same sacred fire, the same festivals, the same sacra as his patron. At Rome, in sign of this religious com- munity, he took the name of the family. He was con- sidered as a member of it by adoption. Hence the close bond and reciprocity of duties between the patron and the client. Listen to the old Roman law: "If a patron has done his client wrong, let him be accursed, sacer esto, — let liini die." The patron was obliged to protect his client by all the means and with aU the power of wliich he was master; by his prayers as a priest, by his lance as a warrior, by his law as a judge. Later, when the client was called before the city tribunal, it was the patron's duty to defend him. It was his duty even to reveal to him the mysterious formulas of the law that would enable him to gain his cause. One might testify in court against a cognate, but not against a client ; and men continued long to consider their duties towards clients as far above those towni'ds cognates.' Why? Because a cognate, con- nected solely through women, was not a relative, and had no part in the family religion. The client, on the contrary, had a community of worship; he had, in- ferior though he was, a real relationship, which con- sisted, according to the expression of Plato, in adoring the same domestic gods. Clientship was a sacred bond which religion had formed, and which nothing could break. Once the ' Cato, in Aulus Gellius, V. 3 ; XXI. 1. CHAP. X. THE GENS AT EOMB AND IN GREECE. 153 client of a family, one could never be separated from it. Clientship was even hereditary. From all this we see that the family, in the earliest times, with its oldest branch and its younger branches, its servants and its clients, might comprise a very numerous body of men. A family that by its religion maintained its unity, by its private law rendered itself indivisible, and through the laws of clientship retained its servants, came to form, in the course of time, a very extensive organization, having its hereditary chief. The Aryan race appears to have been composed of an indefinite number of societies of this nature, during a long succession of ages. These thousands of little groups lived isolated, having little to do with each other, having no need of one another, united by no boni religious or political, having each its domain, each its internal government, each its gods. BOOK THIRD. THE CITY. CHAPTER I. The Phratxy and the Cury. The Tribe. As yet we have given no dates, nor can we now. In the history of these antique societies the epochs are more easily marked by the succession of ideas and of institutions than by that of years. The study of the ancient rules of private law has enabled us to obtain a glimpse, beyond the times that are called historic, of a succession of centuries during which the family was the sole form of society. This family might then contain within its wide compass several thousand human beings. But in these limits human association was yet too narrow ; too narrow for material needs, since this family hai'dly sufficed for all the chances of life ; too narrow for the moral needs of our nature, for we have seen how incomplete was the knowledge of the divine, and how insufficient was the morality of this little world. The smallness of this primitive society corresponded well with the narrowness of the idea then entertained of the divinity. Every family had its gods, and men neither conceived of nor adored any save the domestic 151 CHAP. 1. THE PHEATEY AlTD THE C0ET. 155 ciivinities. But be could not have contented himself long with these gods, so much below what his intelli- gence might attain. If many centuries were requived for him to arrive at the idea of God as a being unique, incomparable;, infinite, he must at any rate have insen- sibly appifoached this ideal, by enlarging his conception from age to age, and by extending little by Uttle the horizon whose line separated for him the divine Being from the things of this world. The religious idea and human society went on, there- fore, expanding at the same time. The domestic religion foi^bade two ^milies to mingle and unite; but it was possible for several families, ^. without sacrificing anything of their special religions, ^ to join, at least, for the celebration of another worship which might have been common to all of them. And this is what happened. A certain number of families formed a group, called, in the Grieek language, a phra- tria, in the Latin, a curia.' Did there exist the tie of birth between the families of the same group ? This cannot be affirmed. It is clear, however, that this new association was not formed without a certain enlarge- ment of religious ideas. Even at the moment when they united, these families conceived the idea of a divinity superior to that of the household. One who was common to all, and who watched over the entire group. They raised an altar to him, lighted a sacred fire, and founded a worship. There was no cury or phratry that had not its altar y}/'- ' Homer, Iliad, 11. 362. Demosthefles, in Macart. leseas, III. 37; VI. 10; IX. S3. Phratries at Thebes, Pindar, Isthm., VII. 18, and Scholiast. Phrairia and curia are two terms that were translated the one by the other. Dion, of Halic, H. 85; Dion Cassius, fr. 14. 156 THE CITT. BOOK III. and its protecting god. The religious act here was of the same nature as in the family. It consisted essen- tially of a repast, partaken of in common ; the nourish- ment had been prepared upon the altar itself, and was consequently sacred ; while eating it, the worshippers recited prayers ; the divinity was present, and received his part of the food and drink. These religious repasts of the cury lasted a long time at Rome ; Cicero mentions them, and Ovid describes them.' In the time of Augustus they had still pre- served all their antique forms. "I have seen, in those sacred dwellings," says a historian of this epoch, " the repast displayed before the god ; the tables were of wood, according to ancestral usage, and the dishes were of earthen ware. The food was loaves, cakes of fine flour, and fruits. I saw the libations poured out ; they did not fall from gold or silver cups, but from vessels of clay, and I admired the men of our day who remain so faithful to the rites and customs of their fathers."' At Athens these repasts took place during the festival called Apaturia? There were usages remaining in the latest period of Greek history which throw some light npon the nature of the ancient phratry. Thus we See that in the time ' Cicero, De Orat., I. 7. Ovid, Fast., VI. 305. Dionysias, II. 68. " Dionysius, II. 23. And yet some clianges had been intro- duced. The feasts of the cury had become a vain formality. The members of the cury willingly neglected them, and the custom was introduced of replacing the common meal by a dis- tribution of victuals and money. Plautus, Aulularia, V. 69 and 137. ' Aristophanes, Acharn., 146. Athenaeus, IV. p. 171. Suidas, '.^nroTovgio. CHAP. I. THE PHEATET AND THE CUET. 157 of Demosthenes, to be a member of a pbratry, one must have been bora of a legitimate marriage in one of the families that composed it ; for the religion of the phra- try, like that of tlie family, was transmitted only by blood. The young Athenian was presented to the phratry by his father, who swore that this was his son. The admission took place with a religious ceremony. The phratry sacrificed a victim, and cooked the flesh upon the altar. All the members were present. If they refused to admit the new comer, as they had a right to do, if they doubted the legitimacy of his birth, they took away the flesh from the altar. If they did not do this, if, after cooking, they shared with the young man the flesh of the victim, then he was admitted, and became a member of the association.' The ex- planation of these practices is, that the ancients believed any nourishment prepared upon an altar, and shared between several persons, established among them an indissoluble bond and a sacred union that ceased only with life. Every phratry or cnry had a chief, a curion, or phra- tiiarch, whose principal function was to preside at the sacrifices.' Perhaps his attributes were at first more extensive. The phratry had its assemblies and its tri- bunal, and could pass decrees. In it, as well as in the family, there were a god, a worship, a priesthood, a legal tribunal, and a government. It was a small society that was modelled exactly upon the family. The association naturally continued to increase, and after the same fashion ; several phra tries, or curies, were grouped together, and formed a tribe. ' Demosthenes, in Eubul. ; in Macart. Isseus, VIII. 18. * Dionysius, II. 64. Varro, V. 83. Demosthenes, in Eubul., 23. 158 THE CITY. BOOK in. This new circle also had its religion ; in each tribe there were an altar and a protecting divinity. The god of the tribe was generally of the same nature as that of the phratry, or that of the family. It was a man deified, a hero. From him the tribe took its name. The Greeks called him the eponymous hero. He had his annual festal day. The principal part of the religious ceremony was a repast, of which the entire tribe partook.' The tribe, like the phratry, held assemblies and passed decrees, to which all the members were obliged to submit. It had a chief, tribunus, cpvloSamieis,' From what remains to us of the tribe we see that, originally, it was constituted to be an independent society, and as if there had been no other socaal power above it. ' Demosthenes, in Theocrinem. .Slschines, UI. 27. Isseus^ VII. 36. FansaiUas, I. 88. ScboU, m Demosth., 70^ In the history of the ancients a distinption must be made between the religious tribes and the local tribes. We speak here only of the first : the second came long afterwards. There were tribes everywhere in Greece. Mad, U. 362, 668 ; Odyssey, XIX. 177; Herodotus, IV. 161. ' iEschines, III. 30,31. Aristotle, Frag., cited ^y Photiua, V. NavxQaQia. Pollux, VIII. 111. Boeckh, Corp. Tnscr., 82, 85, 108. Few traces remain of the political and religious organiza- tion of the three primitive tribes of Borne. These tribes were too considerable bodies for the city not to attempt to weaken them and take away their independence. The plebeians, more- over, labored to abolish them. CHAP. 11. NEW EBLIGIOtTS BELIEFS. 159 CHAPTER 11. New Beligious Beliefs. 1. The Gods of Physical Nature. Before passing from the foimation of tribes to the establishment of cities, we must mention an important element in the intellectual life of those ancient peoples. When we sought the most ancient beliefs of these men, we found a religion which had their dead ancestors for its object, and for its principal symbol the sacred fire. It was this religion that founded the family and estab- lished the first laws. But this race has also had in all its branches another religion — the one whose piincipal figures were Zeus, Here, Athene, Juno, that of the Hellenic Olympus, and of the Roman Capitol. Of these two reUgions, the first found its gods in the human soul ; the second took them from physical nature. As the sentiment of living power, and of con- science, which he felt in himself, inspired man with the first idea of the divine, so the view of this immensity, which surrounded and overwhelmed him, traced out for iis religious sentiment another course. Man, in the early ages, was continually in the pres-, ence of nature ; the habits of icivilized life did not yet draw a line between it and him. His sight was charmed by its beauties, or dazzled by its grandeur. He en- joyed the light, he was tenified by the night ; and when he saw the " holy light of heaven " return, he experi- enced a feeling of thankfuLoess. His life was in the hands of nature; he looked for the beneficent cloud on whitsh his iai-vest dependjed ; he feaued the storm which 160 THE CITY. BOOK III. might destroy the labor and hope of all the year. At every moment he felt his own feebleness and the incomparable power of what surrounded him. He ex- perienced perpetually a mingled feeling of veneration, love, and terror for this power of nature. This sentiment did not conduct him at once to the conception of an only God i-uling the universe; for as yet he had no idea of the universe. He knew not thnt the earth, the sun, and the stars are parts of one same body; the thought did not occur to him that they might all be ruled by the same being. On first looking upon the external world, man pictured it to liimself as a sort of confused republic, where rival forces made war upon each other. As he judged external objects from himself, and felt in himself a free person, he saw also in every part of creation, in the soil, in the tree, in the cloud, in the water of the river, in the sun, so many persons like himself. He endued them with thought, volition, and choice of acts. As he thought them pow- erful, and was subject to their empire, he avowed his dependence; he invoked'them, and adored them; he made gods of them. Thus in this race the religious idea presented itself under two different forms. On the one hand, man attached the divine attribute to the invisible principle, to the intelligence, to what he perceived of the soul, to what of the sacred he felt in himself. On the other hand, he applied his ideas of the divine to the external object which he saw, which he loved or feared; to physical agents that were the masters of his happiness and of his life. These two orders of belief laid the foundation of two religions that lasted as long as Greek and Roman society. They did not make war upon each other; CHAP. n. SEW EELIGIOUS BELIEFS. 161 they even lived on very good terms, and shared the empire over man ; but they never became confounded. Their dogmas were always entirely distmct, often con- tradictory; and their ceremonies and practices were absolutely different. The worship of the gods of Olym- pus and that of heroes and manes never had anything common between them. Which of these two religions was the earlier in date no one can tell. It is certain, however,that one — that of the dead — having been fixed at a very early epoch, always remained unchangeable in its practices, while its dogmas faded away little by little ; the other — that of physical nature — was more progressive, and developed freely from age to age, mod- ifying its legends and doctrines by degrees, and con- tinually augmenting its authority over men. 2. Melation of this Mdigion to the Development of Human Society, We can easily believe that the first rudiments of this religion of nature are very ancient, though not so old, perhaps, as the worship of ancestors. But as it corre- sponded with more general and higher conceptions, it required more time to become fixed into a precise doc- ti-ine." It is quite certain that it was not brought into the world in a day, and that it did not spring in full perfection from the brain of man. We find at the ' Need we recall all the Greek and Italian traditions that showed the religion of Jupiter to be a young and relatively re- cent religion? Greece and Italy had preserved the recollection of a time when social organizations already existed, and when this religion was not yet known. Ovid, Fast., II. 2fi9 ; Virg., Oeorg., I. 126. ^sch., Eumen. Pausanias, VIII. 8. It appears that among the Hindus the IHtris were anterior to the Devas. 11 162 THE CITY. BOOK HI. origin of this religion neither a prophet nor a body of iDriests. It grew up in different rainds by an eifort of their natural powers. Each man created it for himself m his own fashion. Among all these gods, sprung from different minds, there were resemblances, because ideas were formed in the minds of men after a nearly uni- form manner. But there was also a great variety, because each mind was the anthor of its own gods. Hence it was that for a long time this religion was con- fused, and that its gods were innumerable. Still the elements which could be deified were not very numerous. The sun which gives fecundity, the earth v;hich nourishes, the clouds, by turns beneficent and destructive — such were the diflferent powers of which they could make gods. But from each one of these elements thousands of gods were created ; because the same physical agent, viewed under different aspects, received from men different names. The sun, for ex- ample, was called in one place Hercules (the glorious) ; in another, Phoebus (the shining) ; and still again Apollo (he who drives away night or evil) ; one called him Hyperion (the elevated Being) ; another, Alexicacos (the beneficent) ; and in the course of time groups of men, who had given these various names to the brilliant luminary, no longer saw that they had the same god. Indeed, each man adored but a very small number of divinities ; but the gods df one were not those of another. The names, it is true, might resemble each other ; many men might separately have given their god the name of Apollo, or of Hercules ; these words belonged to the common language, and were merely adjectives,, and designated the divine Being by one or another of his most prominent attributes. But under this same name the different groups of men could not believe that CHAP. n. NE-W EELIGIO^S BELIEFS. 163 there was but one god. They counted thousands of different Jupiters ; they had a multitude of Minervas, Dianas, and Junos, who resembled each other very lit- tle. Each of these conceptions was formed by the free operation of each mind, and being in some soj-t its property, it happened that these gods were for a long time independent of ;each other, and that each one of them had his particular legend and his worship.' As the first appearance of these beliefs was at a time when men still lived under family government, these new gods had at first, like the demons, the heroes, and the Lares, the character of domestic divinities. Each family made gpds for itself, and each kept them for itself, as protectors, whose good ofBces it did not wish to share with strangers. This thought appears fre- quently in the hymns of theVedas; and there is no doubt that it was the same in the minds of the Aryas of the West; for there are visible traces of it in their religion. As soon as a family, by perspnifyipg a phys- ical agent, had created, a god, it associated Ijim with its saored fire, counted him among itsPen^tes,.and added a few words for him in its formula of prayer. This ex^ plains why we ojften meet among the ancients with expressions like this : The gods who sitnear my hearth ; the Jupiter of my hearth ; the, Apollo ' of my fathers.' "I conjure you," said Tecmessa to Ajax, "in the name ' The same name often conceals very different divinities. Po- seidon Hippius, Poseiapn phytalraius, tlje Erechtbean Poseidon, ihe ^gean Poseidon, the Heliconian Poseidon, were different gods, who had neither the same attributes nor the same worship- pers. * ^Eariovj^oi, ItpicTioi, TraTQwoi, 'O i,((os Zsijs, Eurip., JTecu- ba, 345 : Medea, 395. Sophocles, Ajax, 492. Virgil, VIII. 643. Herodotus, I.,44. 164 THE CITY. BOOK HI. of the Jupiter who Bits near your hearth." Medea, the enchantress, says, in Euripides, "I swear by Hecate, my protecting goddess, whom I venerate, and who in- habits this sanctuary of ray hearth." When Virgil describes what is oldest in the religion of Rome, he shows Hercules associated with the sacred fire of Evan- der, and adored by him as a domestic divinity. Hence came those thousands of forms of local wor- ship among which no nnity could ever be established. Hence those contests of the gods of which polytheism is full, and which represent struggles of families, can- tons, or villages. Hence, too, that innumerable multi- tude of gods and goddesses of whom assuredly we know but the smallest part; for many have perished without even having left their names, simply because the fami- lies who adored them became extinct, or the cities that had adopted them were destroyed. It must have been a long time before these gods left the bosom of the families with whom they had origi- nated and who I'egarded them as their patrimony. We know even that many of them never became disengaged from this sort of domestic tie. The Demeter of Elen- sis remained the special divinity of the family of the Eumolpidas. The Athene of the Acropolis of Athens belonged to the family of the Butadae. The Potitii of Rome had a Hercules, and the Nautii a Minerva.' It appears highly probable that the worship of Venus was for a long time limited to the family of the Julii, and that this goddess had no public worship at Rome. It happened, in the conree of timej the divinity of a family having acquired a great prestige over the imagi- nations of men, and appearing powerful in proportion ' Livy, IX. 29. Dionysius, VI. 69. CHAV. n. NEW EELIGIOUS BELIEFS. Ifii to the prosperity of this family, that a whole city wished to adopt him, and offer him public worship, to obtain his favors. This was the case with the Demeter of the Eumolpidse, the Athene of the Butadse,and the Hercu- les of the Potitii. But when a family consented thus to share its god, it retained at least the priesthood. We may remark that the dignity of priest, for each god, was during a long time hereditaiy, and could not go out of a certain family.' This is a vestige of a time when the god himself was the property of this family ; when he protected it alone, and would be served only by it. We are correct, therefore, in saying that this second religion was at first in unison with the social condition of men. It was cradled in each family, and remained long bounded by this narrow horizon. But it lent it- self more easily than the worship of the dead to the future progress of human association. Indeed, the an- cestors, heroes, and manes were gods, who by their very nature could be adored only by a very small num- ber of men, and who thus established a perpetualand impassable line of demarcation between families. The religion of the gods of nature was more comprehensive. No rigoroxis laws opposed the propagation of the wor- ship of any of these gods. There was nothing in their nature that required them to be adored by one family only, and to repel the stranger. Finally, men must have come insensibly to perceive that the Jupiter of one ' Herodotus, V. 64, 65; IX. 27. Pindar, Isthm., VII. 18. Xenophon, Mell., VI. 8. Plato, Laws, p. 759 ; Banquet, p. 40. Cicero, De Bivin., I. 41. Tacitus, Ann. II. 54. I'lutarch, The- seus, 23. Strabo, IX. 421 ; XIV. 634. Callimachus, Ifymn ta Apollo, 8i. Pausanias, I. 37; VI. 17; X. 1. ApoUodorus, Ilf \?. Harpooration, v. Evnifai. Boeckh, Corp. Inscript., 134^, 166 THE CITY. BOOK ni. family was really the same being or the same concep- tion as the Jupiter of another, which they could never believe of two Lares, two ancestors, or two sacred fires. Let us add, that the morality of this new religion was different. It was not confined to teaching men family duties. Jupiter was the god of hospitality ; in his name came strangers, suppliants, " the venerable poor," those who were to be treated " as brothers." All these gods often assumed the human form, and appeared among mortals ; sometimes, indeed, to assist in their straggles and to take part in theii combats ; often, also, to enjoin concord, and to teach thiim to help each other. As this second religion continued to develop, socie- ty must have enlarged. Now, it is quite evident that this religion, feeble at firut, afterwards assumed large proportions. In the beginiiing it was, so to speak, shel- tered under the protection of its elder sister^ near the domestic hearth. Thei'e the god had obtained a small place, a narrow cella, near aisd opposite to the venerated altar, in order that a little of the respect which men had for the sacred fire might be shared by him. Little by little, the god, gaining more authority over the soul, renounced this sort of guardianship, and left the domes- tic hearth. He had a dwelling of his own, and his own sacrifices. This dwelling (p^uo;, from vuh)^ to inhabit) was, moreover, built after the fashion of the ancient sanctuary; it was, as before, & ceUa opposite a hearth; but the ceUa was enlarged and embellished, and became a temple. The holy fii-e remained at the entrance of the god's house, but appeared very small by the side of this house. What had at first been the principal, had now become only an accessory. It ceased to be a god, and descended to the rank of the god's altar, an in- CHAP. ax. THE CITY FORMED. 167 strument lor the sacrifice. Its office was to bum the flesh of the victim, and to carry the offering with men's prayers to the majestic divinity whose statue resided in the temple. When we see these temples rise and open their doors to the multitude of worshippers, we may be assured that human associations have become enlarged. CHAPTER III, The City formed. The tribe, like the family and the phratry, was es- tablished as an independent body, since it had a special worship from which the stranger was excluded. Once formed, no new family could be admitted to it. No more could two tribes be fused into one ; their religion was opposed to this. But just as several phratries were united in a tribe, several tribes might associate together, on condition that the religion of each should be resj*ct- ed. The day on which this alliance took place the city existed. It is of little account to seek the cause whish deter- mined several neighboring tribes to unite. Sometimes' it was voluntary ; sometimes it was imposed by the superior force of a tribe, or by the powerful will of a man. What is certain is, that the bond of the new association was still a religion. The tribes that united to form a city never failed to light a sacred fire, and to adopt a common religion. Thus human society, in this race, did not enlarge like a circle, which increases on all sides, gaining little 168 THE CITr. BOOK HI. by little. There were, on the contrary, small groups, which, having been long established, were finally joined together in larger ones. Several families formed the phratry, several phratries the tribe, several tribes the city. Family, phratry, tribe, city, were, moreover, soci- eties exactly similar to each other, which were formed one after the other by a series of federations. We must remark, also, that when the different groups became thus associated, none of them lost its individu- ality, or its independence. Although several families were united in a phratry, each one of them remained constituted just as it had been when separate. Nothing was changed in it, neither worship nor priesthood, nor property nor internal justice. Curies afterwards be- came associated, but each retained its worship, its as- semblies, its festivals, its chief. From the tribe men passed to the city; but the tribe was not dissolved on that account, and each of them continued to form a bo'ly, very much as if the city had not existed. In religion there subsisted a multitude of subordinate worships, above which was established one common to all; in politics, numerous little governments continued to act, while above them a common government was founded. The city was a confederation. Hence it was obliged, at lenst for several centuries, to respect the religions and civil independence of the tribes, curies, and families, and had not the right, at first, to interfere in the private affairs ol" each of these little bodies. It had nothing to do in the interior of a family ; it was not the judge of what passed there ; it left to the father the right and duty of jndging his wife, his son, and his clien-t. It is for this reason that private law, which had been fixed at the time when families were isolated, could sub- CHAP. UI. THE CITY FOENED. 169 sist in the city, and was modified only at a very late period. The mode of founding ancient cities is attested by usag'es which continued for a very long time. If we examine the army of the city in primitive times, we find it distributed into tribes, curies, and families,* "in such a way," says one of the ancients, "that the warrior has for a neighbor in the combat one with whom, in time of peace, he has offered the libation and sacrifice at the same altar." If we look at the people when assembled, in the early ages of Rome, we see them voting by curies and by gentes^ If we look at the worship, we see at Rome six Vestals, two for each tribe. At Athens, the archon offers the sacrifice in the name of the entire city, but he has in the religious part of the ceremony as many assistants as there are tribes. Thus the city was not an assemblage of individuals; it was a confederation of several groups, which were established befoi'e it, and which it pemutted to remain. We see, in the Athenian orators, that every Athenian formed a portion of four distinct societies at the same time; he was a member of a family, of a phratry, of a tribe, and of a city. He did not enter at the same time and the same day into all these four, like a Frenchman, who at the moment of his birth belongs at once to a family, a commune, a department, and a country. The phratry and the tribe are not administrative divisions. A man enters at different times into these four socie- ties, and ascends, so to speak, from one to the other. First, the child is admitted into the family by the » Homer, Iliad, II. 362. Varro, De lAng. hat., V. 89. Isaeus, II. 42. » Aulus Gellius, XV. 27. 170 THE CITY. BOOK III. religious Ceremony, which takes place six days after his birth. Some years later he enters the phratry by a, new ceremony, which we have already described. Finally, at the age of sixteen or eighteen, he is pre- sented for admission into the city. On that day, in the presence of an altar, and before the smoking flesh of a victim, he pronounces an oath, by which he binds hiraselfj among other things, always to respect the re- ligion of the city. From that day he is initiated into the public worship, and becomes a citizen.' If we observe this young Athenian rising, step by step, from worship to worship, we have a symbol of the degrees through which human association has passed. The course which this young man is constrained to follow, is that which society first followed. Ah example will make this truth clearer. There have remained to us in the antiquities of Athens traditions and traces enough to enable us to see quite clearly how the Athenian city was formed. At first, says Plu- tarch, Attica was divided by families.^ Some of these families of the primitive period, like the Euraolpidse, the CeoropidsB, the Gephyrsei, the Phytalidse, and the LakiadSe, were perpetuated to the following ages. At that time the city did not exist; but every family, surrounded by its younger branches and its clients, occupied a canton, and lived there in absolute inde- pendence. Each had its own religion ; the Eumo^pidse, fixed at Eleusis, adored Demeter ; the Cecropid®, who inhabited the rocks where Athens was afterwards built, had Psseidon and Athene for protecting divinities. • Demosthenes, in Eulid. Isaeus, VII. IX. Lycurgus, I. 76. Schol., in Demosth^ p. 438. Pollux, VIII. 105. Stob^us, De Repub. ' Kara yirri, Plutarch, Theseus, 24, 13. CHAP. m. THE CITT FORMED. 171 Near by, on the little hill of the Areopagus, the pro- tecting god was Ares. At Marathon it was Hercules ; at Prasias an Apollo, another Apollo at Phlius, the Dios- curi at Cephalusi, and thus of all the other cantons.' Every family, as it had its god and its altar, h-ad also its chief. When Pausanias visited Attica, he found in the little villages ancient traditions which had been perpetuated with the worship ; and these traditions informed him that every little burgh had had its king before the time when Cecrops reigned at Athens. Was not this a memorial of a distant age, when the great patriarchal families, like the Celtic clans, had each its hereditary chief, who was at the same time priest atd judge? Some hundred little societies then lived isolatfed in the country, recognizing no political or re- ligious bond among them, having each its territory, often at war, and living so completely separated that marriage between them was not always permitted.' But their needs or their sentiments brought them together. Insensibly they joined in little groups of four, five, or six. Thus we find in the traditions that the four villages of Marathon united to adore the same Delphian Apollo ; the men of the Piraeus, Phalerura, and two neighboring burghs, united and built a temple to Hercules.' In the course of time these many little states were reduced to twelve confederations. This change, by which the people passed from the patriarchal family state to a society somewhat more extensive, was attributed by tradition to the efibrts of Cecrops: we are merely to understand by this, that it was not ac- ■ Pausanias, I. 15 ; 31, 37, II. 18. ' Plutarch, Theseus, 13. ' Id., ibid., 14. Pollux, VI. 106. Stephen of Byzantium, 172 THE CITT. BOOK III. complished until the time at which they place this per- sonage — that is to say, towards the sixteenth century before our era. We see, moreover, that this Cecrops reigned over only one of these twelve associations, that which afterwards became Athens; the other eleven were completely independent; each had its tutelary deity, its altar, its sacred fire, and its chief.' Several centuries passed, during which the Cecrop- idse insensibly acquired greater importance. Of this period there remains the tradition of a bloody struggle sustained by them against the Eumolpidae of Eleusis, the result of which was, that the latter submitted, with the single reservation that they should preserve the hereditary priesthood of their divinity.* There were doubtless othei struggles and other conquests, of which no memorial has been preserved. The rock of the Cecropidse, on which was developed, by degrees, the worship of Athene, and which finally adopted the name of their principal divinity, acquired the supremacy over the other eleven states. Then appeared Theseus, the heir of the Cecropidae. All the traditions agree in declaring that he united the twelve groups into one city. He succeeded, indeed, in bringing all Attica to adopt the worship of Athene Polias, so that thenceforth the whole country celebrated the sacrifice of the Pa- nathenaea in common. Before him, every burgh had its sacred fire and its prytany. He wished to make the prytany of Athens the religious centre of all Attica.' From that time Athenian unity was established. In ' Philochorus, quoted by Strabo, IX. Thucydides, II. 16. Pollux, VIII. 111. ' Faueanias, I. 3S. ' Thucydides, II. 15. Plutarch, Theseus, 24. Fausanias, I. 26; VIII. 2. CHAP. III. THE CITT FOBMED. 173 religion every canton preserved its ancient worship, but adopted one that was common to all. Politically, each preserved its chiefs, its judges, its right of assem- bling ; but above all these local governments, there was the central government of the city.' From these precise memorials and traditions, which Athens preserved so religiously, there seem to us to be two truths equally manifest : the one is, that the city was a confederation of groups that had been established before it; and the other is, that society developed only / ' According to Plutarch and Thucydides, Theseus destroyed the local prytanies, and abolished the magistracies of the burghs. If he attempted this, he certainly did not succeed: for a long while after him we still find the local worships, the assemblies, and the kings of tribes. Boeckh, Corp. Inscrip., 82, 85. De- mosthenes, in Theocrinem. Pollux, VIII. 111. We put aside the legend of Ion, to which several modern historians seem to us to have given too much importance, by presenting it as an indi- cation of a foreign invasion of Attica. This invasion is indicated by no tradition. If Attica had been conquered by these lonians of the Peloponnesus, it is not probable that the Athenians would have so religiously preserved their names of Cecropidse, and Brechtbeidae, and that they would have been ashamed of the name of lonians. (Hdts, I. 143.) We can also reply to those who believe in this invasion, and that the nobility of the Eupa- trids is due to it, that most of the great families of Athens go back to a date much earlier than that given for the arrival of Ion in Attica. The Athenians certainly belong to the Ionic branch of the Hellenic race. Strabo tells us that, in the earliest times, Attica was called Ionia and las. But it is a mistake to make the son of Xuthus, the legendary hero of Euripides, the parent stock of these lonians ; they are long anterior to Ion, and their name is perhaps much more ancient than that of Hellenes. It is wrong to make all the Eupatrids descendants of this Ion, and to present this diss of men as conquerors who oppressed a conquered people. There is no ancient testimony to support this opinion. ■lA'- 174 THE CITT. BOOK lit, 80 fast as religion enlarged its sphere. We cannot, indeed, say that religions progress brought social prog- ress ; but what is certain is, that they were both pro- duced at the same time, and in remarkable accord. We should not lose sight of the excessive difficulty which, in primitive times, opposed the foundation of regular societies. The social tie was not easy to es- tablish between those human beings who were so diverse, so free, so inconstant. To bring them under the rules of a community, to institute commandments and insure obedience, to cause passion to give way to reason, and individual right: to public right, there cer- tainly was something necessary, stronger than material force, more respectable than interest, surer than a philosophical theory, more unchangeable than a con- vention; something that should dwell equally in all hearts, and should be allrpowerful there. This power was a belief. Nothing has more power over the soul. A belief is the work of our mind, but we are not on that account free to modify it at will. It is our own creation, but we do not know it. It is human, and we believe it a god. It is the effect of our power, and is stronger than we are. It is in us; it does not quit us: it speaks to us at every moment. If it tells us to obey, we obey ; if it traces duties for us, we submit. Man may, indeed, subdue nature, but he is subdued by his. own thoughts. Now, an ancient belief commanded a man to honor his ancestor; the worship of the ancestor grouped a family around an altar. Thus arose the first religion, the first prayers, the first ideas of duty, and of morals. Thus, too, was the right of property established, and the order of succession fixed. Thus, in fine, arose all private law, and all the rules of domestic organization. Later the CHAP. III. THE CITT FOBMED. 175 belief grew, and human society grew af the same time. When men begin to perceive that there are common divinities for them, they unite in larger groups. The same rules, invented and established for the family, are applied successively to the phratry, the tribe, and the city. Let us take in at a glance the road over which man has passed. In the beginning the family lived isolated, and man knew only the domestic gods — deal nm^iSai, dii gentiles. Above the family was formed the phra- try with its god — deo; cpgdrgtog, Juno curialis. Then came the tribe, and the god of the tribe — 6e6s tpihos. Finally came the city, and men conceived a god whose providence embraced .this entire dAy—r.deb? nokmis,pe- nates publici; a hierarchy of creeds, and a hierarchy of association. The religious idea was,, among the ancients, the inspiring breath and organizer of society. The ti-aditions of the Hindus,cof the Greeks, and of the Etruscans, relate that the gods, revealed social laws to man. Under this legendary form there is . a truth. Social laws were the work of the gods.; bat those gods, so powerful and benefixjent, were nothing else than the beliefs of men. Such was the origin of cities among the ; ancients. This study was necessary to Lgive us a. correct idea of the nature and institutions of the city. , B.ut here we must make a reservation. If the first cities were formed of a confederation of. little, societies previously estab- lished, this is not saying that all the cities known to us were formed in the same manner. The municipal organ- ization once discovered, it was not necessary for each new city to pass over the same long and difficult route. It might often happen that they followed the inverse order. When a chief, quitting a city already organized. 176 THE CITY. BOOK III. went to found another, he took with him commonly only a small number of his fellow-citizens. He associ- ated with them a multitude of other men who came from different parts, and might even belong to different races. But this chief never failed to organize the new state after the model of the one he had just quitted. Consequently he divided his people into tribes and phratries. Each of these little associations had an altar, sacrifices, and festivals; each even invented an ancient hero, whom it honored with its worehip, and fi-om whom, with the lapse of time, it believed itself to have been descended. It often happened, too, that the men of some country lived without laws and without order, either because no one had ever been able to establish a social organiza- tion there, as in Ai'cadia, or because it had been cor- rupted and dissolved by too rapid revolutions, as at Cyrene and Thnrii. If a legislator undertook to estab- lish order among these men, he never failed to com- mence by dividing them into tribes and phratries, as if this were the only type of society. In each of these organizations he named an eponymous hero, established sacrifices, and inaugurated traditions. This was always the manner of commencing, if he wished to found a regular society.' Thus Plato did when he imagined a model city. ' Herodotus, IV. 161. Cf. Plato, Lavss, V. 738; VI. 771. CHAP. IT. THE CITT. 177 CHAPTER IV. The City. CiviTAS, and Uebs, either of which we translate by the word city., were not synonymous words among the ancients. Givitas was the religious and political associ- ation of families and tribes ; Urhs was the place of assembly, the dwelling-place, and, above all, the sanc- tuary of this association. We are not to picture ancient cities to oursejlves as anything like what we see in our day. We build a few houses ; it is a village. Insensibly the number of houses increases, and it becomes a city, and finally, if there is occasion for it, we surround this with a wall. With the ' ancients, a city was never formed by de- grees, by the slow increase of the number of men and {t, houses. They founded a city at once, all entire in a day ; but the elements of the city needed to be first ready, and this was the most difficult, and ordinarily the largest work. As soon as the families, the phratries, and the tribes had agreed to unite and have the same worship, they immediately founded the city as a sanc- tuary for this common worship, and thus the foundation of a city was always a religious act. As a first example, we will take Rome itself, not- withstanding the doubt that is attached to its early history. It has often been said that Romulus was chief of a band of adventurers, and that he formed a people by calling around liim vagabonds and robbers, and that all these men, collected without disiinctioii, built at hazard a few huts to shelter their booty; but ancient 12 178 THE CITT. BOOK ni. writers present the facts in quite another shape, and it seems to us that if we desire to understand antiquity, our first rule should be to support ourselves upon the evidence that comes from the ancients. Those writers do, indeed, mention an asylum — that is to say, a saci-ed enclosure, where Romulus admitted all who presented themselves ; and in this he followed the example which many founders of cities had afforded him. But this asylum was not the city ; it was not even opened till after the city had been founded and completely built. It was an appendage added to Rome, but was not Rome. It did not even form a part of the city of Romulus ; for it was situated at the foot of the Capi- toline hill, whilst the city occupied the Palatine. It is of the first importance to distinguish the double ele- ment of the Roman population. In the asylum are adventurers without land or religion ; on the Palatine are men from Alba — that is to say, men already organized into a society, distributed into gentes and curies, having a domestic worship and laws. The asy- lum is merely a hamlet or suburb, where the huts are built at hazard, and without rule ; on the Palatine rises a city, religions and holy. As to the manner in which this city was founded, antiquity abounds in information; we find it in Dio- nysius of Halicarnassus, who collected it from authore older than his time; we find it in Plutarch, in the Fasti of Ovid, in Tacitus, in Cato the Elder, who had consulted the ancient annals ; and in two other writers who ought above all to inspire us with great con- fidence, the learned Varro and the learned Verrius Flaccus, whom Festus has presei-ved in pai-t for us, both men deeply versed in Roman antiquities, lovers oi truth, in no wise credulous, and well acquainted with CHAP. IT. THE CITY. 179 the rules of histdiical criticism. All the^-ie writers have transmitted to us the tradition of the religious ceremony which marked the foundation of Rome, and we are not prepared to reject so great a number of witnesses. It is not a rare thing for the ancients to relate facts that surprise us; but is this a reason why we should pronounce them fables ? above all, if these facts, though not in accord with modern ideas, agree perfectly with those of the ancients ? We have seen in their private life a religion which regulated all their acts ; later, we saw that this religion established them in communities : why does it astonish us, after this, that the foundation of a city was a sacred act, and that Romulus himself was obliged to perform rites which were observed everywhere? The first care of the founder was to choose the site for the new city. But this choice — » weighty question, on which they believed the destiny of the people depended — was always left to the decis- ion of the gods. If Romulus had been a Greek, he would have consulted the oracle of Delphi; if a Sam- nite, he would have' followed the sacred animal — the -wolf, or the green woodpecker. Being a Latin, and a neighbor of the Etruscans, initiated into the augurial science," he asks the gods to reveal their will to him by the flight of birds. The gods point out the Pal- atine. The day for the foundation having arrived, he first ofiers a sacrifice. His companions are ranged around him ; they light a fire of brushwood, and each one leaps through the flame.' The explanation of this rite is, Cicero, De Divin., I. 17. Plutarch. CamiUus, 32. Pliny, XIV. 2; XVIII. 12. * Dionysius, I. 88. 180 THE CUT. BOOK lH. that for the act about to take place, it is necessary that the people be pure; and the ancients believe4 they could purify themselves from all stain, physical or moral, by leaping through a sacred flame. When this preliminary ceremony had prepared the people for the grand act of the foundation, Romulus dug a small trench, of a circular form, and threw into it a clod of earth, which he had brought from the city of Alba.' Then each of his companions, approaching by turns, following his example, threw in a little earth, which he had brought from the country from which he had come. This rite is remarkable, and reveals to us a notion of the ancients to which we must call attention. Before coming to the Palatine, they had lived in Alba, or some other neighboring city. There was their sacred fire; there their fathers had lived and been buried. Now, their religion forbade them to quit the land where the hearth had been established,. and where their divine ancestors reposed. It was necessary, then, in order to be free from all impiety, that each of these men should employ a fiction, and that he should cany with him, under the symbol of a clod of earth, the sacred soil where his ancestors were buried, and to which their, manes were attached. A man could not quit his dwell- ing-place without taking with him his soil and his ancestors. This rite had to be accomplished, so that he might say, pointing out the new place which he had adopted. This is still the land qf my fathers, terra par trum, patria,' here is my countiy, for here are the manes of my family. The trench into which each one had thrown a little earth was called mundus. Now, this word designated in ■ Plutarch, Romulus, 11. Dion Cassius, Fragm., 12. Ovid, FasH, IV. 821. Festus, v. Quadrata. CHAP. IV. THE ClTT. 181 the ancient language, the region of the manes." From this place, according to tradition, the souls of the dead escaped three times a year, desirous of again Seeing the light for a moment. Do we not see also, in this tra- ditioti, the real thought of these ancicint men ? When placing in the trench a clod of earth from their foimei' country, thoy believed tliey had enclosed there the souls of their ancestors. These souls, reunited there, required a perpetual worship, and kept guard over their descendants. At this same place Romulus set up an altar, and lighted a fire upon it. This was the holy flre of the city." Arouiid this hearth arose the city, as the house rise^ around the domestic hearth ; Romulus traced a furrow which marked the enclosure. Here, too, the smallest details were fixed by a ritual. The founder made use of a copper ploughshare; his plough was drawn by a white bull and a white cow. Romulus, With his head veiled, and in the priestly robes, hiiiiself held tho handle of the plough and directed it, while chanting prayers. His companions followed him, observing a religious silence. As the plough turned up clods of earth, they carefully threw them within the enclosure, that no particle of this sacred earth should be on the side of the stranger.' This enclosurei traced by re- ligion, was inviolable. Neither stranger nor citizen had ' Festus,. V. Mwndns. Serrius, ad ^n., III. 134. PlutSrcli, Romulus, 11. ' Ovid, ibid. Later the liearth was removed. When the three cities, the i'alatine, the Capitoline, and the Quirinal were united in one, the common hearth, or temple of Vesta, was placed on neutral ground between the three hills. ' Plutarch, Romulus, 11. Ovid, Ibidem. Varro, De Ling. Lot., V. 143. Festus, v. Primigienius \ v. Urvat. Virgil, V. 755. Ig2 THE CITY. BOOK HI. the right to cross over it. To leap over this little furrow was an impious act; it is a Roman tradition that the founder's brother committed this act of sac- rilege, and paid for it with his life.' But, in order that men might enter and leave the city, the furrow was interrupted in certain places.' To accomplish this, Romulus raised the plough and carried it over ; these intervals were called portce ; these were the gates of the city. Upon the sacred furrow, or a little inside of it, the walls afterwards arose ; they also were sacred.' No one could touch them, even to repair them, without per- mission from the pontiffs. On both sides of this wall a space, a few paces wide, was given up to religion, and was called the pomoeriwm ; " on this space no plough could be used, no building constructed. Such, according to a multitude of ancient witnesses, was the ceremony of the foundation of Rome. If it is nsked how this information was preserved down to the writers who have transmitted it to us, the answer is, that the ceremony was recalled to the memory of the people every year by an anniversary festival, which they called the birthday of Rome. This festival was celebrated through all antiquity, from year to year, and the Roman people still celebrate it to-day, at the same date as formerly — the 21st of April. So faithful are men to old usages through incessant changes.- We cannot reasonably suppose that such rites were observed for the first time by Romulus. It is certain, on the contrary, that many cities, before Rome, had ' See Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 27. " Cato, in Servius, V. 755. " Cicero, De Nat. Deor., III. 40. Digest, 8, 8. Gains, II. 8. • Varro, V. 143. Livy, I. 44. Aulas Gellius, XIII. 14. CHAP. IV. THE CITY. 183 been founded in the same manner. According to Varro, these rites were common to Latium and to Etriuva. Cato the Elder, who, in order to write his Origines, had consulted the annals of all the Italian nations, informs us that analogous rites were practised by all founders of cities. The Etruscans possessed liturgical books in which were recorded the complete ritual of these ceremonies.' The Greeks, like the Italians, believed that the site of a city should be chosen and revealed by the divinity. So, when they wished to found one, they consulted the oracle at Delphi.* Herodotus records, as an act of im- piety or madness, that the Spartan Dorieus dared to build a city " without consulting the oracle, and with- out observing any of the customary usages ; " and the pious historian is not surprised that a city thus con- structed in despite of the rules lasted only three years.'' Thucydides, recalling the day when Sparta was founded,' mentions the pious chants, and the sacrifices of that day. The same historian tells us that the Athenians had a particular ritual, and that they never founded a colony without conforming to it.* We may see in a comedy of Aristophanes a suflSciently exact picture of the ceremony practised in stich cases. When the poet represented the amusing foundation of the city of thu birds, he certainly had in mind the customs which were observed in the foundation of the cities of men. Now ho puts upon the scene a priest who lighted a fire while invoking the gods, a poet who sang hymns, and a divine who recited oracles. ' Cato, in Servius, 'V. 765. Varro, L, L., V. 143. . Festus, V. EUvales. » DioUorus, XII. 12; Pausanias, VII. 2. Athenaeus, VIII. 02. =• Herodotus, V. 42. * Thucydides, V. 16; III. 24. 184 THE CITY. BOOK Ht, Pausatiias travelled in Greece about Adrian's time. In Messenia he had the priests desci:iibe to lum the foundation of the city of Messene, and he has trans- mitted this account to us.' This event was not very- ancient; it took place in' the time of Epaminondas. Three centuries before, the Messenians had been driven from their country, and since that time they had lived dispersed among the other Greeks, without a country, but preserving their customs and their national religion with pious care. The Thebans wished) to restore them to Peloponnesus^ in order to place an enemy on the flank of the Spartans ; but the most difficult thing was to persuade the Messenians. Epaminondas, having superstitious men to deal with,. thought it his duty to circulate an oracle predicting for this people a return to their former country. Miraculous apparitions proved to them that their gods, who. had betrayed them at the time of the conquest, had again become favorable. This timid people then decided to return to the Pelo- ponnesus in the train of a Theban army. But the question was, where a city should be built ; for it would not do to think of re-occupying the old cities of the countiy : they had been soiled by the conquest. To choose the place where they should establish them- selves, they could not have recourae to the Delphian oracle, for at this time the Pythia was favorable to the Spartans. Fortunately, the gods had other methods of revealing their will. A Messeuian priest had a dream, in which one of the gods of his nation appeared and directed him to take his station on Mount Ithome, and invite the people to follow him there. The site of the new city was thus indicated, but it was still neces- ' Fausanias, IV. 27. OHAP. IV. THB CITY. 185 Sary to know the rites to be performed at the founda- tion, for the Messenians had forgotten them. They could not adopt those of the Thebans, or of any other people ; and so they did not know how to build the city. A dream, however, came very opportunely to another Messenian ; the gods commanded him to ascend Mount Ithome, and find a yew tree that stood near a myrtle, and to dig into the earth in that place. He obeyed, and discovered an urn, and in this urn were leaves of tin, on which was found engraved the com- plete ritual of the saci'ed ceremony. The priests immediately copied it, and inscribed it in their books. They did not doubt that the urn had been deposited there by an ancient king of the Messenians, before the conquest of.the country. As soon as they were in possessioti of the ritual the foundation commenced. First, the priests offered a sacrifice ; they invoked the ancient gods of the Messe- nians, the Dioscuri), the Jupiter of Ithome, and the ancient heroes, ancestors known and venerated. All these protectors of the country had apparently quitted it, according to the belief of the ancients, on the day when the enemy became masters of it. They were en- ti;eated to return. Formulas were pronounced, which, it was believed, would determine them to inhabit th^ new city in common with the citizens. This was the great object j to fix the residence of the gods with themselves was what these men bad the most at heart, and we may be sure that the religious ceremony had no other aim. Just as the companions of Romulus dog a trench and thought to bury the manes of their ancestors there, so the contemporaries of Epaminondas called to themselves their heroes, their divine ancestors, and the gods of their country.. They thought that 186 THE CITY. BOOK IH. by rites and formulas they could attach these sacred beings to the soil which they themselves were going to occupy, and could shut them up within the enclosure which themselves were about to trace, and they said to them, "Come with us, O divine kings, and dwell with us in this city." The fiist day was occupied with these sacrifices and these prayers. The next day the boundaries were traced, whilst the people sang religious hymns. We are surprised, at first, when we see in the an- cient authors that there was no city, however ancient it might be, which did not pretend to know the name of its founder and the date of its foundation. This is because a city could not lose the recollection of the sacred ceremony which Iiad marked its birth. For every year it celebrated the anniversary of this birth- day with a sacrifice. Athens, as well as Rome, cele- brated its birthday. It often happened that colonists or conquerors estab- lished themselves in a city already built. They had not to build houses, for nothing opposed their occupy- ing those of the vanquished ; but they had to perform the ceremony of foundation — that is, to establish their sacred fires, and to fix their national gods in their new home. This explains the statements of Thucydides and Herodotus that the Dorians founded Lacediemon, and the lonians Miletus, though these two tribes found Lace- dsBmon and Miletus built and already very ancient. These usages show clearly what a city was in the opinion of the ancients. Surrounded by a sacred en- closure, and extending around an altar, it was the reli- gious abode of gods and citizens. Livy said of Rome, "There is not a place in this city which is not impreg- nated with religion, and which is not occupied by some CHAP. IV. THE CITY. 187 divinity. The gods inhabit it." What Livy said of Rome any man might say of his own city; for if it had been founded according to the rites, it had received within its walls protecting gods who were, as we may say, implanted in its soil, and could never quit it. Every city was a sanctuary ; every city might be called holy.' As the gods were attached to a city forever, so the people could never again abandon a place where their gods were established. In this respect there was a reciprocal engagement, a sort of contract between gods and men. At one time tlie tribunes of the people pro- posed, as Rome, devastated by the Gauls, was no longer anything but a heap of ruins, and as, five leagues dis- tant, there was a city all built, large, beautiful, well situated, and without inhabitants, — since the Romans had conquered it, — that the people should abandon the ruins of Rome, and remove to Vcii. But the pious Camillus i-eplied, "Our city was religiously founded ; the gods themselves pointed out the place, and took up their abode here with our fathers. Ruined as it is, it still remains the dwelling of our national gods." And the Romans remained at Rome. Something sacred and divine was naturally associated with these cities which the gods had founded," and which they continued to fill with their presence. We know that Roman traditions promised that Rome should be eternal. Every city had similar traditions. The ancients built all their cities to be eternal. ' 'JXiog "qri, fjgai 'A&^iqai (Aristoph., Knights, 1819). Jaxt- Swuiri ii'ij (Theognis, v. 837) j "tgav niXir, says Theognis, speak- ing of Megara. " ^epttinia Troja, StoSfHixoL 'A&iivai. See Tlieognis, 755. (Weloker.) 188 THE CITY. BOOK ni. CHAPTER V, Worship of the Founder. The Legend of ^neas. The founder .was the man who accomplished the religious act without which a city could not exist. He estaWished the hearth where the sacred fire was eternally to burn. He it was, who, by his prayers and his rites, called the gods, and fixed them forever in the new city. We can understand how' much respect would be felt for this holy man. During his life men saw in him the author of a religion and the father of a city ; after death he became a common ancestor for all the generations that succeeded him. He was for the city what the first ancestor was for the family ^^ a Laf famiUaris. His memory was- perpetuated like the hearth-fire which he had lighted. Men established a worship for him, and believed him to be a god ; and the city adored him as its providence. Sacrifices and festivals were renewed every year over his tomb.' It is well known that Romulus was worshipped, and that he had a temple and priests. The senators might, indeed, take his life; but they could not deprive him of the worship to which he had a right as the founder' of a city. In the same manner every city worshipped the one who had founded' it. Ceei'ops and Theseus, who were regarded as having been successive founders of Athens, had temples there. Abdera offered sao- ' Pindar, P2/«?i., V. 129. OZymi.., VII. 145. Cicerb, 7)e iVof. Beor., III. 19. Catullus, VII. 6. CHAP. V. WORSHIP OF THE FOUNlJEE. 189 rifices to its founder, Tiinesius, Thera to Theras, Tene- dos to Tenes, Delps to Anius, Cyrene to Battus, Miletus to Naleus, AtBphipolis to Haguon. In the time of I'isistratvis, one Miltiades went to found a colony in the Thraeian Ohersonesus ; this colony instituted a worship for him after his death, "according to the ordinary usage." Hiero of Syracuse, having founded the town of ^tna, enjoyed there, in the course of time, "the •worship due to founders of cities." ' A city had nothing more at heart than the memory of its foundation. When Pausanias visited Greece, ip the second century of our era, every city could tell him the name of its founder, with his genealogy and the principal facts of his life. This name and these facts could not escape the memory, for they were a part of the religion, and were recalled every year in the sacred ceremonies. The memory of a great number of Greek poems has been preserved, whose subject was the foundation of a city. Philochorus sang that of Salamis, Ion that of Chios, Crito that of Syracuse, Zopyrus that of Miletus; and Apollonins, Hermogenes, Hellanicns, and Diooles composed poems or histories on the same subject. There was not, perhaps, a single city that had not its poem, or at least its hymn, on the sacred act that had given it birth. Among all these ancient poems which had the sacred foundation of a city for their theme, there is one that has not been allowed to perish, because its subject ren- dered it dear to a city, apd its beauties have rendered ' Herodotus, I. 168; VI. 38. Pindar, Pj^iA., IV. Thucyd- ifles, V. 11. Strsbo, XIV. 1. ¥l\i.t3,Tcl\, Qt-. Quest., 20. Pau- sfoam,!. 3i; HI. 1. Piodorus, XJ. 78. 190 THE CITY. BOOK III. it precious to all nations and all ages. We know that ^neas founded Lavinium, whence sprang the Albans and the Romans, and that, consequently, he was re- garded as the first founder of Rome. There had been clustei'ed about him a multitude of traditions, which we find already recorded in the verses of old Naevius, and in the histories of Cato the Elder, when Virgil seized upon this subject and wrote the national poem of the Roman city. The arrival of jEneas, or rather the removal of the gods of Troy into Italy, is the subject of the .^neid. The poem sings this man, who traversed the seas to found a city and transport his gods to Latium : — " Dum conderet urbem Inferretque Deos Latio." We must not judge the ^neid after our modern ideas. Men often complain at not finding in ^neas bravery, dash, passion. They tire of that epithet of pious which is continually repeated. They are astonished to see this warrior consulting his Penates with a care so scru- pulous, invoking some divinity at every new turn of affairs, raising his arms to heaven when he ought to be fighting, allowing himself to be tossed over all seas by the oracles, and shedding tears at the sight of danger. Nor do they fail to reproach him with coldness to- wards Dido; and they are tempted to say, with the unhappy queen, — " Nullis ille movetur JFletibus, aut voces uUas tractabilis audit." But this is because there is no place here for a warrior, or a hero of romance. The poet wishes to represent a priest, ^neas is the chief of a worship, a CHAP. V. THE LEGEND OF ^NBAS. 191 holy man, the divine founder, whose mission is to save the Penates of the city. " Sum pius ^neas, raptos qui ex lioste Penates Classe veho mecum." His dominant quality ought to he piety, and the epithet which the poet oftenest applies to him is that which hecomes him best. His virtue ought to be a cold and lofty impersonality, making of him, not a man, but an instrument of the gods. Why should we look for passion in him ? He has no right to the passions ; or, at any rate, he should confine them in the depths of his heart. " Multa gemens multoque animum labefactus amore, Jussa tamen Divum insequitur." Already, in Homer, ^neas was a holy personage, a high priest, whom the people venerated as a god, and whom Jupiter preferred to Hector. In Virgil he is the guardian and savior of the Trojan gods. During the night that completed the ruiu of the city. Hector appeared to him in a dream, and said to him, " Troy confides its gods to thee ; search out a new city for them." At the same time he committed to him the sacred things, the protecting statues, and the sacred fire that was never to be extinguished. This dream is not simply an ornament placed there by the fancy of the poet. It is, on the contrary, the foundation on which the entire poem rests ; for it is through this that ^neas becomes the depositary of the city gods, and that his holy mission is revealed to him. The urhs of the Trojans, the material part of Troy, has perished, but not the Trojan civitas ; thanks to -lEneas, the sacred fire is not extinguished, and the gods have still a worship. The city and the gods are with 192 THE CITY. BOOK m. ^neas; they cross the seas, and seek a country where ^ it is permitted them to stop. " Considere Teucros Errantesque Deos agitataque numina Trojae." ^neas seeks a fixed home, small though it be, for his paternal gods, — ' Dis sedem exiguam patriis." JBut the choice of this home, to which the destiny of the city shall be forever bound, does not depend upon men ; it belongs to the gods. .^Eneas consults the priest and interrogates the oracles. He does not himself determine his route or his object; he is directed by the divinity: — " Italiam non sponte sequor." He would have staid in Thrace, in Crete, in Sicily, at Carthage with Dido : F^ia obstant. Between liim and his desire of rest, between liim and his love, there always comes the will of the gods, the revealed word — fata. We must not deceive ourselves in this: the real hero of the poem is not ^neas; the gods of Troy take the place of a hero ; the same gods that, one day, are to be those of Rome. The subject of the ^neid is the struggle of the Roman gods against a hostile divinity. Obstacles of every kind are placed in their way. " Tantse molis erat Bomanam condere gentem ! ' The tempest conies near ingulfing them, the love of a woman almost enslaves them ; but they triumph over everything, and arrive at the object sought. " Fata yiam inveniunt." CHAP. VI. THE GODS OF THE CITY. 19S Things like these would interest the Romans to a wonderful degree. In this poem they saw themselves, their founder, their city, their institutions, their religion, their empire. For without those gods the Roman city would not have existed.' CHAPTER VI. The Gods of the City We must not lose sight of the fact that, among the ancients, what formed the bond of every society was a worship. Just as a domestic altar held this members of a family grouped around it, so the city was the collec- tive group of those who had the same protecting deities, and who performed the religious ceremony at the same altar. TMs city altar was enclosed within a building which the Greeks called prytaneum, and which the Romans Dalled temple of Vesta.' ' We need not inquire here if the legend of Xneas repre- sents a real fact^ thatit was believed is enough for us. It shows as how the ancients looked upon the founder of a city, what idea Jhey had of a, penatigcr ; and for us this is the important point. We may add, that several cities in Thrace, in Crete, in Epirus, at Cjthera, at Zacynthus, in Sicily, and in Italy looked upon MaQSA as their founder, and worshipped him as such.- ' The prytaneum contained the common hearth of the city : Dion of Halioarnasssus, II. 23. Pollux, I. 7. Soholiastof Tindar, Nem., XI. Scholiast of Thucydides, II. 15. There was a pryta- neum in every Greek city : Herodotus, III. 57 ; V. C7 ; VII. 197. Polyb., XXIX. 5. A\)^\s,-a, Miihridatic War,2Z; Punic War, 84. Diodorus, XX. 101. Cicero, De Signis, 513. Dio- 13 194 THE CITY. BOOK III. • There was nothing more eacved within the city than this altar, on which the sacred fii'e was always main- tained. This great veneration, it is trne, became weakened in Greece, at a very early date, because the Greek im- agination allowed itself to be turned aside by more splendid temples, richer legends, and more beautiful statues. But it never became enfeebled at Rome. The Romans never abandoned the conviction that the destiny of the city was connected with this fire which represented their gods. The respect which they had for their vestals proves the importance of their priest- hood. If a consul met one of them, he ordered his fasces to be lowered before her. On the other hand, if one of them allowed the fire to go out, or sullied the worship by failing in her duty of chastity, the city, which then believed itself threatened with the loss of its gods, took vengeance upon iier by burying her alive. One day the temple of Vesta came near being burned in a conflagration of the surrounding houses. Rome was in consternation, for it felt all its future to be in peril. When the danger had passed, the senate in- structed the consul to search out the authors of the fire, and the consul made accusations against several inhabitants of Capua, who happened at that time to be in Rome. This was not because lie had any proof against them, but he reasoned in this manner: "A conflagration has threatened the heartli of our city; this conflagration, which might have destroyed our nysius, II. 65. Pausanias, I. 42 ; V. 25 ; VIII. 9. Athenaeus, I. 58; X. 24. Boeckh, Corp. Inscr., 1193. At Eome the temple of Vesta was nothing more than a hearth. Cicero, De Legib., II. 8; II. 12. Ovid, Fasi., VI. 297. Florus, I. 2. Livy, XXVllI. 31. CHAP. VI, thj: gods of the city. 15)5 grandeur and stopped our progress, could have been- started only by the hands of our most cruel enemies. Now, we have no more determined enemies than the inhabitanta of Capun, this city whicih is now the ally of Hannibal, and which aspires to take our place as the capital of Italy. These, therefore, are the men who have attempted to destroy our temple of Vesta, our eternal fire, this gage and guarantee of our future grandeur." ' Thus a consul, under the influence of his religious ideas, believed that the enemies of Rome could find no surer means of conquering it than by destroying its sacred hearth. Here we see the belief of the an- cients; the public fire was the sanctuary of the city, the cause of its being, and its constant preserver. Just as the worship of the domestic hearth was secret, and the family alone had the right to take part in it, so the wbrship of the public fire was concealed from strangers. No one, unless he were a citizen, could take part at a sacrifice. Even the look of a stranger sullied the religious act.' >'''"~tevery city had gods who belonged to it alono. / These gods were generally of the same nature as those '''' f of the primitive religion of families. They were called Lares, Penates, Genii, Demons, Heroes r» under all these names were human souls deified. For we have seen that, in the Indo-European race, man had at first worshipped the invisible and immortal power which he felt in himself. These genii, or heroes, were, more gen- erally, the ancestors of the people.* }, ' Livy, XXVI. 27. ' Virgil, III. 408. Pausanias, V. 15. Appian, Oivil Wwis, \. 64. » Ovid, Fast., II. 616. * Plutarch, Aristides, 11. 196 THE CITY. BOOK m. The bodies were buried eitier in the city itself or upon its tei-ritory; and as, according to the belief which w6 have already described, the soul did not quit the body, it followed that these divine dfead were attached to the soil where their bodies were buried. From, their gi-aves they watched over the city; they protected the country, and were, in some sort, its chiefs and mastersi This expression of chiefs of the country, applied' to the dead, is found in an ol'acle addressed by the Pythia to Solon : " Honor with a worship the chiefs of the coun- try, the dead who live under the earth " ' These notions came from the very great power which the ancient generations attributed to the human soul after death. Every man who had rendered a gj-eat service to the city, from the one -frho had founded it to the one who had given it a victory, or had improved its laws, became a god for that dity. It was not even necessary for one to have been a great man or a benefiictor ; it was enough to have struck the imagination of his con- temporaries, and to have rendered himself Uie subject of a popular tradition, to become a hero — that is to say, one of the powerful dead, whose pi-ot^tion was to be desired and whose anger was to be ftsai*d'. The Thebans continued during ten centuries to offer sac- rifices to Eteoclies and Polynices. The inhabitants of Acanthus worshipped a Persian who had died among them during the expedition of Xer±es. Hippolytus was venerated as a god at Troezene. Pyfrhus, son of Achilles, was a god at Delphi only because he died and was buried there. Crotona worshipped a hero for the sole reason that during his life he had been the hand- somest man in the city." Athens adored as one of its ' Plutarch, Solon, 9. » Pausanias, IX. 18. Herodotus, VII. 117. Diodorus, IV. CHAP. VI. THE GODS OF THE OITT. 19T protectors Eurystheus, though he was an Argivc ; but Euripides explains the origin of this woi'ship when he brings Eurystlieus upon the stage, about to die, anci malies him say to the Athenians, "Bnry me in Attioa. I will be propitious to you, and in the bosom of the ground I will be for your country a protecting guest."-' The entire tragedy of (Edijpus CoIchmms rests upon this belief. Athens and Thebes contend over the body of a man who is about to die, and who will become -;p» a god. />W- /^V It was a great piece of good fortune for a city to possess the bodies of men of some mark.° Mantinea spoke with pride of the bones of Areas, Thebes of those of Geryori, Messene of those of Aristomenes.'" To pro- cure these preoious relics, ruse was sometimes resorted to. Herodotus relates by what unfair means the Spai<- tans carried off the bones of Orestes." These bones, it is true, to which the soul of a hero was attached, gave the Spartans a victory immediately. As soon as Athens had acquired power, the first use she made of it was to seize upon the bones of Theseus, who had been buried in the Isle of Scyros, and to build a temple for them in the city, in order to increase the number of her protecting deities. Besides these gods and heroes, men had gods of an- other species, like Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva, towards whom the aspect of nature had directed their thoughts ; but we have seen that these creations of human intelli- 62. Pausanias, X. 23. Pindar, Nem., 65. Herodotus, V. 47. > Eiirip., Beracl. 1032. » Pausanioe, I. 43. Polyb., VIII.30. Plantus,2'»'m., 11. 2, 14. ^ Pausanias, IV. 32 ; VIII. 9. « Herodotus, I. 68. 198 THE CITV, BOOK HI. gence had for a long time the character of domestic or local divinities. At first men did not conceive of these gods as watching over the whole human race. They be- lieved that each one of them belonged in particular to a family or a city. Thus it was customary for each city, without count- ing its heroes, to have a Jupiter, a Minerva, or some other divinity which it had associated with its first Penates and its sacred fire. Thus there were iu Greece and in Italy a multitude of city-guarding divinities. Each city had its gods, who lived within its walls.' The names of many of these divinities are forgotten; it is by chance that there have remained the names of the god Satrapes, who belonged to the city of Elis, of the goddess Dindymene at Thebes, of Soteira at .iEgium, of Britomartis in Crete, of Hyblsea. at Hybla. The names of Zeus, Athene, Hera, Jupiter, Minerva, and Neptune are better k"nown to us, and we know that they were often applied to these city-guarding divinities ; but because two cities happened to apply the same name to their god, we are not to. conclude that they adored the same god. There was an Athene at Athens, and there was one at Sparta; but they were two goddesses. A great number of cities had a Jupi- ter as a city -protecting divinity. There were as many Jupiters as there were cities. In the legend of the Trojan war we see a Pallas who fights for tlie Greeks, and there, is among the Trojans another Pallas, who receives their worship and protects her worshippers.' ' Herodotus, V. 82. Sophocles, Phil., 134. Thucyd, II. 71. Eurip., Electra, G71. Pausanias, I. 24; IV. 8; VIII. 47. AxHtoilh., Birds, %2&; Knights, 611. VirgU, IX. 246. Polllix, IX. 40. Apollodorus, III. 14. » Homer, Iliad, VI. 88. CHAP. VI. THK GODS OP THE CITY. 199 Would any one say that it was the same divinity who figured in botli armies ? Certainly not ; for the anciente did not attribute the gift of ubiquity to their gods. The cities of Argos and Samoa had each a Here Polias, but it was not the same goddess, for she was reprt-sented in the two cities with very different attributes. There was at Rome a Juno ; at a distance of live leagues, the city of Veil had another. So little were they the same divinity that we see the dictator Camillus, while be- sieging Veii, address himself to the Juno of the enemy, to induce her to abandon the Etruscan city and pass into his camp. When he is master of the city, he takes the statue, well persuaded that he gains possession of the goddess at the same time, and devoutly transports it to Rome. From that time Rome had two protect- ing Junos. There is a similar history, a few years later, of a Jupiter that another dictator took from Pise- neste, tliough' at that time Rome already had three or four of them at home.' The city which possessed a divinity of its own did not wish strangers to be protected by it, or to adore it. More commonly a temple was accessible only to citi- zens. The Argives alone had the right to enter the temple of Hera at Argos. To enter that of Athene at Athens, one had to be an Athenian." The Romans who adored two Junos at home could not enter the temple of a third Juno, who was in the little city of Lanu- vium.' We should not lose sight of the fact that the an- cients never represented God to themselves as a unique being exercising his action upon the universe. Each of ' Llvy, V. 21, 22; VI. 29. « Herodotus, VI. 81; V. 72. ' They acquired this right only by conquest. Livy, VIII. 14. 200 THE CITY. BOOK. III. their innumerable go3s had his little domain ; to one a family belcuged, to another a tribe, to a third a eity. Such was the world which sufficed for the providence of each of them. As to the god of the human race, a few philosophers had an idea of him ; the mysteries of Eleusis might have afforded a glimpse of him to the most intelligent of the initiated ; but the vulgar never believed in such a god. For ages man unders.tood the divine being only as a force which protected him pei'- sonally, and every man, or every group of men, desired to have a god. Even to-day, among the descendants of those Greeks, w« see rude peasaiita pray to th^ saints with fervor, while it is doubtful if they have the idea of a god. Each one of them wishes to have, among these saints, a particular protector, a special providence. At Naples, each quaater of the city has its Madonna; the lazzaroni kneel before that of their own street, while they insult that of the neighboring street: it is not rare to see two facchini wrangle, and even fight with knives, in defence of the merits of their respective Madonnas. These cases are exeeptioms to-day, and are found only among certain peoples and in certain classes. They were the rule among th» ancients. Each city had its corps of priests, who depended upon no foreign authority. B-etween the priests of two ei.ies there was no bond, noi communication, no exchange of instruction or of rites. If one passed from one city to another, he found other gods, other dogmas* other ceremonies. The ancients had books of liturgies' but those of one eity did not resemble those^ of another. Every eity had its collection of prayers and practices^ which were kept very secret ; it would have thought itself in danger of compromising its reli^on and its destiny by opening this collection to strangers. Thus CHAP. VI. THE GODS OF THE CITY. 201 religion was entirely local, entirely civic, taking tliis word in the ancient sense — that is to say, speciiil to each city.* Generally a man knew only the gods of his own city, and honored and irespeoted them alone. Each one could say what, in a tragedy of JEschylus, a stra-ger said to the Argives — " I fear not the gods of your coun- try ; I owe them nothing." ' Every city looked to its gods for safety. Men in- voked them in danger, and thanked them in victory. Often defeat was attributed to them ; and they were reproached for having badly fulfilled their duty aa defendere of the city. Men even went so far, some- times, as to overturn their altare and stone their tenxples.* Ordinarily, these gods took good cai-e of the city whose worship they received ; and this was quite nat- ui-al : these gods were eager for offerings, and they received victims only from their own city. If they wished the continuation of the sacrifices and heca- tombs, it was very necessary that they should watch over the city's safety.* See, in Virgil, how Juno " strove and labored " that her Carthage might one day obtain the empire of the world. Each of these gods, like the Juno of Vii^il, had the grandeur of his city at heart. These gods had the same interests as the litizens themselves, and in times of war marched to battle in the midst of them. In Euripides we see a personage who says, on the eve of battle, " The gods ' Th.erg existed worships common to several cities only la the» case of confederations. We shall speak of them elsewhere. " JLsehylus, Suppl., 858. ' Suetoiius, CaMg., 6; Seneca, De Vita Beata, 36. * This idea J6 often found among the anoients. Theognis, 759. 202 THE CITY. BOOK UI. who figbt with us are move powerful tlian those who are on the side of the enemy." ' The ^ginetans never commenced a campaign without carrying with thera the statues of their national heroes, the JEacidte. The Spartans in all their expeditions carried with them the Tyndaridse.^ In the combat the gods and the citizens mutually sustained each other, and if they con- quered, it was because all had done their duty. If a city was conquered, the gods were supposed to have been vanquished with it.' If a city was taken, its gods themselves were captives. On this last point, it is true, opinions were uncertain and diverse. Many were persuaded that a city never could be taken so long as its gods remained in it. When .^neas sees the Greeks masters of Troy, he cries that the gods have departed, deserting their tem- ples and their altars. In .^Eschylus, the chorus of Thebahs expresses the same belief when, at the approach of the enemy, it implores the gods not to abandon the city." According to this opinion, in order to take a city it was necessary to make the gods leave it. For this purpose the Romans employed a certain formula which they had in their rituals, and which Macrobius has pre- served : " O thou great one, who hast this city under thy protection, I pray thee, I adore thee, I ask of thee as a favor, to abandon this city and this people, to quit these temples, these sacred places, and, having sepa- rated thyself from them, to come to Rome, to me and mine: May our city, our temples, and our sacred places be more agreeable and more dear to thee ; take us under ' Euripides, BeracX., 347. » Herodotus, V. 65 ; V. 80. » Virgil, JEn., I. 68. * ^sch., Sept. Cont- Theb., 202. CHAP, VI. THE GODS OP THE CITY. 203 thy protection. If thou doest this, I will found a temple in thine honoi-." ' Now, the ancients were convinced that there were formulas so efficacious and powerful, that, if one pronounced them exactly and without changing a single word, the god could not re- sist the request of m^n. The god thus called upon passed over, therefore, to the side of the enemy, and the city was taken. In Greece we find the same opinions and similar customs. Even in the time of Thucydides, when the Greeks besieged a city, they never failed to address an invocation to its gods, that they might permit it to be taken." Of'eu, instead of employing a formula to at- tract the god, the Greeks preferred to carry off its statue by stealth. Everybody knows the legend of Ulysses' cari-ying off the Pallas of the Trojans. At another time the ^ginetans, wishing to make war upon Epidaurus, commenced by carrying off two protecting statues of that city, and transported them to their own city.^' Herodotus relates that the Athenians wished to make war upon the ^ginetans, bat the enterprise was hazard- ous, for ^gina had a protecting hero of great power and of singulnr fidelity ; this was ^acus. The Athenians, after having studied the matter over^ put off the execu- tion of their design for thirty years; at the same time they built in their own country a chapel to this same ^acus, and devoted a worship to him. They were persuaded that if this worship was continued without interruption during thirty years, the god would belong no longer to the .lEginetans, but to themselves. In- deed, it seemed to them that a god could not accei)t ' Macrobius, III. 9. = Thucydides, II. 74. » Herodotus, V. 83. 204 THE CITT. BOOK III, fat victims for so long a time without placing himself under obligations to those who had offered them. jEacus, therefore, would in the end be forced to aban- don the interests of the JEginetane, and to give th? victory to the Athenians.' Here is another case from Plutarch. Solon desired that Athens might become mistress of the little Isle of Salamis, which then belonged to the Megarians. He consulted the cn-aele. The oracle answered, " If you wish to conquer the isle, you must first gain the favor of the heroes who protect it and who inhabit it.'' Solon obeyed ; in the name of Athens he offered sac- rifices to the two principal heroes of Salamis. These heroes did not resist the gifts that were offered them, but went over to the Athenian side, and the isle, de- prived of protectors, was conquered.* In time of war, if the besiegers sought to gain pos- session of the divinities of the city, the besieged, on their part, did their best to retain them. Sometimes they bound the god' with chains, to prevent him from deserting. At other times they concealed him from all eyes, that the enemy might not find him. Or, still again, they opposed to the formula by which the enemy attempted to bribe the god another formula which had the power to i-etain him. The Romans had imagined a means which seemed to them to be surer ; they kept secret the name of the principal and most powei"flil of their protecting gods." They thought that, as the enemy could never call this god by his name, he would never abandon their side, and that their city would never be taken. We see by this what a singular idea the ancients had ' Herodotus, V. 89. « Plutarch, Solon, 9. ' M^crobius, III, CHAP. Til. THE RELIGION OF THE CITY. 205 of the gods. It was a long time before they conceived the Ditinity as a supreme power. Evefy family had its domfestic religion, every city had its national feligioti. A city was like a little church, all complete, which had its gods, its dogmas, and its worship. These beliefs appear very crude to us, but they were those of the most intellectual people of ancient times* afid have ex- ercised upon this people and upon the Bomaus so im- portant an influence that the greater part of their la\?s, of their instLtntious, and of their history is from this source. CHAPTER VII. The Eeligion of the CUy. 1. The Public Repasts. Wb have already seen that the principal cerettiony of the domestic worship was a repast, which they called a sacrifice. To eat food prepared upon an altar was, to all appearance, the first form which men gave to the religious act. The need of putting themselves in communion with the divinity was satisfied by this repast, to which they invited him, and of which they gave him his part. The principal ceremony of the! city worship was also a repast of this nature ; it was partaken of in common by all the citizens, in honor of the protecting divinities. The celebrating of these public repasts was universal in Greece; and men believed that the safety of the city depended upon thsir accomplishment.' ' Smri'i^ia Tior noXimi avvieiltva. Atticniseus, V. 2. 206 THE CITY. BOOK lU. The Odyssey gives us a description of one of these sacred feasts : Nine long tables are spread for the peo- ple of Pylos ; at each one of them five hundred citizens are seated, and each group has immolated nine bulls in honor of the gods. This repast, which was called the feast of the gods, begins and ends with libations and prayers.' The ancient custom of repasts in common is also mentioned in the oldest Athenian traditions. It is related that Orestes, the murderer of his mother, arrived at Athens at the veiy moment when the city, assembled about its king, was performing the sacred act." The public meals of Sparta are well known, but the idea which men ordinarily entertain of them is very far from the truth. They imagine the Spartans living and eating always in common, as if private life had not been known among them. We know, on the contrary, from ancient authors, that the Spartans often took their meals in their own houses, in the midst of their families.^ The public meals took place twice a month, without reckon- ing holidays. These were religious acts of the same nature as those which were practised at Athens, in Argos, and throughout Greece.'' Besides these immense banquets, where all the citi- zens were assembled, and which could take place only on solemn festivals, religion prescribed that every day ' Homer, Odyssey. III. * Athensus, X. 49. ' AthensBus, IV. 17 ; IV. 21. Herodotus, VI. 57. Plutarch, Gleomenes, 13. • This custom is attested, for Athens, by Xenophon, Gov. Aih., 2 ; Schol. on Aristophanes, Clouds, 393 ; — for Crete and Thessaly, Atiien^us, IV. 22; —for Argos, Boeckh, 1122; — for other cities, Pindar, iVero., XI.; Theognis, 269; Pausanias, V 15 ; Athenaeus, IV. 32 ; IV. 61 ; X. 24 and 25 ; X. 49 ; XI. 66. CHAP. Til. THE EELIGIOIT OF THE CITY. 207 there should be a sacred meal. For this purpose, men chosen by the city, were required to eat together, in its name, within the enclosure of the prytaneum, in the presence of the sacred fire and the protecting gods* The Greeks were convinced that, if this repast was inter- rupted but for a single day, the state was menaced with the loss of the favor of its gods. At Athens, the men who took part in the common meal were selected by lot, and the law severely pun- ished those who refused to perform this duty. The citizens who sat at the sacred table were clothed, for the time, with a sacerdotal character ; they were called parasites. This word which, at a later period, became a term of contempt, was in the beginning a sacred title.' In the time of Demosthenes the parasites had disappeared; but the prytanes were still required to eat together in the prytaneum. In all the cities there were halls destined for the common meals." If we observe how matters passed at this meal, we shall easily recognize the religious ceremony. Every guest had a crown upon his head ; it was a custom of the ancients to wear a crown of leaves or flowers when one performed a solemn religious act. " The more one is adorned with flowers," they said, " the surer one is of pleasing the gods ; but if you sacrifice without wearing a crown, they will turn from you."" "A crown," they also said, " is a herald of good omen, which prayer sends before it towards the gods." * For the same reason the banqueters were clothed in robes of white ; white was ' Plutarch, Solon, 2i. Athenseus, VI. 26. ' Demosthenes, Pro Corona, 63. Aristotle, Politics, VII. 1, 19. Pollux, VIII. 155. ^ fragment of Sappho, in Athenseus, XV. 16. * Athenseus, XV. 19. 208 THE CITY. BOOK Hli the sacred color among the ancients, that which pleased the gods.' The meal invariably commenced witli a prayer and libations, and hymns were sung. The natare of the dishes and the kind of wine that was to be served were regulated by the rules of each city. To deviate in the least from the usage followed in primitive times, to present a new dish or alter the rhythm of the sacred hymns, was a grave impiety, for which the whole city was responsible to the gods; Religion even went so far as to fix the nature of the vessels that ought to be employed both for the cooking of the food and for the service of the table. In one city the bread must be served in copper baskets ; in another earthen dishes had to be employed. Even the form of the loaves was immtitably fixed.^ These rules of the old religion continued to be observed, and the sacred meals always preserved their primitive simplicity. Creeds, manners, social condition, all changed ; but these meals remained unchangeable ; for the Greeks were very scrupulous observers of their national religiotii It is but just to add, that when the guests had satisfied the requirements of religion by eating the prescribed food, they might immediately afterwards commence another meal, more expensive and better suited to their taste. This was quite a common prac- tice at Sparta." The custom of religious meals was common in Italy as well as in Greece. It existed anciently, Aristotle ' Plato, Laws, XII. 956. Cicero, De Legih., II. 18. Virgil, V. 70, 774) VII. 135; VIII. 274. So, too, among the Hindus, in religious ceremonies, one was required to wear a crown, and to be clothed in white. » Athenseus, I. 58 ; IV. 32 ; XI. 66. ^ Ibid., IV. 19 ; IV. 20. OHAP. VII. THE EELIGION OP THE CITY. 209 tells US, among the peoples known as CEnotiinns, Os- cans, and Ausonians.' Virgil has menlioned it twice in the ^neid. Old Latinus receives the envoys of JEneas, not in his home, but in a temple, "consecrated by the religiou of his ancestors; there took place the. sacred feasts after the immolation of the victims; there all the family chiefs sat together at long tables." Far- ther along, when ^neas arrives at the home of Evander, he finds him celebrating a sacrifice. The king is in the midst of his people ; all are crowned with flowers ; all, seated at the same table, sing a hymn in praise of the god of the city. This custom was perpetuated at Rome. There was always a hall where the representatives of the curies ate together. The senate, on certain days, held a sacred repast in the Capitol. At the solemn festivals, tables were spread in the streets, and the whole people ate at them. Originally the pontiffs presided at these repasts ; later, this care was delegated to special priostS, who were called epulones.'' These old customs give us an idea of the close tie which united the members of a city. Human associa- tion was a religion ; its symbol was a meal, of which they partook together. We must picture to ourselves one of these little primitive societies, all assembled, or the heads of families at least, at the same table, each clothed in whitie, with a crown upon his head ; all make the libation together, recite the same prayer, sing the same hymns, and eat the same food, prepared upon tlie same altar ; in their midst their ancestors are present, and the protecting gods share the meal.. Neither iii- ' Aristotle, Politics, IV. 9, 3. * Dionysius, II. 23. Aulus Gellius, XII. 8. Livy, XL. 69. 14 210 THE CITY. BOOK HL terest, nor agreement, nor habit creates the social bond; it is this holy communion piously accomplished in the presence of the gods of the city. 2. The Festivals and the Calendar. In all ages and in all societies, man has desired to honor his gods by festivals; he has established that there should be days during which the religious sent!: ment should reign in his soul, without being distracted by terrestrial thoughts and labors. In the number of days that he has to live he has devoted a part to the gods. Every city, had been founded with rites which, in the thoughts of the ancients, had had the effect of estab- lishing the national gods within its walls. It was necessary that the virtue of these rites should be re- juvenated each year by a new religious ceremony. This festival they called the birthday; all the citizens were required to celebrate it. Whatever was sacred gave occasion for a festival. There was the festival of the city enclosure, ambur- balia, and that of the territorial limits, ambarvalia. On those days the citizens formed a grand procession, clad in white, and crowned with leaves; they made the circuit of the city or territory, chanting prayers; at the head walked priests, leading victims, which they sacrificed at the close of the ceremony.' Afterwards came the festival of the founder. Then each of the heroes of the city, each of those souls that men invoked as protectors, claimed a worship. Rom- ulus had his, and Servius Tullius, and many others, ' TibuUus, II. 1. Pestus, v. AmhurhiaUs. CHAP. VII. THE EELIGION OP THE CITY. 211 even to the nurse of Romulus, and Evander's mother. In the sime way Athens had the festival of Cecrops, that of Erechthous, that of Theseus ; and it celebrated each of the heroes of the country, the guardian of Theseus, and Eurystheus, and Artdrogeus, and a mul- titude of others. There were also the rural festivals, those for plough- ing, seed-time, the time for flowering, and that for the vintage. In Greece, as in Italy, every act of the hus- bandman's life was accompanied with sacrifices, and men performed their work reciting sacred hymns. At Rome the priests fixed, every year, the day on which the vintage was to commence, and the day on which the new wine might be drunk. Everything was regu- lated by religion. A religious ordinance required the vines to be pruned ; for it told man that it would be impious to offer a libation with the wine of an unpruned vine.' Every city had a festival for each of the divinities which it had adopted as a protector, and it often counted many of them. When the worship of a new divinity was introduced into the city, it was necessary to find a new day in the year to consecrate to him. What char- acterized the religious festivals was the interdiction of labor, the obligation to be joyous, the songs, and the public games. The Athenian religion added. Take care ,to do each other no wrong on those days.'' The calendar was nothing more than the order of the religious festivals. It was regulated, therefore, by the priests. At Rome it was long before the calendar was reduced to writing; the first day of the month, the ' Varro, VI. 16. Virgil, Georg., I. 340-350. Plin}-, 'S.YUt. Festus, V Vinalia. Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 40; Numa, 14. ' A Ian of Solon, cited by Demosthenes, in Timocrai. C12 THE CITY. BOOK IlL ((Ontiff, after having offered a sacrifice, oonvoked the (./eople, and named the festivals that wonld take place in the course of the mouth. This ' convocatioa was c&lk'd the calatio, whence came the name of calends, w)/ich was given to this day. The calendar was regulated neither on the course of the moon nor on the apparent course of the sun. It was governed solely by the laws of religion, mysterious laws, which the priests alone knew. Sometimes re- ligion required that the year should be shortened, and at other times that it should be lengthened. We can foi'm an idea of primitive calendars, if we recollect that among the Albans the month of May had twelve days, and that March had thirty-six.' We can see that the calendar of one city would in no wise resemble that of another, since the religion M'as not the same in both, and the festivals, as well as the gods, were difierent. The year had not the same length from one city to another. The months did not bear the same names : at Athens they had quite other natjies than at Thebes, and at Rome they had not the same names as at Lavinium. This was due to the fact that the namo of each month was derived, ordinarily, from the principal festival it contained, and the festi- vals were not the same. Different cities had no under- standing to commence the year at the same time, or to count the series of their years from the same date. In Greece the Olympic festival afforded, in the course of time, a common date ; but this did not prevent each city from having its own particular style of reckoning. In Italy every city counted its years from the day of its foundation. ' Censorinua, 22. Macrobius, I. 14; I. 16. Varro, V. 28; VI. 27. CHAP. VU, THE EELIGION OP THE CITY. 213 3. Tlie Census. Among the most important ceremonies of the city religion there was one known as the purification. It took place at Athens every year ; at Rome it occurred once in five yeare.' The rites which were then ob- served, and the very name which it bore, indicate that the object of this ceremony was to efface the faults committed by the citizens against the worship. In- deed, this religion, with its complicated forms, was a source of terror for the ancients: as faith and purity of intention went for vefy little, and the religion con- sisted entirely in the minute practice of innumerable rules, they were always in fear of having been guilty of some negligence, some omission, or some error, and were never sure of being free fronl the anger or malice of some god. An expiatory sacrifice was necessary, therefore, to reassure the heart of man. The mngis- ti'ate whose duty it was to offer it (at Rome it was the censor; before the censor, it was the consul, and before the consul, the king) commenced by assuring himself, by the aid of the auspices, that the gods accepted the ceremony. He then convoked the peo^ pie by means of a herald, who, for this purpose, made use of a certain sacramental formula. All the ciiizens, on the appointed day, collected outside the walls ; there, all being silent, the magistrate walked tbree times around the assembly, driving before him three vic- tims, a sheep, a liog, a bull (suovetaurile) ; these three animals together constituted, among the Greeks, as ' Diogenes Laertius, Life of Socrates, 23. Harpocration, 0a^fiax6;. They also purified the domestic hearth every year. iEschylus, Choeph., 966. 214 THE CITY. BOOK HI. among the Romans, an expiatory sacrifice. Priests and victims followed the procession. When the third circuit was completed, the magistrate pronounced a set form of prayer, and immolated the victims.' From this moment every stain was effaced, all negligence in the worship repaired, and the city was at peace with its gods. Two things were necessary for an act of this nature, and of so great importance ; one was, that no stranger should be found among the citizens, as this would have destroyed the effect of the ceremony ; the other was, that all the citizens should be present, with- out which the city would have retained some stain. It was necessary, therefore, that this reli^ous ceremony should be preceded by a numbering of the citizens. At Rome and at Athens, they were counted with scra- pulous care. It is j)robable that the number was pro- nounced by the magistrate in the formula of prayer, as it was afterwards inserted in the account of the cere- mony which the censor drew up. The loss of citizenship was the punishment of the man who failed to have his name enrolled. This sever- ity is easily explained. The man who had not taken part in the religious act, who had not been purified, for whom the prayer had not been pronounced or the victim sacrificed, could no longer be a member of the city. In the sight of the gods, who had been present at the ceremony, he was no longer a citizen." • Varro, L. L., VI. 86. Valerius Maximua, V. 1, 10. Livy, I. 44; III. 22; VI. 27. Propertius, IV. 1, 20. Servius, ad Eclog., X. 55 ; ad 2En., VIII. 231. Livy attributes this institu- tion to king Servius; but probably it is older than Rome, and existed in all the cities, as well as at Borne. It is attributed to Servius just because he modified it, as we shall see. ^ Citizens absent from liome were required to return home for UHAF. YII. THE EELIGIOIT OF THE CITY, 215 We are enabled to judge of the iraportance of this ceremony by the exorbitant power of the magistrate who presided at it. The censor, before commencing the sacrifice, ranged the people in a certain order ; the senators, the knights,' and the tribes, each rank in its appropriate place. Absolute master on that day, he fixed the place of each man in the different categories. Then, all having been arranged according to his direc- tions, he performed the sacred act. Now, a result of this was, that from that day to the following lustration, every man preserved in the city the rank which the censor had assigned him in the ceremony. He was a senator if on that day he had been counted among the senators ; a knight if he had figured among the knights ; if a simple citizen, he formed a part of the tribe in the ranks of which he had been on that day; and if the magistrate had refused to admit him into the ceremony, he was no longer a citizen. Thus the place which one had occupied in the religious act, and where the gods had seen him, was the one he held in the city for five years. Such was the origin of the immense power of the censor. In this ceremony none but citizens took part; but their wives, their children, their slaves, their prop- erty, real and personal, were in a manner purified in the person of the head of the family. It was for this reason that, before the sacrifice, each citizen was • re- quired to give to the censor an account of the persons and property belonging to him. The lustration was accomplished in Augustus's time with the same exactitude and the same rites as in the the lustration ; nothing could exempt them from this. YcUeius, II IS. 216 THE CITT. 1300K m. most ancient times. The pontiffs still regarded it as a religious act, while statesmen saw in it an excellent measure of administration, at least. 4. Meligion in the AssenMy^ in the Senate, in the Tribunal, in the Army, in tlie Triumph. There was not a single act of public life in which the gods were not seen to take a part. As he wiis under the influence of the idea that they were by turns ex- cellent protectors or cruel enemies, man never dared to act without being sure that they were favorable), The people assembled only on such days as religion permitted. They remembered that the city had suf- fered a disaster on a certain day ; this was, doubtless, because on that day the gods had been either absent or irritated ; tliey would probably be in the same mood at the same season every year, for reasons unknown to mortals. This day, therefore, was forever unlucky; there were no assemblies, no courts; public life was suspended. At Rome, before an assembly proceeded to business, the augurs were required to declare that the gods were propitious. The assembly commenced with a prayer, which the augur pronounced, and which the consul repeated after him. There was the same custom among the Athenians. The assembly always commenced by a religious act. Priests offered a sacrifice ; a large circle was then traced by pouring lustral water upon the ground, and within this sacred circle the citizens assembled.' Before any * Aristophanes, Acharn., 44. JEschines, in Timareh., I. 21; in Ctesiph., 176, and Scholiast Dinarch., in Aristog., 14. CHAP. VIl. IHK RELIGION Or THB CITY. 217 oratoi began to speak, a prayer was pronounced be- fore the silent people. The auspices were also con- sulted, and if any unfavorable sign appeared in the heavens, the assembly broke up at once.' The tribune, or speaker's stand, was a sacred place, and the orator never ascended it without a crown upon his head.' The jjlace of assembly of the Roman senate was always a temple. If a session had been held else- where than in a sacred place, its acts would have been null and void ; for the gods would not have been pres- ent. Before every deliberation, the piesident offered a sacrifice' and pronounced a prayer. In the hall there was an altar, where every senator, on entering, offered a libation, at the same tinie invoking the gods." ^yf' ^ ' The Athenian senate was little different. The hall also contained an altar and a sacred fire. A religious ceremony was observed at the opening of each session. Every senator, on entering, approached the altar, and pronounced a prayer. While the session lasted, evei-y senator wore a crown upon his head, as in religious ceremonies.* At Rome, as well as at Athens, courts of justice were open in the city only on such days as religion pro- nounced favorable. At Athens the session of the court was held near an altar, and commenced with a sac- ' Aristophanes, Acharn., 171. * Aristophanes, Thesmoph., 381, and Scholiast. " Varro, cited by Aulos! Gellius, XIV. 7. Cicero, ad Fdmil., X. 12. Suetonius, ^ug>., 85. Diop Cassius, LIV. p. 621. Ser- vius, VII. 153. ■* Andocides, Be Mysi., 44, De Red., 15. Antiphon, Pro Ghor., 45. Lycurgus, in Leocr., 122. Demosthenes, in Meidi- am, 114. Diodorus, XIV. 4. 218 THB CITT. BOOK m. rifico.' In Homer's time the judges assembled «m a holy circle." ' Festus says, that in the rituals of the Etruscans were directions as to the founding of a city, the consecra- tion of a temple, the arrangement of curies and tribes in a public assembly, and the ranging of an army in ordei of battle. All these things were marked in the ritual, because all these things were connected with religion. In war, religion was as influential, at least, as in peace. In the Italian cities' there were colleges of priests, called fetiaks, who presided, like the heralds among the Greeks, at all the sacred ceremonies to which international relations gave rise. A feticHis, veiled, and with a crown upon Ids head, declared war by pro- nouncing a sacramental formula. At the same time, the consul, in priestly robes, offered a sacrifice!, and solemnly opened the temple of the most venerated and most ancient divinity of Italy. Before setting out on an expedition, the army being assembled, the general repeated prayers and offered a sacrifice. The custom was the same at Athens and at Sparta.' During a campaign the army presented the image of the city; its religion followed it. The Greeks took with them the statues of their divinities. Every Greek or Roman army carried with it a hearth, on which the sacred fire was kept up night and day.* A Roman ' Aristophanes, Wasps, 860-865. Homer, Iliad, XVIII. 604. * Dionysius, II. 73. Servius, X. 14. . ' Dionysius, IX. 57. "Virgil, VII. 601. Xenophon, neUen., VI. 6. * Herodotus, VIII. 6. Plutaroi., Agesilans, 6 ; Publicola, 17. Xenophon, Gov. Laced., 14. Dionyeius, IX. 6. Stobwus, 42. Julius Obsequens, 12, 116, CHAP. VII. THE EEUGIOIT OF THE CITY. 219 army was accompanied by augurs and puUarii (feeders of the sacred chickens) : every Greek anny had a diviner. Xet us examine a Roman army at the moment when it is preparing for battle. The consul orders a victim to be brought, and strikes it with the axe; it falls: its entrails will indicate the will of the gods. An aruspex examines them,, and if the signs are favorable, the con- sul gives the signal for battle. The most skilful dis- positions, the most favorable circumstances, are of no account if the gods do not permit the, battle. The fundamental principle of the military art among the Romans was to be able to put oflF a battle when the gods were opposed to it. It was for this reason that they made a sort of citadel of their camp every day. Let us now examine a Greek army, and we will take .for example the battle of Plataea. The Spartans are drawn up in line; each one has his post for battle. They all have crowns upon their heads, and the flute- players sound the religious hymns. The king, a little in rear of the ranks, slaughters the victims. But the entrails do not give the favorable signs, and the sacri- .fice must be repeated. Two, three, four victims are successively immolated. During this time the Persian cavalry approach, shoot their arrows, and kill quite a number of Spartans, The Spartans remain immova- ble, their shields placed at their feet, without even putting themselves on the defensive against the arrows of the enemy. They await the signal of the gods. At last the victims oflTer the favorable signs; then the Spartans raise their shields, seize their. swords, move on to battle, and are victorious. After every victory they offer a sacrifice; and this is the origin of the triumph, which is so well known 220 THE CITY. BOOK in. among the Romans, and which was not less common among the Greeks, This custom was a consequence of the opinion which attributed the victory to the gods of the city. Before the battle the army had addressed a prayer to them, like the one we read in jEschylus : " To you, O gods, who inhabit and possess our land, if our arms are fortunate, and if our city is saved, I promise to sprinkle your altars with the blood of sheep, to sacrifice bulls to you, and to hang up in your holy temples the trophies conquered by the spear." ' By virtue of this promise, the victor owed a sacrifice. The army entered the city to ofier it, and repaired to the temple, forming a long procession, and singing a sa- cred hymn — dgta/t^o^.' At Rome the ceremony was very nearly the same. The army marched in procession to the principal tem- ple of the city. The priests walked at the head of the cortege, leading victims. On reaching the temple, the general sacrificed the victims to the gods. On their way the soldiers all wore crowns, as was becoming in a sacred ceremony, and sung a hymn, as in Greece. There came a time, indeed, when the soldiers did not scruple to replace the hymn, which they did not undei"- stand, by barrack songs and raillery at their general ; but they still preserved the custom of repeating the re- frain lo triumphed Indeed, it was this refrain which gave the name to the ceremony. Thus, in time of peace, as in war time, religion intei"- vened in all acts. It was everywhere present, it en- ' ^schylus, Sept. Coni. Theh., 252-260. Eurip., Phcen., 573. ' Diodoius, IV. 6. Fhotius, ^gio/i/Sos, sniSn^it vixijs, jio.unij'.' > Varro, L. L., VI. 64. Pliny, N. H., VII. 56. Macrobius, I. 19. CHAP. Til. THE RELIGION OF THE CITY. 221 veloped man. The soul, the body, private life, public life, meals, festivals, assemblies, tribunals, battles, all were under the empire of this city religion. It regu- lated all the acts of man, disposed of every instant of his life, fixed all bis habits. It governed a human being with an authority so absolute that there was nothing beyond its control. One would have a very false idea of human nature to believe that this ancient religion was an imposture, and, so to speak, a comedy. Montesquieu pretends that the Romans adopted a worship only to restrain the people. A religion never had such an origin ; and every religion that has come to sustain itself only from motives of public utility, has not stood long. Mon- tesquieu has also said that the Romans subjected reli- gion to the state. The contrary is true. It is impossi- ble to read many pages of Livy without being con- vinced of this. Neither the Romans nor the Greeks knew anything of those sad conflicts between church and state which have been so common in other societies. But this is due solely to the fact that at Rome as well as at Sparta and Athens, the state was enslaved by its feligion; or, rather, the state and religion were so com- pletely confounded, that it was impossible even to dis- tinguish the one from the other, to say nothing of /orming an idea of a conflict between the two. 222 THE CITTf. BOOK ni CHAPTER VIII. The Bitnals and the Annals. The character and the virtue of the religion of the ancients was not to elevate human intelligence to the conception of the absolute ; to open to the eager mind a brilliant road, at the end of which it could gain a glimpse of God. This religion was a badly connected assemblage of small creeds, of minute practices, of petty observances. It was not necessary to seek the meaning of them ; there was no need of reflecting, or of giving a reason for them. The word religion did not signify what it signifies for us ; by this word we understand a body of dogmas, a doctrine concerning God, a symbol of faith concerning what is in and around us. This same word, among the ancients, sig- nified rites, ceremonies, acts of exterior worship. The doctrine was of small account : the practices were the important part ; these were obligatory, and bound man (ligare, rdigio). Religion was a material bond, a chain which held man a slave. Man had originated it, and he was governed by it. He stood in fear of it, and dared not reason upon it, or discuss it, or examine it. Gods, heroes, dead men, claimed a material worship from him, and he paid them the debt, to keep them friendly, and, still more, not to make enemies of them. Man counted little upon their friendship. Thej were envious, irritable gods, without attachment or friendship for man, and willingly at war with him. Neither did the gods love man, nor did man love his gods. He believed in their existence, but would have CHAP. YHI. THE EITUALS AND THE ANKAL8. 223 wished that they did not exist. He feared even his domestic and national gods, and was continually in fear of being betrayed by them. His great inquietude was lest he might incur their displeasure. He was oc- cupied all his life in appeasing them. Paces deorum g'MOsrej'e, says the poet. But how satisfy them? Above all, how could one be sure that he had satisfied them, and that they were on his side ? Men believed that the employment of certain formulas answered this pur- pose. A certain prayer, composed of certain words, had been followed by the success that was asked for ; this was, without doubt,, because it had been heard by the god, and had exercised an influence upon him; that it had been potent, more potent than the god, since he had not been able to resist it. They therefore pre- served the mysterious and sacred words of this prayer. After the father, the son repeated it. As soon as writ- ing was in use it was committed to writing. Every family, evei'y religious family at least, had a book in which were written the prayers of which the ancestors had made use, and with which the gods had complied.' It was an arm which man employed against the incon- stancy of the gods. But not a word or syllable must be changed, and least of all the rhythm in which it had been chanted. For then the prayer would have lost its force, and the gods would have remained free. But the formula was not enough ; there were exterior acts whose details were minute and unchangeable. The slightest gesture of the one who performed the sacri- fice, and the smallest parts of his costume, were gov- erned by strict rules. In addressing one god, it was ' Dionysius, I. 76. Varro, VI. 90. Cicero, Brutus, 16. Aulus Gellius, XJII. 19. 224 THE CITY. BOOK IIL necessary to have the head veiled ; in addressing an- other, the head was uncovered ; for a third, the skirt of the toga was thrown over the shoulder. In certain acts the feet had to be naked. There were certain prayers which were without effect unless the man, after pronouncing them, pirouetted on one foot from left to right. The nature of the victim, the color of the hair, the manner of slaying it, even the shape of the knife, and the kind of wood employed to roast the flesh — all was fixed for every god by the religion of each family, or of each city. In vain the most fervent heart offered to the gods the fattest victims: if one of the innumer- able rites of the sacrifice was neglected, the sacrifice was without effect; the least failure made of the sacred act an act of impiety. The slightest alteration dis- turbed and confused the religion of a country, and changed the protecting gods into so many cruel ene- mies. It was for this reason that Athens was so severe against the priest who made some change in the ancient rites.' It was for the same reason that the Roman senate degraded its consuls and its dictators who had committed any error in a sacrifice. All these formulas and practices had been handed dowi. by ancestors who had proved their efiicacy. There was no occasion for innovation. It was a duty to rest upon what the ancestors had done, and the highest piety consisted in imitating them. It mattered little that a belief changed ; it might be freely modified from age to age, and take a thousand diverse forms, in accordance with the reflection of sages, or with the popular imagination. But it was of the greatest im- portance that the formulas should not fall into oblivion, ' Demosthenes, in Ntceram, IIG, 117. CHAP. VIII. THE RITUALS AND THE ANNALS. 225 and that the lites should not be modified. Every city, therefore, had a book in which these were preserved. The use of sacred books was universal among the Greeks, the Romans, and the Etruscans.' Sometimes the ritual was written on tablets of wood, sometimes on cloth ; Athens engraved its rites upon tablets of copper, that they might be imperishable. Rome had its books of the pontiffs, its books of the augurs, its book of ceremonies, and its collection of Indigitamen- ta. There was not a city which had not also its col- lection of ancient hymns in honor of its gods." In vain did language change with manners and beliefs ; the words and the rhythm remained unchangeable, and on the festivals men continued to sing these hymns after they no longer understood them. These books and songs, written by the priests, were preserved by them with the greatest care. They were never revealed to strangers. To reveal a rite, or a formula, would have been to betray the religion of the city, and to deliver its gods to the enemy. For greater precaution they were concealed from the citizens themselves,' and the priests alone were allowed to know them. In the minds of the people, all that was ancient was venerable and sacred. When a Roman wished to say that anything was dear to him, he said, " That is an- cient for me." The Greeks had the same expression. The cities clung strongly to their past, because they found in the past all the motives as well as all the rules ' Pausanias, IV. 27. Plutarch, Cont. Cdlot., 17. Pollux, VIII. 128. Pliny, iV. H., XIII. 21. Val. Max., I. 1, 8. Var- ro, L. L., VI. 16. Censorinus, 17. Pestus, v. RUvdles. ' Plutarch, Theseus, 16. Tac, Ann., IV. 43. .Slliaii, U. V., II. 39. 15 226 THE CITY. BOOK III of their religion. They had need to look back, for it was upon recollections and traditions that their entire worship rested. Thus history had for the ancients a greater importance than it has for us. It existed a long time before Herodotus and Thacydides, — written or unwritten ; as simple oral traditions, or in books, lis was contemporary with the birth of citieSi There was no city, however small and obscure it might be, that did not pay the greatest attention to preserving an account of what had passed within it. This was not vanity, but religion. A city did not believe it had the right to allow anything to be forgotten ; for everything in its history was connected with its worship. History commenced; indeed, with the act of founda- tion, and recorded the sacred name of the founder. It was continued with the legend of the gods of the city, its protecting heroes. It taught the date, the origin, and the reason of every worehip, and explained its obscure rites. The prodi^es which the god» of the country had performed, and by which they had manifested their powen, their goodness, or their anger, were recorded there ; there were described the ceretponies by which the priests had' skilfully turned a bad presage, or had appeased the anger of the gods ; there were recorded the epidemics which had afflicted the city, on what day a temple had been consecrated, and for what rea- son a sacrifice had been established ;' there were record- ed all the events which related to religion, the victories that proved the assistance of the gods, and in which these gods had often been seen fighting, the defeats which indicated theu* anger, and for which it had been necessary to institute an, expiatory sacrifice. All this was written for the instruction and the piety of the de- scendants. All this history was a material proof of the CHAP. Vlil. THE EITlTALS AND THE ANNALS. 227 existence- of the national gods ; for the events which it containeil were the visible form under which these gods had' revealed themselves from age to age. Even among these facts there were many that gave rise to festivals and" annual sacrifices. The history of the city told the citizen what-he must believeand what hemust adore. Then, too, this history was written by priestsi. Rome had its annals of the pontiffs; the Sabine priests, the Samnite priests, and the Etruscan priests had similar ones.' Among the Greeks there has been pre- served to us the recollection of the books or secret annals of Athens, Sparta, Delphi, Ifaxos, and Taren- tum." When- Pausanias travelled in Greece, in the time of Hadrian, the priests of every city related to him the old local histories. They did not invent them, but had learned them in their annals. This sort of history was entirely local. It commenced at the foundation, because what had happened before this date was of no interest to the city; and this explains why the an- cients have so completely ignored thei-r earliest history. Their records related only to affairs in which the city had been engaged, and gave no heed to the rest of the world. Every city had its special history, as it had its religion and its calendar. We can easily believe that these city annals were exceedingly dry, and very whimsical, both in substance' and in form. They were not a work of art, but a re- ligious work. Later came the writers, the narrators, ' Dionysiusf, II. 49. Livy, X. 33. Cicero, DeDivin.^ II. 41 ; I. 33 ; II. 23. Censorinus, 12, 17. Suetonius, Claudius, 42. Macrobius, I. 12; V. 19. Solin., 11. 9. Servius, VII. 678; VIII. 398. tetters of Mare. Aurel., IV. 4. " Plutarch, Corlt. Colot.,1'! ; Solon, l\; Mor cd. j 8G9. Athe- seus, XI. 49. Tac, Ann., IV. 43. 228 THE CITT. BOOK HI. like Herodotus ; the thinkei-s, like Thucydides. Histo- ry then left the hands of the priests, and became some- thing quite different. Unfortunately these beautiful and brilliant writings still leave us to regret the early annals of the cities, and all that they would have taught us of the beliefs and the inner life of the an- cients. But these books, which appear to have, been kept secret, which never left the sanctuaries, which were never copied, and which the priests alone read, have all perished, and only a feded recollection of them has remained. This trace, it is true, has a great value for us. With- out it we should perhaps have a right to reject all that Greece and Rome relate to us of their antiquities ; all those accounts, that appear to us so improbable, be- cause they differ so much from our habits and our man- ner of thinking and acting, might pass for the product of men's imaginations. But this trace of the old an- nals that has remained shows us the pious respect which the ancients had for their history. Every city had archives, in which the facts were religiously pre- served as fast as they took place. In these sacred books every page was contemporary with the event which it recorded. It was materially impossible to alter these documents, for the priests had the care of them; and it was greatly to the interest of religion that they should remain unalterable. It was not even easy for the pontiff, as he wrote the lines, skilfully to insert statements contrary to the truth; for he believed that all events came from the gods ; that he revealed their will, and that he was giving future generations subjects for pious souvenirs, and even for sacred acts. Every event that took place in the city commenced at once to form a part of the religion of the future. With CHAP. VIII. THE EIT0ALS AND THE ANNALS. 229 such beliefs we can easily understand that there would be much involuntary error — a result of credulity, of a love for the marvellous, and of faith in the nation- al gods ; but voluntary falsehbod is not to be thought of; for that would have been impious; it would have violated the sanctityof the annals, and corrupted the religion. We can believe, therefore, that in these books, if all was not true, there was nothing at least that the priests did not believe. Now, for the his- torian who seeks to pierce the obscurity of those early times, it is a great source of confidence to know that, if he has to deal with errors, he has not to deal with imposture. These errors even, having still the advan- tage of being contemporary with those ancient ages that he is studying, may reveal to him, if not the de- tails of events, at least the sincere convictions of men. These annals, it is true, were kept secret ; neither Herodotus nor Livy read them. But several passages of ancient authors prove that some parts became pub- lic, and that fragments of them came to the knowl- edge of historians. There were, moreover, besides the anaals, — these written and authentic documents, — oral traditions, which were perpetuated among the people of a city ; not vague and indifferent traditions, like ours, but tra- ditions dear to the cities, such as did not vary to please the imagination, such as men were not at liberty to modify ; for they formed a part of th'e wor- ship, and were composed of narrations and songs that were repeated from year to year in the religious festi- vals. These sacred and unchangeable hymns fixed the memory of events, and perpetually revived the tra- ditions. Doubtless we should be wrong in believing that these traditions had the exactitude of the annals. 230 THE CITY. BOOK HI. The desire to praise the gods might be stronger than the love of truth. Still they must have been at least a reflection of the annals, and must generally have been in accord with them. For the priests who drew up and who read the annals were the same who pre- sided at the festivals where these old lays were sung. There came a time, too, when these annals were divulged. Rome finally published hers; those of other Italian cities were known ; the priests of *S^^°_f^''i^e their dignity from the hearth, and who in one pia-3C4^5 called kings, in another prytanes, and in a third archons; o^Thus wiiles Aristotle, the man who best understood the con- stitution of the Greek cities. This passage, so precise, shows, in the first place, that the three words king, prytane, and archoti were a long time synonymous. So true is this, that nn ancient historian, Charon of Lampsacus, writing a book about the kings of Lace- daemon, entitled it Archons and Prytanes of the Lace- doemonians? It shows also that the personage to whom was applied indifferently one of these three names — perh.ips all of them at the same time — was the priest of the city, and that the worship of the public hearth was the source of his dignity and power. This sacerdotal character of primitive royalty is clearly indicated by the ancient writers. In .^schylus the daughters of Danaus address the king of Argos in these terras : " Thou art the supreme prytane, and watchest over the hearth of this country." ' In Eurip- ides, Orestes, the murderer of his mothei-, says to Men'.'huis, "It is just that I, the son of Agamemnon, should reign at Argos." And Menelans replies, " Art thou, then, fit, — thou, a murderer, — to touch the ves- sels of lustral water for the sacrifices? Art thou fit to slay the victims ? " * The principal office of a king was, ' Aristotle, Pdlit., VIL 5, 11 (VI. 8). Comp. DionyBius, II. Co. * Suidas, V. Xiqmv. ' ^sch., Supp., 361 (357). * Eiu'ipides, Orestes, 1605. CHAP. IX. THE KINS. 283 therefore, to perform religious ceremonies. An ancient king of Sicyon was tleposed beeanse, having soiled his hands by a murder, he was no longer in a condition to oifer the sacrifices.' Being no longer fit for a priest, he could no longer be king. Homer and Virgil represent the kings as continually occupied with sacred ceremonies. We know from Demosthenes that the ancient Icings of Attica per- formed themselves all the saci'ifices that were pre- scribed by the religion of the city; and from Xenophon that the kings of Sparta were the chiefs of the Laoedee- monian leligion.'' The Etruscan Lucumones were, at the same time, magistrates, military chiefs, and pontifis." The case was not at all different with the Roman kings. Tradition always represents them as priests. The first was Romulus, who was acquainted with the science of augury, and who founded the city in accord- ance with religious rites. The second was Nuraa: he fulfilled, Livy tells us, the greater part of the priestly functions ; but he foresaw that his successors, often having wars to maintain, would not always be able to take care of the sacrifices, and instituted the flamens to replace the kings when the latter were absent from Rome. Thus the Roman priesthood was only an emanation from the primitive royalty. These king-priests were inaugurated with a religious ceremonial. The new king, being conducted to the summit of the Capitoliue Hill, was seated upon a stone seat, his face turned towards the south. On his left was seated an augur, his head oovej-ed with sacred fillets, and holding in his hand the augur's staff. He ' Nie. Damas., Frag. Hist. Gr., t. III. p. 394. 3 Demosthenes, in Necer. Xenophon, Goii. Laeed., 13. 3 Virgil, X. 175. Livy, V. 1. Censorinus, i. 234 THE CITT. BOOK HI. marked off certain lines in the heavens, pronounced a prayer, and, placing his hand upon the king's head, supplicated the gods to show, by a visible sign, that this chief was agreeable to them. Then, as soon as a flash of lightning or a flight of birds had manifested the will of the gods, the new king took possession of his charge. Livy describes this ceremony for the installa- tion of Numa ; Dionysius assures us that it took place for all the kings, and after the kings, for the consuls ; he adds that it was still performed in his time,' There was a reason for such a custom ; as the king was to be supreme chief of the religion, and the safety of the city was to depend upon his prayers and sacrifices, it was important to make sure, in the first place, that this king was accepted by the gods. The ancients have left us no account of the manner in which the Spartan kings were elected ; but we may be certain that the will of the gods was consulted in the election. We can even see from old customs which survived to the end of the history of Sparta, that the ceremony by which the gods were consulted was renewed every nine yeara; so fearful were they that the king might lose the favor of the divinity. " Every nine years," says Plutarch, " the Ephors chose a very clear night, but without a moon, and sat in silence, with their eyes fixed upon the heavens. If they saw a star cross from one quarter of the heavens to the other, this indicated that their kings were guilty of some neglect of the gods. The kings were then sus- pended from their duties till an oracle came from Delphi to relieve them from their forfeiture." * ' Livy, I. 18. Dionysius, 11. 6 ; IV. 80. * Plutarch, Agis, 11. CHAP. IX. THE KING. 235 2. Political Authority of the Sing. V^ust as in the family the authority was inherent in the priesthood, and the father, as head of the domestic worship, was at the same time judge and master, so the high priest of the city was at the same time its political chieiTJThe altar — to borrow an expression of Aristotle — conferred dignity and powei- upon him. There is nothing to surprise us in this confusion of the priesthood and the civil power. We find it at the beginning of almost all societies, either because during the infancy of a people nothing but religion will com- mand their obedience, or because our nature feels the need of not submitting to any other power than that of a moral idea. We have seen how the religion of the city was mixed up with everything. Man felt himself at every moment dependent upon his gods, and consequently upon this priest, who was placed between them and himself. This priest watched over the sacred fire; it was, as Pindar says, his daily worship that saved the city every day,' He it was who knew the formulas and prayers which the gods could not resist ; at the moment of combat, he it was who slew the victim, and drew upon the army the protection of the gods. It was very natural that a man armed with such a power should be accepted and recognized as a leader. From the fact that religion had so great a part in the gov- ernment, in the courts, and in war, it necessarily fol- lowed that the priest was at the same time magistrate, judge, and military chief "The kings of Sparta," says Aristotle,* "have three attributes: they perform the ' Pindar, Nem., XI. 5. = Aristotle, Politics, III. 9. 236 THE CITY. BOOK 111. sacrifices, they command in war, and they administer justice." Dionysius of Halicarnassus expresses himself in the same manner regarding the kings of Rome. Tiie constitutional rules of this monarchy were very simple ; it was not necessary to seek long for tliem ; they flowed from the rules of the worship themselves. The founder, who had established the sacred fire, was naturally the first priest. Hereditary succession was the constant rule, in the beginning, for the transmission of this worship. Whether the sacred fire was that of a family or that of a city, religion prescribed that the care of supporting it should always pass from father to son. ^he priesthood was therefore hereditary, and the power went with itj3 A well-known fact in the history of Greece proves, in a striking manner that, in the beginning, the kingly office belonged to the man who set up the hearth of the city. We know that the population of the Ionian col- onies was not composed of Athenians, but that it was a mixture of Pelasgians, -^olians, Abantes, and Cad- raeans. Yet all the hearths of the cities were placed by the members of the religious family of Codrus. It followed that these colonists, instead of having for leaders men of their own race, — thePelasgi aPelasgian, the Abantes an Abantian, the jEoliaus an ^olian, — all gave the royalty in their twelve cities to the Codridaa.' Assuredly these persons had not acquired their author- ity by force, for they were almost the only Athenians in this numerous agglomeration. But as they had ' We speak here only of the early ages of cities. We shall see, farther on, that a time came when hereditary succession ceased to' be the rule, and we shall explain why at Rome royalty was not hereditary. ' Herodotus, I. 142-148. Pausanias, VI. Straho. CHAP. IX. THE KING. 237 established the sacred fires, it was their office to main- tain them. The royalty was, therefore, bestowed' upon them without a contest, and remained hereditary in their families. Battus had founded Cyrene in Africa ; and the Battiadse were a long lime in possession of the royal dignity there. Protis founded Marseilles; and the Protiadse, from father to son, performed the priestly office there, and enjoyed great privileges. It was not force, then, that created chiefs and kings in those ancient cities. It would not be correct to say that the first man who was king there was a lucky soldier. Authority flowed from the worship of the sa- cred fire. Religion created the king in the city, as it had made the family chief in the house. A belief, an unquestionable and imperious belief, declared that the hereditary priest of the hearth was the depositary of the holy duties and the guardian of the gods. How could one hesitate to obeyj such a man ? A king was I sacred being; dnadst; Jf go), says Pindar. Men saw in him, not a complete god, but at least "the most powerful man to call down the anger of the gods;" ' the man without whose aid no prayer was heard, no sacrifice accepted. This royalty,' semi-religious, semi-politieal, was estab- lished in all cities, from their foundation, without effi)rt on the part of the kings, without resistance on the part of the subjects. We do not see at the origin of the ancient nations those fluctuations and struggles which mark the painful establishment of modern societies. We know how long a time was necessary, after the fall of the Roman empire, to restore the rules of a regular society. Europe saw, during several centuries, opposing ' Sophocles, (Edipus Rex, 34. 238 THE CITT. BOOK III. principles dispute for the government of* the people, and the people at times rejecting all social organization. No such spectacle was seen in ancient (xreece, or in ancient Italy; their history does not commence with conflicts : revolutions appeared only at the close. Among these populations, society formed slowly and by degrees, while passing from the family to the trihe, and from the tribe to the city, but without shock and without a struggle. Royalty was established quite naturally, in the family first, in the city later. It was not devised in the imagination of a few ; it grew out of a necessity that was manifest to the eyes of all. During long ages it was peaceable, honored, and obeyed,- The kings had no need- of material force ; they had neither army nor treasury; but, sustained by a faith that hnd a powerful influence over the mind, their ■ authority was sacred and inviolable. A revolution, of which we shall speak farther on, overturned the kingly power in every city ; but when it fell, it left no rancor in the hearts of men. That contempt, mingled with hatred, which ordinarily at- tends on fallen grandeui', it never experienced. Fallen as it was, the affection and respect of men remained attached to its memory. In Greece we -see something which is not very common in histoiy : in the cities where the royal family did not become extinct, not only was it not expelled, but the same men who had despoiled it of power continued to honor it. At Ephesus, at Marseilles, at Cyi-ene, the royal family, de- prived of power, remained surrounded, with the respect of the people, and even retained the title and insignia of royalty.? ' Strabo, IV. 171 ; XIV. 632 ; XIII. 608. Athenaus, XIII. 576. CHAP. X. THE MAGISTEACT. 239 The people estafeKshed. republican institutions; but the name of king, far from becoming a reproach, re- mained a venerated title. It is customary to say that this word was odious and despised. This is a singular eri-or; the Romans applied it to the gods in their prayers. If the usurpers dared, not assume this title, it was not because it was odious, but rather because it was sacred.' In Greece monarchy was many times restored in the cities; but the new monarchs never claimed the right toi be called kings, and were satisfied to be called tyrants. What made the difference in these names was not the more or fewer moral qualities found in the sovereign. It was not the custom to call a good prince Mng' and a bad one tyrant. Religion was what distinguished one from the other; The prim- itive kings had performed the duties of priests, and had derived their anthoiity from the sacred fire ; the tyrants of a later epoch were merely political chiefs, and owed their elevation to force or election only. CHAPTER X. The Magistracy. The union of the political authority and the priest- hood in the same person did not cease with royalty. The revolution which established the republican regime, did not separate functions whose connection appeared natural, and was then the fundamental law of human society. The magistrate who replaced the king was, ' Sanctitas regunt, Suetonius, JuNua Oasar, 6. Livy, III. S9v Ciceio, Bepul., I. 33. 240 THE CTTT. BOOK m like him, a priest, and at the same time a political chief. Sometimes this annual magistrate bore the sacred title of king.' In other places the title of prytane,^ which he retained, indicated his principal function. In other cities the title of archon prevailed. At Thebes, for example, the first magistrate was called by this name ; but what Plutarch says of this office shows that it differed little from the priesthood. This archon, dur- ing his term of office, was required to wear a crown,' as became a priest ; religion forbade him to let his hair grow, or to carry any iron object upon his person — a regulation which made him resemble the Roman flamen. The city of Platsea also had an archon, and the religion of this city required that, during his whole term of office, he should be clothed in white * — that is to say, in the sacred color. The Athenian archons, when entering upon their duty, ascended the Acropolis, their heads crowned with myrtle, and offered a sacrifice to the divinity of the city." It was also a custom for them, in the exercise of their duty, to wear a crown of leaves upon their heads." Now, it is certain that the crown, which in the course of time became, and has remained, the symbol of power, was then only a religious emblem, an ex- terior sign, which accompanied prayer and sacrifice.' ' At Megara, at Samothrace. Livy, XLV. 5. Boeckli, Corp. Inscr., 1052. ' Pindar, Nem., XI. ' Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 40. •* Plutarch, Arisiides, 21. " Tlmoydides, VHI. 70. ApoUodorus, Fragment, 21 (coll. Didot). * Demosthenes, in Meidiam, 33. Machines, in Timarch., 19. ' Plutarch, Nicias, 3 ; Phocion, 37. Cicero, in Verr., IV. 50. CHAP. X. THB MAGISTEACT. 241 Among the nine archons the one called king was especially a religious chief; but each of his colleagues had some sacerdotal function to fulfil, some sacrifice to offer to the gods.' The Greeks had a general expression to designate magistrates ; they said ot iv liXet, — which signified, literally, those who are to accomplish the sacrifice ;° an old expression, indicating the idea that was enter- tained of the magistrate in early times. Pindar says of these personages that, by the oflferings which they make to the sacred fire, they assure the safety of the city. At Rome the first act of the consul was to offer a sacrifice in the forum. Victims were brought to the public square; when the pontiff had declared them worthy of being offered,, the consul immolated them with his own hand, while a herald enjoined a religious silence upon the multitude, and a flute-player sounded the sacred air.' A few days later, the consul repaired to Laviniura, whence the Roman penates had come, and offered another sacrifice. When we examine the character of the magistrate among the ancients with a little attention, we see how slightly he resembles the chief of state of modern societies. Priesthood, justice, and command are con- founded in his person. He represents the city, which is a religious association, as much, at least, as a political one. He has in his handa the auispices,. the rites, » Pollux, VIII. ch. IX. Lycurgus (coll. Didot), t. II. p. 362. ' Thucydides, I. 10; II. 10; III. 36; IV. 65. Comp. Herod- otus, L 133; III. 18; ^schylus, Pers., 204; Agam., 1202; Euripides, Track., 238. " Cicero, De Lege Agr., II. 34. Llvy, XXI. 63. Macrobius, III. 3. 16 242 THE CITY. BOOK IH. prayer, the protection of the gods. A consul is some- tiling more than a man; he is a mediator between man and the divinity. To his fortune is attached the pub- lic fortune; he is, as it were, the tutelary genius of the city. The death of a consul is calamitous to the re- public' When the consul Claudius Nero left his army to fly to the succor of his colleague, Livy shows us into how great alarm Rome was thrown for the fate of this army ; this was because, deprived of its chief, the army was at the same time deprived of its celestial protection ; with the consul, the auspices have gone — that is to say, religion and the gods. The other Roman magistracies, which were, in a certain sense, members successively detached from the 3onsulship, like tliat office, united sacerdotal and politi- cal attributes. We have seen the censor, on certain days, with a crown upon his head, offering a sacrifice in the name of the city, and striking down a victim with his own hand. The pretors and the curule ediles pre- sided at religious festivals.^ There was no magistrate who had not some sacred act to perform ; for, in the minds of the ancients, all authority ought to have some connection with religion. The tribunes of the people were the only ones who had no sacrifice to offer; but they were not counted among the real magistrates. We shall see, farther along, that their authority was of an entirely exceptional nature. The sacerdotal character belonging to the magis- trate is shown, above all, in the manner of his election. In the eyes of the ancients the votes of men were not sufiScient to establish the ruler of a city. So long as ' Livy, XXVII. 40. » Varro, L. L. VI. 54. Athenteua, XIV. 79. CHAP. X. THE MAGISTEACT. 243 the primitive royalty lasted, it apjieared natural that this ruler should be designated by birth, by virtue of the religious law which prescribed that the son should succeed the father in every priestly office; birth seemed sufficiently to reveal the will of the gods. When revolutions had everywhere suppressed this roy- alty, men appear to have sought, in the place of birth, a mode of election which the gods might not have to disavow. The Athenians, like many Greek peoples, saw no better way than to draw lots; but we must not form a wrong idea of this procedure, which has been made a subject of reproach against the Athenian de- mocracy ; and for this reason it is necessary that we attempt to penetrate the view of the ancients on this point. For them the lot was not chance ; it was the revelation of the divine will. Just as they had re- course to it in the temples to discover the secrets of the gods, so the city had recourse to it for the choice of its magistrate. It was believed that the gods designated the most worthy by making his name leap out of the urn. This was the opinion of Plato himself, who says, "He on whom the lot falls is the ruler, and is dear to the gods ; and this we affirm to be quite just. The officers of the temple shall be appointe d by lot ; in this way their election will be committed to God, who will do what is agreeable to him." The city believed that in this manner it received its magistrates from the gods." • Plato, Laws, III. 690; VI. 759. Comp. Demetrius Phale- reus, Fragm., 4. It is surprising that modern historians rep- resent the drawing of lots as an invention of the Athenian democracy. It was, on the contrary, in full rigor under the rule of the aristocracy (Plutarch, Pericles, 9), and appears to have been as old as the archonship itself. Kor is it a democratic procedure : we know, indeed, that even in the time of Lysias 2474 THB CITY. BOOK HI. AjGTairs are substantially the same at Rome. The designation of a consul did not belong to men. The will or the caprice of the people could not legitimately create a magistrate. This, therefore, was the manner in which the consul was chosen. A magistrate in charge — that is to say, a man already in possession of the sacred character and of the auspices — indicated among the dies fasti the one on which the consul ought to be named. Dui-ing the night which preceded this day, he watched in the open air, his eyes fixed upon the heavens, observing the signs which the gods sent, whilst he pronounced mentally the name of some candidate for the magistracy.* If the presages were favorable, it was because the gods accepted the candi- date. The next day the people assembled in the Cam- ^s Martins ; the same oue who had consulted the gods presided at the assembly. He pi'onounced in a loud voice the names of the candidates concerning whom he had taken the auspices. If among those who and of Demosthenes, the names of all the citizens were not put in the urn (Lysias, Orat., de Invalido, c. 13 ; in Andocidem, c. 4) : for a still stronger reason was this true when the Eupatrids only, or the Fentakosiomedimni could be archons. Passages of Plato show clearly what idea the ancients had of the drawing of lots ; the thought which caused it to be employed for magistrate- priests like the archons, or for senators charged with holy duties like the prytanes, was a religious idea, and not a notion of equal- ity. It is worthy of remark, that when the democracy gained the upper hand, it reserved the selection by lot for the choice of archons, to whom it left no real power, and gave it up in the choice of strategi, who then had the true authority. So that there was drawing of lots for magistracies which dated from the aristocratic age, and election for those that dated from the age pf the democracy. ' Valerius Maximus, I. 1, 3. Plutarch, MarceUvs, 6. CHAP. X. THE MAGISTEACT. 245 sought the consulship there was one for whom the auspices had not been fatorable, his name was omitted.' The people voted upon those names only which had been pronounced by the president." If the president named but two candidates, the people necessarily voted for them; if lie named three, they chose two of them. The assembly never had the right to vote for other men than those wliom the president had desig- nated ; for the auspices had been for those only, and for those only had the consent of the gods been as- sured. This mode of election, which was scrupulously follow- ed in the first ages of th« republic, explains some pecu- liarities of Roman history which at first surprise us. We see, for example, that quite frequently the people are unanimous for two men for the consulshij , and still they are not elected. This is because tht president has not taken the auspices eoncerning these two men, or the auspices have not been favorable. On the other hand, we have seen the people elect to the consulship men whom they detested.' This was because the pres- ident pronounced only these two names. It was abso- lutely necessary to Vote for them, for the vote was not expressed by "yes" or "no;" every vote was required to contain two names, and none could be written ex- cept those that had been designated. The people, when candidates were presented who were odious to them, could indeed show their displeasure by retiring without a vote ; but there always remained in the en- closure citizens enough to make up a quorum. » Livy, XXXIX. 39. Velleius, II. 92. Valerius Maxiir.us, III. 8, 3. ' Dionysius, IV. 84; V. 19; V. 72; V. 77; VI. 49. ' Livy, II. 42 ; II. 43. 246 THE CITY. BOOK m. Here we see how great was the power of the presi- dent of the comitia, and we no longer wonder at the expression, Creat consules, which referred not to the people, but to the president of the comitia. It was of him, indeed, rather than of the people, that it might be said, "He creates the consuls;" for he was the one who discovered the will of the gods. If he did not cre- ate the consuls, it was at least through him that the gods created them. The power of the people went no farther than to ratify the election, or, at most, to se- lect among three or four names, if the auspices had been equally favorable to three or four candidates. Doubtless this method of procedure was very advan- tageous to the Roman aristocracy ; but we should deceive ourselves if we saw in all this merely A ruse invented by them. Such a ruse was never thought of in the ages when they believed in this religion. Politi- cally it was useless in the first ages, since at that time the patricians had a majority in voting. It might even have turned against them, by investing a single man with exorbitant power. The only explanation that can be given of this custom, or, rather, . of these rites of election, is, that every one then sincerely believed that the choice of the magistrates belonged, not to the peo- ple, but to the gods. The man in whose hands the religion and the fortune of the city were to be placed, ought to be revealed by the divine voice. The first rule for the election of a magistrate is the one given by Cicero: "That he be named accord- ing to the rites." If, several months afterwards, the senate was told that some rite had been neglected, or badly performed, it ordered the consuls to abdicate, and they obeyed. The examples are very numerous ; and if, in case of two or three of them, v/e may believe CHAP. X. THE MAGISTRACY. 247 that the senate was very glad to be rid of an ill-qual- ified or ill-intentioned consul, the greater part of the time, on the contrary, we cannot impute other motives to them than religious scruples. When the lot or the auspices had designated an nrchon or a consul, there was, it is true, a sort of proof by which the merits of the newly-elected officer were examined. But even this will show us what ihe city wished to find in its magistrate; and we shall see that it sought not the most courageous warrior, not the ablest and most upright man in peace, but the one best loved by the gods. Indeed, the Athenian senate inquired of the magistrate elect if he had any bodily defect, if he possessed a domestic god, if his family had always been faithful to his worship,' if he himself had always fulfilled his duties towards the dead.' Why these questions ? Because a bodily defect — a sign of the anger of the gods — rendered a man unfit to fill any priestly office, and consequently to exercise any magistracy; because he who had no family worship ought not to have a national worship, and was not qualified to offer the sacrifices in the name of the city; because, if his family had not always been faithful to his worship, — that is to say, if one of his ancestors had committed one of those acts which affect religion, — the hearth was forever contaminated, and the descendants were detested by the gods ; finally, because, if he him- self had neglected the tomb of his dead, he was ex- posed to their dangerous anger, and was pursued by invisible enemies. The city would have been very daring to have confided its fortunes to such a man. ' Plato, Laws, VI. Xenophon, Sfem., II. Pollux, VIII. S5, 86, 95 248 THE CITY. BOOK III. These are the principal questions that were addressed to one who was about to become a magistrate. It appeared that nien did not trouble themselves about his character or his knowledge. They tried especially to assure themselves that he was qualified for the priest- ly office, and that the religion of the city would not be compromised in his hands. This sort of examination was also in use at Home. We have not, it is true, any information as to the ques- tions which the consul was required to answer. Bat it is. enough to know that this examination was made by the pontiffs,' CHAPTER XI. The Law. Amokg the Greeks and Romans, as among the Hin- dus, law was at first a part of religion. The ancient codes of the cities were a colleetion of rites, liturgical directions, and prayers, joined with legislative regula- tions. The laws concerning property and those con- cerning succession were scattered about in the midst of rules for sacrifices, for bui'ia,l, and for the worship of the duad. What remains to us of the oldest laws of Rome, which were called the Royal Laws, relates as often to the worship as to the relations of civil life. One for- bade a guilty woman to approach the altai-s; another forbade certain dishes to be served in the sacred re- pasts; a third prescribed what religious ceremony a ' Dionysias, II. 73. (IHAP. XI. THE LAW. 249 victorious general ought to perform on re-entering the city. The code of the Twelve Tables, although more recent, still contain minute regulations concerning the religious rites of sepulture. The work of Solon was at the same time a code, a constitution, and a ritual ; it regulated the order of sacrifices, and the price of vic- tims, as well as the maniage rites and the worship of the dead. Cicero, in his Laws, traces a plan of legislation which is not entirely imaginary. In the substance as in the form of bis code, he imitates the ancient legislators. Now, these are the first laws that he writes : " Let men approach the gods with purity ; let the temples of the ancestors and the dwelling of the Lares be kept up; let the priests employ in the sacred repasts only the prescribed kinds of food ; let every one offer to the Manes the worship that is due them." Assuredly the Roman philosopher troubled himself little about the old religion of the Lares and Manes ; but he was tracing a code in imitation of the nncient codes, and he believed himself bound to insert rules of worship. At Rome it was a recognized truth that no one could be a good pontiff who did not know the law, and, con- versely, that no one could know the law if he did not understand questions relating to religion. The pon- tiffs were for a long time the only jurisconsults. As there was hardly an act of life which had not some relation to religion, it followed that almost everything was submitted to the decision of these priests, and that they were the only competent judges in an infinite number of cases. All disputes regarding marriage, divorce, and the civil and religious rights of infants, were carried to their tribunal. They were judges in cases of incest as well as of celibacy. As adoption 250 THE CITY. BOOK III. affected religion, it could not take place without the consent of the pontiff. To make a will was to break the order that religion had established for the trans- mission of property and of the worship. The will, therefore, in the beginning, required to be authorized by the pontiff. As the limits of every man's land were established by religion, whenever two neighbors had a dispute about boundaries, they had to plead before the priests called fratres arvales. This explains why the same men were pontiffs and jurists — law and reli^on were but one.' At Athens the archon and the king had very nearly the same judicial functions as the Roman pontiff." The origin of ancient laws appears clearly. ISo man invented them. Solon, Lycui-gus, Minos, Numa, might have reduced the laws of their cities to writing, but they could not have made them. If we understand by legis- lator a man who creates a code by the power of Jiis genius, and who imposes it upon other men, this legisla- tor never existed among the ancients. Nor did ancient law originate with the votes of the people. The idea that a certain number of votes might make a law did not appear in the cities till very late, and only after two revolutions had transformed them. Up to that time laws had appeared to men as something ancient, im- mutable, and venerable. As old as the city itself, the founder had established them at the same time that he ' Hence this old definition, wiiich the jurisconsults pre- served even to Justinian's time — Jurisprudentia est reriim divinarum atgve humanarum notiiia. Cf. Cicero, De Legib. II. 9; II. 19; DeArusp.Eesp.,7. Dionysius, II. 73. Tacitus Ann., I. 10; Hist., I. 15. Dion Cassius, XLVIII. 44. Pliny, N. H., XVIII. 2. Aulus Gellius, V. 19; XV. 27. » Pollux, VIII. 90. CHAP. XI. THE LAW. 251 established the heai-th — moresque viris et mcenia ponit. He instituted them at the same time that he instituted the religion. Still it could not be said that he had prepnred them himself. Who, then, was the true author of them V When we spoke above of the organization of the family, and of the Greek and Ro- man laws which regulated property, succession, wills, and adoption, we observed how exactly these laws cor responded to the beliefs of ancient generations. If we compare these laws with natural equity, we often find them opposed to it, and we can easily see that it was not in the notion of absolute right and in the sentiment of justice, that they were sought for. But place these laws by the side of the worship of the dead and of the sacred fire, compare them with the rules of this primi- tive religion, and they appear in perfect accord with all this. Man did not need to study his conscience and say, " This is just ; this is unjust." Ancient law was not produced in this way. But man believed that the sacred hearth, in virtue of the religious law, passed from father to son ; from this it followed tliat the house was hereditary property. The man who had buried his fa- ther in his field believed that the spirit of the dead one took possession of this field forever, and required a perpetual worship of his posterity. As a result of this, the field, the domain of the dead, and place of sacrifice, became the inalienable property of a family. Religion said, "The son continues the worship — not the daugh- ter ; " and the law said, with the religion, " The son inherits — the daughter does not inherit.; the nephew by the males inherits, but not the nephew on the female side." This was the manner in which the laws were made ; they presented themselves without being sought. 252 THE CITY. BOOK in. They were the direct and necessary consequence of the belief; they were religion itself applied to the re- lations of men among themselves. The ancients said their laws came from the gods. The Cretans attributed their laws, not to Minos, but to Jupiter. The Lacedaemonians believed that their legislator was not Lycurgus, but Apollo. The Romans believed that Nuraa wrote under the dictation of one of the most powerful divinities of ancient Italy — the goddess Egeria. The Etruscans had received their laws from the god Tages. There is truth in all these traditions. The veritable legislator among the ancients was not a man, but the religious belief which men en- tertained. The laws long remained sacred. Even at the time when it was admitted that the will of a man or the votes of a people might make a law, it was still neccs- essary that religion should be consulted, and at least that its consent should be obtained. At Rome it was not believed that a unanimous vote was sufficient to make a law binding ; the decision of the people re- quired to be ratified by the pontiffs, and the augurs were required to attest that the gods were favorable to the proposed law.' One day, when the tribunes of the people wished to have a law adopted by the assembly of the tribes, a patrician said to them, "What right have you to make a new law, or to touch existing laws? You, who have not the auspices, you, who, in your assemblies, perform no religious acts, what have you in common with reli- gion and sacred things, among which must be reckoned the laws?"' > Dionysius, IX. 41 ; IX. 49. ' Dionysius, X. 4. Livy, III. 31. CHAP. XI. THE LAW. 253 From this we can understand the respect and at- tachment which the anQienta long had for their laws. In them they saw no human work, but one whose origin was holy. It was no vain word when Plato said, " To obey the laws is to obey the gods." He does no more than to express the Greek idea, when, in Crito, he exhibits Socrates giving his life because the laws demanded it of him. Before Socrates, there was writ- ten upon the rock of Thermopylae, "Passer-by, go and tell Sparta that we lie here in obedience to its laws." The law among the ancients was always holy, and iu the time of royalty it was the queen of the kings. Iu the time of the republic it was the queen of the peo- ple. To disobey it was sacrilege. In principle the laws were immutable, since they were divine. It is. worthy of remark that they were never abrogated. Men could indeed make new ones, but old ones still remained, however they might conflict with the new ones. The code of Draco was not abol- ished by that of Soloa; ' nor were the Royal Laws by those of the Twelve Tables. The stone on which the laws were engraved was inviolable ; or, at most, the least scrupulous only thought themselves permitted to tm-n it round. This principle was the great cause of the confusion which is observable among ancient laws. Contradictory laws and those of different epochs were found together, and all claimed i-espect. In an oration of Isjeus we find two men contesting an inher- itance; each quotes a law in his fiivor; the two laws are absolute contraries, and are equally sacred. In the same manner the code of Manu preserves the ancient ' Apdocides, I. 82, 83. Demosthenes, in Sverg.,, 71 254 THE CITY, BOOK m. law which establishes primogenituve, and has another by the side of it which enjoins an equal division among the brothers. The ancient law never gave any reasons. Why should it ? It was not bound to give them ; it existed because the gods had made it. It was not discussed — it was imposed ; it was a work of authority ; men obeyed it because they had faith in it. During long generations the laws were not written; they were transmitted from father to son, with the creed and the formula of prayer. They were a sacred tradition, which was perpetuated around the family hearth, or the hearth of the city. The day on which men began to commit them to writing, they consigned them to the sacred books, to the rituals, among prayers and ceremonies. Varro cites an ancient law of the city of Tusculum, and adds that he read it in the sacred books of that city.' Dionysius of Halicarnassus, who had consulted the original docu- ments, says that before the time of the Decemvirs all the written laws at Rome were to be found in the books of the priests.* Later the laws were removed from the rituals, and were written by themselves ; but the cus- tom of depositing them in a temple continued, and priests had the cai'e of them. Written or unwritten, these laws were always formu- lated into very brief sentences, which may be com- pared in form to the verses of Leviticus, or the slocas of the book of Manu. It is quite probable, even, that the laws were rhythimical.' According to Aristotle, before the laws were written, they were sung.* Traces ' Varro, L.L., VI. 16. » Dionysius, X. 1. ' ffilian, F. B., II. 39. ■• Aristotle, Prohl., XIX. 28. CHAP. XT. THE LAW. 255 of this custom have remained in language; the Ro- mans called Ibe laws carmina — verses ; the Greeks said vAfioi — songs.' These ancient verses were invariable texts. To change a letter of them, to displace a word, to alter the rhythm, was to destroy the law itself, by destroy- ing the sacred form under which it was revealed to man. The law was like prayer, which was agreeable to the divinity only on condition that it was recited correctly, and which became impious if a single word in it was changed. In primitive law, the exterior, the letter, is everything ; there is no need of seeking the sense or spirit of it. The value of the law is not in the moral principle that it contains, but in the words that make up tlie formula. Its force is in the sacred words that compose it. Among the ancients, and especially at Rome, the idea of law was inseparably connected with certain sacramental words. If, for example, it was a question of contract, one was expected to say, Dari spondes f • and the other was expected to reply, Spondeo. If these words were not pronounced, there was no contract. In -vain the creditor came to demand payment of the debt — the debtor owed nothing ; for what placed a man un- der obligation in this ancient law was not conscience, or the sentiment of justice; it was the sacred formula. When this formula was pronounced between two men, it established between them a legal obligation. Where there was no formula, the obligation did not exist. The strange forms of ancient Roman legal procedure ' Nifim, to divide; rifiog, division, measure, rhythm, song. See Plutarch, -De Musica, p. 1133; Pindar, Pyth., XII. 41- fragm. , 190 (Edit. Hey ne) . Scholiast on Aristophanes, Knights, 9 ; Ni'iftoi xaX.uivTai of ilt 6tout Vfiroi, 256 THE CITY. BOOK IH, woald not surprise us if we but recollected that an- cient law was a religion, a sacred text, and justice a col- lection of rites. The plaintiff pursues with the law — agit lege. By the text of the law he seizes his adver- sary: but let him be on his guard ; to have the law on his side, he must know its terms, and pronounce them exactly. If he speaks one word for another, the law exists no longer for him, and cannot defend bira. Gains gives an account of a man whose vines had been cut by his neighbor ; the fact was settled ; he pronounced the law. But the law said trees ; he pronounced vines, and lost his case. Repeating the law was not sufficient. There was also needed an accompaniment of exterior signs, which were, so to say, the rites of this religious cere- mony called a contract, or a case in law. For this reason at every sale the little piece of copper and the balance were employed. To buy an article, it was necessary to touch it with the hand — mancipatio ; and .if there was a dispute about a piece of property, there was a feigned combat — manuum consertio. Hence were derived the forms of liberation, those of emancipation, those of a legal action, and all the pantomime of legal procedure. As law was a part of teligion, it participated in the mysterious character of all this religion of the cities. The legal formulas, like those of religion, were kept se- cret. They were concealed from the stranger, and even from the plebeian. This was not because the patricians had calculated that they should possess a great power in the exclusive knowledge of the law, but because the la Before corn has reached the ear,, the Roman, has offered more than ten sacrifices,, and invoked some: ten divinities for the suc- cess of his harvest. He haSj above all, a multitude of festivals for the dead,, because he isafraLd of theaai. He never leaves his^own house without, looking to see if any bird of bad augury appeals. There are words which, he darea not pronounce for his life. If he experiences some desire, he inscribes his wish' upon a, tablet which ho places at the feet of the statue of a divinity. At every moment he, consults the gods,, and wishes to know their will., Ho finds, all his resolutions ia tihe enitraila of victims,, in the flight of birds, in the warning of the lightning, The announcement of a shower of. blood, or of an ox that has spoken^, troubles him and makes him tremble. He will be tranquil only after an expiatory ceremony shall restore hint to peace with the gods> He steps out of his house always with the right foot first. He has his hair cut only during, the full moon. He carries amulets upon his . person. He covers the walls of his house with magic inscriptions against fire, • Livy, XXXIV. 65 ; XL. 37. CHAP. XVI. THE EOMAlsr. 283 He knows of formulas for avoiding sickness, and of others for curing it; but he must repeat them twenty- seven times, and spit in a certain, fashion at each repetition.? He does not delihej-ate in the senate if the victims have not given favorable signs. He leaves the as- sembly of the people if he hears the, cry of a mouse. He renounces the best: laid plans if he perceives a bad presage,j or if an ill-omened word has struck his ear. He is brave in battle, but on condition that the aus- pices assure him the victory. This, Soman whom we present here is not the man of the people, the feeble-minded man whom misery and ignorance have made superstitious. We are speak- ing of the patricians the noble, powerful, and rich man. This patrician is,. by turns,; warrior,, magistrate, consul, farmer, merchant;; but everywhere and always he is &. priest, and his thoughts are fixed, upon, the gods. Patriotism, love of glory, and love of gold, whatever power these may have over his soul, the fear of the gods still governs everything. Horace has written the most stii'king truth concerning the Romans :: — "Dlste minorem quod geria, imperae." Men have sometimes called this a political' religion ; but can we suppose that a senate of three hundred mem- bers, a body of three thousand patricians, should have agreed' so unanimously to deceive an ignorant people ? and that, for ages, during so many rivalries, struggles, and personal hatreds, not a single voice was raised, to say, This is a falsehood ? If a patrician had betrayed ' Cato, Be Re Rust., 160: Varro, Db Re ^ust., 1. 2; I. 37. BliTXy, N. H., VIII. &2; XVII. 28; XXVII. 12'; XXVIH. 2. Jmrcnal, X. 55. Auius.Gcellius, ItV. 5i. 284 THE CITY. BOOK lH. the secrets of his sect, — if, addressing himself to the plebeians, who impatiently supported the yoke of this religion, he had disembarrassed and freed them from these auspices and priesthoods, — this man would imme- diately have obtained so much' credit that he might have become the master of the state. Does any one suppose that if these patricians had not believed in the religion which they practised, such a temptation would not have been strong enough to determine at least one among them to reveal the secret ? We greatly deceive ourselves on the nature of man if we suppose a reli- gion can be established by convention and supported by irapos'iure. Let any one count in Livy Iiow many times this religion embarrassed the patricians them> selves, how many times it stood in the way of the sen- ate and impeded its action, and then decide if this religion was invented for the convenience of statesmen. It was very late — not till the time of the Scipios — that they began to believe that religion was useful to the government ; but then religion was already dead in their minds. Let us take a Roman of the first days : we will choose one of the greatest commanders, Camillus, who was five times dictator, and who was victorious in more than ten battles. To be just, we must consider him quite as much a priest as a warrior. He belonged to the Furian gens ; his surname is a word which designates a priestly function. When a child he was required to w-ear the prcetexta, which indicated his caste, and the bulla, which kept bad fortune from him. He grew up, taking a daily part in the ceremonies of the worship ; he passed his youth in studying religious rites. A war oroke out, and the priest became a soldier ; he was seen, when wounded in the thigh, in a cavalry combat, CHAP. XVI. THE KOMAN. 285 to draw the iron from the wound and continue to fight. After several campaigns he was raised to magistracies', as consular tribune he offered the public sacrifices, acted as judge, and commanded the army. A day comes when men think of him for the dictatorship. On that day, the magistrate in office, after having watched during a clear night, consults the gods ; his thoughts are fixed upon Camillus, whose name he pronounces in a low voice, and his eyes are fixed upon the heavens, ■where he seeks the presages. The gods send only good ones, for Camillus is agreeable to them, and he is named dictator. Now, as chief of the array, he leaves the city, not without having consulted the auspices and slain many victims. He has under his orders many officers and almost as many priests, a pontiff, augtirs, arnspices-, keepers of the sacred chickens, assistants at sacrifices, and a bearer of the sacred fire. His work is to finish the war against Veii, which for nine yeai-s has been besieged without success. Veii is an Etruscan city — that is to say, almost a sacred city ; it is againa.; piety, more than courage, that the Romans have to contend. If the Romans have been unsuccessful for nine years, it is because the Etruscans have a better knowledge of the rites that are agreeable to the gods, and the magic formulas that gain their favor. Rome, on her side, has opened the Sibylline books, and has sought the will of the gods there. It appears that the Latin festival has been vitiated by some neglect of form, and the sacrifice is renewed. Still the Etruscans retain their superiority ; only one resource ia left — to seize an Etruscan priest and learn the secret of the gods from him. A Veientine priest is taken and brought to the senate. " To insure the success of Rome," he says, 286 THE CITT. BOOK IH. "the level of the Alban Lake must be lowered, taking good care that the water does not ran into the sea^" The Romans obey. They dig many canals and ditches, and the water of the lake is lost in the plain. At this moment Camillus is elected dictator. He repairs to the army at Yeii. He is sure of success; for all the oracles have been revealed, all the commands of the gods have been fulfilled. Moreover, before leav- ing Rome, he has pi'omised the pT'otecting gods festi- vals and sacrifices. In order to insure success he does not neglect human means ; he increases the army, im^ proves its discipline, and constructs a subterranean gallery, to penetrate into the citadel. The day.for the attack arrives; Camillus leaves his tent; he takes the auspices and sacrifices victims. The pontiiffs ^nd au- gurs surround him ; clothed in the jpahi6kimentum, he invokes the gods : " Under thy conduct, O Apollo, and by thy will which inspires me, I march to take and de- stroy the city of Veii : to thee I promise and devote a tenth part of the spoils." 3ut it is not enongh to have gods on his side ; the enemy also has a powerful divin- ity that protects him. Camillus invokes this divinity in these woi"ds : "Queen Juno, who at present inhabit- est Veii, I pray thee come with us conquerors ; follow us into our city ; let our city become thine." Then, the sacrifices being finished, the prayers pronounced, the formulas recited, when the Romans are sure that the gods are for them, and no god any longer defends the enemy, the assault is made, and the city isttaken. Such was Camillus. A Roman general was a man who understood admirably how to .fight, who knew, above all, how to command obedience, but who believed firm- ly in the augurs, who performed religious acts every day, and who was convinced that what was of most CHIP. XVI. THE ATHENIAN. 287 importance was not courage, or even discipline, but the enunciation of certain formulas exactly pronounced, according to the lites. .These formulas, addressed to the gods, "determined them and constrained them almost always to igive him the victory. iFor such a general the supreme recompense was for the senate to permit him to ioffer the triumphal sacrifice. Then he ascends the sacred chariot drawn by four white horses; he wears the sacred robe with which the gods are clothed on ifestal ^ays ; his head is crowned, his right hand holds a lam-el branch, his left the ivory scep- tre; these are exactly the attributes and the costume of Jupiter's statue.' With this almost divine majesty he shows himself to the citizens, and goes to render (homage to the true majesty of the greatest of the iRo- man gods. He climbs the'slope of the Capitol, arrives before the temple of Jupiter, and. immolates victims. The fear of the gods was not a sentiment peculiar to the Roman; it also reigned in the heart of the Greek. These peoples, originally established by reli- gion, and selevated by it, long preserved the marks of their first education. We know the sonuples of the Spartan, who never commenced an expedition before the full moon, who was continually sacrificing victims to know whether he ought to fight, and who renounced the best planned and most necessary enterprises be- cause a bad presage frightened him. The Athenian was not less scrupulous. An Athenian army never set out on a campaign before the seventh diayof the month, and when a fleet set isail on an expedition, great care was taken to regild the statae i)f Pallas. ' Livy, X. 7; XXX. 16. Dionysius, V. 8. Appian, Punic Wars, 59. Juvenal, X. 43. Pliny, XXXIII. 7. 288 THE CITY. BOOK. HI. Xenophon declares that the Athenians had moie religious festivals than any other Greek people.' " How many victims offered to the gods!" says Aristophanes,' " how many temples ! how many statues ! how many sacred processions! At every moment of the year we see religions feasts and crowned victims." The city of Athens and its territory are covered with temples and chapels. Some are for the city worship, others for the tribes and demes, and still others for family wor- ship. Every house is itself a temple, and in every field there is a sacred tomb. The Athenian whom we picture to ourselves as so inconstant, so capricious, such a free-thinker, has, on the contrary, a singular respect for ancient traditions and ancient rites. His principal religion — that which secures bis most fervent devotion — is the worship of ancestors and heroes. He worships the dead and fears them. One of his laws obliges him to offer them yearly the first fruits of his harvest ; another forbids him to pronounce a single word that can call down their an- ger. Whatever relates to antiquity is sacred to the Athenian. He has old collections, in which are record- ed his rites, from which he never departs. If a priest introduces the slightest innovation into the worship, he is punished with death. The strangest i-ites are observed from age to age. One day in the year the Athenians offer a sacrifice in honor of Ariadne; and because it was said that the beloved of Theseus died in childbirth, they ai-e compelled to imitate the cries and movements of a woman in travail. They cele- brate another festival, called Osohophoria, which is a • Xenophon, Gov. of the Athenians, III. 2. ' Aristophanes, Clouds. CHAP. XTI. THE ATHElflAlT. 289 sort of pantoinihi&, representing the retain of Tlieseiw to Attica. They crown the wand of a herald because Theseus's herald crowned his staff. They utter a cer- tain cry which they suppose the hei;ald uttered, and a procession is formed, and each wears the costume that was in fashion in Theseus's time. On another day the Athenians' did not fail, to boil vegetables in a pot of a certain kind. This was a rite the origin, of which was lost in dim antiquity^ and of which no one knew the significance, but which, was piously renewed, each year.' The Athenian, like the Roman, had unlucky dp.ys : on these days no marriage took place, no enterprise was begun, no assembly was held, and, justice was not admiii- istei-ed. The eighteeutk and nineteenth day of every month was employed in purifications^ The day of the Plynteria — a day unlucky above all — they veiled the statue of the great Athene Polias. On the coQti'ai-y, on the day of the Panathenaea, the veil of the goddess, was carried in grand procession, and all the citizens, with- out distinction of age or rank, made up the cortege. The Athenian offered sacrifices for the harvests, for the return of rain, and for the return of fair weather; he ofiered' them to cure sickness, and to d4ve away fhmine or pestilence.* Athens has its collection of ancient oracle!S,,as Rome has her Sibylline books, and supports in the Pryta- neum men who foretell the future. In h^r streets we meet at every step soothsayers, priests, and interpretei-s of dreams^ The Athenian believes in portents ; sneez- ' Plutarch, 'Biesem, 20, 22, 23, ' Plato, Laws, p. 800. Fhilochprus, FragifL. Eurdpidc^, 19 290 THE CITY. BOOK HI. ing, or a ringing in the ears, arrests him in an enter- prise. He never goes on shipboard without taking the auspices. Before marrying he does not fail to consult the flight of birds. The assembly of the people disperses as soon as any one declares that there has appeared in the heavens an ill-boding sign. If a sacri- fice has been disturbed by the announcement of bad news, it must be recommenced.' The Athenian hardly commences s sentence without first invoking good fortune. He puts the same words at the head of all his decrees. On the speaker's stand the orator prefers to commence with an invocation to the gods and heroes who inhabit the country. The ])eople are led by oracles. The orators, to give their advice more force, repeat, at every moment, "The goddess ordains thus." ' Nicias belongs to a great and rich' family. While still young he conducts to the sanctuary of Delos a theoria — that is to say, victims, and a chorus to sing the praises of the god during the sacrifice. Returning to Athens, he oflfei's a part of his fortune in homage to the gods, dedicating a statue to Athene and a chapel to Dionysius. By turns he is hestiator, and pays the expense of the sacred repast of his tribe ; and chore- gus, when he supports a chorus for the religious festi- vals. No day passes that he does not offer a sacrifice to some god. He has a soothsayer attached to his house, who never leaves it, and whom he consults on public affairs, as well as on his own. Having been ap- pointed a general, he commands an expedition against ' Aristophanes, Peace, 1084; Birds, 596, 718. Schol ad Aves, 721. Thueyd., II. 8. ' Lycurgus, I. 1. Aristophanes, Knights, 903, 999, 1171, 1179. CHAP. XVI. THE EOMAN. THE ATHENIAN. 291 Corinth; while he is returning victorious to Athens, he perceives that two of his dead soldiers have been left, "without burial, upon the enemy's territory. He is seized with a religious scruple ; he stops his fleet, and sends a herald to demand of the Corinthians permission to bury the two bodies. Some time after, the Athenian people are deliberating upon the Sicilian expedition. Nicias ascends the speaker's stand, and declares that his priests and soothsayers announce prestiges which are opposed to the expedition. Alcibiades, it is true, has other diviners who interpret the oracles in a contrary sense. The people are undecided. Men come in who have just arrived from Egypt; they have consulted the god Ammon, who is beginning to be quite the fashion, and they report this oracle from him. The Athenians will capture all the Syracusans. The people immedi- ately decide for war.' Nicias, much against his will, commands the expedi- tion. Before setting out, he offers a sacrifice, according to custom. He takes with him, like other genefals; a troop of diviners, sacrificers, anispices, and heralds. The fleet carries its sacred fire; every vessel has an emblem representing some god. But Nicias has little hope. Is not misfortune an- nounced by prodigies enough ? Crows have injured a statue of Pallas; a man has mutilated himself upon an altar; and the departure takes place during the unlucky days of the Plynteria. Nicias knows only too well that this war will be fatal to him and his country. During the whole course of his campaign he always appears timorous and circumspect : he hardly dares to give the signal for a battle, he whom they know to be so brave ' Plutarch, Nicias. Thucydides, VI. 292 THE CITY. BOOK. m. a soldier and so skilful a general. The Athenians cannot take Syracuse, and, after cruel losses, they are forced to decide upon returning home. Nicias pre- pares his fleet for the return ; the sea is still free. But an eclipse of the moon happens. He consults his divin- er; the diviner answers that the presage is unfavor- able, and that they must wait three times nine days. Nicias obeys ; he passes all this time inactive^ offering many sacrifices to appease the wrath of the gods. During this delay the enemy close up the port and destroy his fleet. Ifothing is left for him but to retreat by land, and this is impossible. Neither he nor any of his soldiers escapes the Syracusans. What did the Athenians say at the news of this disaster ? They knew the personal courage of Mcias, and his admirable constancy. Nor did they dream, of blaming him for having followed the dictates of religion. Th,ey found but one thing to reproach him for ; this was for having taken with him an ignorant diviner. For this man had been mistaken as to the meaning of the eclipse of the moon ; he ought to have known that, for an army wishing to retreat, a moon that conceals its light is a favorable presage.' ' Plutarch, Nicim, 23., CHAP. XVn. OMNIPOTENCE OB' THE STATE. 293 CHAPTER XVII. The Omnipotence of the State- The Ancients knew nothing of Individual liberty. The city had been founded upon a religion, and constituted like a church. Hence its strength ; hence, nlso, its^omnipotence and the absolute empire which it exercised oyer its members. In a society established on such principles, individual liberty couM not exist. The citizen was subor dinat e in everything, and without aiiyxeserye, to the city ; he^belonged to it body and soul. The religion which had produced the state, and th« state which supported the religion, sustained each other, and made but one ; these two powers, associated and confounded, formed a power almost superhuman, to which the soul and the body were equally enslaved. There was nothing independent in man ; his body belonged to the state, and was devoted to its defence. At Rome military service»was due till a man was fifty years old, at Athens till he was sixty, at Sparta always. His fortune was always at the disposal of the state. If the city had need of money, it could order the women to deliver up their jewels, the creditors to give up their claims, and the owners of olive trees to tarn over gra- tuitously the oil which they had made.' Private life did not escape this omnipotence of the state, The Athenian law, in the name of religion, for- bade men to remain single.' Sparta punished not only those who remained single, but those who married * Aristotle, Econom., II. ' Pollux, VIII. 40. Plutarch, Lysarul,er, 30. 294 THE CITY. BOOK ni. late. At Athena the state could prescribe labor, and at Sparta idleness. _ It exercised its tyranny even in the smallest things ; at Locii the laws forbade men to drink pure wine ; at Rome, Miletus, and Marseilles wine ■was forbidden to women.' It was a common thing for the kind of dress to be invariably fixed by each city; the legislation of Sparta regulated the head-di-ess of women, and that of Athens forbade them to take with them on a journey more than three dresses.' At Rhodes and Byzantium the law forbade men to shave the beard.' The state was under no obligation to suffer any of its citizens to be deformed. It therefore commanded a father to whom such a son was born, to have him put to death. This law is found in the ancient codes of Sparta and of Rome. We do not know that it existed at Athens ; we know only that Aristotle and Plato in- corporated it into their ideal codes. There is, in the history of Sparta, one trait which Plutarch and Rousseau greatly admired. Sparta had just suffered a defeat at Leuctra, and many of its citi- zens had perished. On the receipt of this news, the relatives of the dead had to show themselves in public with gay countenances. The mother who learned that her son had escaped, and that she should see him again, appeared afflicted and wept. Another, who knew that ' Athenseus, X. 33. .ffilian, V. B., II. 37. » Fragm. Hist. Grac. Didot, t. II. p. 129, 211. Plutarch, Solon, 21. ' Athcnaeus, XIII. Plutarch, Cleomenes, 9. " The Romans thought that no marriage, or rearing of chil- dren, nay, no feast or drinking bout, ought to be permitted according to every one's appetite or fancy, without being ex- amined and inquired into." Plutarch, Cato the Elder, 23. CHAP. XVII. EDUCATION. 295 ehe should never again see her son, appeared joyous, and went round to the temple to thank the gods. What, then, was the power of the state that could thus order the reversal of the natural sentiments, and be obeyed ? The state allowed no man to be indifferent to its interests ; the philosopher or the studious man liad no right to live apart. He was obliged to vote in the assembly, and be magistrate in his turn. At a time when discords were fi-equent, the Athenian law per- mitted no one to 'remain neutral; he must take sides with one or the other party. Against one who at- tempted to remain indifferent, and not side with either faction, and to appear calm, the law pronounced the punishment of exile with confiscation of property. Education was far from being free among the Greeks. On the contrary, there was nothing over which the state had greater control. At Sparta the father could have nothing to do with the education of his son. The law appears to have been less rigorous at Athens ; still the state managed to have education in the hands of masters of its own choosing. Aristophanes, in au elo- quent passage, shows the Athenian children on their way to school ; in order, distributed according to their district, they march in serried ranks, through rain, snow, or scorching heat. These children seem already to understand that they are performing a public duty.' The state wished alone to control education, and Plato gives the motive for this : ' " Parents ought not to be free to send or not to send their children to tiie masters whom the city has chosen ; for the children belong less lo their parents than to the city." Aristophanes, Clouds, 960-965. » Plato, Laws, VIX. 296 THE CITY. BOOK IH. The state considered the mind and body of every citizen as belonging to it; and wished, therefore, to fashion this body and mind in a manner that would enable it to draw the greatest advantage from them. Children were taught gymnastics, because the body of a man was an arm for the city, and it was best that tWs arm should be as strong and as skilful as possible. They were also taught religious songs and hymns, and the sacred dances, because this knowledge was neces- sary to the correct performance of the sacrifices and festivals of the city.' It was admitted that the state had a right to prevent free instruction by the side of its own. One day Athens made a law forbidding the instruction of young people without authority from the magistrates, and another, which specially forbade the teaching of philosophy." A man had no chance to choose his belief. He must believe and submit to the religion of the city. He could hate and despise the gods of the neighboring 3ity. As to the divinities of a general and universal character, like Jupiter, or Cybele, or Juno, he was fi'ee to believe or not to believe in them ; but it would not do to entertain doubts about Athene Polias, or Erech- theuB, or Cecrops. That would have been grave im- piety, which would have endangered religion and the state :.t the same time, and which the state would have severe!}' punished. Socrates was put to death for this crime. Liberty of thought in regard to the state re- ligion was absolutely unknown among the ancients.- ' Aristophanes, Clouds, 96B-968. ° Xenophon, Memor., I. 2. Diogenes Laertius, Theophr. These two laws did not continue a long time ; bat they do not the less prove the omnipotence that was conceded to the state in matters of instruction. CHAP. X"Vn. INDIVIDUAL LIBERTY. 297 Men had to conform to all the rules of worship, figure ■in all the processions, and take part in the sacred repasts. Athenian legislation punished those by a fine who failed religiously to celebrate a national festival.' The ancients, therefore, knew neither liberty in pri- vate life, liberty in education, nor religious liberty. The human person counted for very little against that holy and almost divine authority which was called countiy or the state. The state had not only, as we ■have in our modern societies, a right to administer jus- tice to the citizens ; it could strike when one was not guilty, and simply for its own interest. Aristides as- suredly had committed no crime, and was not even suspected ; bat the city had the right to drive him from its territory, for the simple reason that he had acquired by his virtues too much influence, and might become dangerous, if he desired to be. This was called ostra- cism / this institution was not peculiar to Athens ; it was found at Argos, at Megara, at Syracuse, and we may believe that it existed in all the Greek cities." Now, ostracism was not a chastisement; it was a precaution which the city took against a citizen whom it suspected of having the power to injure it at any time. ' At Athens a man could be put on trial and con- demned for incivism — that is to say, for the want of affection towards the state. A man's life was guaran- teed by nothing so soon as the interest of the state was at stake. Rome made a law by which it was permitted to kill any man who might have the intention of be- • Pollux, VIII. 46. Ulpian, Schol. in Demosthenes ; in Mei- diam. ' Aristotle, Pol., VIII. 2, 5. Scholiast on Aristoph., Knights, 851. 298. THE CITY. BOOK m. coming king.' The dangerous maxim that the safety of the state is the supreme law, was the work of an- tiquity." It was then thought that law, justice, morals, everything should give way before the interests of the country. It is a singular error, therefore, among all human errors, to believe that in the ancient cities men enjoyed_ liberty. JThey had not even the idea of j^tj They did not believe that there could exist any right as against the city and its gods. We shall see, farther on, that the governiuent changed form several times, while the nature of the state remained nearly the same, and its omnipotence was little diminished. The government was called by turns monarchy, aristocracy, democracy ; but none of these revolutions gave man true liberty, individual liberty. To have political rights, to vote, to name magistrates, to have the privilege of being archon, — this was called libe'rty ; but man was not the less enslaved to the state. The ancients, especially the Greeks, always exaggerated the importance, and above all, the rights of society ; this was largely due, doubt- less, to the sacred and religious character with which society was clothed in the beginning. ' Plutarch, Puhlicola, 12. ' Cicero, De Legit., III. 3. CHAP. I. PATRICIANS AND CLIENTS. 299 BOOK FOURTH. THE REVOLUTIONS. CHAPTER I. Patricians and Clients. Ceetainlt we could imagine nothing more solidly constituted than this family of the ancient ages, which contained within itself its gods, its worship, its priest, and its magistrate. There could be nothing stronger than this city, which also had in itself its religion, its protecting gods, and its independent priesthood, which governed the soul as well as the body of man, and which, infinitely more powerful than the states of our day, united in itself the double authority that we now see shared between the state and the church. If any so- ciety was ever established to last, it was certainly that. Still, like everything human, it had its revolutions. We cannot state at what period these revolutions com- menced. We can understand that, in reality, this epoch was not the same for the different cities of Greece and Italy. All that is certain is, that from the seventh cen- tury before our era, this social organization was almost everywhere discussed and attacked. From that time it was supported only with difficulty, and by a more or less skilful combination of resistance and concessions. 300 THE REVOLTTTIONS. BOOK IV. It struggled thus for several centuries, in the midst of perpetual contests, and finally disappeared. The causes of its destruction may be reduced to two. One was the change which took place in the course of time in ideas, resulting from the natural development of the human rnind, and which, in effacing ancient beliefs, at the same time caused the social edifice to crumble, which these beliefs had built, and could alone sustain. The other was a class of men who found themselves placed outside this city organization, and who suffered from it. These men had an interest in destroying it, and made war upon it continually. When, therefore, the beliefs, on which this social re- gime was founded, became weakened, and the interests of the majority of men were at war with it, the sys- tem fell. No city escaped this law of tra»sformation ; Sparta no more than Athens, Rome no more than Greece. We have seen that the men of Greece and those of Italy had originally the same beliefs, and that the same series of institutions was developed among both ; and we shall now see that all these cities passed through similar revolutions. We must try to understand why and how men became separated from this ancient organization, not to fall, but, on the contrary, to advance towards a social organiza- tion larger and better. For under the semblance of disorder, and sometimes of decay, each of their changes brought them nearer an object which they did not com- prohend. Thus far we have not spoken of the lower classes, because we have had no occasion to speak of them. For we have been attempting to describe the primitive organization of the city ; and the lower classes counted absolutely for nothing in that organism. The city was CHAP. I. PATEICIANS AND CLIENTS. 301 constituted as if these classes had not existed. We were able therefore to defer the study of these till we Ijad arrived at the period of the revolutions. The ancient city, like all human society, had ranks, distinctions, and inequalities. We know the distinc- tion originally made at Athens between tjhe Eupatnids and the Thetes ;. at Sparta we find the class of Equals and that of the Inferiors ; and in Eubpea, that of the Knights and that of the People. The history of Rome is full, of the struggles between the P-Titricians and Ple- beians, struggles that we find in all the Sabine, Latin, and Etruscan cities. We can even remark that the higher we ascend in the history of Greece and, Italy^ the more profound and the more strongly marked the distinction appears — a positive proof that the in- equality did not grow up with time, but that it existed from the beginning, and that it was contemporary with the birth of cities* It is worth while to inquire upon what principles this division of classes rested. We can thus the more easily see by virtue of what ideas or what needs the struggles commenced, what the inferior classes claimed, and on what principles the saperior classes defended their empire. We have seen above that t,he city grew out of the confoderalion of families and tribes. Now, before the day on which the city was foundecJ, the family already contained within itself this distinction of classes. In- deed, the family was never dismembered ; it was indivis- ible, like the primitive religion of the hearth. The oldest son alone, succeeding the father, took possession, of the priesthood, the property, and the authority, and his brothers were to him what they had been to tlieir fa- ther. From generation to generation, from first-born 302 THE EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. to first-born, there was never but one family chief. He presided at the sacrifice, repeated the prayer, pro- nounced judgment, and governed. To him alone oii- ginally belonged the title ot pater ; for this word, which signified power, and not paternity, could be applied only to the chief of the family. His sons, his brothers, his servants, all called him by this title. Here, then, in the inner constitution of the family is the first principle of inequality. The oldest is the priv- ileged one for the worship, for the succession, and for command. After several centuries, there were natu- rally formed, in each of these great families, younger branches, that were, according to religion and by cus- tom, inferior to the older branch, and who, living under its protection, submitted to its authority. This family, then, had servants, who did not leave it, who were hereditarily attached to it, and upon whom the pater, or patron, exercised the triple authority of master, magistrate, and priest. They were called by names that varied with the locality : the more common names were Clients and Thetes. Here was another inferior class. The client was infe- rior not only to the supreme chief of the family, but to the younger branches also. Between him and them there was this difierence, that a member of a younger branch, by ascending the series of his ancestors, always arrived at a pater, that is to say, a family chief, one of those divine ancestors, whom the family invoked in its prayers. As he was descended from & pater, they called him in Latin patricius. The son of a client, on the con- trary, however high he might ascend in his genealogy, never arrived at anything but a client or a slave. There was no pater among his ancestors. Hence came for him a state of inferiority from which there was no escape. CHAP. I. PATRICIANS AND CLIENTS. 303 The distinction between these two classes of men was manifest in what concerned material interests. The property of the family belonged entirely to the chief, who, however, shared the enjoyment of it with the younger branches, and even with the clients. But while the younger branch had at least an eventual right to this property, in case of the extinction of the elder branch, the client could never become a proprietor. The land that he cultivated he had only in trust; if he died, it returned to his patron ; Roman law of the later ages preserved a vestige of this ancient rule in what was called jvs applicationis. The client's money, even, did not belong to him ; the patron was the true owner of it, and could take it for his own needs. It was by virtue of this ancient rule that the Roman law required the client to endow the daughter of the patron, to pay the patron's fine, and to furnish his ransom, or con- tribute to the expenses of his magistracy. The distinction is still more manifest in religion. The descendant of the pater alone can perform the ceremonies of the family worship. The client takes a part in it; a sacrifice is offered for him; he does not offer it for himself. Between him and the domestic divinity thei'e is always a mediator. He cannot even replace the absent family. If this family becomes ex- tinct, the clients do not continue the worship ; they are dispersed. For the religion is not their patrimony ; it is not of their blood, it does not come from their own ancestors. It is a borrowed religion ; they have not the enjoyment or the ownership of it. Let us keep in mind that according to the ideas of ancient generations, the right to have a god and to pray was hereditary. The sacred tradition, the rites, the sacramental words, the powerful formulas which 304 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK ly,, detertniued the gods to act,. — all this was transmitted only with the blood. It was therefore very natural that in each of these ancient families, the free person who was really descended fl'om the first ancestor,, wns alone in possession of the sacerdotal character. The Patricians or Eupatrids had the privilege of being priests, and of having a religion that belonged to them alonsv Thus, even before men left the family state, there existed a distinction of classes ; the old domestic re- ligion had established ranks. Afterwards, when the city was formed, nothing was changed in the inner con- stitution of the family. "We have already shown that originally the city was not an association of individuals, but a confederation of tribes, curies, and families, and that in this sort of alliance each of these bodies re- mained; what it had been before. The chiefs of these little groups united with each other, but each remakiedi master in, the little society of which he was already chief. This explains Why the Roman law so long left to the paier the absolute authority over his family, and. the control of and the right of judging his clients. The distinction of classes, born in the family, was con- tinued therefore in the city. The city in its first age was no more than an alliance of the heads of families. There are. numerous evi- dences of a time when they alone were citizens. This rule was kept up at Sparta, where the younger sous had no political rights. We may still see vestiges of it in an ancient law of Athens, which declared that to be a citizen one must have a domestic god.' Aristotle remarks that anciently, in many cities, it was the rule that the son was not a citizen during the life of his ' Harpocration, Z&vi i^xeCos CHAP. 1. PAIEICIANS AND CLIENTS. 305 father, and that,, the father being dead, the oldest son alone enjoyed political rights.' The law then counted in the city neither the younger branches of the family, nor, for still stronger reason, the clients, ^-''^^tot^^ also adds that the real citizens were at that time very few. The assembly which deliberated on the general in- terests of the city was composed, in those ancient times, only of heads of families — patres. We raay be al- lowed to doubt Cicero when he tells us that Romulus called the senators fathers, to mark their paternal affection for the people. The members of the senate naturally bore this title because they were the chiefs of the gentes. At the same time that these men, united, represented the city, each one of them re- mained absolute master in his gens, which was for him a kind of little kingdoip.. We also see, from the com- mencement of Rome, another more numerous assembly, that of the curies ; but it differs very little, from that of the patres. These formed the principal element of this assembly ; only, every pater appeared .there sur- rounded by his family ; his relatives, bis clients, even, formed his cortege, and marked his power. Each family had, moreover, but one vote in the comitia.* The chief might, indeed, consult his relations, and even his clients, but he alone voted. Besides, the law forbade a client to have a different opinion from his patron. If the clients were connected with the city, it was through their patrician chiefs. They took part in public wor- ' Aristotle, Pol., VIII. 6,2-3. ' Aulus Gellius, XV. 27. We shall see that clientship under- went changes later. We speak here only of the first ages of Kome. 20 306 THE EEVOLTTTlOlirS. BOOK IV. ship, they appeared before the tribunal, they entered the assembly, but it was in the suite of their patrons. We must not picture to ourselves the city of these an- cient ages as an agglomeration of men living mingled together witliin the enclosure of the same walls. In the earliest times the city was hardly the place of hab- itation ; it was the sanctuary where the gods of the community were; it was the fortress which defended them, and which their presence sanctified; it was the centr» of the association, the residence of the king and the priests, the place where justice was administered ; but the people did not live there. For several genera- tions yet men continued to live outside the city, in isolated families, that divided the soil among them. Each of these families occupied its canton, where it had its domestic sanctuary, and where it formed, under the authority of its pater, an indivisible group. Then, on certain days, if the interests of the city or the obliga- tions of the common worship called, the chiefs of these families repaired to the city and assembled around the king, either to deliberate or to assist at a sacrifice. If it was a question of war, each of these chiefs arrived, followed by his family and his servants (sua manus) : they were grouped by phratries, or curies, and formed the army of the city, under t-Le oow^^r.J jf the king. CHAV?. n. THE PLEBEIANS. 307 CHAPTER II. The Plebeians. We must now point out another element of the population, which was belo^v the clients themselves, and which, originally low, insensibly acquired strength enough to break the ancient social organization. This class, which became more numerous at Rome than in any other city, was there called the plebs. We must understand the origin and character of this class to understand the part it played in the history of the city, and of the family, among the ancients. The ple- beians were not the clients ; the historians of antiq- uity do not confound these two classes. Livy, in one place, says, " The plebeians did not wish to take part in the election of the consuls; the consuls were there- fore elected by the patricians and their clients." And in another, " The plebeians complained that the patri- cians had too much influence in the comitia, on account of the votes of their clients." ' In Dionysius of Hali- carnassus we read, " The plebeians left Rome and re- tired to Mons Sacer; the patricians remained alone in the city with their clients." And farther along, " The plebeians, being dissatisfied, refused to enroll their names. The patricians, with their clients, took arms and carried on the war." ^ These plebeians, completely distinct from the clients, formed no part of what was called the Roman people, at least in the first centuries. ' Liry, 11. 64; 11.56. ' Dionysius, VI. 46 ; VII. 19 ; X. 27. 308 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV, In an old prayer, which was BtDl repeated in the time of the Punic wars, the gods were asked to be propitious " to the people and the plebs." ' The plebs were not, therefore, comprised in the people, at any rate not originally. The people comprised the patricians and the clients : the plebs were excluded. What constituted the peculiar character of' the plebs was, that they were foreign to the religious organiza- tion of the city, and even to that of the family. By this we recognize the plebeian, and distinguish hira from the client. The client shared at least in the wor- ship of his patron, and made a part of the family and of the gens. The plebeian, at first, had no worship, and knew nothing of the sacred 'family. What we have already seen of the social and religious state of ancient times explains to us how this class took its rise. Religion was ' not propagated ; born in a family, it remained, as if were, shut in there ; each family was forced to create its' creed, its gods, and its worship. But there must have been, in those times, so distant from us, a great number of families in which the mind had not the power to create gods, to arrange a doctrine, to institute a worship, to invent, hymns, and ' Livy, XXIX. 27 : Ut ea mihi populo plebique Romance bene verruncent. Cicero, pro Murenat, I. Ut ea res mihi magistro/- tvique m,eo, populo plebique Romance bene atque feliciter eve- niat. Macrobius (^Saturn., I. 17) cites an ancient oracle of the prophet Marcius, which had the words, Preetor qui jus populo plebique dabit. That ancient writers have not always paid attention to this essential distinction between populus and plebs ought not to surprise us, when we recollect that the dis- tinction no longer existed at the time when they wrote. In Cicero's age the plebs had for several centuries legally made a part of the populus. But the old formulas wliich Livy, Cicero, and Macrobius' citej remain as memorials of the time when the two classes were not yet confounded. CHAP. II. THE PLEBEIANS. 309 the rhythm of the prayer. These families naturally found themselves in a state of inferiority compared with those who had a. religion, and could not make a part of society with them ; they entered neither into the curies nor into the city. In the course of time it even happened that families which had a religion lost it either by negligence, forgetting the rites, or by one of those crimes which prevented a man from approach- ing his hearth and continuing his worship. It must have happened, also, that clients, on account of crime or bad treatment, c^uitted the family and renounced its religion. The son, too, who was born of a marriage in which the rites had not been performed, was reputed a bastard, like one who had been born of adultery, and the family religion did not exist for him. All these men, excluded from the family and from the worship, fell into the class of men without a sacred fire — that is to say, became plebeians. We find this class around almost all the ancient cities, but separated hyaline of demarcation. Originally a Greek city was double ; there was the city, properly so called — n6hg, which was built ordinarily on the sum- mit of some hill; it had been built with the religious rites, and enclosed the sanctuary of the national gods. At the foot of the hill was found an agglomeration of houses, which were built without any religious ceremo- ny, and without a sacred enclosure. These were the dwellings of the plebeians, who could not live in the sacred city. At Rome the difference between the, two classes was striking. The city of the patricians and their clients was the one that Romulus founded, according to the rites, on the Palatine. The dwellings of the plebs were in the asylum, a species of enclosure situated on the 310 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV slope of. the Capitoline Hill, where Romulus admitted people without hearth or home, whom he could not admit into his city. Later, when new plebeians came to Rome, as they were strangers to the religion of the city, they were established on the Aventine — that is to say, without the ponioerium, or religious city. One word characterizes these plebeians — they were without a hearth ; they did not possess, in the begin- ning, at least, any domestic altars. Their adversaries were always reproaching them with having no ances- tors, which certainly meant that they had not the wor- ship of ancestors, and had no family tomb where they could carry their funeral repast. They had no father — foter ; that is to say, they ascended the series of their ascendants in vain ; they never arrived at a religious family chief They had no family — gentem non habent ; that is to say, they had only the natural fam- ily; as to the one which religion formed and consti- tuted, they had not that. The sacred marriage did not exist for them ; they knew not its Vites. Having no hearth, the union that the hearth established was forbidden to them ; there- fore the patricians, who knew no other regular union than that which united husband and wife in presence of the domestic divinity, could say, in speaking of the plebeians, " Cormuhia promiscua habent more fera- rum." There was no family for them, no paternal authority. They had the power over their children which strength gave them ; but that sacred authority with which religion clothed the father, they had not. For them there was no right of property ; for all property was established and consecrated by a hearth, a tomb, and termini — that is to say, by all the ele- ments of the domestic worship. If the plebeian po3> CHAP. 11. THE PLEBEIANS. 311 sessed land, that land had no sacred charticter ; it was profane, and had no boundaries. But could he hold land in the earliest times? We know that at Rome no one could exercise the right of property if he was not a citizen ; and the plebeian, in the first ages of Rome, was not a citizen. According to the juris- consult, one could not be a proprietor except by qui- ritary - right ; but the plebeians were not counted at first among the Quirites. At the foundation of Rome the ager Momanus was divided up among the tribes, the curies, and the gentes. Now, the plebeians, who belonged to none of these groups, certainly did not share in the division. These plebeians, who had no religion, had not the qualification which enabled a man to make a portion of the soil his own. We know that they long inhabited the Aventine, and built houses there; but it was only after three centuries, and many struggles, that they finally obtained the ownership of this territory. For the plebeians there was no law, no justice, since the law was the decision of religion, and the procedure was a body of rites. The client had the benefit..of the Roman franchise thi'ough his patron ; but for the ple- beian this right did not exist. An ancient historian says formally that the sixth king of Rome was the first to make laws for the plebs, whilst the patricians had had theirs for'a long time.' It appears even that these laws were afterwards withdrawn from the plebs, oi' that, not being founded upon religion, the patricians refused to pay any attention to them. For we see in the liisto- rian that, when tribunes were created, a special law was required to protect their lives and liberty, and thai ' Dionysius, IV. 43. 312 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. this law was worded thus : " Let no one undertake to strike or kill a tribune as he would one of the plebs." ' It seems, therefore, that any one had a right to strike or to kill a plebeian ; or, at least, that this misdeed committed against a man who was beyond the pale of the law was not punished. The plebeians had no political rights. They were not at first citizens, and no one among them could be a magistrate. For two centuries there was no other assembly at Rome than that of the curies; and the curies did not include the plebeians. The plebs did not even enter into the composition of the army so long as that was distributed by curies. But what manifestly separated the plebeian from the patrician was, that the plebeian had no part in the re- ligion of the city. It was impossible for him to fill the priestly office. We may even suppose that in the earliest ages prayer was forbidden him, and that the rites could not be revealed to him. It was as in India where " the Sudra should always be ignorant of the sacred formulas." He was a foreigner, and consequently his presence alone defiled the sacrifice. He was re- pulsed by the gods. Between him and the patrician there was all the distance that religion could place between two men. The plebs were a despised and abject class, beyond the pale of religion, law, society, and the family. The patrician could compare such an existence only with that of the brutes — moreferarum. The touch of the plebeian was impure. The decem- virs, in their first ten tables, had forgotten to interdict marriage between the two orders ; for these first de- cemvirs were all patricians, and it never entered the ' DionyBias, VI. 89. CHAP. n. THE PLEBEIANS, 313 mind of one of them that such a marriage was pos- sible. We see how many classes in the primitive age of the cities were superposed one above another. At the head was the aristocracy of family chiefs, those whom the official language of Rome called patres, whom the clients called reges, whom the Odyssey names ^itOtleXg or &vaxTEg. Below were the younger branches of the families ; still lower were the clients ; and lowest were the plebs. This distinction of classes came from religion. For at the time when the ancestors of the Greeks, the Italians, and the Hindus still lived together in Central Asia, religion had said, " The oldest shall offer prayer." From this came the pre-eminence of the oldest in every- thing ; the oldest branch in every family had been the sacerdotal and dominant branch. Still religion made great account of the younger branches, who were a species of reserve, to replace the older branch some day, if it should become extinct, and to save the wor- ship. It also made some account of the client, and even of the slave, because they assisted. in the religious acts. But the plebeian, who had no part in the wor- ship, it reckoned as absolutely of no account. The ranks had been thus fixed. But none of the social arrangements which man studies out and establishes is unchangeable. This car- ried in itself the germ of disease and death, which was too great an inequality. Many men had an interest in destroying a social organization that had no benefits for them. 314 THE EEVOLtJXIONS. BOOK IV. CHAPTER III. First Bevolutiou. 1. Political Authority taken from the Mings. We have said that, originally, the king was the religious chief of the city, the high-priest of the public hearth, and that he had added political authority to the priestly, hecause it appeared natural that the man who represented the religion of the city should at the same time be the president of the assembly, the judge, and the head of the army. By virtue of this principle, it happened that all the powers of the state became united in the hands of the king. But the heads of families, the j9aeared to the inferior classes as a sacred being. More than man, he was an intercessor between man and God. From his mouth went forth the powerful prayer, the irresistible formula, which brought down the favor or the anger of the divinity. Before such a power he felt compelled to bow ; obedience was commanded both by 346 THK REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. faith and by religion ; and, besides, what temptation could the client have to free himself? He saw no horizon beyond this family, to which everything be- longed. In it alone he found life calm and subsistence assured ; in it alone, although he had a master, he had also a protector; in it alone, in fine, he found an altar which he could approach, and gods whom he was permitted to invoke. To quit this family was to place himself outside all social organization and all law ; it was to lose his gods and to renounce the right of prayer. But when the city had been founded, the clients of the different families could see each other, could confer together, could make an interchange of their desires and griefs, compare their masters, and obtain a glimpse of a better fate. Then their view began to extend be- yond the limits of the family. They saw that beyond their circle there existed society, rules, laws, altars, temples, and gods. To quit the family was no longer, therefore, for them, an evil without a remedy. The temptation became every day strongei'; clientsliip seemed to them a burden every day heavier, and they ceased to believe that the master's authority was legit- imate and sacred. Then sprang up in the hearts of these men an ardent desire to be free. True, we do not find in the history of any city mention made of a gen- eral insurrection among this class. If there were armed struggles, they were shut up and concealed within the circle of each family. For more than one generation there were on one side energetic efforts for independence, and implacable repression on the other. There took place in each house a long and dramatic series of events which it is impossible to-day to retrace. All that we can say is, that the efforts of the lower CHAP. 'VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FREE. 347 classes were not without results. An invincible neces- sity obliged the masters, little by little, to relinquish some of their omnipotence. When authority ceases to appear just to the subjects, time must still elapse be- fore it will cease to appear so to the masters. But this happens after awhile, and then the master, who no longer believes in the justice of his authority, defends it badly, or ends by renouncing it. Besides, this in- ferior class was useful; by cultivating the earth, it accumulated the riches of the master, and by carrying arms, it constituted his strength in the midst of family rivalries. It was therefore wise to satisfy these men, and interest united with humanity to recommend con- cessions. It apjjears certain that the condition of clients im- proved by degrees. At first they lived in the master's house, cultivating the common domain together. Later a separate lot of land was assigned to each. Tlie cli- ent must already have found himself happier. He still worked for his master's profit, it is true ; the field was not his; he rather belonged to that. Still he cultivat- ed it for a long succession of years, and he loved it. There grew up between it and him, not that bond which the religion of property had created between it and the master, but another bond — that which labor and sufiering even can form between the man who gives his care, and the earth ^hich gives its fruits. Later came new progress. He no longer worked for the master, but for himself. On condition of an an- nual rent, which at first was perhaps variable, but which afterwards became fixed, he had the benefit of the har- vest. He thus found some recompense for his labor, and his life was at the same time freer and more inde- pendent. "The chiefs of families," says one of the 348 THE EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. ancients, " assigned portions of land to their inferiors, as if they had been their own children." ' So, too, we read in the Odyssey, " A kind master gives his servant a house and a field;" and Eumseus adds, a "desired wife," because the client could not yet marry without the consent of the master, and it was this master who chose his companion for him. But this field, where, thenceforward, his life was passed, where he found all his labor and all his enjoy- ment, was not yet his property. For this client did not ])0ssess that sacred character which enabled him to hold property. The lot that he occupied continued to be bounded by the sacred landmarks. — the god Termi- nus, whom the family of the master had formerly placed there. These inviolable bounds attested that the fijeld, attached to the family of the master by a sacred tie, could never become the absolute property of a freed client. In Italy the field, and the house which the villicus — the client of the patron — occu- pied, contained a sacred fire, a Lar familiaris ; but this fire did not belong to the cultivator; it was the mas- ter's fire.* This established at the same time the right of property in the patron, and the religious subordina- tion of the client, who, so long as he belonged to the patron, still followed the patron's worship. The client, as soon ' as he came into possession of property, suffered from not being the proprietor, and aspired to become such. It became his ambition to remove from this field — which seemed to be his by the right of labor — those sacred bounds which made it forever the property of the former master. ' Festus, V. Patres. * Cato, Be Re Rust., 143. Columella, XI. 1, 19. CHAP. VI. THE CLIEBTTR BECOME FEEE. 349 We see clearly that in Greece the clients attained iheir object ; but we do not know by what means. How much time and how many efforts were required for this we can only guess. Possibly the same series of social changes took place in antiquity which Europe saw in the middle ages, when the slaves in the coun- try became serfs of the glebe, when the latter, from serfs, taxable at will, were changed 'to serfs with a fixed rent, and when finally they were transformed, in the course of time, into peasant proprietors. 2. Clientship disappears at Athens. The Work of Solon. This sort of a revolution is clearly marked in the history of Athens. The effect of -the overthrow of royalty had been to revive the regime of the yifog, families had returned to their isolated condition, and each had begun to form a little state, with a Eu- patrid for a chief, and a multitude of clients for sub- jects. This government appears to have weighed heavily upon the Athenian population, for they retained an unfavorable recollection of it. The people thought themselves so unhappy that the preceding period ap- peared to have been a sort of golden age. They re- gretted their kings, and began to imagine that under the monarchy they had been happy and free ; that they had then enjoyed equality, and that it was only since the fall of the kings that inequality and suffering had commenced. This was such an illusion as men often entertain. Popular tradition placed the commence- ment of the inequality at the time when the people began to find it odious. This clientship, this sort of slavery, which was as old as the constiitution of the 350 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. family, they dated from the time when men had iirst felt its weight and understood its injustice. It is very certain, however, that it was not in the seventh cen- tury that the Eupatrids established the hard laws of clientship. They did no more than to preserve them. In this alone was their injustice; they maintained these laws beyond the time when men accepted them with- out complaint, and maintained them against the will of the people. The Eupatrids of this epoch were per- haps easier masters than their ancestors had been; and yet they were more heartily detested. It appears that even under the rule of this aristocracy the condition of the lower class was improved; for cer- tainly at that time it obtained possession of lots of land on the single condition of paying a rent, which was fixed at one sixth of the harvest. These mep were thus almost emancipated ; having a home and living no longer under the master's eye, they breathed more freely and labored for their own profit. But such is human nature that these men. as their condition improved, felt more keenly the in'squality that remained. Not to be a citizen, and to have no part in the administration of the city, doubtless touched them somewhat; but not to be capable of owning the soil upon which they were born and died, affected them much more. What rendered their condition sup- portable, let us add, lacked stability. For though they were really in possession of the soil, no formal law as- sured them either this possession or the independence that flowed from it. We see in Plutarch that the former patron could renew his claim upon his former servant. If the annual rent was not paid, or for any other cause, these men relapsed into a sort of slavery. Grave questions were agitated in Attica, therefore, CHAP. VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FREE. 351 during a series of four or five generations. It was hardly possible that men of the lower class could re- main in this unstable and anomalous position towards which an insensible progress had conducted them. One of two things was sure to follow : either, losing this position, they must relapse into the bonds of an oner- ous clientship, or, completely freed by a still farther progress, they must rise to the rank of landed proprie- tors and free men. We can imagine all the efforts on the part of the la- borer, the former client, and all the resistance on the part of the proprietor, the former patron. It was not a civil war. The Athenian annals have not preserved the record of a single combat. It was a domestic war in each hamlet, in each house, from father to son. These struggles appear to have had various fortunes, according to the nature of the soil in different cantons in Attica. In the plain where the Eupatrid had his principal domain, anywhere he was always present, his authority over the little group of servants who were always under his eye remained almost intact; the Pedieis — or men of the plain — therefore, generally showed themselves faithful to the old regime. But the Diacrii, — those who cultivated the sides of the moun- tain with severe toil, — being farther from the master, more habituated to an independent life, more hardy and more courageous, laid up in their hearts a violent ha- tred for the Eupatrid, and a firm resolve to be free. These especially were the men who were indignant to see about the fields the "sacred bounds" of the mas- ter, and to feel that " their soil was enslaved." ' As to the inhabitants of the cantons near the sea, — the ' Solon, Ed. Bach, pp. 104, 105. 352 THE JSBV0LUTI03SS. BOOK IV. Paralii, — the ownershii^ of tbe soil tempted them less; they had the sea before them, and commerce, and trade. Several had become rich, and with riches they were nearly free. They therefore did not share the ardent desire of the Diacrii, and did not feel any vigorous hatred of the Eupatrids. They had not, however, the base resignation of the Pedieis; they demanded more stability in their condition, and better assured rights. Solon satisfied these wishes so far as was jjossible. There is a part of the work of this legislator which the ancients have very imperfectly explained to us, but wliich ajjpears to have been the principal part of it. Before his time, the greater part of the inhabitants of Attica still held but a precaiious possession of the soil, and might be reduced to personal servitude. After him this class was no longer found ; the right of prop- erty was accessible to all ; there was no longer any slavery for the Athenian; the families of the lower classes were forever freed from the authority of the Eupatrid families. Here was a great change, whose author could be no other than Solon. According to Plutarch's account, it is true, Solon did no more than to soften the rigor of the law of debt by abolishing the right of the creditor to enslave the debtor. But we should carefully examine what a writer so long after this period says of those debts that troubled the Athenian city, as well as all the cities of Greece and Italy. It is difficult to believe that before Solon there was so great a circulation of money that there were many boiTowers and lenders. We are not to judge those times by the period that followed. There was at that time very little commerce; bills of exchange were unknown, and credits must have been very rare. On what security could a man borrow who CHAP. TI. THK CtIE>JTS BECOME FREE. 353 owned nothing ? Men are not much accustomed, in any Bociety, to lend to the poor. The assertion is made, it is true, on the faith of the translator of Plutarch rather than on Plutarch himself, that the borrower mortgaged his land ; but, supposing this land was his property, he could not haye mortgaged it, for mortgages were not then known, and were contrary to the nature of pro- prietary .right. In those debtors of whom Plutarch speaks we must see the former clients; in their debts, the annual rent which they were to pay to their fornier masters; and in the slavery into which they fell if they failed to pay, the former clieotship, to which they were again ireduoed. Perhaps Solon suppressed the rent ; or, more proba- bly, reduced the amount of it, so that the payment became easy. He added the provision, that in future the failure to pay should not reduce the laborer to servitude. He did more. Before him these former clients, when they came into possession of the soil, could not become the owners of it; for upon their fields the sacred and inviolable bounds of the former patron still stood. For the enfranchisement of the soil and of the cultivator, it was necessary that these bounds should disappear. Solon abolished them. We find the evidence of this great reform in some verses of Solon himself: "It was an unhoped-for work," said he ; "I have accomplished it with the aid of the gods. I call to witness the god- dess Mother, the black earth, whose landmarks I have in many places torn up, the earth, which was enshned, and is now free." In doing this, Solon had accomplished a considerable revolution. He had put aside the an- cient religion of property, which, in the name of the immovable god Te«'minus, retained the land in a small 23 354 THE EEVOLTTTIONS. BOOK IV. number of hands. He had wrested the earth from re- ligion to give it to labor. He had suppressed, with the Eupatrid's authority over the soil, his authority over man, and he could say in his verses, "Those who in this land suffered cruel servitude and trembled befoi-e a master, I have made free." It is probable that this enfranchisement is what the contemporaries of Solon called oEiaaydsltt (shaking off the burdens). Later gen- erations, who, once habituated to liberty, would not, or could not, believe that their forefathers had been serfs, explained this word as if it merely marked an abolition of debts. But there is an energy in it which i-eveals a greater revolution. Let us add here this sen- tence of Aristotle, which, without entering into an account of Solon's labors, simply says, " He j)ut an end to the slavery of the people." ' 3. Transformation of GUentsJiip at Home. This war between clients and patrons also filled a long period of Rome's history. Livy, indeed, says nothing of it, because he is not accustomed closely to observe the changes in institutions; besides, the annals of the pontiffs, and similar documents, from which the ancient historians whom Livy consulted had drawn, could have contained no account of these domestic struggles. One thing, at least, is certain. There were clients in the very beginning of Rome; there has even come down to us very precise evidence of the dependence in which their patrons held them. If, several centuiies afterwards, we look for these clients, we no longer find ' Aristotle, Oov. of Ath., Fragm., coll. Didot, t. II, p. 107. CHAP. VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FEEE. S55 them. The name still exists, but not clientship. For there is nothing move distinct from the clients of the primitive period than these plebeians of Cicero's time, who called themselves the clients of some rich man in order to have the right to the sportula. There were those who more nearly resembled the ancient clients; these were the freedmen.' No more did one freed from servitude at once become a free man and a citizen at the end of the republic, than in the first ages of Rome. He remained subject to a master. Formerly they called him a client, now they call him a freedman ; the name only is changed. As to the master, his name does not even change; formerly they called him patron, and they still call him by the same name. The freedman, like the client of earlier days, remains attached to the family; he takes its name, like the an- cient client. He depends upon the patron ; he owes him not only gratitude, but a veritable service, whose measure the master himself fixes. The patron has the jight to judge the freedman, as he had to judge the client; he can remit to slavery for the crime of in- gratitude.' The freedman, therefore, recalls the ancient client. Between them there is but one difference : clientship formerly passed from father to son ; now the condition of freedman ceases in the second, or, at far- thest, in the third generation. Clientship, then, has not disappeared ; it still seizes a man at the moment when ' The freedman became a client. The identity of these two terms is marlsed in a passage of Dionysius, IV. 23. " Digest, XXV. tit. 2,5; L. tit. 16, 195. Valerius Maximus, V. 1, 4. Suetonius, Claudius, 25. Dion Cassius, LV. The legislation was the same at Athens ; see Lysias and HyperiJes in Harpocration, v. 'Anoataatov, Demosthenes in Aristogitonem, and Suidas, v. 'Avayxaiov. 356 THE EEVOLTJTIONS. BOOK IV. servitude gives him up; only it is no longer hereditary. This alone is a considerable change ; but we are unable to state when it took place. We can easily discover the successive improvements that were made in the condition of the client, and by what degrees he arrived at the right to hold property. At first the chief of the gens assigned him a lot of land to cultivate; ' ho soon became the temporary possessor of this lot, on condition that he contributed to all the expenses of his former master. The severe conditions of the old law, M'hich obliged him to pay his patron's ransom, the dowry of his daughter, or his legal fines, clearly prove that when this law was written he was already the temporary possessor of the soil. The client made one farther step of progress ; he obtained the right of transmitting, at his death, this lot to his son ; in default of a son, the land returned, it is true, to the patron. But now comes new progress: the client who leaves no son obtains the right of making a will. Here custom hesitates and varies; sometimes the patron takes half the property, sometimes the will of the tes- tator is fully respected ; in any case his will is never invalid.' Thus the client, if he cannot yet call himself a proprietor, has, at least, as extended an enjoyment of property as is possible. True, this was not complete enfranchisement. But no document enables us to fix the epoch when the clients were definitively detached from the patrician families. There is a passage of Livy (II. 16) which, if we take it literally, shows that from the first years of the republic the clients were citizens. There is a • Festus, T. Patres. " Institutes of Justinian, III. 7. CHAP. TI. THE CLIENTS BECOME PKEE. 357 strong probability that they were alfeady citizens in the time of king Servius; perhaps they even voted in the comitia curiata from the foundation of Rome. But we cannot conclude from this that they were then entirely enfranchisedj since it is possible that the patricians found it for their interest to give their clients political rights without consenting on that account to give them civil rights. It does not appear that the revolution which freed the clients at Rome was accomplished at once, as at Athens. It took place veiy slowly and imperceptibly, without ever having been consecrated by any formal laws. The bonds of clientship were relaxed little by little, and the client was removed insensibly from the patron. King Servius introduced a great reform to the ad- vantage of the clients ; he changed the organization of the army. Before his reign the army was divided into tribes, curies, and gentes; this was the patrician division; every chief of the gens was at-the head of his clients. Servius divided the army into centuries; each had his rank according to his wealth. By this arrangement the client no longer marched by the side of his patron; he no longer recognized him as a chief in battle ; and he became accustomed to independence. This change produced another in the constitution of the comitia. Formerly the assembly was divided into curies and gentes, and the client, if he voted at all, voted under the eye of the master. But the division by cen- turies being established for the comitia as well as for the army, the client no longer found himself in the same division as the patron. The old law, it is true, com- manded him to vote the same as his patron Voted, but how could his vote be known ? 858 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV It was a great step to separate the client from the patron in the most solemn moments of life, at the mo- ment of combat, and at the moment of voting. The authority of the patron was greatly diminished, and what remained to him was more hotly contested daily. As soon as the client had tasted of independence, he wished for the complete enjoyment of it. He aspired to separate fiom the gens and to join the plebs, wliere he might be free. How many occasions presented themselves ! Under the kings, he was sure of being aided by them, for they asked nothing better than to enfeeble the gentes. Under the republic, he found the protection of the plebs themselves, and of the tribunes. Many clients were thus freed, and the gens could not recover them. In 472 B. C, the number of clients was still considerable, since the plebs complained that bj' their votes in the comitia centuriata, they caused the balance to incline in favor of the patricians." About the same time, the plebs having refused to enroll, the patricians were able to form an army with their clients.' It appears, however, that these clients were no longer numerous enough alone to cultivate the lands of the patricians, and that the latter were obliged to borrow the labor of the plebs.' It is probable that the crea- tion of the tribuneship, by protecting the escaped cli- ents against their former patrons, and by rendering the condition of the plebs more enviable and more secure, hastened this gradual movement towards enfranchise- ment. In the year 372 there were no longer any clients, and Manlius could say to the plebs, " As many clients as you have been about a single patron, so many Livy, 11. 66. » Dionysius, VII. 19 ; X. 27. ' Inculti per secessionem plebis agri. Livy, II. 34. CHAP. VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FKEE. 359 now shall you be against a single enemy.' Thence- forth we no longer see in the history of Rome these ancient clients, these men hereditarily attached to the gens. Primitive clientship gave place to a clientship of a new kind, a voluntary, almost fictitious bond, which no longer imposed the same obligations. We no longer see in Rome the three classes, patricians, clients, and plebeians. Only two remain; the clients are con- founded with the plebs. The Marcelli appear to be a branch thus detached from the Claudian gens. They were Claudii; but as they were not patricians, they belonged to the gens only as clients. Free at an early period, and enriched, by what means we know not, they were first raised to plebeian dignities, and later to those of the city. For several centuries the Claudian gens seems to have for- gotten its rights over them. One day, however, in Cicero's time," it recalled them lo mind very unex- pectedly. A freedman or client of the Marcelli died, leaving property, which, according to law, would revert to the patron. The patrician Claudii claimed that the Marcelli, being clients, could not themselves have c i- eiits, and that their freed men and their property should belong to the chief of the patrician gens, who alone was capable of exercising the rights of a patron. This suit very much astonished the public, and embarrassed the lawyers : Cicero himself thought the question very ob- scure. But it would not have been so four centuries earlier, and the Claudii would have gained their cause. But in Cicero's time the laws upon which they founded their claim were so old that they had been forgotten, and the court easily decided the case in favor of the Marcelli. The ancient clientship no longer existed. ' Llvy, VI. la. ' Cicero, De Oraiore, I. .<5P- 360 THE EEV0LUTI0N8. BOOK IV. CHAPTER VII. Third Revolution. The Plebs enter the City. 1. General Sistory of this Resolution. The changes which, in the course of time, had taken place in the constitution of the family, brought with them ethers in the constitution of the city. The old aristocratic and sacerdotal family became weakened. The right of primogeniture having disappeared, this family lost its unity and vigor; the clients having been for the most part freed, it lost the greater part of its subjc'ctSv The people of the lower orders wel'e no longer dis- tributed among the gentes, but lived apart, and formed a body by themselves. Thus the city assumed quite another aspect. Instead of being, as at an earlier date, a fully united assemblage of as many little states as there were families, a union was formed on the one side among the patrician members of the gentes, and on the other side between men of the lower orders. There were thus two great bodies, two hostile socie- ties, placed face to face. It was no longer, as in a pre- ceding period, an obscure sti'U^le in each family ; there was open war in each city. One of these classes wished to maintain the religious constitution of the city, and to continue the government and the priesthood in the Jiands of the sacred families. The other wished to break down the barriers that placed it beyond the pale of the law, of religion, and of politics. OHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 361 In the beginning of the struggle, the advantage was with the aristocracy of birth. It had not, indeed, its former subjects, and its material strength had disap- peared; but there remained its religious prestige, its regular organization, its habit of command, its tradi- tions, and its hereditary pride- It never doubted the justice of its cause, and believed that in defending itself it was defending religion. The people, on the other hand, had nothing but numbei-s on their side. They were held back by a habit of respect, of which they could not easily free themselves. Then, too, they had no leaders, and every principle of organizatioa was wanting. There were, in the beginning, a multi- tude without any bond of union, rather than a vigor- ous and well-constituted body. If we bear in mind that men had not yet discovered any other principle of association than the hereditary religion of the fam- ily, and that they had no idea of any authority that was not derived from a worshipj we shall easily under- stand that the plebs, who had been excluded from all the rites of religion, could not at first form a regular society, and that much time was required for them to discover the elements of discipline and the rales of a i-egalar governmetit. This inferior class, in its weak- ness, saw at first no other means of combating the aristocracy than by meeting it with monarchy. In the cities where the popular class had been al- ready consolidated in the time of the ancient kings, it sustained them with all its strength, and encouraged' them to increase their power. At Rome it demanded the restoration of monarchy after Romulus, and caused Hostilius to be nominated; it made Tarquinius Priscus king ; it loved Servius, and regretted Tarquinius Su- perbus. When the kings had been everywhere over- 362 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. thrown, and the aristocracy had become supreme, the people did not content themselves with regretting the monarchy; they aspired to restore it under a new form. In Greece, during the sixth century, they suc- ceeded generally in procuring leaders ; not wishing lo call them kings, because this title implied the idea of religious functions, and could only be borne by the sacerdotal families, they called them tyrants.' Whatever might have been the original sense of this word, it certainly was not borrowed from the language of religion. Men could not apply it to the gods, as they applied the word king ; they did not pronounce it in their prayers. It designated, in fact, something quite new among men — an authority that was not de- rived from the worship, a power that religion had not established. The appearance of this word in the Greek language marks a principle which the preceding gener- ' ations had not known — the obedience of man to man. Up to that time tliere had been no other chiefs of the state than those who had beeu chiefs of religion ; those only governed the city who offered the sacrifices and invoked the gods for it. In obeying them, men obeyed only the religious law, and made no act of submission except to the divinity. Obedience to a man, authority given to this man by other men, a power human in its origin and nature — this had been unknown to the an- cient Eupatrids, and was never thought of till the day when the inferior orders threw off the yoke of the aris- tocracy and attempted a new government. Let us cite a few examples. At Corinth, " the peo- ' The name of king was sometimes given to these popular chiefs when they were descended from religious families. He- rodotus, V. 92. CHAP. vn. THE PLEBS ElfTEE THE CITT. 363 pie supported the government of the Bacchiadss very unwillingly; Cypsel us, understanding this hatred, and seeing that the people sought a chief to conduct them to freedom," offered himself to become their chief. The people accepted him, set him up as their tyrant, drove out the Bacehiadse, and obeyed Gypselus. Mi- letus had as a tyrant a certain Thrasybulus; Mitylene obeyed Pittacus, and Samos Polycrates. We find tyrants at Argos, at Epidaurus, and at Megara in the sixth century ; Sicyon had tyrants during a hundred and thirty years, without interruption. Among the Greeks of Italy we see tyrants at Cumaa, at Crotona, at Sybaris — indeed everywhere. At Syracuse, in4S5, the lower orders made themselves masters of the city, and banished the aristocratic class; but they could neither maintain nor govern themselves, and at the end of a year they had to set up a tyrant.' Everywhere these tyrants, with more or less violence, had the same policy. A tyrant of Corinth one day asked advice concerning government of a tyrant of Miletus. The latter, in reply, struck off the heads of grain that were higher than the others. Thus their rule of conduct was to cut down the high heads, and to strike at the aristocracy, while depending upon the people. The Roman plebs at first formed conspiracies to restore Tarquin. They afterwards tried to set up ty- rants, and cast their eyes by turns upon Publicola, Spurius Cassias, and Manlius. The accusation which the patricians so often addressed to those of their own order who became popular, cannot have been pure ' Nicholas of Damascus, Fragm. Aristotle, Pol., V. 9. Thucydides, I. 126. Diodorus, IV. 6. 364 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IT. calumny. The fear of the great attests the desire of the plebs. But we ought to remark that, if the people in Greece and Rome sought to restore monarchy, it was not from real attachment to this sort of government. They loved tyrants less than they detested aristocracy. For them the monarchy was a lueans of conquering and avenging themselves; but this government, which was the result of force alone, and never rested upon any sacred tradition, took no root in the hearts of the peo- ple. They set ap a tyrant for the needs of the strug- gle ; they left him the power afterwards from gi-atitude or from necessity. But when a few years had elapsed, and the recollection of the hard oligarchy had been efikced, they let the tyrant fall. This government never had the affection of the Greeks ; they accepted it only as a temporary resource, while the popular party should find a better one and should feel strong enough to gov- ern itself. The inferior class increased by degrees. Progress sometimes works obscurely, yet decides the future of a class, and transforms society. About the sixth century before our era, Greece and Italy saw a new source of riches appear. The earth no longer sufficed for all the wants of man ; tastes turned towards beauty and luxu- ry ; the arts sprang up, and then industry and commerce became necessary. Personal property was created by degrees; coins were struck, and money appeared. Now, the appearance of money was a great revolution. Money was not subject to the same conditions as land- ed property. It was, according to the expression of the lawyers, res nee mancipi, and could pass from hand to hand without any religious formality, and without difficulty could reach the plebeians. Religion, CHAP. VII. THE PLBBS ENTEE THE CITY. 365 which had given its stamp to the soil, had no powei over money. Men of the lower orders now learned other occupa- tions besides that of cultivating the earth,; there were artisans, sailors, manufacturers, and merchants; and soon there were rich men among them. Here was a a singular novelty. Previously, the chiefs of the genfces alone could be proprietors, and here were former cli- ents and plebeians who were rich and who displayed .theij" wealth. Then, too, the luxury which enriched the plebeian impoverished the noble. In many cities, especially at Athens, were a part of the aristocratic body seen to become miserably poor. Now, in a soci- ety where wealth is changing hands, raijk is in danger of being overthrown. Another consequence of this change was, that among the people themselves, distinc- tions of rank arose, as must happen in every human society. Some families were prominent; some names increased in importance. A sort of aristocracy was formed among the people. This was not an evil; the people ceased to be a confused mass, and began to re- semble a well-eonstituted body. Having rank among themselves, they could select leaders without any long- er having to take from the patricians the first ambi- tious man who wished to reign. This plebeian aristoc- racy soon had the qualities which ordinarily accompany wealth acquired by labor ^ that is to say, the feeling of personal worth, the love of tranquil liberty, and that spirit of wisdom which, though desiring improve- ments, fears risking too much. The plebs followed the lead of this new ai-istocracy, which they were proud of possessing. They renounced tyrants as soon as they felt that they possessed among themselves the ele- ments of a better government. Jndeeil, riches became, 366 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. for some time, as we shall see by and by, a principle of social organization. There is one other change of which we must speak, for it greatly aided the lower class to rise — the change that took place in the military art. In the first ages of the history of cities, the strength of armies was in their cavalry. The real warrior was the one who fought from a horse or from a chariot. The foot- soldier, of little service in combat, was slightly es- teemed. The ancient aristocracy, therefore, every- where reserved to themselves the right to fight on horseback.' In some cities the nobles even gave tbem- Belves the title of knights. The celeres of Romulus, the Roman knights of the earlier ages, were all patri- cians. Among the ancients the cavalry was always the noble arm. But by degrees infantry became more important. Improvement in the manufacture of arms, and in discipline, enabled it to resist cavalry. When this point was reached, infantry took the first rank in battle, for it was more manageable, and its manoeuvres easier. The legionaries and the hoplites thenceforth formed the main strength of armies. Now the legion- aries and the hoplites were plebeians. Add to this that maritime operations became more, extended, es- pecially in Greece, that there were naval battles, and that the destiny of a city was often in the hands of the rowers — that is to say, of the plebeians. Now, a class that is strong enough to defend a people is strong enough to defend its rights, and to exercise a legiti- mate influence. The social and political state of a nation always bears a certain relation to the nature and composition of its armies. ' Aristotle, Politics, VI. 3, 2. CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 867 Finally, the inferior class succeeded in having a re- ligion of its own. These men had in their hearts, we may suppose, that religious sentiment which is insepa- rable from our nature, and which renders adoration and prayer necessary to us. They suffered, therefore, to find themselves shut out from all religion by the ancient principle which prescribed that every god belonged to a family, and that the right of prayer was transmitted with the blood. They strove, therefore, to have a worship of their own. It is impossible to enter here into the details of the efforts that they made, of the means which they in- vented, of the difficulties or the resources that occurred to them. This work, for a long time a- separate study for each individual, was long the secret of each mind; we can see only the results. Sometimes a plebeian family set up a hearth of its own, whether it dared to jight the fire itself or procured the sacred fire else- where. Then it had its worship, its sanctuary, its pro- tecting divinity, and its priesthood, in imitation of the patrician family. Sometimes the plebeian, without hav- ing any domestic worship, had recourse to the temples of the city. At Rome those who had no sacred fire, and consequently no domestic festival, offered their annual sacrifices to the god Quirinns.' When the upper class persisted in driving the lower orders from the temples, the latter built temples of their own. At Rome they had one on the Aventine, which was sacred to Diana; they also had the temple of Plebeian Modesty. The Oriental worships, which began in the sixth century to overrun Greece and Italy, were eagerly received by the plebs ; these were foniis of "worship which, like Buddhism, ' Varro, L. L., VI. 13. 368 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK. IV. excluded no caste, or people. Often, too, the plebeians would make themselves gods, like those of the patrician curies and tribes. Thus king Servius erected an altai- in every quarter of the city, so that the multitude might have places to sacrifice ; just as Peisistratus set up HermsB in the streets and squares of Athens." Those were the gods of the democracy. The plebeians, pre- viously a multitude without worship, thenceforth had religious ceremonies and festivals. They could pray ; this in a society where religion made the dignity of man was a great deal. When once the lower orders had gained these points ; when they had among themselves rich men, soldiers, and priests; when they had gained all that gave man a sense of his own worth and strength; when, in fine, they had compelled the aristocracy to consider them of some account, — it was impossible to keep them out of social and political life, and the city could be closed to them no longer. The entry of this inferior class into th§ city was a revolution, which, from the seventh to the fifth century, filled the Ijistory of Gi'eeoe and Italy. The efforts of the people were everywhere successful, but not everywhere in the same manner, or by the same means. In some cases the people, as soon as they felt themselves to be strong, rose, sword in hand, and forced the gates of the city where they had been forbidden to live. Once masters, they either drove out the nobles and occupied their houses, or contented themselves^ with proclaiming an equality of rights. This is what happened at Syracuse, at Erythrse, and at Miletus. In other cases, on the contraryj the people employed ' Dionysius, IV. 6. FlatQ, ffipparchus. CHAP. VII. TEE PLEBS ENTEK THE CITY. 369 means less violent. Without an armed struggle, and merely by the moral force which their last step h,Hd given them, they constrained the great to make con- cessions. They then appointed a legislator, and the constitution was changed. This was the course of events at Athens. Sometimes the inferior class arrived by degrees, and without any shock, at its object. Thus, at Cumas, tlie number of members of the city, very few in the begin- ning, was increased at first by the admission of those of the people who were rich enough, to keep a horse, Later the number of citizens was raised to one thousand, and by degrees the city reached a demv marked him, on tbe contrary, as an object of maledittion and horror. The second conjeQture is more in accordance with probability. What is certain is, that in every way the tribune was inviolable; the band of a patrician could not touch him without grave impiety. A law conferred and guaranteed this inviolability ; it declared that "no person should use violence to- wards a tribune, or strike him, or kill him" It added that " whoever committed one of these acts against a tribune should be impure, that his property should be confiscated to the profit of the temple of Ceres, and that one might kill him with impunity." The law conclud- ed in these words, whose vagueness powerfully aided the future progress of the tribuneship : " No magis- trate, or private person, shall "have the right to do •any- thing against a tribune." All the citizens took an oath by which they agreed always to observe this strange latv, calling flffwn upon their heads the wrath of the gods if thfijy violated it, and added that whoever ren- dered himself guilty of an attempt against a tribune "should be tainted with the deepest impurity." ' > DionysiuB, VI. 89; X. 82, 42. 394 THE EBVOlUTIOirS. BOOK lY. This privilege of inviolability extended as far as the body of the tribune could extend its direct action. If a plebeian was maltreated by a consul who condemned him to imprisonment, or by a creditor who laid hands on him, the tribune appeared, placed himself between them {inter cessio), and stayed the patrician hand. Who would have dared " to do anything against a tribune," or expose himself to be touched by him. But the tribune exercised this singular power only where he was present. Out of his presence plebeians might be maltreated. He had no power over what took place beyond the reach of his hands, of his sight? of his word.' The patricians had not given the plebeians rights ; ihey had only ngreed that certain ones among them should be inviolable. Still this was enough to afford some security to all. The tribune was a sort of living altai', to which the right of refuge was attached. The tribunes naturally became the chiefs of the plebs, and assumed the power of deciding causes for them. They had not, it is true, the right of citing before them even a plebeian, but they could seize upon a person." Once in their hands, the man obeyed. It was suffi- cient even to be found within the circle where their voice could be heard; this word was irresistible, and a man had to submit, even if he were a patrician or a consul. The tribune had no political authority. Not being a magistrate, he could not convoke the curies or the ' Triiuni antiquitua creati, non j'uri dicundo nee causis que- relisque de ataentibtts noscendis, sed intercessionibus faciendis quibua prasentes fuissent, ut injuria qua coram fieret at cere tur. Aulus Gellius, XIII. 12. « Aulus Gellius, XV. 27. Djojiysjus, VIH. 87; VI. 90. CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 395 centuries. He could make no proposition in the sen- ate ; it was not supposed, in the beginning, that he could appear there. He had nothing in common with the real city — that is to say, with the patrician city, where men did not recognize any authority of Ids. He was not the tribune of the people ; he was the tribune of the plebs. There were then, as previously, two societies in Rome — the city and the plebs ; the one strongly organ- ized, having laws, magistrates, and a senate ; the other a multitude, which remained without rights and laws, but which found in its inviolable tribunes protectors and judges. In succeeding years we can see how the tribunes took courage, and what unexpected powers they as- sumed. They had no authority to convoke the peo- ple, but they convoked them. ' Nothing called them to the senate ; they sat at first at the door of the cham- ber ; later they sat within. They had no power to judge the patricians; they judged them and con- demned them. This was the result of the inviolability attached to them as sacrosancti. Every other power gave way before them. The patricians were disarmed the day tliey had pronounced, with solemn rites, that whoever touched a tribune should be impure. The law said, "Nothing shall be done against a tribune." If, then, this tribune convoked the plebs, the plebs assembled, and no one could dissolve this assembly, which the presence of the tribune placed., beyond the power of the patricians and the laws. If the tribune entered the senate, no one could 'compel him to retire. If he seized a consul, no one could take the consul from his hand. Nothing could resist the boldness of a tribune. Against a tribune no one had any power, except another tribune. 396 THE KE VOLITIONS. BOOK IV. As soon as the plebs thus had their c'hiefs, they did not wait long before they had deliberative assemblies. These did not in any manner resemble those of the patricians. The plebs, in their eomitia, were distrib- uted into tribes; the domicile, not reli^oo or wealth, regulated the place of each one. The assembly did not commence with a sacrifice ; religion did not appear there. They knew nothing of presages, and the voice of an augur, or a pontiff, could not compel men to sep- arate. It was really the eomitia of the plebs, and they had nothing of the old rules, or of the religion of the patricians. True, these assemblies did not at first occupy them- selves with the general interests of the city; they named no magistrates, and passed no laws. They de- liberated only on the interests of their own order, named the plebeian chiefs, and carried plebiscita. There was at Rome, for a long time, a double series of decrees — sendtusconsulta for the patricians, pie- hiscita for the ple^bs. The plebs did not obey the sen- atusconsulta, nor the patricians the plebiscita. There were two peoples at Rome. These two peoples, always in presence of each other, and living within the same walls, still had almost noth- ing in common. A plebeian could not be consul of the city, nor a patrician tribune of the plebs. The ple- beian did not enter the assembly by curies, nor the patrician the assembly of the tribes.' They were two peoples that did not even understand ' Livy, II. 60. Dionysius, VII. 16. Festus, v. Sdta plebis. We speak only of the earliest times. The patricians were en- rolled in the tribes, bnt certainly took no part in assemblies which met without auspices and without a religious ceremony, and in which for a long time they recognized no legal authority. CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE, CITY. 397 each other, not having — so to speak — common ideas,, If the patrician spoke in the name of religion and the laws, the plebeian replied that he did not know this hereditary religion, or the laws that flowed from it. If the patrician alleged a sacred custom, the plebeian replied in the name of the law of nature. They re- proached each other with injustice ; each was just ac- cording to his own principles,, and unjust according to the principles and beliefs of the other.. The assembly of the curies and the reunion of the patres seemed to the plebeian odious privilegesw In the assembly of the tribes the patrician sa flf a meeting condemned by re- ligion. The consulship was for the plebs an arbitrary and tyrannical authority ; the tribuneship, in the eyes of the patrician, was something impious, abnormal, con- trary to all principles ; be could not understand this sort of chief, who was not a priest, and who was elected without auspices. ^.The tribuneship deranged the sa- cred order of the city ; it was what a heresy is in re- ligion — the public worship was destroyed. "The gods will be against us,'' said a patrician, " so long as we have among us this ulcer, which is eating us up, and which extends its corruption to the whole social body." The history of Rome, during a century, was filled with similar discords between these two peoples, who did not seem to speak the same language. The patricians persisted in keeping the plebs without the body poli- tic, and the plebs established institutions of their own, The duality of the Roman population became from day to day more manifest. And yet there was something which formed a tie between these two peoples : this was war. The patri- cians were careful not to deprive themselves ot sol- diers. They had left to the plebeians the. title of citi 398 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK. IV. zens, if only to incorporate them into the legions. They had taken care, too, that the inviolability of the tribunes should not extend outside of Rome, and for this purpose had decided that a tribune should never go out of the city. In the army, therefore, the plebs were under control; there was no longer a double power ; in presence of the enemy Rome became one. Then, thanks to the custom, begun after the expul. sion of the kings, of assembling the army to consult on public interests and on the choice of magistrates, there were mixed assemblies, where the plebeians appeared by the side of the patricians. Now we see clearly in history that the comitia by centuries became more and more important, and became insensibly what were called the great comitia. Indeed, in the conflict which sprang up between the assembly by curies and tlie assembly by tribes, it seemed natural that the comitia centuriata should become a sort of neutral ground, where general interest would be debated. The plebeian was not always poor. Often he be- longed to a family which was originally from another city, which was there rich and influential, and whom the fate of war had transported to Rome witliout taking away his wealth, or the sentiment of dignity that ordi- narily accompanies it. Sometimes, too, the plebeian ]iad become rich by his labor, especially in the time of the kings. When Servius had divided the population into classes according to their fortunes, some plebeians belonged to the first class. The patricians had not dared, or had not been able, to abolish this division into classes. There was no want of plebeians, therefore, who fought by the side of the patricians in the foremost ranks of the legion, and who voted with them in the first centuries. OnAF. VII. THE PLEBS ENTEK THE CITY. 399 This class, rich, haughty, and prudent as well, who could not have been pleased with disturbances, and must have feared them, who had much to lose if Rome fell, and much to gain if it prospered, was a natural mediator between the two hostile orders. It does not appear that the plebs felt any repugnance at seeing distinctions of wealth established among them. Thirty-six years after the establishment of the tribuneship, the number of tribunes was increased to ten, that there might be two for each of the five classes. The plebs, then, accepted and clung to the division which Servius had established. And even the poorer portion, which was not comprised in the classes, made no complaint ; it left the privileges to the wealthier, and did not demand its share of the tribunes. As to the patricians, tiiey had little fear of the im- portance which wealth assumed, for they also were rich. Wiser or more fortunate than the Eupatrids of Athens, who were annihilated on the day that the direc- tion of affairs fell to the rich, the patricians never neg- lected agriculture, or commerce, or even manufactures. To increase their fortunes was always their great care. Labor, frugality, and .good speculations were always their virtues. Besides, every victory over an enemy, every conquest, increased their possessions; and so they saw no great evil in uniting power and wealth. The habits and character of the nobles were such that they could not feel contempt for a rich man even though he was a plebeian. The rich plebeian ap- proached them, lived with them, and many relations of interest and friendship were established. This per- petual contact brought about a change of ideas. The plebeian made the patrician understand, little by little, the wishes and the rights of his class. The patrician 400 THE KKVOLtTTIONS. BOOK IV. ended by being convinced. Insensibly he came to have a less firm and haughty opinion of his superiority;, he was no longer so sure about his rights. Now, an aristocracy, when it comes to doubt that its empire is legitimate, either no longer has the courage to defend it, or defends it badly. As soon as the prerogatives of the patricians were no longer an article of faith for them, this order might be said to be half vanquished. The rich men appear to have exercised an influence of another kind on the plebs, from whom they sprang, and from whom they did not yet sejjarate. As they desired the greatness of Rome, they wished for the union of the two orders. Besides, they were amlatious ; they calculated that the absolute separation of the two orders forever limited their own career, by chaining theni forever to tlie inferior class, whilst a union would open a way to them, the end of which they could not see. They tried, therefore, to give the ideas and wishes of the plebeians another direction. Instead of persisting in forming a separate order, instead, of making laws for themselves which the other order would never recog- nize, instead of working slowly by plebiscita to make a species of laws for their own use,_and to prepare a code which would have no ofiicial value, they inspired ihe plebs with the idea of penetrating into the patrician city, and sharing its laws, institutions, and dignities. Prom that time the desires of the plebs turned to a union of the two orders on the condition of equality. The plebs, once started in this direction, began to demand a code. Theie were laws at Rome, as in all cities, unchangeable and holy laws, which were written, and the text of which was preserved by priests.' But these laws, which were a part of the religion, applied ' Dionysius, X, 1. CHAP. Vn. THE fLEBS ENTER THE CITY, 401 6nly to the members of the religious city. The plebe- ians had no right to know them ; and we may believe that they had no right to claim their protection. These laws existed for the curies, for the gentes, for the pa- tricians iand their clients, but not for others. They did not recognize the right to hold property in one who had no sacra j they granted justice to no one who had not a patron. It was the exclusively religious character of the law that the plebs wished to abolish. They de- manded not only that the lawfe should be reduced to writing dnd made public, but that there should be laws that should be equally applicable to the patricians and themselvesi The tribunes wished at first, it appears, that the laws should be drawn up by the plebeians. The patricians replied, that apparently the tribunes were ignorant of what a law was, for otherwise they would not have made such a claim. " It is a complete impossibility," said they, "for the plebeians to make laws. You who have no auspices, you who do not perform religious acts, what have yon in common with sacred things, among which the laws must be counted?"' This notion of the plebeians appeared monstrous to the pa- tricians; and the old annals, which Livy and Dionys- ius of HalicarnassHS consulted in this part of their his- tories, mention frightful prodigies ^^- the heavens on fire, spectres leaping in the air, and showers of blood." The /^ real prodigy was that the plebeians thought of making laws. Between the two ordersj each of which was astonished at the persistence of the other, the republic remained eight years in suspense. Then the tribunes made a compromise. " Since you sire unwilling that the ' Livy, III. 31. Dionysius, X. 4. ' Julius Obsequens, 1(5 26 402 THB EB VOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. laws should be written by the plebeians," they said, "choose the legislators in the two orders." By this they thought they were conceding a great deal; but it was little according to the rigorous principles of the patrician religion. The senate replied that it was in no way averse to the preparation of a code, but that this code could be drawn up only by patricians. Finally, they found a means of conciliating the interests of the plebs with the religious requirements on which the pa- tricians depended. They decided that the legislators should all be patricians, but that their code, before be- ing promulgated and put in force, should be exhibited to the eyes of the public, and submitted to the appro- bation of all classes. This is not the moment to analyze the code of the decemvirs. It is only necessary at present to remark, that the work of the legislators, primarily exposed in the forum, and freely discussed by all the citizens, was afterwards accepted by the comitia centuriata — the assembly in which the two orders were confounded. In this there was a grave innovation. Adopted by all the classes, the law thenceforth was applied to all. We do not find, in what remains to us of the code, a oingle word that implies any inequality between the plebeian and the patrician, either in the rights of prop- erty, or in contracts and obligations, or in legal pro- ceedings. From that moment the plebeian aj-peared before the same tribunal as the patrician, proceeded in the same manner, and was judged according to the same law. Now, there could not have been a more radical revolution ; the daily usages, the manners, the sentiments of man towards man, the idea of personal dignity, the principles of law, all were changed in Rome. CHAP. Vn. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITT. 403 As there remained laws to make, new decemvirs were appointed, and among them were three plebeians. Thus, after it had been proclaimed with so much energy that the making of laws belonged to the patrician class, so rapid was the progress of ideas that at the end of a year plebeians were admitted among the legislators. The manners tended towards equality. Men were upon an incline where they could no longer hold back. It had become necessary to make a law forbidding marriage between the two orders — a certain proof that religion and manners no longer suflSced to prevent this. But hardly had they had time to make the law, when it fell before an almost universal reprobation. A few patricians persisted, indeed, in calling upon their re- ligion. " Our blood will be attainted, and the hereditary worship of every family will be destroyed by it ; no one will any longer know of what race he is born, to what sacrifices he belongs; it will be the overthrow of all institutions, human and divine.'' The plebeians did not heed these arguments, which appeared to them mere quibbles without weight. To discuss articles of faith before men who had no religion was time lost. Be- sides, the tribunes replied very justly, "If it is true that your religion speaks so loud, what need have you .of this law? It is of no account; withdraw it, you re- main as free as before not to ally yourselves w ith ple- beian families." The law was withdrawn. At once marriages became frequent between the two orders. The rich plebeians were so sought after, that, to speak only of the Licinii, they allied themselves with three of the patrician gentes, the Fabii, the Cor- ueili, and the Manlii." It could then be seen that the ' Livy, V. 12; VI. 34, 39. 404 THE EEVOLUTIOITS. BOOK IV. law had been for a moment the only baiTier which separated the two orders. Thenceforth the patrician blood and plebeian blood were mingled. As soon as equality was conquered in private life, the great difficulty was overcome, and it seemed natural that equality should also exist in politics. The plebs then asked why the consulship was closed to them, and they saw no reason why they should be withheld from it. There was, however, a very potent reason. The consulship was not simply a command ; it was a priest- hood. To be a consul it was not sufficient to offer guarantees of intelligence, of courage, of probity ; the consul must also be able to perform the ceremonies of the public worship. It was necessary that the rites should be duly observed, and that the gods should be satisfied. Now, the patricians alone possessed the sa- cred character which permitted them to pronounce the prayers, and to call down the divine protection upon the city. The plebeian possessed nothing in common with the worship ; religion, therefore, forbade him to be consul — 'iiefas plebeium consulem fieri. We may imagine the surprise and indignation of the patricians, when plebeians claimed for the first time the right to be consuls. Religion itself appeared to be menaced. The nobles took a great deal of pains to make the plebs understand this ; they told fhem how important religion was to the city, that religion had founded the city, and that it presided over all public acts, dii'ected the deliberative assemblies, and gave the republic its magistrates. They added, that this religion was, according to ancient customs (more ma- jonem), the patrimony of the patricians, that its rites could be known and practised only by them, and, in fine, that the gods would not accept the sacrifice of a CHAF. Vn. THE PLEBS ENTEE THE CITY. 405 plebeian. To propose to have plebeian consuls was to wish to suppress the religion of the city. Thenceforth the worship would be impure, and the city would no longer be at peace with its gods.' The patricians used all theii' influence and all their address to keep the plebeians from the magistracies, They were defending at the same time their religion and their power. As soon as they saw that the con sulship was in danger of falling into the hands of plebe- ians, they separated from it the religious function which was the most important of all, — that which consisted in making the lustration of the citizens, — and thus the censorship was established. At the moment when it seemed impossible to resist the claims of the plebeians, the consulship was replaced by the military tribune- ship. But the plebs showed great patience ; they waited seventy-five years before their hopes were realized. It is clear that they displayed less ardor in obtaining the high magistracies than they had ehown in conquer^ ing the tribuneship and a code. But if the plebs were somewhat indifferent, there was a plebeian aristocracy that was ambitions. Here' is a legeiid of this period : " Fabius Ambustus, one of the most distinguished of the patricians, had man'ied his two daughters, one to a patrician, who became a military tribune, the other to Licinius Stolo, a promi- nent plebeian. This plebeian's wife was one day at the house of her sister, when the lictors, conducting the military tribune tq his house, struck the door with their fasces. As she was ignorant of this usage, she showed signs of fear. The laughter and the ironical questions of her sifter showed her how much a plebe- • Livy, VI. il. 406 THE aEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. ian marriage had degraded her by placing her in a house wliere dignities and honors could never enter. Her father guessed her cause of trouble, and consoled her by promising that she should see at her own house what she had seen at her sister's. He planned with his son-in-law, and both worked with the same object in view." This legend teaches us two things — one, that the plebeian aristocracy, by living with the patri- cians, shared their ambitions, and aspired to their dig- nities ; the other, that there were patricians who encour- aged and excited the ambition of this new aristocracy, which was united with them by the closest ties. It appears that Licinius and Sextius, who was joined with him, did not calculate that the plebs would make great efforts to gain the right of being consuls; for they thought it necessary to propose three laws at the same time. The one, the object of which was to make it imperative that one of the consuls should be chosen from the plebs, was preceded by two others, one of which diminished the debts, and the other gi'anteJ lands to the people. The two first, it is evident, were intended to warm up the zeal of the plebs in favor of the third. For a moment the plebs were too clear- sighted ; they fell in with the laws that were for them, — the reduction of debts, and the distribution of lands, — and gave little heed to the consulship. But Licini- us replied that the three laws were inseparable, and that they must be accepted or rejected together. The Homan constitution authorized this course. Very natu- rally the plebs preferred to accept all, rather than to lose all. But it was not enough that the plebs wished to make these laws. It was also necessary at that time that the senate should convoke the great comitia, and should w CHAP. Vll. THE FLEBS ENTEE THE CITY. 407 afterwards confinn the decree.' It refused for ten years ' to do this. Finally an event took place which Livy has left too much in the shade." It appears that the plebs took arms, and that civil war raged in the streets of i'ome. The patricians, when conquered, approved and confirmed in advance, by a senatusconsultum, all the decrees which the people should pass during that year. Now, nothing prevented the tribunes from pass- ing their three laws. From that time the plebs had every year one of the two consuls, and they were not long in succeeding to other magistracies. The plebeian wore the purple dress, and was preceded by the fasces ; he administered justice; he was a senator; he gov- erned the city, and commanded the legions. The priesthoods remained, and it did not seem as if these could be wrested from the patricians; for, in the old religion, it was an unchangeable dogma that the light of reciting the prayers, and of touching sacred objects, was transmitted with the blood. The knowl- edge of the rites, like the possession of the gods, was hereditary. In the same manner as the domestic wor- ship was a patrimony, in which no foreigner could take part, the worship of the city, also, belonged exclusively to the families that had formed the primitive city. As- suredly, in the first centuries of Rome, it would not have entered the mind of any one that a plebeian could be a pontiff; but ideas had changed. The ple- beians, by taking from religion its hereditary character, had made a religion for their own use. They h;id made for themselves domestic Lares, altars in public squares, and a hearth for the tribes. At first the patri- cians bad nothing but contempt for this parody upon • Livy, IV. 49. ' Livy, IV. 42. 408 THE EB VOLUTIONS. BOOK. IV. their religion. But, with the lapse, of time, it became a serious thing, and the plebeian came to believe that, even as to worship and the gods, he was equal to the par trician. Here wei'e two opposing principles in action. The patrician persisted in declaring that the sacerdotal character and tl^e right of adoring the divinity were hereditary. The plebs fi-eed religion and the pries^ hood from the old hereditary character, and main- tained that every man was qualified to pronounce prayers, and that, provided one was a citizen, he had the right to perform the ceremonies of the city wor- ship. He thus arrived at the conclusion that a plebe ian might be a prii'jst. If the priestly offices had been distinct from the mill tary commands, iind from politics, it is possible that the plebeians wouM not have coveted them so ardently. But all these things were confounded. The priest was a magistrate; the pontiff was a judge; the augur could dissolve the public assemblies. The plebeians did not fail to perceive that, without the priesthoods, they had not really civil or political equa,lity. They therefore claimed that the pontificate should be shared by the two orders, as the consulship had been. It became difficult to allege their religions incapacity as an objection, since, for sixty yeai's, plebeians had been seen, as consuls, performing the sacrifices; as censors, making the lustrations ; as conquerors of the enemy, fulfilling the sacred formalities of the triumph. Through the magistracies the plebs had already gained possession of a part of the priestly offiet- s ; it was not easy to save the rest. Faith in the hereditary princi- ple of religion had been destroyed among the patricians themselves. In vain a few among then^ invoked the CHAP. Tn. THS FLEBS ENTEB THE CITY. 409 ancient rules, declaring, " The worship will oe changed and sullied by unworthy hands ; you are attacking the gods themselves; take care that their anger is not felt against our city." It does not seem that these argu- ments had mweh influence with the plebs, or even that the majority of the patricians were moved by them. The new manners gave tlie advantage to the plebeian principle. It was decided, therefore, that half of the pontiffs and augurs should, from that time, be chosen among the plebs.' This was the last conquest of the lower orders; they had nothing more to wish for. The patricians had lost even their religious superiority. Nothing distinguished them now from the plebs ; the name patrician was now only a souvenir. The old principle upon which the Roman city, like all ancient cities, had been founded, had disappeared. Of this ancient, hereditary religion, which had so long governed men, and which had es- tablished ranks among them, there now remained only the exterior forms. The plebeian had struggled against it for four centuries, — under the republic and under the kings, — and bad conquered. * The. dignities of king of the sacriflcea, qf flamena, salii, and vestal?, to which no political inipprtance was attached, were left without danger in the hands of the patricians, who always re- mained a sacred caste, but who were no longer a dominant caste. 410 THE EEVOLUTIOlfS. BOOK IV. CHAPTER VIII. Changes in Private Law. The Code of the Twelve Ta< bles. The Code of Solon. It is not in the nature of law to be absolute and un- changeable; it is modified and transformed, like every human work. Every society has its laws, which are formulated and developed with it, which change with it, and which, in fine, always follow the movements of its institutions, its manners, and its religious beliefs. Men of the early ages had been governed by a re- ligion which influenced their minds in proportion to its rudeness. This religion had made their law, and had given them their political institutions. But finally so- ciety was transformed. The patriarchal rule which this hereditary religion had produced was dissolved, with the lapse of time, in the rule of the city. In- sensibly the gens was dismembered. The younger members separated from the older, the servant from the chief. The inferior class increased; it took arms, and finished by vanquishing the aristocracy, and con- quering equal rights. This change in the social state ne- cessarily brought another in law ; for as strongly as the Eupatrids and patricians were attached to the old fam- ily religion, and consequently to ancient law, just so strongly were the lower classes opposed to this religion, which had long caused their inferiority, and to this an- cient law, which had oppressed them. Not only did they detest it, but they did not even understand it. As they bad not the belief on which it was founded, this law appeared to them to be without foundation. CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PEIVATE LAW. 411 They found it unjust, and from that time it became impossible for the law to maintain its ground. If we place ourselves back to the time when the plebs had increased and entered the body politic, and compare the law of this epoch with primitive law, grave changes appear at the first glance. The first and most salient is, that the law has been rendered public, and is known to all. It is no longer that sa- cred and mysterious chant which men repeated, with pious respect, from age to age; which priests alone wrote, and which men of the religious families alone could know. The law has left the rituals and the books of the priests ; it has lost its religious mystery ; it is a language which each one can read and speak. Something still more important is manifest in these codes. The nature of the law and its foundation are no longer the same as in the preceding period. For- merly the law was a religious decision; it passed for a revelation made by the gods to the ancestors, to the divine founder, to the sacred kings, to the magistrate- priests. In the new code, on the contrary, the legisla- tor no longer speaks in the name of the gods. The decemvirs of Rome receive their powers from the peo- ple. The people also invested Solon with the right to make laws. The legislator, therefore, no longer repre- sents religious tradition, but the popular will. The principle of the law, henceforth, is the interest of men, and its foundation, the consent of the greatest num- ber. Two consequences flow from this fact. The first is, that the law is no longer presented as an immutable and undisputable formula. As it becomes a human work, it is ackowledged to be subject to change. The Twelve Tables say, « What the votes of the people have 412 THE EBVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. ordained in the last instance is the law." ' Of «11 the passages of this code that remain to us, there is not one more important than this, or one which belter marks the character of the revolution that had then taken place in the law. The law was no longer a sa- cred tradition — mos ; it was simply a text — kx; and as the will of men had made it, the same will could change it. The other consequence is this: The law, which be- fore had been a part of religion, and was consequently the patrimony of the sacred families, was now trie com- mon property of all the citizens. The plebeian could plead in the courts. At most, the Roman patrician, more tenacious or more cunning than the Eupatrid of Athens, atternpted to conceal the legal procedure from the multitude; but even these forms were not long in being revealed. Thus the law was changed in its nature. From that time it could no longer contain the same provisions as in the preceding period. So long as i-eligion had controlled it, it had regulated the relations of men to each other according to the principles of this religion. But the inferior class, who brought other principles into the city, understood nothing either of the old rules of the right of property, or of the ancient right of succession, or of the absolute authority of the father, or of the relationship of agnation, and wished to do aw?y with all that. This transformation of the law, it is true, could not. be accomplished at once. If it is sometimes possible for man quickly to change his political institutions, he cannot change his legislation and his private law ex- ' tivy, VII. 17; IX. 33, 34. OBAP. VIII. CHANGES IBT PEIVATE LAW. 413 cept slowly and by degi-ees. The history of Roman law, as Well as that of Atheniati law, pi'oves this. The Twelve Tables, as we have seen above, were written in the midst of social changes ; patricians made them, bflt they were made upon the demand of the plebs, and for theh- use. This legislation, therefore, is no longer the primitive law of Rome ; neither is it jiretorian law ; it is a transition between the two. Here, then, are the points in which it does not yet deviate from the antique law : it maintains the power of the father; it allows him to pass judgment upon his son, to condemn him to death, or to sellhim. While the father lives, the son never reaches his majority. As to tlie law of Buccession, this also follows the an- cient rules : the inheritance passes to the agnates, and in default of agnates, to the genMles. As to the cog- nates, that is to say, those related through females, the law does not yet recognize them. They do not inherit from each other ; the mother does not Bueteed to the son, nor the son to the mother.' • Emancipation and adoption preserve the character and efiects which these acts had in antique law. The emancipated son no longer takes part in the worship of his family, and, as a consequence, he loses the right of Succession. The following points are those on which this legisla- tion deviates from piimitive law : — It formally admits that the patrimony may be divided among the brothers, since it grants the actio familicB erciacundce* It declares that the father cannot sell his son more » Gains, III. 17, 24. Ulpian, XVI. 4. Cicero, De Imiint., II. 60. * Gaius, III. 19. 414 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. than three times, and that after the third sale, the son shall be free.' This is the first blow struck by Roman law at the paternal autliority. Another change still more important was that which gave a man the right to transmit his property by will. Before this period the son was a self-successor and a necessary : in default of sons, the nearest agnate in- herited ; in default of agnates, the property returned to the gens, a tr.nce of the time when the gens, still undivided, was sole proprietor of the domain, which afterwards had been divided. The Twelve Tables threw aside those old principles ; they treated property as belonging, not to the gens, but to the individual ; they therefore recognized in man the right of disposi^'g of his property by will. Still the will was not entirely unknown in primitive law. Even then a man might choose a legatee outside the gens, but on the condition that his choice should be ratified by the assembly of the curies; so that noth- ing less than the entire city could change the order which religion had formerly established. The new legislation freed the will from this vexatious rule, and gave it a more convenient form — that of a pretended sale. The man feigned to sell his property to the one whom he had chosen as heir; in reality, he made a will ; in this case be had no need of appearing before the assembly of the people. This form of will had the great advantage of being permitted to the plebeians. He who had nothing in common with the curies, had, up to that time, found no means of making a will.' But now be could employ » Digest, X. tit. 2, 1. • There was, indeed, tlie testament in procinctu, but we aro CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PEIVATB LAW. 415 the process of a pretended sale, and dispose of his prop- erty. The most remarkable fact in this period of the history of Roman legislation is, that by the introduc- tion of certain new forms, the law extended its action and its benefits to the inferior orders. Ancient rules and formalities had only been applicable and wf ro atill applied only to religious families; but new rules ind new methods of procedure were prepared which were applicable to the plebeians. For the same reason, and in' consequence of the same needs, innovations were introduced into that part of the law which related to marriage. It is clear that the plebeian families did not contract the sacred marriage, and that for them the conjugal union rested only upon the mutual agreement of the parties (muftms con- sensus), and on the affection which they had promised each other (affectio maritalis). No formality, religious or civil, took place. This plebeian marriage finally prevailed in custom and in law ; but in the beginning the laws of the patrician city did not recognize it as at all binding. This fact had important consequences; as the marital and paternal authority in the eyes of the patricians flowed only from the religious ceremony which had initiated the wife into the worship of the husband, it followed that the plebeian had not this power. The law recognized no family as his, and for him private law did not exist. This was a situation that could not last. A formality was therefore devised for the use of the plebeians, which, in civil affairs, had the same effect as the sacred marriage. They had recourse, as in case of the will, to a fictitious sale. not well informed as to this sort of will ; perliaps it was to the testament calaiis comiiiis what the assembly by centuries was to the assembly by curies. 41 6 THE EE VOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. The wife was bought by the husband — coemptio / from that time she was recognized in law as a pai-t of his property — familia. She was in his hands, and ranked as his daughter, absolutely as if the religious ceremony had been performed.' We cannot affii'm that this proceeding was not older tlian the Twelve Tables. It ia at least certain that the new legislation recognized it as legitimate. It thus gave the plebeian a private law, which was analogous in its effects to the law of the patricians^ though it differed widely in principle. ZFsus con-esponds to coemptio j these are two forras of the same act. Evei'y object may be acquired in either of two ways — by purchase or by use ; the same is the case with the fictitious property in the wife. Use here was one year's cohabitation ; it established between husband and wife the same legal ties as purchase or the reli- gious ceremony. It is hardly necessary to add that the cohabitation was to be preceded by marriage, at least by the plebeian marriage, which was contracted by the consent and affection of the parties. Neither the coemptio nor the usus created a moral union be- tween husband and wife. They came after marriage — merely established a legal right. These were not, as has been too often repeated, modes of nlairiage ; they were only means of acquiring the maritkl and paternal power.' But the marital authority of ancient times had con- sequences, which, at the epoch of history to which we have arrived, began to appear excessive. We have ' Gains, I. 114. " Gaius, I. Ill; qua anno continuo vnPTX perseverabat. So little was the coemptio a mode of marriage that a wife might contract it with another besides her husband — with a guardian, tor example. CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PRIVATE LAW. 417 seen that the wife was subjected without reserve to the husband, and that the power of the latter went so far that he could alienate or sell her.' In another point of view the power of the husband also produced effects which the good sense of, the plebeian could hardly comprehend. Thus the woman placed in the hands of her husband was separated absolutely from her pater- nal family. She inherited none of its property, and had no tie of relationship with it in the eyes of the lav.'. This was very well in primitive law, when reli- gion forbade the same person to belong to two gentes, or to sacrifice at two hearths, or inherit from two houses. But the power of the husband was no longer conceived to be so great, and there were several excel- lent motives for wishing to escape these hard conse- quences. The code of the Twelve Tables, while providing that a year's cohabitation should put the wife in the husband's power, was compelled to leave him the liberty of contracting a union less binding. If each year the wife interrupted the cohabitation by an absence of no more than three nights, it was suffi- cient to prevent the husband's poweT from being estab- lished. Thus the wife pTeserved a legal conneotioil with her own family, and could inherit from it. Without entering into further details, we see that the code of the Twelve Tables already departed con- siderably from primitive law. Roman legislation was transformed with the govern meat and the social state. • Gaius, I. 117, 118. That this mancipation was merely fictitious in Gaius's time, is beyond doubt; but it was, perhaps, real in tlie beginning. The case was not the same, moreover, with the marriage by simple eonsensvs as with the sacred mar- riage, which established between husband and wife an indissolu- ble bond. 27 41 S THE DEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. Little by little, and in almost every generation, some new change took place. As the lower classes pro- gressed in political order, new modifications were introduced into the rules of law. First, marriage was permitted between patrician and plebeian. Next, it was the Papirian law which forbade the debtor to l)ledge his person to the creditor. The procedure be- came simplified, greatly to the advantage of the plebe. ian, by the abolition of the actions of the law. Finally, the pretor, continuing to advance in the road which the Twelve Tables liad opened, traced out, by the side of the ancient law, an entirely new system, which re- ligion did not dictate, and which approached contin- ually nearer to the law of nature. An analogous revolution appears in Athenian law. We know that two codes were prepared at Athens, with an interval of thirty years between them ; the first by Draco, the second by Solon. The code of Draco was written when the struggle of the two classes was at its height, and before the Eupatrids were vanquished. Solon prepared his at the moment when the inferior class gained the upper hand. The difi^erence between these codes, therefore, is great. Draco was a Enpatrid ; he had all the sentiments of his caste, and was " learned in the religious law." He appears to have done no more than to reduce the old customs to writing without in any way changing them. His first law is this : " Men should honor the gods and heroes of the country, and ofier them annual sacrifices, without deviating from the rites followed by our ances- tors." Memorials of his laws concerning murder have been preserved. They prescribe that the guilty one shall be kept out of the temple, and forbid him to CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PEITATB LAW. 419 touch the histral water, or the vessels used in the ceremonies.' His laws appeared cruel to succeeding generations. They were, indeed, dictated by an implacable reli- gion, which saw in every fault an offence against the divinity, and in every offence against the divinity an unpardonable crime. Theft was punished with death, because theft was an attempt against the religion of property. A curious article of this legislation which has been preserved shows in what spirit it was made.'' It grants the right of prosecution for a murder only to the rela- tives of the dead and the members of his gens. We see by this how powerful the gens still was at that period, since it did not permit the city to interfere in its affairs, even to avenge it. A man still belonged to the family more than to the city. In all that has come down to us of this legislation we see that it does no more than reproduce the ancient law. It had the severity and inflexible character of the old unwritten law. We can easily believe that it established a very broad distinction between the classes ; for the inferior class always detested it, and at the end of thirty years demanded a new code. The code of Solon is entirely different ; we can see that it corresponded to a great social revolution. The first peculiarity that we remark in it is, that the laws are the same for all. They establish no distinction be- tween the Eupatrids, the simple free men, and the Thetes. These names are not even found in any of the articles that have been preserved. Solon boasts in his ' Aulus Gellius, XI. 18. Demosthenea, in Ltpt., 158. Por- phyry, De AbstinenUa, IX. ^ Demosthenes, in Everg., 71 ; in Macart,, 67. 420 THE EBVOLUTIONSi BOOK IV. verses of having written the same laws for the great and the small. Like the Twelve Tables, the code of Solon departed in many points fi-om the ancient law; on other points he remained faithful to it. This is not to say that the Roman decemvirs copied the laws of Athens, but the two codes, works of the same period and consequences of the same social revolution, could not but resemble each other. Still, this resemblance is little more than in the spirit of the two codes ; a comparison of their articles presents numerous differences. There are points on which the code of Solon remains nearer to primitive law than the Twelve Tables, as there are others on which he departs more widely fi-om it. The very early laws had prescribed that the eldest son alone should inherit. The code of Solon changed this, and prescribed in formal terms that the brothers should share the patrimony. But the legislator did not depart from primitive law enough to give the sister a part in the inheritance. "The division," he says, "shall be among the sons." ' Further, if a father left only a daughter, this daugh- ter could not inherit ; the property fell to the nearest agnate. In this Solon conformed to the old law ; but he succeeded in giving the daughter the enjoyment of the patrimony by compelling the heir to marry her.° Relationship through women was unknown in the primitive law. Solon admitted it in the new code, but placed it below the relationship through males. Here is his law :" " If a father leaves only a daughter, the nearest agnate inherits by marrying the daughter. If > Isseus, VI. 26. * Isseus, III. 42. » Isseus, VII. 19; XI. U 11. CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PKIVATB LAW. 421 he leaves no children, liis brothei* inherits, and not his sister, — his brother by the same father, and not his uterine brother. In default of brothers and the sons of brothers, the succession falls to the sister. If there are neither brothers, nor sisters, nor nephews, the cous- ins and the children of cousins inhierit. If no cousins are found in the paternal branch (that is to say, among the agnates), the succession is conferred on the collater- als of the maternal branch (the cognates)." Thus women began to enjoy rights of inheritance, but rights inferior to those of men. The law formally de- clared this principle : " Mak's and the descendants through males exclude women and the descendants of women." But this sort of i-elationship was recognized and took its i)lace in the laws — a certain proof that natural right began to speak almost as loud as the an- cient religion. Solon also introduced into Athenian legislation some- thing entirely new — the will. Before hira property passed necessarily to the nearest agnate, or, in default of agnates, to the gennetes {gentiles) ; this was because goods were considered as belonging, not to the indi- vidual, but to the family. But in Solon's time men be- gan to take another view of the right of property. The dissolution of the old ysco; had made every domain the property of an individual. The legislator therefore permitted them to dispose of their fortunes, and to choose their legatees. Still, while suppressing the rights which the yipog had over each of its members, he did not suppress the rights of the natural family, ■ — the son remained the necessary heir. If the deceased left only a daughter, he qould choose his heir only on con- dition that this heir should marry the daughter. A 422 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV.. man without children was free to will his property ac- cording to his fancy.' This last rule was absolutely new in Athenian legis- lation, and we can see by this how many new ideas concerning the family sprang up at that time. The primitive religion had given the father sovereign authority in his own house. The ancient law of Athens went so far as to permit a father to sell his son, or to put him to death.' Solon, conforming to new manners, limited this power.' It is certainly known that he for- bade a father to sell his daughter, and it is probable that the same injunction protected the son. The pa- ternal authority went on diminishing as the ancient religion lost its power, — an event which happened earlier at Athens than at Rome. The Athenian law, therefore, was not satisfied to say, like the Twelve Ta- bles, " After a triple sale, the son shall be free." It permitted the son, on reaching a certain age, to escape from the paternal power. Custom, if not the laws, insensibly came to establish the. majority of the son during the lifetime of his father. There was an Athe- nian law which enjoined the son to support his father when old or infirm. Such a law necessarily indicates that the son might own property, and consequently that he was freed from parental authority. This law did not exist at Rome, because the son never possessed anything, and always remained a minor. As for females, the law of Solon still conformed to the earlier law, when it forbade her to make a will be- cause a woman was never a real proprietor, and could have only the usufruct. But it deviated from the an- • Isseus, III. 41, 68, 73 ; VI. 9 ; X. 9, 13. Plutarch, Solon, 21. * Plutarch, &olon, 13. ' Plutarch, Solon, 23. CHAP. IX. NEW PEINCIPLES OP GOVEENMENT. 423 cient code when it permitted women to claim their dower.' There were still other innovations in this code. In opposition to Draco, who permitted only the family of the victim to prosecute one for a crime, Solon granted this right to every citizen.' Here was one more old pa triarchal right abolished. Thus at Athens, as at Rome, law began to undergo, a change. For the new social state a new code spraiig up. Beliefs, manners, and institutions having been modified, laws which had before appeared just and wise ceased to appear so, and by slow degrees were abolished. CHAPTER IX. New FriucipleB of Government. The Public Interest and the Suf&age. The revolution which overthrew the rule of the sacei*- dotal class, and raised the lower class to a level with the ancient chiefs of gentes, marked a new period in the history of cities. A sort of social reconstruction was accomplished. It was not simply replacing one chiss of men in power by another. Old principles had been thrust aside, and new rules adopted that were to govern human societies. The new city, it is true, pre- served the exterior forms of the preceding period. Tiie republican system remained; almost everywhere the ' Isaeus, VII. 24, 25. Dion Chrysostomus, Ilsgl aniaxia;. Harpooration, Jli^a fuSlfivov, Demosthenes, in Evergum ; in Bceotum de dote ; in Nearam, 51, 62. « Plutarch, Solon, 18. 424 THE EEVOLUTIOKS. BOOK IV. magistrates preserved their ancient names. Athens still had its archons, and Rome its consuls. "Nor was anything changed in the ceremonies of the public re- ligion ; the repasts of the prytaneum, the sacrifices at the opening of the public assembly, the auspices and the pr.ayers, — all were preserved. It is quite common with man, when he rejects old institutions, to wish to preserve their exterior forms. In reality all was changed. Neither institutions, nor laws, nor beliefs, nor manners were in this new period what they had been in the preceding. The old system disappeared, cariying with it the rigorous rules which it had established in all things; a new order of things was established, and human life changed its aspect. During long ages religion had been the sole princi- ple of governmtut. Another principle had to be found capable of I'eplacing it, and which, like it, might gov- ern human institutions, and keep them as much as pos- sible clear of fluctuations and conflicts. The principle upon which the governments of cities were founded thenceforth was public interest. We must observe this new dogma which then made its appearance in the minds of .men and in history. Heretofore the supeiior rule whence social order was derived was not interest, but religion. The duty of performing the rites of worship had been the social bond. From this religious necessity were derived, for some the right to command, for others the obligation to obey. From this had come the rules of justice and of legal procedure, those of public deliberations and those of war. Cities did not ask if the institutions which they adopted were useful; these institutions were adopted because religion had wished it thus. Neither interest nor convenience had contributed to establish them. CHAP. IX. NEW PRINCIPLES OP GOVERNMENT. 425 And if the sacerdotal class had tried to defend tlieni, it was not in the name of the public interest; it was in the name of religious tradition. But in the period which we now enter, tradition no longer holds empire, and religion no longer governs. The regulating prin- ciple from which all institutions now derive their au- thority — the only one which is above individual willsj and which obliges tbem all to submit — is public inter- est. What the Latins call res puhlica, the Greeks T(') xoivAf, replaces the old religion. This is what, from this time, establishes institutions and laws, and by this all the important acts of cities are judged. In the de- liberations of senates, or of popnlar assemblies, when a law is discussed, or a form of government, or a question of private right, or a political institution, no one any longer asks what religion prescribes, but what the gen- eral interest demands. A saying is attributed to Solon which well charac- terizes this new regime. Some one asked him if he had given his country the best constitution. " No," he replied, "but the one which is the best suited to it." Now it was something quite new to expect in forms of gov- ernment, and in laws, only a relative merit. The an- cient constitutions, founded upon the rules of a worship, were proclaimed infallible and immutable. They pos- sessed the rigor and inflexibility of the religion. Solon indicated by this answer that, in future, political con- stitutions should conform to the wants, the manners, and the interests of the men of each age. There was no longer a question of absolute truth; the rules of government were for the future to be flexible and va- riable. It is said that Solon wished at the most that his laws might be observed for a hundred years. The precepts of public interest ai'e not bo absolute* 426 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. SO clear, so manifest, as are those of religion. We may always discuss them ; they are not perceived at once. The way that appeared the simplest and surest to know ■what the public inierest demanded was to assemble the citizens, and consult them. This course was thought to be necessary, and was almost daily employed. In the preceding period the auspices had borne the chief weight of the deliberations ; the opinion of the priest, of the king, of the sacred magistrate was all-powerful. Men voted little, and then rather as a ibi-mality than to express an opinion. After that time they voted on every question; the opinion of all was needed in order to know what was for the interest of all. The suffrage .became the great means of government. It was the source of institutions and the rule of right; it decided what was useful and even what was just. It was above the magistrates and above the laws; it was sov- ereign in the city. The nature of government was also changed. Its essential function was no longer the regular perform- ance of religious ceremonies. It was especially consti- tuted to maintain order and peace within and dignity and power without. What had before been of secon- dary importance was now of the fiist. Politics took precedence of religion, and the government of men be- came a human affair. It consequently happened either that new offices were created, or, .at any rate, that old ones assumed a new character. We can see this by the example of Athens, and by that of Rome. At Athens, during the domination of the aristocracy, the archons had been especially priests. The care of de- ciding causes, of administering the law, and of making war was of minor importance, and might, without in- convenience, be joined to the priesthood. When the CHAP. IX. ITEW PEINCIPLEB OT GOVBENMENT. 427 Athenians rejected the old religious form of goTeni- ment, they did not suppress the archonship, for they had an extreme repugnance to abolishing what was ancient. But by the side of the archons they elected other magistrates, who, by the nature of their duties, corresponded better with the wants of the age. These were the strategi. The word signifies chief of the army, but the authority of these officers was not purely military; they had the care of the relations with other cities, of the finances, and of whatever concerned the police of the city. We may say that the archons had in their hands the state religion and all that related to it, and that the strategi had the political power. The archons preserved the authority such as the ancient ages had conceived it; the strategi had what new wants had cawsed to be established. Pinally a time came when the archons had only the semblance of power, and the stategi had all the reality. These new magistrates were no longer priests; they hardly per- formed the ceremonies that were indispensable in time of war. The government tended more and more to free itself from religion. The strategi might be chosen outside the Eupatrids. In tlie examination which they had to undergo before they were appointed (doxifiualu^, they were not asked, as the archons were, if they had a domestic worship, and if they were of a pure family ; it was sufficient if thej' had always performed their du- ties as citizens, and held real property in Attica.' The • ai'chons were designated by lot, — that is to say, by the voice of the gods ; it was otherwise with the strategi. As the government became more difficult and more eomplieated, as piety was no longer the principal qual- > Oeinarchus, I. 171 (coU. Didot). 428 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IT. ity, and as skill, prudence, couvage, and the art of com- manding became necessary, men no longer believed the choice by lot was suflScient to make a good magistrate. The city uo longer desired to be bound by the pre- tended will of the gods, and claimed to have a free choice of its chiefs. That the archon, who was a priest, should be designated by the gods, was natural; but the strategus, who held in his hands the material in- terests of the city, was better elected by the citizens. If we closely observe the institutions of Rome, we see that changes of the same kind were going on there. On the one hand, the tribunes of the people so aug- mented their importance that the direction of the re- public — at least, whatever related to internal affairs — finally belonged to them. Now, those tribunes who had no priestly character bore a great resemblance to the Btrategi. On the other hand, the consulship itself could subsist only by changing its character. What- ever was sacerdotal in it was by degrees effaced. The respect of the Romans for the traditions and forms of the past required, it is true, that the consul should con- tinue to perform the ceremonies instituted by their ancestors ; but we can easily understand that, the day when plebeians became consuls, these ceremonies were no longer anything more than vain formalities. The consulship was less and less a priesthood, and more and more a command. This transformation was slow, in- ■ sensible, unpercei^ed, but it was not the less complete. The consulship was certainly not, in the time of the Scipios, what it had been in Publicola's day. The military tribuneship, which the senate instituted in 443, and about which the ancients give us very little information, was perhaps the transition between the consulship of the first period and that of the second. CHAP. IX. NEW PRINCIPLES OF GOVEENMBNT. 429 We may also remark that there was a change in the manner of nominating the consuls. Indeed, in the first ages, the vote of the centuries in the election of the magistrates was, as we have seen, a mere formality. In reality, the consul of each year was created by the consul of the preceding year, who transmitted the au- spices to him after having obtained the assent of the gods. The centuries voted on the two or three candi- dates presented, by the consul in office; there was no debate. The people might detest a candidate; but they were none the less compelled to vote for him. In the period at which we have now arrived, the election is quite different, although the forms are still the same. There is still, as formerly, a religious ceremony and a vote ; but the religions ceremony is the formality, and the vote is the reality. The candidate is still presented by the consul who presides ; but the consul is obliged', if not by law, at least by custom, to accept all candi- dates, and to declare that the auspices are equally favorable to all. Thus the centuries name those whom they honor. The election no longer belongs to the gods ; it is in the hands of the people. The gods and the auspices are no longer consulted, except on the con- dition that they will be impartial towards all the caudi- d!]tes. Men make the choice. 430 -THE BEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. CHAPTER X. An Aristocracy of Wealth attempts to establish itsel£ Establishment of Democracy. Fourth Sevolution. The government which succeeded to the rnle of the religions aristocracy was not at first a democracy. We liave seen, from the example of Athens and Rome, that the revolution which took place was not the work of the lowest classes. There were, indeed, some cities where these classes rose first ; but they could found nothing durable. The protracted disorders into which Syracuse, Miletus, and Samos fell are a proof of this. The new governments were not established with any so- lidity, except where a class was at once found to take in hand, for a time, the power and moral authority which the Eupatrids and the patricians had lost. What could this new aristocracy be ? The hereditary religion be- ing thrown aside, there was no longer any other social distinction than wealth. Men demanded, therefore, that wealth should establish rank ; for they could not admit at once that equality should be absolute. Thus Solon did not think best to do away with the ancient distinction founded on hereditary religion, except by establishing a new division, which should be founded on riches. He divided the citizens into four ramks, and gave them unequal rights ; none but the rich could hold the highest oflices ; none below the two intermediate classes could belong to the senate, or sit in the tribunals.' ' Plutarch, Solon, 18; Aristides, 13. Aristotle, cited by HarpocratioUj at the words 'InTiti;, 0ijres. Pollux, VIII. 129. CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DEMOCEACT. 431 The case ■was the same at Rome, We have seen that Servius destroyed the power of the patricians only by founding a rival aristocracy. He created twelve centuries of knights, chosen from the richest plebeians. This was the origin of the equestrian order, which was from that time the rich order at Rome. The plebeians who did not possess the sum required for a knight were divided into five classes, according to the amount of their fortunes. The poorest people were left out of all the classes. They had no political rights ; if they figured in the comitia by centuries, it is certain that they did not vote.' The republican constitution pre- served these distinctions, established by a king, and the plebeians did not at first appear very desirous of estab- lishing equality among themselves. What is seen so clearly at Athens and at Rome appears in almost all the other cities. At Cumse, for example, political rights were given at first only to those who, owning horses, formed a sort of equestrian order; later, those who ranked next below them in wealth obtained the same rights, and this last measure raised the number of citizens only to one thousand. At Rhegium the government was for along time in the hands of a thousand of the wealthiest men of the city. At Thurii, a large fortune was necessary to enable one to make a part of the body politic. We see clearly iu the poetry of Theognis that at Megara, after the fall of the nobles, the wealthy took their places. At Thebes, in order to enjoy the rights of a citizen, one could be neither an artisan nor a merchant,' Thus the political rights which, in the preceding ' Liv7, 1. 43. » Aristotle, Polities, III. 3, 4; VI. 4, 5 (edit. Didot). 432 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. epoch, belonged to birth, were, during some timcj en- joyed by fortune alone. This aristctaracy of wealth was established in all the cities, not by any calculation, but by the very nature of the human mind, which, escaping from a regime of great inequality, could not arrive at once at complete equality. We have to remark that these new nobles did not found their superiority simply upon wealth. Every- where their ambition was to become the military class. They undertook to defend the city at the same time that they governed it. They reserved for themselves the best arms and the greater part of the perils in bat- tle, desiring to imitate in this the nobility which they had replaced. In all the cities the wealthiest men formed the cavalry, the well-to-do class composed the body of hoplites, or legionaries. The poor were ex- cluded from the army, or at most they were employed as skirmishers or light-armed soldiers, or among the rowers of the fleet.' Thus the organization of the army corresponded with perfect exactitude to the political organization of the city. The dangers were propor- tioned to the privileges, and the material strength was found in the same hands as the wealth.' ' Lycias, in Alcib., I. 8 ; II. 7. Isaeus, "VII. 39. Xenophon, ITellen., VII. 4. Harpocration, ©ijrts. ' The relation between military service and political rights is manifest : at Rome the centuriate assembly was no other tbap the army. So true is this, that men who had passed the age for military service no longer had the right to vote in these coniitia. Historians do not tell us that there was a similar law at Athens ; but there are figures that are significant. Thucydidcs says (II. 31, 13) that at the beginning of the war, Athens had thirteen thousand hoplites ; if to these we add the knights, numbered by Aristophanes (in the Wasps) at about a thousand, we arrive at the number of fourteen thousand soldiers. Now, Plutarch tells CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DEMOCEACT. 433 There was thus, in almost all the cities whose history is known to us, a period during which the rich claiss, or at any rate the well-to-do class, was in possession of the government. This political system had its merits, as every system may have, when it conforms to the manners of the epoch, and the religious ideas are not opposed to it. The sacerdotal nobility of the preceding period had assuredly rendered great services. They were the first to establish laws and found regular gov- ernments. They had enabled human societies to live, daring several centuries, with calmness and dignity. The aristocracy .of wealth had another merit ; it im- pressed upon society and the minds of men a new impulse. Having sprung from labor in all its forms, it' honored and stimulated the laborer. This new gov- el-nment gave the most political i-mportajiee to, the most laborious, the most active, or the most skilful man; it was, thei-efore, favorable to industry and commerce. It was also favorable to intellectual progress; for the acquisition of this wealth, which was gained or lost, ordinarily, according to each one's merit, made instruc- tion the first need, and intelligence the most powerful spring of human aflfairs. We are not, therefore, sui-prised that under this government Greece and Rome enlarged tlie limits of their intellectual culture, and advanced their civilization. The rich class did not hold the empire so long as the ancient hereditary nobility had held it. Their title to dominion was not of the same value. They had not the sacred character with which the ancient Eupatrid US, that at the Banie date there were fourteen thousand citizens. The proletariat, therefore, who could not serve among the hoplites, were not counted among the citizens. 'The Athenian constitution, then, in 480 was npt yet completely democratic. 28 434 THE KEVOI.tTTIOlTS. BOOK IV. was clothed. They did not rule by virtue of a belief and by the will of the gods. They had no quality that had power over consciences, that compelled men to submit. Man is little inclined to bow, except before what he believes to be right, or before what his notions teach him is far above him. He had long been made to bend before the religious superiority of the Eupatrid, who repeated the prayers and possessed the gods. But wealth did not overawe him. In presence of wealth, the most ordinary sentiment is not respect; it is envy. The political inequality that resulted from the difference of fortunes soon appeared to be an iniquity, and men strove to abolish it. Besides, the seiies of revolutions, once commenced, could not be arrested. The old principles were over- turned, and there were no longer either traditions or fixed rules. There was a general sense of the insta- bility of affairs, which ])revented any constitution from enduring for any great length of time. The new aris- tocracy was attacked, as the old had been ; the poor wished to be citizens, and in their turn began to make efforts to enter the body politic. It is impossible to enter into the details of this new struggle. The history of cities, as it gets farther from their origin, becomes more and more diversified. They follow the same series of revolutions ; but these revolu- tions appear under a great variety of forms. We can, at any rate, make this remark — that in the cities where the principal element of wealth was the possession of the soil, the rich class was longer respected, and held its dominion longer ; and that, on the contrary, in cities like Athens, where there were few landed estates, and where men became rich especially by industry, man- ufactures, and commerce, the instability of fortunes CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DEMOCEACT. 435 sooner awakened the cupidity or hopes of the lower orders, and the aristocracy was sooner attacked. The rich class of Rome offered a much stronger re- sistance than that of Greece ; this was due to causes which we shall state presently. But when we read Grecian history, we are somewhat surprised that the new nobles defended themselves so feebly. True, they could not, like the Eupatrids, oppose to their adversa- ries the great and powerful argument of tradition and piety. They could not call to their aid their ancestor and the gods. They had no point of support in their own religious notions; nor had they any faith in the justice of their privileges. They had, indeed, superiority in arras ; but this su- periority finally failed them. The constitutions which the states adopted would have lasted longer, no doubt, if each state could have remained isolated, or, at least, if it could have lived in peace. But war deranges the machinery of constitutions, and hastens changes. Now, between these cities of Greece and Italy war was al- most perpetual. Military service weighed most heavily upon the rich class, as this class occupied the front rank in battle. Often, at the close of a campaign, they re- turned to the city decimated and weakened, and con- sequently not prepared to make head against the popu- lar party. At Tarentum, for example, the higher class having lost the greater part of its members in a war against the lapygians, a democratic government was at once established in the city. The course of events was the same at Argos, some thirty years before ; at the close of an unsuccessful war . against the Spartans, the number of real citizens had become so small that it was found necessary to grant the rights of citizens to 436 THE EEVOLUTIOHS. BOOK IV. a multitude of JPerioeeV It was to aToid falling into this extremity that Sparta was so sparing of the blood of the real Spartans. As to Rome, its revolu- tions are explainedj in a great measure, by its con- tinual wars. Fii'St, war destroyed its patricians ; of the three hundred families which this caste comprised under the kings, there remained hardly a third pai-t, after the conquest of Samnium. War afterwards har- vested the primitive plebeians, those rich and coura- geous plebeians who filled the five classes and formed the legions. One of the effects of war was that the cities were almost always brought to the strait of putting arras into the hands of the lower orders. It was in this way that at Athens, and in all the maritime cities, the need of a navy and the battles upon the water gave the poor class that importance which the constitution refused them. The Thetes, raised to the rank of row- ers, of sailors, and even of soldiers, and holding in their hands the safety of their country, felt their importance, and took courage. Such was the origin of the Athe- nian democracy. Sparta was afraid of war. We can see in Thucydides how slow she was, and how nnwilling, to commence a campaign. She allowed her- self to be dragged, in spite of herself, into the Pelopon- nesian war; but how many eflforts she made to with- draw ! This was because she was forced to arm her ■i-nafielovsg, her Neodamodes, her Mothaces, her La- conians, and even her Helots; she well knew that every war, by giving arms to the classes that she was op- pressing, threatened her with revolution, and that she would be compelled,' on disbanding the army, either to ' Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 2, 8 (V. 2). CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DBMOCEACT. 437 submit to the law of her Helots or to find means to have them massacred without disturbance. The ple- beians calumniated the Roman senate when they re- proached it with always seeking new wars. The sen- ate was too wise for that. It knew how many conces- sions and checks in the forum- its wars cost. But it could not avoid them. It is therefore beyond a doubt that war slowly les- sened the distance which the aristocracy of wealth had placed between itself and the lower orders. Thus it soon happened that constitutions were found to be at disaccord with the social state, aiid required modifica- tion. Besides, it must have been seen that all privi- leges were necessarily in contradiction to the principle which then govei'ned men. The public interest was not a principle that could long authorize an inequality among them. It inevitably conducted societies to a democracy. So true is this, that a little sooner, or a little later, it was necessary to give all free men political ri^ts. As soon as the Roman plebeians wished to hold comitia of their own, they were constrained to admit the lowest class, and could not hold to the division into classes. Most of the cities thus saw real popular assemblies formed and universal suffrage established. Now, the right of suffrage had at that time a value iiicomparably greater than it can have in modern states. By means of it the last of the citizens had a hand in all affairs, elected magistrates, made laws, decided cases, declared for war or pisace, and prepared ti-eaties of alliance. This extension of the right of snffrage, therefore, made the government really democratic. We must make a last remark. The ruling class would perhaps have avoided the advent of democracy 438 THE EEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IT if they had been able to found what Thucydides calls bUyaqxia lodvojiog, — that is to say, the government for a few, and liberty for all. But the Greeks had not a clear idea of liberty; individual liberty never had any guarantee among them. We leam from Thucydides, who certainly is not suspected of too much zeal for dem- ocratic government, that under the rule of tlie oligarchy the people were subjected to many vexatious, arbitrary condemnations, and violent executions. We read in this historian "that democi'atic government was needed to give the poor a refuge and the rich a check." The Greeks never knew how to reconcile civil with politi- cal equality. That the poor might be protected in their personal interests, it seemed necessary to them that they should have the right of suffrage, that they should be judges in the tribunal, and that they might be elected as magistrates. If we also call to mind that among the Greeks the state was an absolute power, and that no individual right was of any value against it, we can understand what an immense interest evei-y man had, even the most humble, in possessing political rights, — that is to say, in making a part of the govern- ment; the collective sovereign being so omnipotent that a man could be nothing unless he was a part of this sovereign. His security and his dignity depended upon this. He wished to possess political rights, not in order to enjoy true liberty, but to have at least what might take its place. CHAP. XI. EULES OF DEMOCRATIC GOVEEIfMENT. 489 CHAPTER XI. Eules of Democratic Government. Examples of Athe- uiau Democracy. As the revolutions followed their course, and men departed from the ancient system, to govern them be- came more difficult. More minute rules, more ma- chinery, and that more delicate, became necessary. This we can see from the example of the Athenian government. Athens had a great number of magistrates. In the first place she had preserved all those of the preceding epoch — the archon, who gave his name to the year and watched • over the perpetuation of the domestic worship ; the king, who performed the sacrifices ; the polemarch, who figured as chief of the army, and decided the causes of foreigners ; the six thesmothetae, who appeared to pass judgment, but who, in reality, merely presided over juries : there were also the ten iegdnoioi, who consulted the oracles and offered cer- tain sacrifices ; the nagiidnni, who accompanied the arclion and the king in the ceremonies ; the ten ath- lothetse, who remained four years in office . to prepare the festival of Bacchus; and, finally, the prytanes, who, to the number of fifty, were continually occupied to attend to keeping up the public fire and the sacred re- pasts. We see from this that Athens remained faith- ful to tlie traditions of ancient times. So many revo- lutions had not yet completely destroyed this supersti- tious respect. No one dared to break with the old forms of the national religion ; the democracy contin- ued the worship instituted by the Eupatrids. 440 THE REVOLUTIONS* BOOK XV. Afterwards came the magistrates specially created for the democracy, who were not priests, and who watched over the material interests of the city. First were the strategi, who attended to affairs of war and politics; then followed the ten astynomi, who had charge of the police; the ten agoranomi, who watched over the markets of the city and of the Piraeeus ; the fifteen sitophylaces, who superintended the sales of grain ; the fifteen metronomi, who controlled weights and measures ; ten guards of the treasury ; the ten re- ceivers of the accounts ; the eleven who were charged with the execution of sentences; In addition to this, the greater part of these magistracies were repeated in each tribe and in each deme. The smallest group of people in Attica had its archon, its priest, its secretary, its re- ceiver, its military chief. One could hardly take a step in the city or in the country withotit meeting an otRcial. These ofl3ces were annual ; so that there was hardly a man who might not hope to fill some one of them in his turn. The magistrate-priests were chosen by lot. The magistrates who attended^ only to public order were elected by the people. Still there was a precau- tion against the caprices of the lot, as well as against that of universal sufifrage. Every newly elected official was subjected to an examination, either before the sen- ate, or before the magistrates going out of otRce, or, lastly, before the Areopagus — not that they demanded proofs of capacity or talent, but an inquiry was made concerning the probity of the man, and concerning his family ; every magistrate was also required to have a property in real estate. It would seem that these magistrates, elected by the suffrages of their eqnnlsy named for only a single year, cWaT. XI. RULES OF DEMOCKATIC GOVERNMENT. 441 responsible and even removable, could have had little prestige and authority. We need only read Thueydi- des and Xenophon, however, to assure ourselves that they were respected and obeyed. There was always in the character of the ancients, even in that of the Athenians, a great facility in submitting to discipline. It was perhaps a consequence of the habits of obedi- ence with which the religious government had inspired them. They were accustomed to respect the state, and all those who, in any degree,- represented it. They never thought of despising' a magistrate because they had elected him ; suffrage was reputed one of the most sacred sources of authority. Above the magistrates, who had no other duty than that of seeing to the execution of the laws, there was the senate. It was merely a deliberative body, a sort of council of state ; it passed no acts, made no laws, exercised no soyereignty. Men saw no inconvenience in renewing it every year, for neither superior intelli- gence nor great experience was required of its mem- bers. It was composed of fifty prytanes from each tribe, who performed the sacred duties in turn, and deliberated all the year upon the religious and political interests of the city. It was probably because the senate was only the assembly of the pvy taues, — that is to say, of the annual priests of the saoi-ed fii-e, — that it was filled by lot. It is but just to say, that after the lot had decided, each name was examined, and any one was thrown out who did not appear sufficiently honorable.' Above even the senate there was the assembly of the people. This was the real sovei-eign. But, jast » JBscbines, III. 2 ; Anclocide8> II. X9 ; I. 45-66. 442 THB EEV0LDTI0N8. BOOK. IV. as in a well-constituted monarchy, the monarch is sur- rounded with safeguards against his own caprices and errors, this democracy also had invariable rules, to which it submitted. The assembly was convoked by-the prytanes or the strategi. It. was holden in an enclosure consecrated by religion ; since morning the priests had walked around the Pnyx, immolating victims and calling down the protection of the gods. The people were seated on stone benches. Upon a soi't of platform were the prytanes, and in front of them the proedri, who pre- sided over the assembly. An altar stood near the speaker's stand, and the stand itself was reckoned a sort of altar. When all were seated, a priest (xijgul) proclaimed, " Keep silence, religious silence (Bi Dionysius, I. 85. Varrp, L. L., V. 42. Virgil, VIII. 35». ' Of the three names of the primitive tribes, tlie ancients al- ways believed th£t one was Latin, another Sabine, and the third EtraBcaa. 484 MUNICIPAL EEGIME DISAPPBAES. BOOK T. versity of origin. In the time of Augustus there wert, still some fifty families who, by ascending the series of their ancestors, arrived at the companions of ^neas.' Others claimed to be descendants of the Arcadian Evander, and from time immemorial the men of these families wore upon their shoes, as a distinctive sign, a small silver crescent.' The Potitian and Pinarian fam- ilies were descended from those who were called the companions of Hercules, and their descent was pi-oved by the hereditary worship of that god. The TuUii, Quinctii, and Servilii came from Alba after the con- quest of that city. Many families joined to their name a surname which recalled their foreign origin. There were thus the Sulpicii Camerini, the Cominii Arunci, the Sicinii Sabini, the Clandii Regillenses, and the Aquillii Tusci. The Nautian family was Trojan, the Aurelii were Sabines; the Cfficilii came from Prseneste, and the Octavii were originally from Velitrse. The effect of this mixing of the most diverse nations was, that from the beginning Rome was related to all the peoples that it knew. It could call itself Latin with the Latins, Sabine with the Sabines, Etruscan with the Etruscans, and Greek with the Greeks. Its national worship was also an assemblage of sev- eral quite different worships, each one of which at- taclied it to one of these nations. It had the Greek worship of Evander and Hercules, and boasted of pos- sessing the Trojan Palladium. Its Penates were in the Latin city of Lavinium, and it adopted from the begin- ning the Sabine worship of the god Consus. Another Sabine god, Quirinus, was so firmly established at Rome that he was associated with Romulus, its founder. ' Dionysius, I. 85. • Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 76. CHAP. n. THE SOMAN CONQUEST. 485 It had also the gods of the Etruscans, and their fes- tivals, and their augurs, and even their sacerdotal in- signia. At a time when no one had the right to take part in the religious festivals of a nation unless he belonged by birth to that nation, the Roman had this incomparable advantage of being able to take part in the Latin holi- days, the Sabine festivals, the Etruscan festivals, and the Olympic games.' Now, religion was a powerful bond. When two cities had a single worship, they called themselves relations ; they were required to re- gard themselves as allies, and to aid each other. In ancient times men knew of no other union than that which religion established. Rome therefore preserved with great care whatever could serve as an evidence of this precious relationship with other nations. To the Latins it presented its traditions of Romulus ; to the Sabines its legend of Tarpeia and Tatiiis; to the Greeks it quoted the old hymns which it had preserved in honor of Evander's mother, hymns which Romans Ao longer understood, but which they persisted in sing- ing. They also preserved the recollection of .^neas with the greatest care ; for if they could claim relation- ship with the Peloponnesians through Evander,'' they were related through .^Eneas to more than thirty cities,' scattered through Italy, Sicily, Greece, Thrace, and Asia Minor, all having had jEneas for a founder, or being colonies of cities founded by him, — all having, consequently, a common worship with Rome. We can see in the wars which they waged in Sicily against ' Pausinias, V. 23, 24. Comp. Livy, XXIX. 12 ; XXXVII. 37. » Pausanias, VIII. 43. Strabo, V. p. 232. ' Servius, ad ^n., III. 12. 486 MUNICIPAL EEGIMB DISAPPEARS. POOK V. Carthage, and an Greece against Philip, what advan- tage they derived from this ancient relationship. The Roman population was, then, a mixture of sev- eral races, its worship was an assemblage of several worships, and its national hearth an association of sev- eral hearths. It was almost the only city whose, mu- nicipal religion was not isolated from all others. It was related to all Italy and all Greece. There was hardly a people that it could not admit to its hearth. 2. First Aggrandizement of Home {B. C 753-350). During the period when the municipal religion was everywhere powerful, it governed the policy of Rome. We are told that the first act of the new city was to seize some Sabine women — a legend which appears very improbable when we refl(;ct on the sanctity of marriage among the ancients ; but we have seen above that the municipal religion forbade marriage between persons of different cities unless these two cities had a common origin or a common worship. The first Rd- mans had the right of intermarriage with Alba, from which they originally came, but not with their other neighbors, the Sabines. What Romulus wished to ob- tain first of all was not a few women ; it was the right of intermarriage, ^ that is to say, the right of conti-act- ing regular relations with the Sabine population. For this purpose a religious bond must be established be- tween them ; he therefore adopted the worship of the Sabine god Census, and celebrated his festival.' Tra- dition adds that during this festival he carried off the women. If he had done this, the marriages could mjt ' Dionysius, II. SO. CHAP. n. THB ROMAN CONQUEST. 487 have been celebrated according to the rites, since the first and most necessaiy act of the marriage was the traditio in manum, — that is to say, the giving away of the daughter by the father ; Romulus would have failed of his object. But the presence of the Sabines and their families at the religious ceremony, and their participation in the sacrifice, established between the two nations a bond such that the connubium could no longer be refused. There was no need of a seizure ; the right of intermarriage was a natural consequence of tlie festival. And the historian Dionysius, who con- sulted ancient documents and hymns, assures us that the Sabines were married according to the most solemn rites, which is confirmed by Plutarch and Cicero. It is worthy of remark that the result of the first effort of the Romans was to throw down the barriers wiiich the municipal religion had placed between two neigh- boring nations. No similar legend relative to Etrnria has come down to us, but it appears quite certain that Rome had the same relations with that country as with Latium and the Sabines. The Romans therefore had the address to unite themselves, by worship and by blood, with all the nations around them. They took care to have the connubium with all the cities ; .nnd what proves that they well understood the im- portance of this bond is, that they would not permit other cities, their subjects, to have it among them- selves.' Rome then entex-ed upon the long series of its wars. The fii-st was against the Sabines of Tatius; it was ter- minated by a religious and political alliance between these two little nations. It next made war upon Alba, » Livy, IX.43; XXIII. 4. 488 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPBAES. BOOK. V. The historians say that the Romans dared to attack this city, though they were a colony from it. It was precisely because they were a colony from Alba tha^ they judged it necessary to destroy that city. Indeed, every metropolis exercised a religious supremacy over its colonies, and religion then had so great an influence that while Alba remained standing, Eome could be only a dependent city, and her progress would be for- ever an-ested. After the destruction of Alba, Rome was no longer content to remain a colony, but claimed to take the rank of a metropolis, by inheriting the rights and the religions supremacy which up to that time Alba had exercised over the thirty colonies of Latium. The Ro- mans sustained long wars to obtain the presidency of the sacrifice at tlie fericB Latinae. This was a means of acquiring tlio single kind of superiority and dominion which was understood at that time. ' They built at home a temple to Diana; they obliged the Latins to come and offer sacrifices there, and even attracted the Sabines to it." By this means they habit- uated these two nations to share with them, under their presidency, the festivals, the prayers, and the sacred flesh of the victims. Rome thus united them under her re- ligious snpremacy. Rome was the only city that understood how to augment her population by war. The Romans pur- sued a policy unknown to the rest of the Grseco-Italian world ; they annexed all that they conquered. They brought home the inhabitants of captuied cities, and gradually made Romans of them. At the same time they sent colonists into the conquered countries, and in ' Livy, I. 43. Dionysius, IV. 48, 49. CHAP. II. THE EOMAK COKQUEST. 189 this manner spread Rome everywhere ; for thtr col- onists, while forming distinct cities, in a political point of view, preserved a religious community with the me- tropolis; and this was enough to compel the colonies to subordinate their policy to that of Rome, to obey her, and to aid her in all her wars. One of the remarkable peculiarities of the policy of Rome was, that she attracted to her all the worships of the neighboring cities. She obtained possession of a Juno from Veii, a Jupiter from Prseneste, a Minerva from Falerii, a Juno from Lanuvium, a Venus from the Samnites, and many others that we do not know.' " For it was the custom of the Romans," says one of the ancients,' " to take home the religions of the con- quered cities ; sometimes they distributed them among the gentes, and sometimes they gave them a place in their national religion." Montesquieu praises the Ro- mans for a refinement of skilful policy in not having imposed their gods upon the conquered nations. But that would have been contrary to their ideas, and to those of all the ancients. Rome conquered the gods of the vanquished, and did not give them hers. She kept her protectors for herself, and even labored to in- crease the number. She tried to possess more worships and more tutelary gods than any other city. As, moreover, these worships and gods were, for the most part, taken from the conquered, Rome was placed by them in religious communion with all the surround- ing nations. The ties of a common origin, the possession of the connubium, that of the presidency of the f&rioe LatincB, that of the vanquished gods, the right, which ' Livy, V. 21, 22; VI. 29. Ovid, Fasti, III. 837, 843 Plu- tarch, Parallel of Greek and Roman Hist , 7S. • Cincius, cited by Arnobius, Adv. Gentes, III. 38. 490 MCNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V. they pretended to have, of sacrificing at Olympia and at Delphi, were so many means by which the Romans prepared their dominion. Like all the cities, Rome had her municipal religion, the source of her patriotism ; but she was the only city which made this religion serve for her aggrandizement. Whilst other cities were isolated by their religion, Rome had the address or the good fortune to employ hers to draw everything to herself, and to dominate over all. 3. How Borne acquired Empire {B. C. 350-140). Whilst Rome grew thus slowly by the means which religion and the ideas of that age placed at her disposal, a series of social and political changes was taking place in all the cities and in Rome itself, transforming at the same time the governments of men and their ways of thinking. We have already traced this revolution. What is important to remark here is, that it coincides with the great development of the Romau power. These two results, which took place at the same time, were not without influence upon each other. The con- quests of Rome would not have been so easy if the old municipal spirit had not been everywhere extinct ; and we may also believe that the municipal system would not have fallen so soon if the Roman conquest had not dealt It the final blow. In the midst of the changes which took place in in- stitutions, in manners, in religious ideas, and in laws, patriotism itself had changed its nature; and this is one of the events which contributed most to the great prog- ress of Rome. We have described this sentiment as it was in the first ages of the city. It was a part of re- ligion ; men loved their country because they loved its CHAP. n. THE EOMAN CONQUEST. 4S protecting gods, because they there found a prytaneur a holy fire, festivals, prayers, and hymns, and beeaus beyond its borders tliey no longer found either gods c a worship. This patriotism was faith and piety. Bi when the domination had been withdrawn from th sacerdotal caste, this sort of patriotism disappeared wit other old religious notions. Love of the city still su vived, but it took a new form. Men no longer loved their country for its religio and its gods ; they loved it only for its laws, for i1 institutions, and for the rights and security which ; afforded its mernbers. We see in the funeral oratio which Thucydides puts into the mouth of Pericles whs the reasons are that Athens was loved ; they are b( cause this city " wishes all to be equal before the law; " because she gives men liberty, and opens the ways o honor to all ; because she maintains public order, a sures authority to the magistrates, protects the weal and gives to all spectacles and festivals, which are th education of the mind." And the orator closes by saj ing, " This is why our warriors have died herqicall rather than allow their country to be torn from them this is why those who survive are all ready to suffer, an to devote themselves for it." Man, therefore, still owe duties to the city; but these duties do not flow froi the same principle as before. He still gives his bloo and his life, but it is no longer to defend his nation; divinity and the hearth of his fathers; it is to defen the institutions which he enjoys, and the advantage which the city procures him. Now, this new patriotism had not exactly the sam effects as that of the ancient ages. As the heart ws no longer attached to the prytaneum, to the protectin gods, and to the sacred soil, but simply to the institv 492 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V tions and the laws, — and as, moreover, the latter, in the state of instability in which all the cities then found themselves, changed frequently, — patriotism became a variable and inconsistent sentiment, which depended upon circumstances, and which was subject to the same fluctuations as the government itself. One loved his country only as much as he loved the form of govern- ment that prevailed there for the moment ; and he who found its laws bad had no longer anything to at- tach him to it. Municipal patriotism thus became weakened and died out in men's minds. Every man's opinion was more precious to him than his country, and the triumph of his faction became much dearer to him than the gran- deur or glory of his city. Each one, if he did not find in his own city the institutions that he loved, began to prefer some other city, where he saw these institutions established. Men then began to emigrate more freely, and feared exile less. What did it matter if they were excluded from the prytaneum and the lustral water ? They thought little now of the protecting gods, and were easily accustomed to live away from their country. From this to taking up arms against it was not a great step. Men joined a hostile city to make their party victorious in their own. Of two Ai-gives, one preferred an aristocratic government ; he preferred Sparta to Argos: the other preferred democracy; he preferred Athens. Neither cared a great deal for the independence of his own city, and was not much averse to becoming the subject of another city, provided that city sustained his faction in Argos. It is clear, from Thucydides and Xenophon, that it was this disposition of men's minds that brought on and sustained the Pelo- ponnesian war. At Platasa the rich were of the Theban CHAP. II. THE EOMAN CONQUEST. 493 and Lacedemonian party, the democrats were in favor of Athens. At Coroyra the popular faction were for Athens, and the aristocracy for Sparta.' Athens had allies in all the cities of Peloponnesus, and Sparta had them in all the Ionian cities. Thucydides and Xeno- phon agree in saying that there was not a single city where the people were not favorable to the Athenians, and the aristocracy to the Spartans." This war rep- resents a general eflFort which the Greeks made to establish everywhere a single constitution with the hegemony of a city; bat a part desired an aristocracy under the protection of Sparta, while others favored a democracy with the support of Athens. It was the same in Philip's time. The aristocratic party, in all the cities, desired the domination of Macedon. In PhilopcEmen's time the cases were reversed, but the sen- timents remained the same ; the popular party accepted the empire of Macedon, and all who were in favor of the aristocracy joined the Achaean league. Thus the wishes and the affections of men no longer had the city as the object. There were few Greeks who were not ready to sacrifice municipal independence in order to obtain the constitution which they preferred. As to honest and scrupulous men, the perpetual dissensions which they, saw disgusted them with the municipal system. They could not love a form of society, where it was necessary to fight every day, where the rich and the poor were always at war, and where they saw popular violence and aristocratic ven- geance alternate without end. They wished to escape from a regime which, after having produced real gran- » Thucydides, 11. 2; III. 65, 70; V. 29, 7G. ' Thucydides, III. 47. Xenophon, Bell., VI. 3, 494 MUNICIPAL EEGIMB DISAPPBAKS. BOOK V. deur, no longer produced anything but suffering and hatred. They began to feel the necessity of abandon- ing the municipal system, and of arriving at some other form of government than the city. Many men dreamed at last of establishing above the cities a sort of sover- eign power, which should look to the maintenance of order, and compel those turbulent little societies to live in peace. It was thus that Phocion, a good citizen, ad- vised his compatriots to accept the authority of Philip, and promised them, at this price, concord and security. In ItaJy affairs were in much the same condition as in Greece. The cities of Latium, of the Sabines, and of Etruria were distracted by the same revolutions and the same struggles, and love of the city disappeared. As in Greece, every man was ready to join a foreign city, in order to make bis opinions and interests prevail in his own. These dispositions of mind made the fortune of the Romans. They everywhere supported the aristocracy ; everywhere, too, the aristocracy were their allies. Let us take a few examples. The Claudian gens left the Sabines because Homan institutions pleased them bet- ter than those of their own country. At the same epoch many Latin families emigrated to Rome, because they did not like the democratic government of Latium, and the Romans had just established the reign of the palricians.' At Ardea, the aristocracy and the plebs being at enmity, the plebs called the Volscians to their aidj and the aristocracy delivered the city to the Ro- mans.'' Etruria was full of dissensions ; Veii had over- thrown her aristocratic government; the Romans at- tacked this city, and the other Etruscan cities, where tho ' Didnjrsius, "VI. 2. ' iJivy, IV. 9, 10. CHAP. n. THE ROMAN CONQtTEST. 49£ Bacei'dotal aristocracy still held sway, refused to aic the Veientines. The legend adds that in this war thf Romans carried away a Veientine aruspex, and mad* him deliver them an oracle that assured them the Tic tory. Does not this legend signify that the Etrnscat priests delivered the city to the Romans ? Later, when Capua revolted against Rome, it wai remarked that the knights — that is to say, the aristo cratic body — took no part in that insurrection.' In 313 the cities of Ausona, Sora, MinturnsB, and Yescia wen delivered to the Romans by the aristocratic party. When the Etruscans were seen to form a coalitioi against Rome, it was because popular governments ha( been established among them. A single city — that oi AiTetium — refused to enter this coalition; and thi was because the aristocracy still prevailed in An-etium When Hannibal was in Italy, all the cities, were agi tated ; but it was not a question of independence. Ii every city the aristocracy were for Rome, and the pleb for the Carthaginians.' The manner in which Rome' was governed will ex plain this constant preference which the aristocrac; entertained for it. The series of revolutions comtinnei as in other cities, but more slowly. In 500,, when th Latin cities already had tyrants, a patrician reactio had. succeeded at Rome. The democracy rose aftei wards, buit gradually, amd with much mioderation an self-restraint. The Roman government was, therefon for a longer time aristoei'atic than any other, and wa long the hope of the aristocratic party. The democracy,, it is true,, finally carried the day i » Livy, VIII. n. ' LiTy, IX. 24, 25; X. 1. ' Livy, XXIII. 13, 14, 39 •„ XXXV. 2, 3. 496 MUNICIPAL EEGIME DI8APPEAES. BOOK V. Rome; but even then the proceedings, and what one might call the artifices, of the government remained ■aristocratic. In the comitia centuriata the votes wei-e ■flistributed according to property. It was not alto- gether diflferent with the comitia tributa : legally, no distinction of wealth was admitted there; in fact, the poor class, being included in the four city tribes, had but four votes to oppose to the thirty-one of the chiss of propi-ietors. Besides, nothing was more quiet, ordi- narily, than these assemblies; no one spoke there, ex- cept the president, or some one whom he called upon. Orators were little heard there, and there was little discussion. More generally there was simply a vote of yes or no. and a count of the votes. This last oper- ation, being very complicated, demanded much time and patience. Add to this that the senate was not renewed annually, as in the democratic cities of Greece ; it sat for life, and very nearly recruited itself. It was really an oligarchic body. The manners of the Romans were still more aristo- cratic than their institutions. The senators had seats reserved at the theatre. The rich alone served in the cavalry ; the grades of the army were in great part reserved for the young men of the great families. Scipio was not sixteen years old when he already com- manded a squadron. The rule of the rich class was kept up longer at Rome than in any other city. This was due to two causes. One was, that Rome made great conquests, and the [irofits of these went to the class that was already rich ; all lands taken from the conquered were possessed by them ; they seized upon the commerce of the con- quered countries, and joined with it the benefits derived from the collection of duties and the administration of the CHAP, n. THE EOMAN CONQUEST. 497 provinces. These families, thus increasing their w ealth with every generation, became immeasurably opulent, and each one of them was a power, compared with the people. The other cause was, that the Roman, even the poorest, had an innate respect for wealth. Long after real clientship had disappeared, it was, in a certain sense, resuscitated under the form of a homage paid to great fortunes ; and it became a custom for the poor to go every morning to salute the ricjh. It does not follow from this that the straggle be- tween rich and poor was not seen at Rome, as well as in other cities ; but it commenced only in the time of the Gracchi, — that is to say, after the conquest was almost achieved. Besides, this struggle never had at Rome that character of violence which it assumed everywhere else. The lower orders of Rome never ardently coveted riches. They aided the Gracchi in a lukewarm manner; they refused to believe that these reformers were working for them, and abandoned'them at the decisive moment. The agrarian laws, so often presented to the rich as a menace, always left the peo- ple quite indifferent, and agitated them, only on the surface. It is clear that they were not very eager to possess lands; for, if they were offered a share in the public lands, — that is to say, in the domain of the state, — they at least never had a thought of despoiling the rich of their property. Psfftly from inveterate re- spect, and partly from a habit of doing nothing, they loved to live by the side of the rich, and as it were in their shadow. The rich class had the wisdom to admit to its circle the most considerable families of the subject and allied cities. All who were rich in Italy came gradually to form the rich class of Rome. This body continued to 32 498 MTTNICIPAL EEGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V. increase in importance, and became the miaster of the state. The rich alone filled the magistracies, because these cost a great sum to purchase. They alone com- posed the senate, because it required a very laige prop- erty to be a senator. Thus we see this strange fact, that, in spite of democratic laws, a nobility was formed, and that the people, who wire all-powerful, suffered this nobility to take rank above them, and never made any real opijosition to it. Rome, therefore, from the third to the second cen- tury before our era, was the most aristocratically gov- erned city that existed in Italy or Greece. Finally, let js lemark that, if the senate was obliged to manage ;he multitude on home questions, it was absolute master io far as concerned foreign affairs. It was the senate ;hat received ambassadors, that concluded alliances, ,hat distributed the provinces and the legions, that •atified the acts of the generals, that detei-mined the jonditions allowed to the conquered — all acts which everywhere else, belonged to the popular assembly. Foreigners, in their relations with Rome, had, there- ore, nothing to do with the people. The senate alone ipoke, and the idea was held out that the people had no jower. This was the opinion which a Greek expressed ;o Flaminius. "In your country," said he, "riches ilono govern, and all else is submissive to it." ' As a result of this, in all the cities the aristocracy urned their eyes towards Rome, counted upon it, ooked to it for protection, and followed its fortunes. This seemed so much the more natural, as Rome was i foreign city to nobody ; Sabines, Latins, and Etrus- jans saw in it a Sabine, Latin, or Etruscan city, and the Greeks recognized Greeks in it. ' Livy, XXXIV. 31. EIAP. n. THB ROMAN qOKQUBST. 499 As soon as the Komans appeared in Greece, the ristocracy surrendered to them. Hardly anybody lought then that they were choosing between inde- endence and subjection ; for most men the question ras only between aristocracy and the popular party. a all the cities the latter was for Philip, Antiochus, r Perseus, and the former for Rome. We may see 1 Polybius and Livy that when Argos opened her ates, in B. C. 198, to the Macedonians, the people had he sway there ; that the next year, it was the party f the rich that gave up Opuntii to the Romans ; that, mong the Acarnanians, the aristocracy made a treaty f alliance with Rome, and that in the following year his treaty was broken, because, in the intei-val, the leople had recovered the ascendency ; that Thebes was Hied with Philip so long as the popular party had the lower, and sided with Rome the moment the aristoo- acy became the masters ; that at Athens, at Deme- rias, and. at Phocsea the populace were hostile to the lomans ; that Nabis, the democrati.o tyrant, made war ipon them ; that the Achaean league, as long as it was ;overned by the aristocracy, was favorable to them; hat men like Philopoemen and Polybius desired na- ional independence, but preferred Roman rule to lemocvacy; that in the Achaean league itself there lame a moment when the popular party rose in its urn, and from that moment the league was the enemy if Rome ; that Diaeus and Critolaus were at the same ime the chiefs of the popular faction and the generals if the league against the Romans, and that they fought •ravely at Scarphea and at Leucopetra, less perhaps or the independence of Greece than for the triumph if democracy. Such facts show clearly enough how Rome, without 500 MUNICIPAL EEGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V any very great efforts, obtained the empire. The mu- nicipal spirit gradually disappeared. The love of independence became a very rare sentiment, and all hearts were entirely enlisted in the interests and pas- sions of parties. Insensibly men forgot the city. The barriers which had previously separated cities, and had made of thera so many distinct little worlds, whose liorizons bounded the wishes and thoughts of every one, fell one after another. In all Italy and in all Greece, only two groups of men were distinguished : on one hand was an aristocratic class, on the other a popular party. One party labored for the supremacy of Rome, the other opposed it. The aristocracy were victorious, and Rome acquired the empire. 4. Home evert/where destroys the Municipal System. The institutions of the ancient city had been weak- sued, and almost exhausted, by a series of revolutions. One of the first results of the Roman dominion was to complete their destruction, and to efface what stUl re- mained of them. This we can see by observing the jondition into which the nations fell as they became subject to Rome. We must first banish from our minds all the customs 3f modern politics, and not picture to ourselves the lations entering the Roman state, one after another, IS in our day provinces are annexed to a kingdom, which, on receiving these new members, extends its boundaries. The Roman state {civitas Romano) was dot enlarged by conquests; it never included any fam- ilies except those that figured in the religious ceremony jf the census. The Roman territory (a^er Jtomamcs) aever increased. It remained enclosed within the CHAP. n. THE ROMAN CONQUEST. 601 immutable limits which the kings had traced for it, and which the ceremony of the Amiarvalia sanctified every year. What increased with every conquest was the domiuipn of Rome (imperium Bamanum) . So long as the republic lasted, it never entered the mind of any one that the Romans and the other peo- ples could form a single nation. Rome might, indeed, receive a few of the conquered, allow them to live within her walls, and transiorm them, in the course of time, into Romans; but she could not assimilate a whole foreign people to her people, an entire territory to her territory. Still this was not peculiar to the policy of Rome, but a principle that held through all antiquity; it was a principle from which Rome would sooner have departed than any other city, but from which she could not entirely free herselfl Whenever, therefore, a people was conquered, it did not enter the Roman state; it entered only the Roman dominion. It was not united to Rome, as provinces are to-day united to a capital ; between other nations and itself Rome knew only two kinds of connection — subjection or alliance. From this it would seem that municipal institutions must have subsisted among the conquered, and tha,t the world must have been an assemblage of cities distinct from each other, and having at their head a i-uling city. But it was nothing of the kind. The effect of the Roman conquest was to work in every city a complete transformation. On one side were the subjects dedititii, or those who, having pronounced the. formula of the deditio, had delivered to the Roman people "their persons, their walls, their lands, their lyaters, their houses, their temples, and their gods.'' 502 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V. They had therefore renounced, not only their muni- cipal government, but all that appertained to it among the ancients, — that is to say, their religion aud their private law. From that moment these men no longer formed a political body among themselves; nothing that goes to make up a regular society remained to them. Their city (urbs) might remain standing, but the state (civitas) had perished. If they continued to live together, they lived without institutions, laws, or magistrates. The arbitrary authority of a prcefectus sent by Rome maintained material order among them.' Dn the other hand were the allies — foederati, or socii. rhey were less cruelly treated. The day on which ;hey entered the Roman dominion, it had been stipu- ated that they should preserve their municipal govern- ment, and should remain organized into cities. They ;herefbre continued to have in every city a constitution, Tiagistracies, a senate, a prytaneum, laws, and judges. The city was supposed to be independent, and seemed ;o have no other relations with Rome than those of an illy with its ally. Still, in the terms of the treaty ivhich had been drawn up at the time of the conquest, Rome had been careful to insert these words: Majes- atempopyli JRomani comiter conservator These terms jstablished the dependence of the allied city upon the netropolitan city, and as they were very vague, it hap- )ened that the measure of this dependence was .nlwaya n accordance with the will of the stronger. These sities, which were called free, received orders from Some, obeyed proconsuls, and paid taxes to the col- • Livy, I. 38; VII. 31; IX. 20; XXVI. 16; XXVIII. 34. ::ieeio, De Lege Agr., I. 6; II. 32. Festus, y. PrafeciuYcB. • Cicero, Pro BaXlo, 16. CHA.P. II. THB ROMAN CONQUEST. 503 lectors of the revenue. Their magistrates irender'ed their accounts to the governor of the province, who also heard the appeals from the judges.' Now, such wiis the nature of the municipal system among the an- cients that it needed complete independence, or it ceased to exist. Between the maintenance of the in stitutions of the city and their subordination to .1 for- eign power, there was a contradiction which perhaps does not clearly appear to the eyes of the moderns, but which must have struck every man of that period. Mu- nicipal liberty and the government of Rome were ir- reconcilable ; the first could be only an appe.-irance, a falsehood, an amusement calculated to divert the minds of men. Each of those cities sent, almost every year, a deputation to Rome, and its most minute and most pri- vate affairs were regulated by the senate. They still had their municipal magistrates, their archons, and their strategi, freely elected by themselves; but the archon no longer had any other duty than to inscribe his name on the registers for the purpose of marking the year, and the strategus, in earlier times the chief of the army and of the state, now had no other care tlian to keep the streets in order, and inspect the mar- kets.'' Municipal institutions, therefore, perished among the nations that were called allies as well as among those that bore the name of subjects ; there was only tiiis diflFerence, that the first preserved the exterior forms. Indeed, the city, as antiquity had understood it, was no longer seen anywhere, except within the walls of Rome. ' Livy, XLV. 18. Cicero, ad Attic, VI. 1, 2. Appian, Civil Wars, I. 102. Tacitus, XV. 45. ^ Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists, I. 23. Boeckh., Corp. Inscr., passim. 504 MUNICIPAL BEGIMB DISAPPEARS. BOOK V. Then, too, the Romans, while everywhere destroying the municipal system, substituted nothing in its place. To the people whose institutions they took away, they 3id not give their own instead. The Romans never thought of creating new institutions for their use; they never made a constitution for the people of their em- pire, and did not understand how to establish fixed rules for their government. Even the authority which Rome exercised over the cities had no regularity. As they made no part of her state, or of her city, she had no legal power over them. Her subjects were strau- lers to her — a reason why she exercised this irregular md unlimited power which ancient municipal law al- lowed citizens to exei-cise towards foreigners and ene- mies. It was on this principle that the Roman admin- istration was a long time regulated, and this is the manner in whiih it was earned on. Rome sent one of her citizens into a country. She made that country the province of this man, — that is bo say, his charge, his own care, his personal afiair; this was the sense of the word provincia. At the same time she conferred upon this citizen the imperivm / this signified that she gave up in his favor, for a deter- mined time, the sovereignty which she held over the 30unti'y. From that time this citizen represented in his person all the rights of the republic, and by this [iieans he was an absolute master. He fixed the amount af taxes ; he exercised the military power, and admin- istered justice. His relations with the subjects, or the allies, were limited by no constitution. When he sat in his judgment-seatjhe pronounced decisions accord- ing to his own will ; no law controlled him, neither the provincial laws, as he was a Roman, nor the Roman laws, as he passed judgment upon provincials. If there aAP. U. THK KOMAN CONQUEST, 505 ere laws between hirn and those that he governed, he ad to make them himself, for he alone could bind him- jlf. Therefore the imperium with which he was lothed included the legislative power ; and thus it appened that the governors had the right, and estab- shed the custom, on entering the provinces, of pub- shing a code of laws, which they called their Edict, nd to which they morally promised to conform. But 8 the governors were changed annually, these codes hanged every year, for the reason that the law had its uurce only in the will of the man who was for the ime invested with the miperium. This princiiDle was rigorously applied that, when a judgment had been renounced by a governor, but had not been entirely xecuted at the time of his departure from the province, he arrival of his successor completely annulled this udgmeut, and the proceedings were recommenced.' Such was the omnipotence of the governor. He was he living law. As to invoking the justice of Rome gainst his acts of violence or his crimes, the provin- ials could not do this unless they could find a Homan itizen who would act as their patron ; '^ for, as to them- elves, they had no right to demand the protection of he laws of the city, or to appeal to its courts. They irere foreigners; the judicial and official language called hem peregrini ; all that the law said of the hostis con- inued to be applied to them. The legal situation of the inhabitants of the empire ppears clearly in the writings of the Roman juris- lonsults. We therie see that the people are considered IS no longer having their own laws, and as not yet hav- ng those of Rome. For them, therefore, the law • Gmus, IV. 103, 105. ' Cicero, De Orat., I. 9. 506 MUNICIPAL EEGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V did not exist in any manner. In the eyes of tiie Ro- man jurisconsult, a provincial was neither husband nor father, — that is to say, the law recognized neither his marital nor his paternal authority. For him property did not exist. It was a double impossibility for. him to become a proprietor; it was impossible by leason of his personal condition, because he was not a Roman citizen, and impossible by reason of the condition of the land, because it was not Roman territory, and the law admitted the complete right of ownership only within the limits of the ager Somanus. For the lawyers taught that the land in the provinces was never private property, and that men could have only the possession and usufruct thereof.' Now, what they said in the sec- ond century of our era of the provincial territory had been equally true of the Italian soil before Italy ob- tained the Roman franchise, as we shall presently see. It is certain, then, that the people, as fast as they en- tered the Roman empire, lost their municipal religion, their government, and their private law. We can easi- ly believe that Rome softened in practice whatever was destructive in this subjection. We see, indeed, that, though the Roman laws did not recognize the paternal authority in the subject, they allowed this authority still to subsist in practice. If they did not permit a certain man to call himself a proprietor of the soil, they still allowed him the possession of it; he cultivated his land, sold it, and devised it by will. It was not said that this land was bis, but they said it was as good as his, pro suo. It was not his property, dominium, but it was among his goods, in bonis ' Rome thus invented ' Gaius, II. 7. Cicero, Pro Flacco, 32. " Gaius, I. 62; 11. 5, 6, 7. CHAP. n. THE EOMAN CONQUEST, 507 for the benefit of the subject a niultitncle of turns and artifices of language. Indeed, the Roman genius, if its municipal traditions prevented it from making laws for the conquered, could not sufier society to fall into dis- solution. In principle the provincials were placed out- side the laws, while in fact they lived as if they had them ; but with the exception of this, and the tolerance of the conquerors, all the institutions of the vanquished and all their laws were allowed to disappear. The Roman empire presented, for several generations, this singular spectacle : A single city remained intact, pre- serving its institutions and its laws, while all the rest — that is to say, more than a hundred millions of souls — either had no kind of laws, or had such as were not recognized by the ruling city. The world then was not precisely in a state of chaos, but force, arbitrary rule, and convention, in default of laws and principles, alone sustained society. Such was the efiect of the Roman conquest on the nations that successively became its prey. Of the city everything went to ruin ; religion first, then the gov- ernment, and finally private law. All the municipal institutions, already for a long time shaken, were finally overthrown and destroyed ; but no regular society, no system of government, replaced at once what had dis- appeared. There was a period of stagnation between the moment when men saw the municipal governments dissolve and that in which another form of society ap- peared. The nation did not at once succeed the city, for the Roman empire in no wise resembled a nation. It was a confused multitude, where there was real order only in one central point, and where all the rest en- joyed only a factitious and transitory order, and ob- tained this only at the price of obedience. The con- 508 MUNICIPAL EBGIMB DISAPPBAES, BOOK V. quered nations succeeded in establishing tliemselves as an organized body only by conquering in their turn the rights and institutions which Rome was inclined to keep for itself. In order to this they had to enter the Roman city, make a place for themselves there, presa forward, and transform that city also, in order to make of themselves and Rome one body. This was a long and difficult task. 5. The Conquered Nations successively enter the Roman City. We have seen how deplorable was the condition of the Roman subject, and how the condition of the citi- zen was. to be envied. Not vanity alone, but the most real and dearest interests had to suffer. "Whoever was not a Roman citizen was not reputed to be either a husband or a father; legally he could be neither pro- prietor nor heir. Such was the value of the title of Roman citizen, that without it one was outside the law, and with it he entered regular society. It hap- pened, therefore, that this title became the object of the most lively desires of men. The Latin, the Italian, the Greek, and, later, the Spaniard and the Gaul, aspired to be Roman citizens — the single means of having rights and of counting for something. All, one after another, nearly in the order in which they entered the Roman empire, labored to enter the Roman city, and, after long efforts, succeeded. This slow introduction into the Roman state is the last act in the long history of the social transformations of the ancients. To ob- serve this gi'eat event in all its successive phases, we must exajnine its commencement, in the fourth century before our era. CHAP. n. THE ROMAN CONQUEST. 509 Latium had been conquered ; of the forty small peo- ples who inhabited it, Rome had exterminated half. She had despoiled some of their lands, and had left to others the title of allies. In B. C. 340 the latter pei-- ceived that the alliance was entirely to their detriment, that they were expected to obey in everything, and that they were required every yeai- to lavish their blood and money for the sole benefit of Rome. They formed a coalition ; their chief, Annius, thus stated their'demands in the Roman senate : " Give us equality. Let us have 'the same laws; let us form but a single state — una eivitas/ let us have but a single name; let us all alike be called Romans." Annius thus announced, in the year 340, the desirie which all the nations of the empire, one after another expressed, and which was to be com- plfetely realized only after five centuries and a half. Then such a thdught was new and very unexpected ; the Romans declared it monstrous and criminal. It was, indeed, contrary to the old religion and the old law of the cities. The consul, Manlius, replied, that if such a proposition should be accepted, he would alay with his own hand the first Latin who should come to take his seat in the senate ; then, turning towards the altar, he called upon the god to witness, saying, " Thott hast heard, O Jupiter, the impious Words that have come from- this man's mbuth. Canst thou tolerate, O Jupiter, that a foreigner should come to sit in thy sa- cred temple as a senator, as a consul ?" Thus Manlius expressed the old sentiment of repulsion that separated the citizen from the foreigner. He was the organ of the ancient religious law, which prescribed that the for- ■gner should be detested by the men because he was irsed by the gocis of the city. It appeared to him im- ossible that a Latin should be a senator because the 510 MUNICIPAI, REGIME DISAPPBAK8. BOOK V. place of meeting for the senate was a temple, and the Roman gods conld not suffer the presence of a foreigner in their sanctuary. War followed : the Latins, being conquered, sur- rendered, — that is to say, they gave up to the Romans their cities, their worships, their laws, and their lands. Their position was cruel. A consul said in the senate that, if they did not wish Rome to be surrounded by a vast desert, the fate of the Latins should be settled with some regard to clemency. Livy does not clearly explain what was done. If We are to trust him, the Latins obtained the right of Roman citizenship without including in the political privileges the right of suffrage, or in the civil the right of marriage. We may also note, that these new citizens were not counted in the census. It is clear that the senate deceived the Latins in giving them the name of Roman citizens. This title disguised a real subjection, since the men who bore it had the obligations of citizens without the rights. So true is this, that several Latin cities revolted, in order that this pretended citizenship might be withdrawn. A century passed, and, without Livy's notice of the fact, we might easily discover that Rome had changed her policy. The condition of the Latins having the rights of citizens, without suffrage and without connu- bium, no longer existed. Rome had withdrawn from them the title of citizens, or, rather, had done away with this filsehood, and had decided to restore to the dif- ferent cities their municipal governments, their laws, nnd their magistracies. But by a skilful device Rome opened a door which, narrow as it was, permitted subjects to enter the Roman city. It granted to every Latin who had been a magis- trate in his native city the right to become a Roman CHAP. n. THE EOMAIT CONQUEST. 511 citizen at the expiration of his term of officR.' This time the gift of this right was complete and without reserve; suffrage, magistracies, census, marriage, pri- vate law, all were included. Rome resigned itself to share with the foreigner its religion, its government, anrl its laws; only its favors Avere individual, and were addressed not to entire cities, hut to a few men in each of them. Rome admitted to her bosom only what was best, wealthiest, and most estimable in Latiiim. This right of citizenship then became precious, first, because it was complete, and secondly, because it was a privilege. Through it a man figured in the comitia of the most powerful city of Italy; he might be consul and commander of the legions. There was also the means of satisfying more inodest ambitions; thanks to this right, one might ally himself, by marriage, to a Roman family; or he might take up his abode at Rome, and become a proprietor there ; or he might carry on trade in Rome, which had already become one of the first commercial towns in the world. One might enter the company of farmers of the revenue, — that is to say, take a part in the enormous profits which accrued from the collection of the revenue, or from speculations in the lauds of the ager puhlicus. Wherever one lived he was efiectually protected ; he escaped the authority of the municipal magistrate, and was sheltered from the caprices of the Roman magistrates themselves. By being a citizen of Rome, a man gained honor, wealth, and security. The Latins, therefore, became eager to obtain this title, and used all sorts of means to acquire it. One day, when Rome wished to appear a little severe, she ? Appian, Civil Wars, II. 26. 512 MUNICIPAL eegime'disappeaes. book v. found that twelve thousand of them had obtained it through fraud. Ordinarily, Rome shut her eyes, knowing that by this means her population increased, and that the losses of war were thus repaired. But the Latin cities snifered ; their richest inhabitants became Roman citizens, and Latium was impoverished. The taxes, from which the richest were exempt as Roman citizens, became more and more burdensome, and the contingent of soldiers that had to be furnished to Rome was every year more difficult to fill up. The larger the number of those who obtained the Roman franchise, the harder was the lot of those who had not that right. There came a time when the Latin cities demanded that this fran- chise should cease to be a privilege. The Italian cities, which, having been conquered two centuries before, were in nearly the same condition as those of Latium, and also saw their richest inhabitants abandon them to become Romans, demanded for themselves the Roman franchise. The fate of stibjects and allies had become all the less supportable at this period, from the fact that the Roman democracy was then agitating the great question of the agrarian laws. Now, the principle of all these laws was, that neither subject nor ally could be an owner of the soil, except by a formal act of the city, and that the gi-eater part of the Italian lands be- longed to the republic. One party demanded, there- fore, that these lands, which were nearly all occupied by Italians, should be taken back by the state, and dis- tributed among the poor of Rome. Thus the Italians were menaced with general ruin. They felt keenly the need of civil rights, and they could only come into possession of these by becoming Roman citizens. The war that followed was called the social war; CHAP. n. THE EOMAN CONQUEST. 513 the allies of Rome took np arms that they might no longer be allies, but might become Romans. Rome, though victorious, was still constrained to grant what was demanded, and the Italians received the rights of citizenship. Thenceforth assimilated to the Romans, they could vote in the forum ; in private life they were governed by Roman laws ; their right to the soil was recognized, and the Italian lands, as well as Roman soil, could be owned by them in fee simple. Then was established the jus Itdlicum: this was the law, not df ■the Italian person, since the Italian had become a Ro- man, but of the Italian soil, which was susceptible of ownership, just as if it had been the ager Momanus.' From that time all Italy formed a single state. There still remained the provinces to enter into the Roman nnity. We must make a distinction between Greece and the provinces of the west. In the west were Gaul and ■Spain, which, before the conquest, knew nothing of the real municipal system. The Romans attempted to create this fonn of government among them, either thinking it impossible to govern them otherwise, or judging that, in order gradually to assimilate them to the Italian nations, it would be necessary to maike them pass over the same route which the Italians had fol- lowed. Hence it happened that the emperors who suppressed all political life at Rome, kept up the forms of municipal liberty in the provinces. Thus cities were formed in Gaul ; each had its senate, its aristocratic body, its elective magistrates; each had even its locnl worship, its "Genius, and its city-protecting divinity, After the manner of those in ancient Greece and an- ' Thenceforth also called res mancipi. See tJlpian. 33 514 MUNICIPAT, EEGTME DISAPPKAES. BOOK V. cient Itnly. Now, tliis municipal system, thus estab- lished, did not prevent men from nniving at the Roman citizenship ; on the contrary, it prepared them for it. A gradation, skilfully arranged among these cities, marked the steps by which they were insensibly to approach Rome, and finally to become assimilated with it. There were distinguished, first, the allies, who had a government and laws of their own, and no legal bond with Roman citizens ; second, the colonies, which en- joyed the civil rights of the Romans, without having political rights; third, the cities of the Italian right, — that is to say, those to whom, by the favor of Rome, the complete right of property over their lands had been granted, as if these lands had been in Italy; fourth, the cities of the Latin right, — that is to say, those whose inhabitants could, following the custom formerly established in Latium, become Roman citizens after having held a municipal office. These distinctions were so deep, that between persons of two diiferent classes no marriage or other legal relation was possible. But the emperors took care that the cities should rise in the course of time, and one after another, from the condition of subjects or allies, to the Italian right, fi-om the Italian right to the Latin right. When a city had arrived at this point, its principal families became Romans one after another. Greece entered just as little into the Roman state. At first every city preserved the forms and machinery of the municipal government. At the moment of the conquest, Greece showed a desire to preserve its au- tonomy ; and this was left to it longer, perhaps, than it would have wished. At the end of a few generations it aspired to become Roman ; vanity, ambition, and interest worked for this. ,CHAP. n. THE SOMAN CONQUEST. 515 The Greeks had not for Rome that hatred which is usually borne towards a foreign master. They admired it ; they had a veneration for it ; of their own accord they devoted a worship to it, and built temples to it as to a god. Every city forgot its protecting divinity, and worshipped in its place the goddess Rome and the god Caesar; the greatest festivals were for them, and the first magistrates had no higher duty than celebrating with great pomp the Augustan games. Men thus be- came accustomed to lift their eyes above their cities ; they saw in Rome the model city, the true country, the piytaneum of all nations. The city where one was born seemed small. Its interests no longer occupied their minds; the honors which it conferred no longer satisfied their ambition. Men thought themselves noth- ing if they were not Roman citizens. Under the em- perors, it is true, this title no longer conferred political fights ; but it offered more solid advantages, since the man who was clothed with it acquired at the same time the full right to hold property, the right to inherit, the right to marry, the paternal authority, and all the private rights of Rome. The laws which were found in each city were variable and without foundation; they were merely tolerated. The Romans despised them, and the Greeks had little respect for them. In order to have fixed laws, recognized by all as truly sa- cred, it was necessary to have those of Rome. We do not see that all Greece, or even a Greek city, formally asked for this right of citizenship, so much de- sired; but men worked individually to acquire it, and Rome bestowed it with a good grace.' Some obtained it through the favor of the emperor; others bought it. It was granted to those who had three children, or who served in certain divisions of the army. Somer 516 MUNICIPAL EEGIMB DISAPPEAES. BOOK T. times to construct a mercliant vessel of a certain ton- nage, or to carry grain to Rome, was sufficient to ob- tain it. An easy and prompt means of acquiring it was to sell one's self as-a slave to a Roman citizen, for tlie act of freeing him according to legal forms con- ferred the right of citizenship.' One who had the title of Roman citizen no longer formed a part of his native city, either civilly or politically. He could continue to live there, but he was considered an alienj he was no longer subject to the laws of the city, he no longer obeyed its magistrates, no longer supported its pe- cuniary burdens.' This was a consequence of the old principle, which did not permit a man to belong to two cities at the same time." It naturally happened that, after several generations, there were in every Greek oity quite a large number of men, and these ordinarily the wealthiest, who recognized neither its government nor its laws. Thus slowly, and as if by a natui-al death, peiished the municipal system. There came a time when the city was a mei-e framework that contained nothing, where the local laws applied to hardly a per- son, where the municip.il judges no longer had anything to adjudicate upon. Finally, when eight or ten generations had sighed for the Roman fi-anchise, and;all those who were of any account had obtained it, there appeared an imperial ' Suetonius, Nero, 24. Petronius, 67. Ulpian, III. Gaius, I. 16, 17. ^ He became an alien even in respect to his own family, if it had not, like him, tlie right of citizenship. He did not inherit its property. Pliny, Panegyric, 37. ' Cicero, Pro Ballo, 28 ; Pro Archia, 6 ; Pro Ccecina, 36. Cornelius Nepos, Attieus, 3. Greece long before had abandoned this principle, but Rome held faithfully to it. CHAP. n. THB BOMAir CONQXTfiST. 5t7 decree -which granted it to all free men without dis- tinction. What is remarkable here is, that no one can tell the date of this decree or tlie name of the prince who is- sued it. The honor is given, with some probability of truth, to Caraealla, — that is to say, to a prince who never had very elevated views ; and this is attributed to him as simply a fiscal measure. We meet in history with few more important decrees than this. It abol- ished the distinction whicli had existed since the Ro- man conquest between the dominant nation and the subject peoples ; it oven caused to disappear a much older distinction, which I'eligion and law had made be- tween cities. Still the historians of that time took no note of it, and all we know of it we glean from two vague passages of the juiisconsults and a short notice in Dion Cassius.^ If this decree did not strike contempo- ' " Attloninits Km jus Romanm civUaHs omniiiis subj^ctis. dona/cit." Justinian, Noliets, 7S, ch. 5. " iji orbe Romano qu/i sunt, ex constitutione imperatoris Anionini, cives Romani effiecti sunt." Ulpian, in Digest, I. tit. 6, 17. It is known, moreover, from Spartianus, that Caraealla was called Antoninus in official acts. Dion Cassius says that Caraealla gave all the inhabitants of the empire the Roman franchise in order to make general the impost of tithes on enfranchisements and successions. The dis- tinction between peregrini, Latins, and citizens did not entirely disappear; it is found in Ulpian and in the Code. Indeed, it appeared natural that enfranchised slaves should not imme- diately become Roman citizens, but should pass through all the old grades that separated servitude from citizenship. We als j judge from certain indications that the distinction between the Italian lands and the provincial lands still continued for a long time. (Code, VII. 25; VII. 31; X. 39. Digest, L. tit. 1.) Thus the city of Tyre, in Phoenicia, even later thail Caraealla, enjoyed as a privilege the jus Italieum.. (^Digest, IV. 15.) The continuance of this distinction is explained by the interest of the 518 MUNICIPAL KEGIMB DISAPPEABS. BOOK V. raries, and was not remarked by those who then wrote history, it is because the change of which it was the legal expression had been accomplished long before. The inequality between citizens and subjects had been lessened every generation, and had been gradually ef- faced. The decree might jiass unperceived under the Teil of a fiscal measure ; it proclaimed and caused to pass into the domain of law what was already an ac- complished fact; The title of citizen then began to fall into desuetude ; o)', if it was still employed, it was to designate the con- dition of a free man as opposed to that of a slave. From that time all that made a part of the Roman em- pire, from Spain to the Euphrates, formed really one people and a single state. The distinction between cities had disappeared; that between nations still ap- peared, but was hardly noticed. All the inhabitants of this immense empire were equally Romans. The Gaul abandoned his name of Gaul, and eagerly assumed that of Roman; the Spaniard, the inhabitant of Thrace, or of Syria, did the same. There was now but a single name, a single country, a single government, a single code of laws. We see how the Roman city developed from age to age. At first it contained only patricians and clients; afterwards the plebeian class obtained a place there; then came the Latins, then the Italians, and finally the provincials. The conquest had not sufficed to work this great change ; the slow transfoimation of ideas, the prudent but uninterrupted concessions of the em- perors, and the eagerness of individual interests had been necessary. Then all the cities gradually disajj- emperors, who did not wish to be deprived of the tribute which the provincial lands paid into the treasury. CHAP. III. CHEISTIANITT. 519 pearecl, and the Roman city, the last one left, was it- self so transformed that it became the union of a dozen great nations under a single master. Thus fell the mu- nicipal system. It does not belong to our plan to tell by what system of government this was replaced, or to inquire if this change was at first more advantageous than unfortu- nate for the nations. We must stop at the moment when the old social forms which antiquity had estab- lished were forever effaced. CHAPTER III. Christianity changes the Conditions of Government. Thk victory of Christianity marks the end of ancient society. With the new religion this social transforma- tion, which we saw begun six or seven centuries earlier, was completed. To understand how much the principles and the es- sential rules of politics were then changed, we need only recollect that ancient society had been established by an old religion whose principal dogma was that every god protected exclusively a single family or a single city, and existed only for that. This was the time of the domestic gods and the city-protecting di- vinities. This religion had produced laws; the rela- tions among men — property, inheritance, legal pro- ceedings — all were regulated, not by the principles of natural equity, but by the dogmas of this religion, and with a view to the requirements of its worship. It was this religion that had established a government among 520 MUNICIPAL BEGIMB DISAPPBABS. BOOK. V. men ; that of the father in the family; that of the king or magistrate in the city. All had come from religion, — that is to say, from the opinion that man had enter- tained of the divinity. Religion, law, and government were confounded, and had been but a single thing un- der three different aspects. We have sought to place in a clear light this social system of the ancients, where reli^on. was absolute master, both in public and private life; where the state was a religious community, the king a pontiff, the ma- gistrate a priest, and the law a sacred formula ; where patriotism was piety, and exile excommunication; where individual liberty was unknown ; where man was enslaved to tlie state through his soul, his body, and his property; where the notions of law and of duty, of justice and of affection, were bounded within the limits of the city; where humdn association was neces- saiily confined within a certain circumference around a prytaneum ; and where men saw no possibility of founding larger societies. Such were the character- istic traits of the Greek and Italian cities during the first period of their history. But little by little, as we have seen, society became modified. Changes took place in government and in laws nt the same time as in religious ideas. Already, in the f.fth century which preceded Christianity, the alliiince was no longer so close between religion on the one hand and law and politics on the other. The ef- forts of the oppressed classes, the overthrow of the sncei'dotal class, the labors of philosophers, the progress of thought, had unsettled the ancient principles of hu- man association. Men had made incessant efforts to free themselves from the thraldom of this old religion, in which they could no longer believe ; law and politics, CHAP. III. CHEISTIA2J1TT. 521 aa well as morals, in the course of time wore freed from its fetters. But this species of divorce came from the disappear- ance of the ancient religion ; if law and politics began to be a little more independent, it was because men ceased to have religious beliefs. If society was no longer governed by religion, it was especially because this religion no longer had any power. But there came a day when the religious sentiment recovered life and vigor, and when, under the Christian form, be- lief regained its empire over the soul. Were men not then destined to see the reappearance of the ancient confusion of government and the priesthood, of faith and the law ? With Christianity not only was the religious senti- ment revived, but it assumed a higher and If ss material expression. Whilst previously men had made for them- selves gods of the human soul, or of the great forces of nature, they now began to look upon God as really for- eign by his essence, from human nature on the one . hand, and from the world on the other. The divine Being was placed outside and above physical nature. Whilst previously every man had made a god for him- self, and there were as many of them as there were families and cities, God now appeared as a unique,^ im- mense, universal being, alone animating the worlds, alone able to supply the need of adoration that is in man. Religion, instead of being, as formerly among the nations of Greece and Italy, little more than an as- semblage of practieesi a series of rites which men re- peated without having any idea of them, a succession of formulas which often were no longer understood be^- cause the language had grown old, a tradition which bad been transmitted from age to age, and which owed 522 MUITICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEAES. BOOK V. its sacred character to its antiquity alone, — was no\<^a collection of doctrines, and a great object proposed to faith. It was no longer exterior; it took up its abode especially in the thoughts of man. It was no longer matter; it became spirit. Christianity changed the nature and the form of adoration. Man no longer of- fered God food and drink. Prayer was no longer a form of incantation ; it was an act of faith and a humble petition. The soul sustained another relation with the ■divinity ; the fear of the gods was replaced by the love of God. Christianity introduced other new ideas. It was not the domestic religion of any family, the national reli- gion of any city, or of any race. It belonged neither to a caste nor to a corporation. From its first appear- ance it called to itself the whole human race. Christ said to his disciples, " Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature.'' This principle was so extraordinary, and so unex- pected, that the first disciples hesitated for a moment ; we may see in the Acts of the Apostles that several of them refused at first to propagate the new doctrine outside the nation with which it had originated. These disciples thought, like the ancient Jews, that the God of the Jews would not accept adoration from foreign- ers ; like the Romans and the Greeks of ancient times, they believed that every race had its god, that to propa- gate the name and worship of this god was to give up one's own good and special protectoi", and that such a work was contrary at the same titne to duty and to in- terest. But Peter replied to these disciples, "God gave the gentiles the like gift as he did unto us." St. Paul loved to repeat this grand principle on all occasions, and in every kind of form. « God had opened the door CHAP. ni. CHEISTIANITT. 523 of faith unto the gentiles." « Is he the God of the ' Jews, only ? Is he not also of the gentiles ? " " We are all baptized into one body, whether we be Jews or gentiles." In all this there was something quite new. For, everywhere, in the first ages of humanity, the divinity had been imagined as attaching himself especially to one race. The Jews had believed in the God of the Jews ; the Athenians in the Athenian Pallas ; the Ro- mans in Jupiter Capitolinus. The right to practise a worship had been a privilege. The foreigner had been repulsed from the temple ; one not a Jew could not enter the temple of the Jews ; the Lacedaemonian had not the right to invoke the Athenian Pallas. It is just to say, that, in the five cen- turies which preceded Christianity, all who thought were struggling against these narrow rules. Philoso- phy had often taught, since Anaxagoras, that the god of the universe received the homage of all men, without distinction. The religion of Eleusis had admitted the initiated from all cities. The religion of Cybele, of Serapis, and some others, had accepted, without dis- tinction, worshippers from all nations. The Jews had begun to admit the foreigner to their religion ; the Greeks and the Romans had admitted him into their cities. Christianity, coming after all this progress in thought and institutions, presented to the adoration of all nr.en a single God, a universal God, a God who be- longed to all, who had no chosen people, aud who made no distinction in races, families, or states. For this God there were no longer strangers. The stranger no longer profaned the temple, no longer tainted the sacrifice by his presence. The temple was open to all who believed in God. The priesthood h24 MDNICffAI. EEGIMB DISAPPEAES. BOOK V. ceased to be hereditary, because religion was no longeir a patrimony. The worship was no longer kept secret ; the rites, the prayers, the dogmas were no longer con- cealed. On the contrary, there was thenceforth religious instruction, which was not only given, but which was offered, which was careied to those who were the far- thest away, and which sought out the most indifferent. The spirit of propagandism replaced the law of ex- clusion. Froniithis great consequences flowed, as well for the relations between nations as for the government of states. Between nations religion no longer commanded hatred; it no longer made it the citizen's duty to detest the foreigner; its very essence, on the contrary, was to teach him that towards the stranger, towards the enemy, he owed the duties of justice, and even of benevolence. The barriera between nations or races were thus thrown down ; the pomoerium disappeared. " Christ," says the: apostle^. " hath broken down the middle wall of partition between us." " But now are they many members," he also says, "yet but one body." " There is neitker Greek nor Jew, circumcision nor uncircuracision, Barbarian, Scythian, bond nor free : but Christ is all, and in all." The. people were also taught that they were all de- scended from the same common fother. With the unity of God, the unity of the human race also appeared to men's minds; and it was thenceforth a religious neces- sity to forbid men to hate each other.- As to the government of the state, we cannot say that Christianity essentially altered that, precisely be- cause it did not occupy itself with the state. In the ancient ages, religion and thestate made bat one; every CHAP. HI. CHEISTIANITT. 525 people adored its own god, and every god governed his own people ; the same code regulated the relations among men, and their duties towards the gods of the city. Religion then governed the state, and designated its chiefs by the voice of the lot, or by that of the auspices. The state, in its turn, interfered with the domain of the conscience, and punished every infrjictioti of the rites and the worship of tlie city.. Instead of this, Christ teaches that his kingdom is not of this world. He separates Teligion from government. Religion, being no longer of the earth, now interferes the least possible in tea-restrial affairs. Christ adds, "Render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's." It is the fii-st time that God and the state are so clearly distinguished. For CsBsar at that period was still the ponUfex maximvs, the chief and the prin- cipal organ of the Roman religion ; he was the guardian and the interpreter of belief's. He held the worship and tlie dc^mas in his hands. Even his person was sacred and divine, for it was a peculiarity of the policy of the emperors that, "wishing to recover the attributes of .ancient royalty, they were careful not to forget the divine character whicli antiquity had attached to the ^g-pontiffs and to the rpfl-iest-founders. But now Cluist breaks the alliance which paganism and the em- pire wished to renew. He proclaims that religion is no longer 1iie state, and that to ob^'y Caesar is no longer the same thing as to obey God. Christianity completes the overthrow of the local worship ; it extinguishes the prytanea, and complete- ly destroys the city^^protecting divinities. It does more ; it refuses to assume the empire which these wor- ships had exercised over