THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA h --r: iij i > : î‘! 11^#! ENDOWED BY THE DIALECTIC AND PHILANTHROPIC SOCIETIES JC51 .F95 1901 c. 2 srtiAR i9 H 2 ? m UNIVERSITY OF N.C. AT CHAPEL HILL 10001081491 This book is due at the WALTER R. DAVIS LIBRARY on the last date stamped under “Date Due.” If not on hold, it may be renewed by bringing it to the library. RETURNED RETURNED juN i 8 1 \ 303- , OÏ B\ ' V . ***' * T— T- 1 - i. J L PFTFIVFD ! tfP 0 6 2018 Form No 513, Rev. 1/84 Il WT »* rZ. v bam liif. l i Iq tim Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2019 with funding from University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill https://archive.org/details/ancientcitystudy02fust THE ANCIENT CITY: A. STUDY ON THE RELIGION, LAWS, AND INSTITUTIONS OF GREECE AND ROME. BY FUSTEL DE COULANGES. TRANSLATED FROM THE LATEST FRENCH EDITION By WILLARD SMALL. TENTH EDITION. BOSTON: LEE AND SHEPARD. Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, By WILLARD SMALL, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Copyright, 1901, by Willard Small. CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION. PAO B Necessity of studying the oldest Beliefs of the Ancients in order to understand their Institutions. 9 BOOK FIRST. ANCIENT BELIEFS. CHAPTER I. Notions about the Soul and Death. 15 II. The Worship of the Dead. 23' III. The Sacred Fire. 29 IV. The Domestic Religion. 41 BOOK SECOND. THE FAMILY. CHAPTER I. Religion was the constituent Principle of the an¬ cient Family. 49 II. Marnage among the Greeks and Romans. 53 III. The Continuity of the Family. Celibacy forbidden. Divorce in Case of Sterility. Inequality be¬ tween the Son and the Daughter. 61 4 CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE IV. Adoption and Emancipation. 68 V. Kinship. What the Romans called Agnation. . . 71 VI. The Right ot Property. 76 VII. The Right of Succession. 93 1. Nature and Principle of the Right of Succes¬ sion among the Ancients. 93 2. The Son, not the Daughter, inherits. 95 3. Collateral Succession.100 4. Effects of Adoption and Emancipation. . . . 103 5. Wills were not known originally.104 6. The Right of Primogeniture.107 VIII. Authority in the Family.Ill 1. Principle and Nature of Paternal Power among the Ancients.Ill 2. Enumeration of the Rights composing the Pa¬ ternal Power.117 IX. Morals of the Ancient Family.123 X. The Gens at Rome and in Greece.131 1. What we learn of the Gens from Ancient Doc¬ uments.134 2. An Examination of the Opinions that have been offered to explain the Roman Gens. . 138 3. The Gens was nothing but the Family still holding to its primitive Organization and its Unity.. . 141 4. The Family (Gens) was at first the only Form of Society.146 CONTENTS. 5 BOOK THIRD. THE CITY. CHAPTER PAGE I. The Phratry and the Cury. The Tribe.154 II. New Religious Beliefs.159 1. The Gods of Physical Nature.159 2. Relation of this Religion to the Development \ of Human Society.161 III. The City is formed. 167 IV. The City. Urbs .177 V. Worship of the Founder. Legend of Æneas. . . 188 VI. The Gods of the City.193 VII. The Religion of the City.205 1. The Public Meals.205 2. The Festivals and the Calendar.210 3. The Census.213 4. Religion in the Assembly, in the Senate, in the Tribunal, in the Army. The Triumph. . . 216 VIII. The Rituals and the Annals.222 IX. Government of the City. The King.231 1. Religious Authority of the King.231 2. Political Authority of the King.235 X. The Magistracy.239 XI. The Law.248 XII. The Citizen and the Stranger.258 XIII. Patriotism. Exile. ..264 XXV. The Municipal Spirit. 268 XV. Relations between the Cities. War. Peace. The Alliance of the Gods.273 XVI. The Roman. The Athenian.280 XVII. Omnipotence of the State. The Ancients knew nothing of Individual Liberty.293 6 CONTENTS. BOOK FOURTH. REVOLUTIONS. OHAPTEK PAGE I. Patricians and Clients.299 II. The Plebeians.a07 III. First Revolution.314 1. The Political Power is taken from the Kings, who still retain their Religious Authority. . 314 2. History of this Revolution at Sparta.316 3. History of this Revolution at Athens.319 4. History of this Revolution at Rome.324 IV. The Aristocracy govern the Cities.330 V. Second Revolution. Changes in the Constitution of the Family. The Right of Primogeniture disappears. The Gens is dismembered.336 VI. The Clients are Freed.341 1. What Clientship was at ûrst, and how it was transformed.341 2. Clientship disappears at Athens. The Work of Solon.349 3. Transformation of Clientship at Rome. . . . 354 VII. Third Revolution. Plebs enter the Citv.36G 1. General History of this Revolution.360 2. History of this Revolution at Athens.372 3. History of this Revolution at Rome.379 VIII. Changes in Private Law. Code of the Twelve Tables. Code of Solon.410 IX. The New Principle of Government. The Public Interest and the Suffrage.423 X. An Aristocracy of Wealth attempts to establish it¬ self. Establishment of the Democracy. Fourth Revolution.430 CONTENTS. 7 CHAPTER PAGE XI. Rules of the Democratic Government. Examples of Athenian Democracy.439 XII. Rich and Poor. The Democracy falls. Popular Tyrants.449 XIII. Revolutions of Sparta.458 ROOK FIFTH. THE MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. I. New Beliefs. Philosophy changes the Principles and Rules of Politics.470 II. The Roman Conquest.481 1. A few Words on the Origin and Population of Rome.482 2. First Aggrandizement of Rome (753-350 B. C.) 480 3. How Rome acquired Empire (350-140 B. C.). 490 4. Rome everywhere destroys the Municipal System.500 6. The Conquered Nations successively enter the Roman City.608 IIL Christianity changes the Conditions of Govern¬ ment. 519 * m THE ANCIENT CITY. INTRODUCTION. The Necessity of studying the earliest Beliefs of the An¬ cients in order to understand their Institutions. It is proposed here to show upon what principles and by what rules Greek and Roman society was gov¬ erned. We unite in the same study both the Greeks and the Romans, because these two peoples, who were two branches of a single race, and who spoke two idioms of a single language, also had the same insti¬ tutions and the same principles of government, and passed through a series of similar revolutions. We shall attempt to set in a clear light the radi¬ cal and essential differences which at all times distin¬ guished these ancient peoples from modern societies. In our system of education, we live from infancy in the midst of the Greeks and Romans, and become ac¬ customed continually to compare them with ourselves, to judge of their history by our own, and to explain our revolutions by theirs. What we have received from them leads us to believe that we resemble them. We have some difficulty in considering them as for* 9 10 INTRODUCTION. eign nations; it is almost always ourselves that we see in them. Hence spring many errors. We rarely fail to deceive ourselves regarding these ancient na¬ tions when we see them through the opinions and facts of our own time. Now, errors of this kind are not without danger. The ideas which the moderns have had of Greece and Rome have often been in their way. Having imper¬ fectly observed the institutions of the ancient city, men have dreamed of reviving them among us. They have deceived themselves about the liberty of the an¬ cients, and on this very account liberty among the moderns has been put in peril. The last eighty years have clearly shown that one of the great difficulties which impede the march of modern society, is the habit which it has of always keeping Greek and Ro¬ man antiquity before its eyes. To understand the truth about the Greeks and Ro¬ mans, it is wise to study them without thinking of ourselves, as if they were entirely foreign to us ; with the same disinterestedness, and with the mind as free, as if we were studying ancient India or Arabia. Thus observed, Greece and Rome appear to us in a character absolutely inimitable ; nothing in modern times resembles them ; nothing in the future can re¬ semble them. We shall attempt to show by what rules these societies were regulated, and it will be freely admitted that the same rules can never govern humanity again. Whence comes this ? Why are the conditions of human government no longer the same as in earlier times? The great changes which appear from time to time in the constitution of society can be the effect neither of chance nor of force alone. » INTRODUCTION. il The cause which produces them must be powerful, and must be found iu man himself. If the laws of human association are no longer the same as in an¬ tiquity, it is because there has been a change in man. There is, in fact, a part of our being which is modified from age to age; this is our intelligence. It is always in movement ; almost always progressing ; and on this account, our institutions and our laws are subject to change. Man has not, in our day, the way of thinking that he had twenty-five centuries ago; and this is why he is no longer governed as he was governed then. The history of Greece and Rome is a witness and an example of the intimate relation which always exists between men’s ideas and their social state. Examine the institutions of the ancients without thinking of their religious notions, and you find them obscure, whimsical, and inexplicable. Why were there patri¬ cians and plebeians, patrons and clients, eupatrids and thetes; and whence came the native and ineffaceable differences which we find between these classes ? What was the meaning of those Lacedaemonian institutions which appear to us so contrary to nature? How are we to explain those unjust caprices of ancient private law; at Corinth and at Thebes, the sale of land pro¬ hibited ; at Athens and at Rome,-ah inequality in the succession between brother and sister? What did the jurists understand by agnation, and by gens f Why those revolutions in the laws, those political revolu¬ tions ? What was that singular patriotism which some¬ times effaced every natural sentiment? What did they understand by that liberty of which they were always talking ? How did it happen that institutions so very different from anything of which we have an idea to-day, could become established and reign for so 12 INTRODUCTION. long a time? What is the superior principle which gave them authority over the minds of men ? But by the side of these institutions and laws place the religious ideas of those times, and the facts at once become clear, and their explanation is no longer doubt¬ ful. If, on going back to the first ages of this race, — that is to say, to the time when its institutions were founded,— we observe the idea which it had of human existence, of life, of death, of a second life, of the divine principle, we perceive a close relation between these opinions and the ancient rules of private law ; between the rites which spring from these opinions and their political institutions. A comparison of beliefs and laws shows that a primi¬ tive religion constituted the Greek and Roman family, established marriage and paternal authority, fixed the order of relationship, and consecrated the right of property, and the right of inheritance. This same re¬ ligion, after having enlarged and extended the family, formed a still larger association, the city, and reigned in that as it had reigned in the family. From it came all the institutions, as well as all the private law, of the ancients. It was from this that the citv received all * its principles, its rules, its usages, and its magistracies. But, in the course of time, this ancient religion became modified or effaced, and private law and political in¬ stitutions were modified with it. Then came a series of revolutions, and social changes regularly followed the development of knowledge. It is of the first importance, therefore, to study the religious ideas of these peoples, and the oldest are the most important for us to know. For the institutions and beliefs which we find at the flourishing periods of Greece and Rome are only the development of those V INTRODUCTION. 13 of an earlier age; we must seek the roots of them in the very distant past. The Greek and Italian popula¬ tions are many centuries older than Romulus and Horner. It was at an epoch more ancient, in an an¬ tiquity without date, that their beliefs were formed, and that their institutions were either established or prepared. But what hope is there of arriving at a knowledge of this distant past ? Who can tell us what men thought ten or fifteen centuries before our era ? Can we recover what is so intangible and fugitive — beliefs and opinions? We know what the Aryas of the East thought thirty-five centuries ago: we learn this from the hymns of the Vedas, which are certainly very ancient, and from the laws of Manu, in which we can distinguish passages that are of an extremely early date. But where are the hymns of the ancient Hellenes? They, as well as the Italians, had ancient hymns, and old sacred books; but nothing of these has come down to us. What tradition can remain to us of those gen¬ erations that have not left us a single written line ? Fortunately, the past never completely dies for man. Man may forget it, but he always preserves it within him. For, take him at any epoch, and he is the product, the epitome, of all the earlier epochs. Let him look into his own soul, and he can find and distinguish these different epochs by what each of them has left within him. Let us observe the Greeks of the age of Pericles, and the Romans of Cicero’s time; they carry within them the authentic marks and the unmistakable vestiges of the most remote ages. The contemporary of Cicero (I speak especially of the man of the people) has an im¬ agination full of legends; these legends come to him 14 INTRODUCTION. from a very early time, and they bear witness to the manner of thinking of that time. The contemporary of Cicero speaks a language whose roots are very ancient ; this language, in expressing the thoughts of ancient ages, has been modelled upon them, and it has kept the impression, and transmits it from century to century. The primary sense of a root will sometimes reveal an ancient opinion or an ancient usage ; ideas have been transformed, and the recollections of them have van¬ ished; but the- words have remained, immutable wit¬ nesses of beliefs that have disappeared. The contemporary of Cicero practised rites in the sacrifices, at funerals, and in the ceremony of marriage; these rites were older than his time, and what proves it is, that they did not correspond to his religious belief. But if we examine the rites which he observed, or the formulas which he recited, we find the marks of what men believed fifteen or twenty centuries earlier. BOOK FIRST. ANCIENT BELIEFS. CHAPTER I. Notions about the Soul and Death. Down to the latest times in the history of Greece and Rome we find the common people clinging to thoughts and usages which certainly dated from a very distant past, and which enable us to discover what notions man entertained at first regarding his own nature, his soul, and the mystery of death. Go back far as we may in the history of the Indo- European race, of which the Greeks and Italians are branches, and we do not find that this race has ever thought that after this short life all was finished for man. The most ancient generations, long before there were philosophers, believed in a second existence after the present. They looked upon death not as a disso¬ lution of our being, but simply as a change of life. But in what place, and in what manner, was this second existence passed ? Did they believe that the immortal spirit, once escaped from a body, went to ani¬ mate another? No; the doctrine of metempsychosis was never able to take root in the minds of the Greco- Italians ; nor was it the most ancient belief of the 16 16 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK L Aryas of the East ; since the hymns of the V edas teach another doctrine. Did they believe that the spirit ascended towards the sky, towards the region of light? Not at all; the thought that departed souls entered a celestial home is relatively recent in the West; we find it expressed for the first time by the poet Pho- cylides. The celestial abode was never regarded as anything more than the recompense of a few great men, and of the benefactors of mankind. According to the oldest belief of the Italians and Greeks, the soul did not go into a foreign world to pass its second ex¬ istence; it remained near men, and continued to live under ground . 1 They even believed for a very long time that, in this second existence, the soul remained associated with the body ; born together, they were not separated by death, and were buried together in the grave. Old as this belief is, authentic evidences of it still remain to us. These evidences are the rites of sepul¬ ture, which have long survived this primitive belief, but which certainly began with it, and which enable us to understand it. The rites of sepulture show clearly that when a body was buried, those ancient peoples believed that they buried something that was living. Yirgil, who always describes religious ceremonies with so much care and precision, concludes the account of the funeral of Polydorus in these words: “We enclose the soul iu the grave.” The same expression is found in Ovid, and in Pliny the Younger; this did not correspond to the ideas which these writers had of the soul, 1 Sub terra censebant reliquam vitam agi rportuomm. Cicero, Tusc., I. 16. Euripides, Ale., 163; Uec., passim. CHAP. I. NOTIONS ABOUT THE SOUL AND DEATH. 17 but from time immemorial it had been perpetuated in the language, attesting an ancient and common belief . 1 It was a custom, at the close of a funeral ceremony, to call the soul of the deceased three times by the name he had borne. They wished that he might live happy under ground. Three times they said to hiny Fare thee well. They added, May the earth rest lightly upon thee . 2 Thus firmly did they believe that the per¬ son would continue to live under ground, and that he would still preserve a sense of enjoyment and suffering. They wrote upon the tomb that the man rested there — an expression which survived this belief, and which has comedown through so many centuries to our time. We still employ it, though surely no one to-day thinks that an immortal being rests in a tomb. But in those ancient days they believed so firmly that a man lived there that they never failed to bury with him the ob¬ jects of which they supposed he had need — clothing, utensils, and arms. They poured wine upon his tomb to quench his thirst, and placed food there to satisfy his hunger. They slaughtered horses and slaves with the idea that these beings, buried with the dead, would 1 Ovid, Fast., V. 451. Pliny, Letters , VII. 27. Virg., Æn., III. 67. Virgil’s description relates to the employment of cenotaphs ; it was admitted that when the body of a relative could not je found, they might perform a ceremony which exactly reproduced all the rites of sepulture ; and it was believed that in tills way, in the absence of the body, they enclosed the soul in the tomb. Eurip., Helen., 1061, 1240. Scholiast, ad Find. Pyth., IV. 284. Virg., VI. 505; XII. 214. 2 Iliad, XXIII. 221. Pausanias, II. 7, 2. Eurip., Ale., 463. Virg., Æn., 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 Æn., II. 644; III. 68; XI. 97. Tacit., Agric., 46. 2 18 ancient beliefs. BOOK I 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 . 1 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. lie 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 soul. Doubtless this soul regretted the soil ot its native country, and the tomb of its family; but being attached to its corporeal remains, it could not quit Colchis without them . 2 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 offerings and the food which it had need of. Unfortunately, it soon became a malevolent spirit; it tormented the living; it brought diseases upon them, ravaged their harvests, and frightened them by gloomy apparitions, to warn them to give sepulture to its body 1 Eurip., Ilec., passim; Ale., Iphig., 162. Iliad, XXIII. 166. Virg., Æn ., V. 77; VI. 221; XI. 81. Pliny, N. U., VIII. 40. Suet., Ccesar, 84. Lucian, De Luctu , 14. Find., Pythie., IV. 284, ed. Ileyne; see the Scholiast. CHAP. I. NOTIONS ABOUT THE SOUL AND DEATH. 19 and to itself. From this came the belief in ghosts. All 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 . 1 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 ; 2 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 effects 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 tor¬ 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, Calig., 59. Servius, ad Æn., III. 68. 3 Plautus, Mostellaria. 20 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK 1. not be observed for him. It was a source of constant inquietude. Men feared death less than 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 formality 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 the bones lay buried. Besides, man had no account to render 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 beginning 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 ot‘ food ; and, therefore, on certain days of the year, a meal was carried to every tomb. Ovid and Virgil 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 . 1 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 him. 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 1 Virgil, Æn., III. 300 et *eq. ; V. 77. Ovid, Fast., II. &35-54Z. ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I. they pronounced certain consecrated formulas to in¬ vite the dead to eat and drink; that if the entire family 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 . 1 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 .” 2 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 . 3 The Roman tomb also had its culina , a species of kitchen, of a particular kind, and entirely for the use of the dead . 4 Plutarch relates that after the battle of Platæa, the slain having been buried upon the field of battle, the Platæans engaged to offer them the funeral repast every year. Consequently, on each anniversary, they went in grand procession, conducted by their first magistrates 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 Platæans 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 . 5 A little 1 Hdts.,11. 40. Eurip., Hec., 536. Pausanias, II. 10. Virgil, V. 98. Ovid, Fast., II. 566. Lucian, Charon. * Æsch., Choeph., 476. Eurip., Iph., 162. 3 Euripides, Electra , 513. 4 Eestus, v. Culina. ‘ Plutarch, Aristides , 21. SH AP. II. THE WORSHIP OF THE DEAD. 23 later, Lucian, ridiculing these opinions and usages, shows 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 Vhat one of the dead to whom nothing is offered condemned to perpetual hunger.” 1 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 that 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 ot 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 established, whose dogmas misrht soon be effaced, but whose rites endured until the triumph of Christianity. The dead were held to be sacred beings. To them the ancients applied the most respectful epithets that could be thought of; they 1 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 . 1 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 him in the first . 2 The Greeks gave to the dead the name of subter¬ ranean gods. In Æschylus, 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.’ ” 3 The Romans gave to the dead the name of Manes. Render to the manes what is due them,” says Cicero ; “ they are men who have quitted this life ; consider them as divine beings.” 4 I he tombs were the temples of these divinities, and they bore the sacramental inscription, Dis Manibus , and in Greek, &toig %dovioig . There the god lived Æseh., Choeph., 469. Sophocles, Antig., 451. Plutarch, ‘John, 21; Rom. Quest., 52; Gr. Quest., 5. Virgil, V. 47: V. 80. 2 Cicero, De Legib., 22. St. Augustine, City of God , IX. 11 ; VIII. 26. 3 Eurip., Ale., 1003, 1015. 4 Cicero, De Legib., II. 9 Varro, in St. Augustine, City of God , VIII. 26. CHAP. II. THE WORSHIP OF THE I*EAD. 25 beneath the soil, manesque sepulti , says Virgil. Be¬ fore the tomb there was an altar for the sacrifices, as before the temples of the gods.' We find this worship of the dead among the Hel¬ lenes, among the Latins, among the'Sabines , 2 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 most 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, Æn., IV. 34. Aulus Gellius, X. 18. Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 14. Eurip., Troades , 90; Electro,, 613. Sue¬ tonius, Nero, 50. * Varro, De Ling. Lat., V. 74. 26 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK 1. Italy. The Hindu had to supply the manes with the repast, 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 when he offered this funeral repast, the manes of his ancestors 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.” 1 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 1 Laws of Manu, 1. 95; III. 82, 122, 127, 146, 189, 274- CHAP. II. THE WORSHIP OF THE DEAD. 27 dead, they immediately left their tombs, and became wandering shades, 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 leasts 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 . 1 2 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 nourishment. 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.” 1 We can judge of the power which 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 1 Ovid, Fast., II. 549-556. Thus in Æschylus : Clytem- nestra, warned by a dream that the manes of Agamemnon are irritated against her, hastens to send offerings to his tomb. 2 Eurip., Ale., 1004 (1016): “They believe that if we havo no care for these 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 Abstin ,, II. 37. See Horace, Odes , II. 23; Plato, Laws, IX. p. 926, 927. 28 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I. wishes, receiving my libations.” These powerful gods did not give material aid only ; for Electra adds, “ Give me a heart more chaste than my mother’s, and purer hands .” 1 Tims the Hindu asks of the manes “that in his family the number of good men may increase, and that lie may have much to give.” These human souls deified by death were what the Greeks called demons , or heroes . 2 The Latins gave them the name of Lares, Manes , Genii. “Our ances¬ tors believed,” says Apuleius, “that the Manes, when they were malignant, were to be called larvce ; they called them Lares when they were benevolent and propitious .” 3 Elsewhere we read, “Genius and Lar is the same being; so our ancestors believed .” 4 And in Cicero, “Those that the Greeks called demons we call Lares .” 3 This religion of the dead appears to be the oldest that has existed among this race of men. Before men had any notion of Indra or of Zeus, they adored the dead; they feared them, and addressed them prayers. It seems that the religious sentiment commenced in this way. If was perhaps while looking upon the dead 1 Æsch., Choeph., 122-135. 2 The primitive sense of this last word appears to have been that of dead men. The language of the inscriptions, which is that of the common people among the Greeks, often employs it in this sense. Boeckh, Corp. inscript., Nos. 1G29, 1723, 1781, 1784, 1786, 1789, 3398. Ph. Lebas, Monum. de Morée, p. 205. Vide Theognis, ed. Welcker, V. 513. The Greeks also gave to ane dead the name of daiptuv. Eurip. Ale., 1140, et Schol. 3£sch., Pers ., 620. Pausanias, VI. 6. 3 Servius, ad Æn., III. 63. ; Censorinus, 3. 6 Cicero, Timceus, 11. Dionysius Hidicarnasseus translates Lar famiiiaris by 6 xuj' oix'iuv ( Antiq. Rom., IV. 2.) OHAP. III. THE SACRED 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 mvsteries. 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 . 1 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 . 2 * 4 1 The Greeks called this altar hy various names, pupoç, to/àoa, tor la; 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 or focus. 4 Homeric Hymns , XXIX. Orphic Hymns, LXXXIV. He¬ siod, Opera , 732. Æsch., Agam ., 1056. Eurip., Here. Fur., 503, 599. Time., I. 136. Aristoph., Plut., 795. Cato, De Re Rust., 143. Cicero, Pro Domo, 40. Tibullus, I. 1, 4. Horace, Epod., II. 43. Ovid, A. A., I. 637. Virgil, II. 512. 30 ancient beliefs. BOOK 1. It is evident that this usage of keeping fire always apon 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 . 1 It was also a religious precept that this fire must always remain pure ; 2 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 . 3 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 . 4 These different 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 — 1 Virgil, VII. 71. Festus, v. Felicis. Plutarch, Numa, 9. 2 Eurip., Here. Fur., 715. Cato, De Re Rust., 143. Ovid, Fast., Til. 698. 3 Macrob. Saturn., I. 12. * Ovid, Fast., III. 143. Festus, v. Felicis. Jul'an, Speech nn the Sun. CHAP. 111. THE SACRED FIRE. 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.” 1 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 arms cannot protect thee,” she says; “but this altar will protect us all.” J 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.” J 1 Orphic Hymns , 84. Plaut., Captiv ., II. 2. Tibull., I. 9, 74. Ovid, A. A., I. 637. Plin., Nat. Hist ., XVIII. 8. s Virgil, Æ., II. 623. Horace, Epist ., I. 6. Ovid, Triste IV. 8, 22. ? Eurip., Ale 162-168. ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK Ï. In misfortune man betook himself to his sacred tire, and heaped reproaches upon it; in good fortune he returned it thanks. The soldier who returned from war thanked it for having enabled him to escape the perils. Æschylus represents Agamemnon returning from Troy, happy, and covered with glory. His first act is not to thank Jupiter; he does not go to a temple to pour out his joy and gratitude, but makes a sacri¬ fice of thank-offerings to the fire in his own house . 1 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 . 2 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 dry 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. 1 Æsch., Agam., 1015. * Oato, De Re Rust., 2. Eurip., Here. Fur., 523. CHAP. III. THE SACRED FIRS. 33 Especially were the meals of the family religioug acts. The god presided there. He had cooked the bread, and prepared the food ; 1 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. Ko one doubted that he was present, that he ate and drank ; for did they not see the flame increase as if it had been nourished by the provisions offered ? 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 . 3 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 verging 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 the Greeks, this 1 Ovid, Fast., VI. 315. * Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 64 ; Comm, on Ilesiod , 44. Uomerii Hymns, 29. a Horace, Sat., II. 6, 66. Ovid, Fast., IT. 631. Petronius, 60. n 34 ANCIENT RELIEFS, ROOK I. must be the wood of certain trees. As the Greeks and Italians offer it wine, the Hindu pours upon it a fer¬ mented liquor, which he calls soma. Meals, too, are religious acts, and the rites are scrupulously described in the Laws of Manu. They address prayers to the file, as in Greece; they offer it the first fruits of lice, butter, and honey. We read that “ the Brahmin should not eat the rice of the new harvest without having offered the first fruits of it to the hearth-fire ; for the sacred fire is greedy of grain, and when it is not hon¬ ored, it will devour the existence of the needisrent Brahmin.” The Hindus, like the Greeks and the Ro¬ mans, pictured the gods to themselves as greedy not only of honors and respect, but of food and drink. Man believed himself compelled to satisfy their hunger and thirst, if he wished to avoid their wrath. Among the Hindus this divinity of the fire is called Agni. The Rig-Veda contains a great number of hymns addressed to this god. In one it is said, “ O Agni, thou art the life, thou art the protector of man. ... In return for our praises, bestow upon the father of the family who implores thee glory and riches. . . . Agni, thou art a prudent defender and a father; to thee we owe life; we are thy family.” Thus the fire of the heal th is, as in Greece, a tutelary power. Man asks abundance of it: “Make the earth ever lib¬ eral towards us.” He asked health of it: “Grant that I may enjoy long life, and that I may arrive at old age, like the sun at his setting.” He even asks wisdom of it: “O Agni, thou placest upon the good way the man who has wandered into the bad. . . . If we have committed a fault, if we have gone far from thee, par¬ don us.” This fire of the hearth was, as in Greece, essentially pure : the Brahmin was forbidden to throw anything filthy into it, or even to warm his feet by it. CHAP. TII THE SACRED FIRE. 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 among 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 carried 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 each 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 . 1 Every prayer to any god whatever must commence and end with a prayer to the fire . 2 At Olympia, the 1 Porphyry, De Abstin ., II. p. 106. Plutarch, De Frigido. * Homeric Hymns , 29 ; Ibid ., 3, v. 83. Plato, Craiylus , 18. 36 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK I. Jirst sacrifice that assembled Greece offered was to the hearth-fire, the second was to Zeus . 1 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 .” 2 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 of 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 centuries he had held the first place in the religious 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 korla, Vesta; the name was the same in Latin and in Greek, and was the same Hesychius , àongs which I receive from my family, and which my father lias trans¬ mitted to me.” 1 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; eacli 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 formulas 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 — ôsol tyyaveïç ; they were of his blood — dcol (jui'uifuoi. 2 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. 1 Rig- Veda, Langlois’ trans., v. i. p. 113. The Laws of Manu often mention rites peculiar to each family. VII. 3; IX. 7. * Sophocles, Antig ., 199-, Ibid., 659. Comp, nariicooi ôiol in Aristophanes, Wasps, 388; Æschylus, Pers., 404; Sophocles, Plectra, 411; ôeol ye? e'ÔLoj, Plato, Laws , V. p. 729; Di Generis Ovid, Fast., II. 48 ANCIENT BELIEFS. BOOK T. But we must notice this peculiarity— that the domes¬ tic religion was transmitted only from male to male. This was owing, no doubt, to the idea that genera¬ tion was due entirely to the males . 1 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, whm that the reproductive power resided exclusively in the father, The father alone possessed the mysterious principle of existence, and transmitted the spark of life. From this old notion it followed that the domestic worship always passed from 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 ot the funeral 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. 1 The Vedas call the sacred fire the cause of male posterity. See the Mitakcha 1 ) a, Orianues’ trans., p. 139. BOOK SECOND. THE FAMILY. CHAPTER I. Religion was the constituent Principle of the ancient Family. • If 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 a 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 religious acts, hymns, which their fathers 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 grouped in this second existence, and continue to form an in dissoluble family . 1 * * 4 1 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 ru(poç nurç^uç, rûtpoç *•>» 4 49 50 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. Between the living part and the dead part of the family there is only this distance of a few steps which separates the house from the tomb. On certain days, which are determined for each one by his domestic religion, the living assemble near their ancestors ; they offer them the funeral meal, pour out milk and wine to them, lay out cakes and fruits, or burn the flesh of a victim to them. In exchange for these offerings they ask protection ; they call these ancestors their gods, and ask them to render the fields fertile, the house prosperous, and their hearts virtuous. Generation alone was not the foundation of tkn ancient family. What proves this is, that the sister diu not bear the same relation to the family as the brother; that the emancipated son and the married daughter ceased completely to form a part of the family; and, in fine, several other important provisions of the Greek nQoyôvtav, appear continually in Greek writers, as tumulus pa- trius or avitus, scpulcrum gentis, are found in Roman writers. See Demosthenes, in Eubul ., 28; in Macart., 79. Lycurgus, in Leocr., 25. Cicero, De Offic., I. 17. De Legib., II. 22 —Mortuum extra gentem inferri fas negant. Ovid, Trist., IV. 3, 45. Velleius, II. 119. Suetonius, Nero , 50; Tiberius , 1. Digest , XI. 5; XVIII. 1, 6. There is an old anecdote that shows how necessary it was thought to be that every one should be buried in the tomb of his family. It is related that the Lacedæmonians, when about to join battle with the Messenians, attached to their right arms their name, and those of their fathers, in order that, in case of death, each body might be recognized on the field of battle, and transported to the paternal tomb. Justin, III. 5. See Æschylus, Sept., 889 (914), t iupwv naxQwwv Xà/ai. The Greek orators frequently refer to this custom : Isæus, Lysias, or Demosthenes, when he wishes to prove that 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 Roman laws, that we shall have occasion 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 sentiment 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 . 1 The historians of Roman laws, having very justly remarked that neither birth nor affection was the foun¬ dation 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 primordial 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, w,e deceive ourselves sadly when we thus place force as the origin of law. We shall see farther on that the authority 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 religion. 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 phys¬ ical strength ; this was the religion of the sacred fire, and of dead ancestors. This caused the family to form 1 It must be understood 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 « a single body, both in this life and in the next. The ancient family was a religious rather than a natural association ; and we shall see presently that the wile was counted in the family only after the sacred cere¬ mony of marriage had initiated her into the woa aytir. Isæus, VII. Venire in Sacra , Cicero. Pro Domo, It5; in Penates adsciseere, Tacitus, Hist., I. 15. 1 Valerius Maximus, VII. 7. Amis sis sacris paternis, Cicero, ibid. CHAP. V. OF KINSHIP. 71 being thus assured, he might leave it; but, in this case, he severed all the ties that bound him to his own son . 1 2 3 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 . 5 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 detestation CHAPTER V. Of Kinship. Of what the Romans called Agnation. Plato says that kinship is the community of the same domestic gods . 4 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 relationship. Two men could call themselves relatives when they had the same gods, the same sacred fire, and the same funeral repast. Now, we have already observed that the right to 1 Isæus, VI. 44; X. 11. Demosthenes, against Leochaies. Antiphon., Frag., 15. Comp. Laws of Manu, IX. 142. 2 Consuetudo apud antiquos fuit ut qui in familiarn trans¬ ir et prius se abdicaret ah ea in qua natus fuerat. Servius, ad Æn., II. 156. 3 Aulus Gellius, XV. 27. 4 Plato, Laws, V. p. 729. 72 TUE FAMILY. BOOK IT. offer sacrifices to the sacrecl 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 bo 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 . 1 How could there have been a maternal family? ITis mother herself, the day on which the sacred rites of marriage 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 had no longer offered it to her own ancestors, because she was no longer considered as descended from them. 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, another to his paternal grandfather, a third to his great¬ grandfather; 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 1 Patris, non matris, familiam sequitur. Digest, 50, tit 16, § 196 oil AP. Y. OF ROMAN AGNATION. 73 lighter; it Is a libation of water and a few grains of rice. Such is the funeral repast; and it is according to the accomplishment of these rites that relationship is reckoned. When two men, who olfer 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 . 1 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 . 2 The rule for agnation was, then, the same as that for worship. There was between those two things a manifest relation. Agna¬ tion was nothing more than relationship such as re¬ ligion had originally established it. 1 Laws of Manu , V. 60 ; Mitakchara, Orianne’s trails., p. 213. s Gaius, I. 156 ; 111 10. Ulpian, 26. Institutes of Justinian, Hi. 2; III. 5. 74 THE FAMILY. BOOK II To rendei thi3 truth clearer, let us trace the genea logical table of a Roman family. L. Cornelius Scipio, died about 250 B. C. Luc. Scipio Asiaticus. Publius Scipio. Cn. Scipio. J_. I v P. Scipio Africanus. P. Scipio Nasica. Luc. Scipio Asiaticus. P. Scipio. Cornelia, P. Scip. Nasica. I I wife of Sempr. Gracchus. Scipio Asiaticus. Scip. Æmilianus. | 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 our 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 to say, if they all made offerings to the same ancestors. Let us suppose the third Scipio Asiaticus, who alone remains of his branch, offering the funeral repast on a particular day; ascending from male to male, he finds for the third ancestor Publius Scipio. Again, Scipio Æmilianus, offering his sacrifice, will meet in the series of his ascendants this same Publius Scipio. Scipio Asiaticus and Scipio Æmilianus are, therefore, related to each other. Among the Hindus they would be called sapindas. On the other hand, Scipio Serapio has for a fourth ancestor L. Cornelius Scipio, who is also the fourth ancestor of Scipio Æmilianus. 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 is their agnate in the eighth degree. The case is not the same with Tiberius Graochus CHAP. Y. OF ROMAN AGNATION. 75 This man, who, according to our modern customs, would be nearest related to Scipio Æmilianus, 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 his ancestors he never comes to a Scipio. Scipio Æmilianus 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 b y 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 o Ï cognatio 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 ol each other, and contending in the domain of law. But 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. Here is an institution of the ancients of which we must not form an idea from anything that we see around us. The ancients 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. W e know that there are races who have never suc¬ ceeded 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 following year. The German was CHAP. VI. THE RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 77 proprietor of the harvest, but not of the land. 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 idea of private property. We do not find an age when the soil was common among them; 1 nor do we find any¬ thing that resembles the annual allotment of land which was in vogue among the Germans. And here we note a remarkable fact. While the races that do not accord to the individual a property in the soil, allow him at least a right to the fruits 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 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 private 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. 1 Some historians have expressed the opinion that at Rome property was at first public, and did not become private till Numa’s reign. This error comes from a false interpretation of three passages of Plutarch (Nurna, 16), Cicero (Republic, II. 14), and Dionysius of Halicarnassus (II. 74). These three authors 6ay, 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 hello Romulus ceperat. As to the Roman soil itself —ager Romanics — it was private property from the origin of the city. 78 TIIK FAMILY. BOOK II. 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. 1 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 difficult 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 1 r Enrla, lot r t ui, stare. See Plutarch, De primo frigido , 21 ; VTacrob., I. 23; Ovid, Fast., VI. 299. CHAP. VI THE RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 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 soil and 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, fii/ioi, 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. 1 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 l çxtîoç. 2 This enclosure, traced and protected by re- 1 "Eqxoç [tQÔv. Sophocles, Trachin ., 606. * At an epoch when this ancient worship was almost effaced by the younger religion of Zeus, and when they associated him 80 THE FAMILY. BOOK II, iigiou, 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 eçxoç, and the Latins lierctum , 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; oftqnest 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 width of the free space, which was always to separate two houses, and this space was consecrated to “ the god of the enclosure.” 1 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 sqxbioç. It is not less true that, in the beginning, the real protector of the enclosure was the domestic god. Dionysius of Halicarnassus asserts this (I. 68), when he says that the ôsul kqxsioi are the same as the Penates. This follows, moreover, from a compari¬ son of a passage of Pausanias (IY. 17) with a passage of Eu¬ ripides ( Troad ., 17), and one of Virgil (Æ., II. 514) ; the three passages relate to the same fact, and show that Zeùç tQy.uoç was no other than the domestic fire. 1 Festus, v. Ambitus. Yarro, L. L ., Y. 22. Servius, ad Æ», II. 469. chap. va. THE RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 81 ancients. A phalanstery was never known among them. Even Pythagoras 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 multitude of villages so general in France during the twelfth century. Every family, having its gods and its worship, was required to have its particular place on the soil, its isolated domicile, its property. According to the Greeks, the sacred fire taught men to build houses; 1 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 structure. 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, placed near the middle of the whole enclosure, was thus at the bottom of the court, and near the entrance of the house. At Pome the dispo¬ sition was different, but the principle was the same. 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 that inspired this 1 Diodorus, V. 68. » 6 82 THE FAMILY. BOOK l! system of construction. The walls are raised aiound the hearth to isolate and defend it, and we may say, as the Greeks said, that religion taught men to build houses. In this house the family is mastei and pio- prietor ; its domestic divinity assures it this light. The house is consecrated by the perpetual presence of gods ; it is a temple which preserves them. “What is there more holy,” says Cicero, “what is there more carefully fenced round with every dcsciip- tion of religious respect, than the house ot 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.” 1 To enter 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. 2 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. 3 . The family, therefore, had a common tomb, where its members, one after another, must come to sleep. For i^iis tomb the rule was the same as for the hearth. If- 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 1 Cicero, Pro Domo, 41. * Ovid, Fast., V. 141. 8 Such, at least, was the ancient rule, since they believed that the funeral repast served as food for the dead. Eurip., Tioad. % 381. chap. vi. THE RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 83 of the family tomb, or to place a stranger in this tomb, was equally impious. 1 2 The domestic religion, both in life and in death, separated every family from all others, and strictly rejected all appearance 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. The 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- 1 Cicero, De Legib., 11.22; II. 26. Gaius, Instit., II. 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 wore 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. 2 Lycurgus, against Leocrates , 25. At Rome, before a burial- place could be changed, the permission of the pontiffs was required. Pliny, Letters , X. 73. 84 THE FAMILY. BOOK Ij scriptible. The Roman law required that, if a family sold the 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. 1 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 limes is attested by a law of Solon, and by several passages in Plutarch! We learn from an oration of Demosthenes, that even in his time, each family buried its dead in its own field, and that when a domain was bought in Attica, the burial-place of the old proprietors was found there. 2 As for Italy, this same custom is proved to have existed by the laws of the twelve Tables, by passages from two jurisconsults, and by this sentence of Siculus Flaccus: “Anciently there were two ways of placing the tomb; some placed it on one side of the field, others towards the middle.” 3 From this custom we can see that the idea of prop¬ erty was easily extended from the small mound to the field that surrounded this mound. In the works of the elder Cato there is a formula according to which the Italian laborer prayed the manes to watch over 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 1 Cicero, De Legib ., II. 24. Digest, X\ III. tit. 1. G. 2 Laws of Solon, cited by Gaius in Digest, X. tit. 1. 13. De¬ mosthenes, against Callicles. Plutarch, Aristides, 1. 3 Siculus Flaccus, edit. Goez, p. 4. See Fragm. terminalia , edit. Goez, p. 147. Pomponius, in Digest, XLVII. tit. 12 6 Paul, in Digest, VIII. 1, 14. CHAP. VI. TUE RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 85 them the family was sole piaster in this field. The tomb had established an indissoluble union of the fam¬ ily with the land —that of ownership. In the greater number of primitive 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 Ur of the Chaldees, to give thee this land, to inherit it;” and to Moses, “Go up hence, . . . into the land which I sware unto Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, saying, Unto thee will I give it.” Thus God, the piimitive proprietor, by right of crea¬ tion, delegates to man his ownership over a part of the soil. 1 There was something analogous among the an¬ cient Græco-Italian peoples. It was not the religion of Jupiter that founded this right, it is true; perhaps because this religion did not yet exist. The gods who conferred upon every family its right to a portion of the soil, were the domestic gods, the sacred fire, and the manes. The first religion that exercised its empire on 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 religion had need of. This religion required that both dwellings and burying- places should be separate from each other ; living in common was, therefore, impossible. The same religion required that the 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 fire would be without a fixed place, the families would 1 Same traditio i among the Etruscans : “ Quum Jupiter ter - ram Etruria, si'ui vindicavit , constituit jussitque metiri campos signarique agros.” Auctores Hei Agra via, in the fragment en¬ titled Idem Vegoia Arrunti , edit. Goez. 86 THE FAMILY. BOOK 11. become confounded, and the dead would bt abandoned and without worship. By the stationary Hearth and the permanent burial-place, the family took possession 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 arrived, 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, since by it man improves the soil, and becomes improved himself. Religion, and not laws, first guaranteed the right of property. Every domain was under the eyes of house¬ hold divinities, who watched over it. 1 2 Every field had to be ; surrounded, as we have seen for the house, by an enclosure, which separated it completely from the domains of other families. This enclosure was not a wall of stone; it was a band of soil, a few feet wide, which remained uncultivated, and which the plough could never touch. This space was sacred ; the Ro¬ man law declared it indefeasible ; a it belonged to the religion. On certain appointed days of each month and year, the father of the family went round his field, following this line ; he drove victims before him, sang hymns, and offered sacrifices. 3 By this ceremony he believed he had awakened the benevo- 1 Lares agri custodes , Tibullus, I. 1, 23. Religio Larum posita in fundi villœqve conspectu . Cicero, De Legib ., II. 11 . 2 Cicero, De Legib., I. 21. 3 Cato, De Re Rust., 141. Script. Rei Agrar., edit. Goe s, p 308. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, II. 74. Ovid, Fast. 1 11. 639 Strabo, V. 3. CHAP. VI. THE EIGHT OF P LOPE ET Y. 87 lence of liis gods towards his field and his house; above all, lie 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. “This,” says Seculus Flaccus, “was the manner in which our ancestors proceeded: They commenced 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 o fie red 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 consumed in the hole, they thrust down the stone or piece of wood upon the ashes while they were still warm.” 1 It is easy to see that the object of the cere¬ mony was to make of this Terminus a sort of sacred representation of the domestic worship. To continue this character for it, they renewed the sacred act every year, by pouring out libations and reciting prayers. The Terminus, once placed in the earth, became in some sort the domestic religion implanted in the soil, to in¬ dicate that this soil w T as forever the property of the family. Later, poetry lending its aid, the Terminus was considered as a distinct god. The employment of Termini, or sacred bounds for fields, appears to have been universal among the Indo Siculus Flaccus, edit. Goez, p. 5. i 88 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. European race. It existed among the Hindus at a very early date, and the sacred ceremonies of the boundaries had among'them a great analogy with those which Siculus Flaccus has described for Italy. 1 Before the foundation of Rome, we find the Terminus among the Sabines; 2 we also find it among the Etruscans. The Hellenes, too, had sacred landmarks, which they called JÇXK, deol OQIOL , 3 The Terminus once established according to the re¬ quired rites, there was no power on earth that could displace it. It was to remain in the same place through all ages. This religious principle was expressed at Rome by a legend : Jupiter, having wished to prepare himself a site on the Capitoline hill for a temple, could not displace the god Terminus. This old tradition shows how sacred property had become ; for the im¬ movable Terminus signified nothing less than inviolable property. In fact, the Terminus guarded the limit of the field, and watched over it. A neighbor dared not approach too near it: “ For then,” says Ovid, “the god, who felt himself struck by the ploughshare, or mattock, cried, ‘ Stop : this is my field ; there is yours.’ ” 4 To encroach upon the field of a family, it was necessary to overturn or displace a boundary mark, and this boundary mark was a god. The sacrilege was horrible, and the chas- tisment severe. According to the old Roman law, the man and the oxen who touched a Terminus were devoted 0 — that is to say, both man and oxen were 1 Laws of Manu, VIII. 245. Vrihaspati, cited by Sicé, Hindu Legislation, p. 159. 2 Yarro, L. L., Y. 74. 2 Pollux, IX. 9. Hesythius, oqoç. Plato, Laws , p. 842. 4 Ovid, Fast., II. 677. * Festus, v. Terminus. Cil A.F. YI. THE RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 89 immolated in expiation. The Etruscan law, speaking in the name of religion, says, “He who shall have touched or displaced a bound shall be condemned by the gods; his house shall disappear; his race shall be extinguished ; his land shall no longer produce fruits ; hail, rust, and the fires of the dog-star shall destroy his harvests; the limbs of the guilty one shall become covered with ulcers, and shall waste away.” 1 We do not possess the text of the Athenian law on this sub¬ ject; there remain of it only three words, which signify, “Do not pass the boundaries.” But Plato appears to complete the thought of the legislator when he says, “Our first law ought to be this: Let no person touch the bounds which separate his field from that of his neighbor, for this ought to remain immovable. . . . Let no one attempt to disturb the small stone which separates friendship from enmity, and which the land- owners have bound themselves by an oath to leave in its place.” " From all these beliefs, from all these usages, from all these laws, it clearly follows that the domestic religion taught man to appropriate the soil, and assured him his right to it. There is no difficulty in understanding that the right of property, having been thus conceived and established, was much more complete and absolute in its effects than it can be in our modern societies, where it is founded upon otlu principles. Property was so in¬ herent in the domestic religion that a family could not renounce one without renouncing the other. The house and the field were — so to speak — incorporated 1 Script. Rei Agrar., ed. Goez, p. 258. * Plat >, Laws, VIII. p. S42. 90 THE FAMILY. BOOK 11. in it, and it could neither lose them nor dispose of them. Plato, in his treatise on the Laws, did not pretend to advance a new idea when he forbade the proprietor to sell his field ; he did no more than to recall an old law. Everything leads us to believe that in the ancient ages property was inalienable. It is well known that at Sparta the citizen was formally forbidden to sell his lot of land. 1 There was the same interdiction in the laws of Locri and of Leucadia. 2 Pheidon of Corinth, a legis¬ lator of the ninth century B. C., prescribed that the number of families and of estates should remain un¬ changeable. 3 Now, this prescription could be observed only when it was forbidden to sell an estate, or even to divide it. The law of Solon, later by seven or eight generations than that of Pheidon of Corinth, no longer forbade a man to sell his land, but punished the vender by a severe fine, and the loss of the rights of citizenship. 4 Finally, Aristotle mentions, in a general manner, that in many cities the ancient laws lorbade the sale of land. 5 Such laws ought not to surprise us. Found prop¬ erty on the right of labor, and man may dispose of it. Found it on religion, and he can no longer do this ; a tie stronger than the will of man binds the land to him. Besides, this field where the tomb is situated, where the divine ancestors live, where the family is forever to perform its worship, is not simply the property of a man, but of a family. It is not the individual actually 1 Plutarch, Lycurg Agis. Aristotle, Polit., II. 6, 10 (II. 7). 2 Aristotle, Polit., II. 4. 4 (II. 5). 3 Id., Ibid., II. 3, 7. 4 Æschines, against Timarchus. Diogenes Laertius, I. 55. 6 Aristotle, Polit VII. 2. CHAP. VI. THE RIGHT OF PROPERTY. 91 living who has established his right over this soil, it is the domestic god. The individual has it in trust only; it belongs to those who are dead, and to those who are yet to be born. It is a part of the body of this family, and cannot be separated from it. To detach one from the other is to alter a worship, and to offend a religion. Among the Hindus, property, also founded upon re¬ ligion, was also inalienable. 1 2 We know nothing of Roman law previous to the laws of the Twelve Tables. It is certain that at that time the sale of property was permitted ; but there are reasons for thinking that, in the earlier days of Rome, and in Italy before the existence of Rome, land was inalienable, as in Greece. Though there remains no evidence of this old law, there remain to us at least the modifications which were made in it by degrees. The law of the Twelve Tables, though attaching to the tomb the character of inalienability, has freed the soil from it. Afterwards it was permitted to divide prop¬ erty, if there were several brothers, but on condition that a new religious ceremony should be performed, and that the new partition should be made by a priest ; 3 religion only could divide what had before been pro¬ claimed indivisible. Finally, it was permitted to sell the domain; but for that formalities of a religious char¬ acter were also necessary. This sale could take place only in the presence of a priest, whom they called libnpens , and with the sacred formality which they called mancipation. Something analogous is seen in Greece; the sale of a house or of land was always ac- 1 Mitakchara , Orianne’s trans., p. 50. This rule disappeared by degrees after Brahminism became dominant. 2 This priest was called agrimensor. See Scriptores Rei A g ranee. 02 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. companies! with a sacrifice to the gods. 1 Every trans¬ fer of property needed to be authorized by religion. If a man could not, or could only with difficulty, dispose of land, for a still stronger reason he could not be deprived of it against his will. The appropriation of land for public utility was un¬ known among the ancients. Confiscation was resorted to only in case of condemnation to exile 2 — that is to say, when a man, deprived of his right to citizenship, could no longer exercise any right over the soil of the city. Nor was the taking of property for debt known in the ancient laws of cities. 3 The laws of the Twelve Tables assuredly do not spare the debtor; still they do not permit his property to be sold for the benefit of the creditor. The body of the debtor is held for the debt, not his land, for the land is inseparable from the family. It is easier to subject a man to servitude than to take his property from him. The debtor is placed in the hands of the creditor ; his land follows him, in some sort, into slavery. The master who uses the physical strength of a man for his own profit, enjoys at the same time the fruits of his land, but does not become the proprietor of it. So inviolable above all else is the right of property. 4 1 Stobæus, 42. 2 This rule disappeared in the democratic age of the cities. 3 A law of the Elæans forbade the mortgaging of land. Aris- tot., Polit., VII. 2. Mortgages were unknown in ancient Roman law. What is said of mortgages in the Athenian law before Solon is based on a doubtful passage of Plutarch. 4 In the article of the law of the Twelve Tables which relates to insolvent debtors, we read, Si void suo viviio ; then the debtor, having become almost a slave, still retains something for him¬ self; his land, if lie has any, is not taken from him. The arrangements known in Roman law under the names of fidu - CHAP. VH THE RIGHT OP SUCCESSION. 93 CHAPTER VII. The Right of Succession. 1. Nature and Principle of the Right of Succession among the Ancients . The right of property having been established for the accomplishment of an hereditary worship, it was not possible that this right should fail after the short life of an individual. The man dies, the worship remains; the fire must not be extinguished, nor the tomb aban¬ doned. So long as the domestic religion continued, the right of property had to continue with it. Two things are closely allied in the creeds as well as in the laws of the ancients — the family worship and its property. It was therefore a rule without exception, in both Greek and Roman law, that a prop¬ erty could not be acquired without the worship, or the worship without the property. “Religion prescribes,” says Cicero, “that the property and the worship of a ciary mancipation , and of pignvs , were, before the introduction of the Servian action, the means employed to insure to the cred¬ itor the payment of the debt; these prove indirectly that the seizure of property for debt was not practised. Later, when they suppressed corporal servitude, it was necessary that there should be some claim on the property of a debtor. The change was not without difficulty; but the distinction which was made between property and possession offered a resource. The creditor obtained of the praetor the right to sell, not the prop¬ erty, dominium , but the goods of the debtor, bona. Then only, by a disguised seizure, the debtor lost the enjoyment of hia property. 94 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. family shall be inseparable, and that the care of the sacrifices shall always devolve upon the one who re¬ ceives the inheritance.” 1 At Athens an orator claims a succession in these terms: “Weigh it well, O judges, and say whether my adversary or I ought to inherit the estate of Fhiloctemon, and offer the sacrifices upon his tomb.” 2 Could one say more directly that the care of the worship was inseparable from the succession ? It was the same in India: “He who inherits, whoever he may be, is bound to make the offerings upon the tomb.” 3 4 From this principle were derived all the rules regard¬ ing the right of succession among the ancients. The first is that, the domestic religion being, as we have seen, hereditary from male to male, property is the same. As the son is the natural continuator of the re¬ ligion, he also inherits the estate. Thus the rule of inheritance is found ; it is not the result of a simple agreement made between men; it is derived from their belief from their religion, from that which has the greatest power over their minds. It is not the personal will of the father that causes the son to inherit. The father need not make a will; the son inherits of full right,— ipso jure her es exsis tit, —says the jurisconsult. He is even a necessary successor — heres necessarius . A He has neither to accept nor to reject the inheritance. The continuation of the property, like that of the worship, is for him an obligation as well as a right. Whether he wishes it or not, the inheritance falls to him, whatever it may be, even witli its encumbrances 1 Cicero, De Legib., IL 19, 20. Festus, v. Everriator. 2 Isæus, VI. 51. Plato calls the heir ôtuôoj^oç ôerôv. Laws, V. 740. 3 Laws of Manu , IX. 186. 4 Digest , XXXVIII. tit. 16, 14. CHAP. VII. TIIK RIGHT OF SUCCESSION. 95 and its debts. The right to inherit without the debts, and to reject an inheritance, was not allowed to the son in Greek legislation, and was not introduced until a later period into Roman law. The judicial language of Rome calls the son heres suus, as if one should say, heres sui ipsius. In fact, he inherits only of himself. Between his father and * him there is neither donation, nor legacy, nor change of property. There is simply a continuation — morte parentis continuatur dominium . Already, during the life of the father, the son was co-proprietor of the field and house —vivo quoque pâtre dominas existi- matur To form an idea of inheritance among the ancients, we must not figure to ourselves a fortune which passes from the hands of one to those of another. The for¬ tune is immovable, like the hearth, and the tomb to which it is attached. It is the man who passes away. It is the man who, as the family unrolls its generations, arrives at his hour appointed to continue the worship, and to take care of the domain. 2. The Son , not the Daughter, inherits. It is here that ancient laws, at first sight, appear whimsical and unjust. We experience some surprise when we see in the Roman law that the daughter does not inherit if she is married, and that, according to the Greek law, she does not inherit in any case. What concerns the collateral brandies appears, at first sight, still farther removed from nature and justice. This is because all these laws flow, according to a very rigor* 1 Institutes, III. 1, 3; III. 9, 7 ; III. 19, 2. 96 THE FAMILY. BOOK IL ous logic, from the creed and religion that we have described above. The rule for the worship is, that it shall be trans- mitted from male to male; the rule for the inheritance is, that it shall follow the worship. The daughter is not qualified to continue the paternal religion, since she may marry, and thus renounce the religion of her father to adopt that of her husband ; she has, there¬ fore, no right to the inheritance. If a father should happen to leave his property to a daughter, this prop¬ erty would be separated from the worship, which would be inadmissible. The daughter could not even fulfil the first duty of an heir, which was to continue the series of funeral repasts; since she would offer the sacrifices to the ancestors of her husband. Religion forbade her, therefore, to inherit from her father. Such is the ancient principle ; it influenced equally the legislators of the Hindus and those of Greece and Rome. The three peoples had the same laws ; not that they had borrowed from each other, but because they had derived their laws from the same belief. “ After the death of the father,” says the Code of Mann, “let the brothers divide the patrimony among them;” and the legislator adds, that he recommends the brothers to endow their sisters, which proves that the latter have not of themselves any right to the paternal succession. This was the case, too, at Athens. Demosthenes, in his orations, often has occasion to show that daughters cannot inherit. 1 He is himself an example of the application of this rule; for he had a sister, and we 1 Demosthenes, in Bœotum. Isæus, X. 4. Lysias, in M%n ttth.y 10. CHAP. VII. THE RKjrHT OF SUCCESSION. 97 know, from his own writings, that he was the sole heii to the estate ; his father had reserved only the seventh part to endow the daughter. As to Rome, the provisions of primitive law which excluded the daughters from the inheritance are not known to us from any formal and precise text ; but they have left profound traces in the laws of later ages. The Institutes of Justinian still excluded the daughter from the number of natural heirs, if she was no longer under the power of the father; and she was no longer under the power of the father after she had been mar¬ ried according to the religious rites. 1 From this it follows that, if the daughter before marriage could share the inheritance with her brother, she had not this right after marriage had attached her to another religion and another family. And, if this was still the case in the time of Justinian, we may suppose that in primitive law, this principle was applied in all its rigor, and that the daughter not yet married, but who would one day marry, had no right to inherit the estate. The Institutes also mention the old principle, then obsolete, but not forgotten, which prescribed that an inheritance always descended to the males. 2 It was clearly as a vestige of this old rule, that, according to the civil law, a woman could never be constituted au heiress. The farther we ascend from the Institutes of Justinian towards earlier times, the nearer we approach the rule that woman could not inherit. In Cicero’s time, if a father left a son and a daughter, he could will to his daughter only one third of his fortune ; if there was only a daughter, she could still have but half. We must also note that, to enable this daughter to 1 Institutes, II. 9, 2. * Ibid., III. 1, 15; III. 2, 3. 7 98 THE FAMILY. BOOK IT. receive a third or half of this patrimony, it was necessary that the father should make a will in her favor ; the daughter had nothing of full right. 1 k inally, a century and a half before Cicero, Cato, wishing to revive an¬ cient manners, proposed and carried the Yoconian law, which forbade, —1. Making a woman an heiress, even if she was an only child, married or unmairied. 2. The willing to a woman of more than a fourth part of the patrimony. 2 The Yoconian law merely renewed laws of an earlier date ; lor we cannot suppose it would have been accepted by the contemporaries of the Scipios if it had not been supported upon old principles which they still respected. It re-established what time had changed. Let us add that it contained nothing regard¬ ing heirship, ab intestat , probably because on this point the old law was still in force, and there was nothing to repair on the subject. At Rome, as in Greece, the primitive law excluded the daughter from the hciitage , and this was only a natural and inevitable consequence of the principles which religion had established. It is true men soon found out a way of reconciling the religious prescription which forbade the daughter to inherit with the natural sentiment which would have her enjoy the fortune of her father. The law decided that the daughter should marry the heir. Athenian legislation carried this principle to its ulti¬ mate consequences. If the deceased left a son and a daughter, the son alone inherited and endowed his sister; if they were not both children of uie same mother, he had his choice to marry her or to endow 1 Cicero, De Rep., III. 7. 2 Cicero, in VerT., I. 42. Livy, XLI. 4. St. Augustin©, City of God , III. 21. CHAP. VII. TJE RIGHT OP SUCCESSION. 99 her. 1 If the deceased left only a daughter, his nearest of kind was his heir; but this relative, who was of course also a near relative of the daughter, was required, nevertheless, to many her. More than this, if this daughter was already married, she was required to abandon her husband in order to marry her father’s heir. The heir himself might be already married ; in this case, he obtained a divorce, in order to marry his relative. 2 We see here how completely ancient law ignored nature to conform to religion. The necessity of satisfying the requirements of re¬ ligion, combined with the desire of saving the interests of an only daughter, gave rise to another subterfuge. On this point Hindu law and Athenian law corre¬ spond marvellously. We read in the Laws of Manu, “He who has no male child may require his daughter to give him a son, who shall become his, and who may perform the funeral ceremonies in his honor.” In this case the father was required to admonish the husband to whom he gave his daughter, by pronouncing this formula: “I give you this daughter, adorned with jew¬ els, who has no brother; the son born of her shall be my son, and shall celebrate my obsequies.” 3 The cus¬ tom was the same at Athens; the father could continue 1 Demosthenes, in Euliil., 21. Plutarch, Themist.^ 32. Isæus, X. 4. Corn. Nepos, Cimon. It must be noted that the law did not permit marrying a uterine brother, or an emancipated brother; it could be only a brother by the father’s side, because the latter alone could inherit of the father. 2 Isæus, III. 64; X. 5. Demosthenes, in Eubul., 41. The only daughter was called inixktjQoç, wrongly translated heiress ; it signifies the daughter who goes with the inheritance. In fact, the daughter was never an heiress. 3 Laws of Manu , IX.-127, 136 . Vasishta, XVII. 16. 100 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. his descent through his daughter, by giving her a hus¬ band on this special condition. The son who was born of such a union was reputed the son of the wife’s father; followed his worship ; assisted at his religious ceremonies; and, later, guarded his tomb. 1 2 In Hindu law this child inherited from his grandfather, as if he had been his son ; it was exactly the same at Athens. When the father had married his daughter in the manner we have described, his heir w r as neither his daughter nor his son-in-law ; it was the daughter s son? As soon as the latter had attained his ma¬ jority, he took possession of the patrimony of his mater- 71 al grandfather, though his father and mother were still living. 3 This singular tolerance of religion and law confirms the rule which we have already pointed out. The daughter was not qualified to inherit; but, by a very natural softening of the rigor of this principle, the only daughter was considered as an intermediary by whom the family might be continued. She did not inherit ; but the worship and the inheritance were transmitted through her. 3. Of the Collateral Succession. A man died without children ; to know who the heir of his estate was, we have only to learn who was qual¬ ified to continue his worship. Now, the domestic religion was transmitted by blood from male to male. The descent in the male line alone 1 Isæus, VII. 2 He was not called the grandson ; they gave him tne par¬ ticular name of èvyaxQiSovç. 3 Dæus, VIII. 31; X. 12. Demosthenes, in Steph ., II. 20. CHAP. YU. THE KIGIIT OF SUCCESSION. 101 establisnod oetween two men the religious relation which permitted one to continue the worship of the other. What is called relationship, as we have seen above, was nothing more than the expression of this relation. One was a relative because he had the same worship, the same original sacred fire, the same ances¬ tors. But one was not a relative because he had the same mother; religion did not admit of kinship through women. The children of two sisters, or of a sister and a brother, had no bond of kinship between them, and belonged neither to the same domestic religion nor to the same family. Th ese principles regulated the order of succession. If a man, having lost his son and his daughter, left only grandchildren after him, his son’s sou inherited, but not his daughter’s son. In default of descendants, he had as an heir his brother, not his sister, the son of his brother, not the son of his sister. In default of brothers and nephews, it was necessary to go up in the series of ascendants of the deceased, always in the male line, until a branch of the family was found that was de¬ tached through a male ; then to re-descend in this branch from male to male, until a living man was found ; this was the heir. These rules were in force equally among the Hindus, the Greeks, and the Romans. In India “the inherit¬ ance belongs to the nearest sapinda; in default of a sapinda, to the samanodaca.” 1 Now, we have seen that the relationship which these two words expressed was the religious relationship, or the relationship through the males, and corresponded to the Roman agnation. Here, again, is the law of Athens: “If a man dies 1 Laws of Manu, IX. 186, 187. 102 THE FAMILY. BOOK II without children, the heir is the brother of the deceased, provided he is a consanguineous brother; in default of him, the son of the brother; for the succession always passes to the males , and to the descendants of males ” 1 They still cited this old law in the time of Demosthenes, although it had already been modified, and they had commenced at this epoch to admit relationship through women. In the same way, the Twelve Tables ordained that, if a man died without his heir , the succession belonged to the nearest agnate. Now, we have seen that one was never an agnate through females. The ancient Roman law also specified that the nephew inherited from the patruus ,— that is to say, from his father’s brother, — and did not inherit from the avunculus , his mother’s brother. 2 By returning to the table which we have traced of the family of the Scipios, it will be seen that, Scipio Æmilianus, having died without children, his estate could not pass either to Cornelia, his aunt, or to C. Gracchus, who, according to our modern ideas, was his cousin-german, but to Scipio Asiaticus, who was really his nearest of kin. In the time of Justinian, the legislator no longer understood these old laws; they appeared unjust to him, and he complained of the excessive rigor of the laws of the Twelve Tables, “which always accorded the preference to the masculine posterity, and excluded from the inheritance those who were related to the de¬ ceased only through females.” 3 Unjust laws, if you will, for they made no account of natural affection; 1 Demosthenes, in Macart. ; in Lcoch. Isæus, VII. 20. 3 Institutes, III. 2, 4. 3 Ibid. III. 3. on at. Yir. THE EIGHT OF SUCCESSION. ioa but singularly logical laws, for setting out from the principle that the inheritance was attached to the wor¬ ship, they excluded from the inheritance those whom this religion did not authorize to continue the worship. 4. Effects of Emancipation and Adoption . We have already seen that emancipation and adop¬ tion produced a change in a man’s worship. The first separated him from the paternal worship, the second initiated him into the religion of another family. Here also the ancient law conformed to the rules of religion. The son who had been excluded from the paternal worship by emancipation was also excluded from the inheritance. On the other hand, the stranger who had been associated in the worship of a family by adoption became a son there; he continued its worship, and inherited the estate. In both cases ancient law made more account of the religious tie than of the tie of birth. As it was contrary to religion that one man should have two domestic worships, so he could not inherit from two families. Besides, the adopted son, who in¬ herited of the adopting family, did not inherit from his natural family. Athenian law was very explicit on this point. The orations of Attic orators often show us men who have been adopted into a family, and who wished to inherit in the one in which they were born ; but the law was against them. The adopted son could not inherit from his own family unless he re-entered it; he could not re-enter it except by renouncing the adopting family; and he could leave this latter only on two con¬ ditions: the one was, that he abandoned the patrimony of this family ; the oilier was, that the domestic worship, 104 THE FAMIL T. BOOK II. for the continuation of which he had been adopted, did not cease by his abandonment ; and, to make this certain, it was necessary for him to leave this family a son, who should replace him. This son took charge of the wor¬ ship, and inheiited the estate; the father could then return to the family of his birth, and inherit its prop¬ erty. But this father and son could no longer inherit from each other; they were not of the same family, they were not of kin. 1 We can easily see what was the idea of the old legis¬ lator when he established these precise rules. He did not suppose it possible that two estates could fall to the same heir, because two domestic worships could not be kept up by the same person. 5. Wills were not known originally . The right of willing — that is to say, of disposing of one’s property alter death, in order to make it pass to other than natural heirs — was in opposition to the re¬ ligious creed that was at the foundation of the law of property and the law of succession. The property being inherent in the worship, and the worship being hereditary, could one think of a will ? Besides, prop¬ erty did not belong to the individual, but to the family ; for man had not acquired it by the right of labor, but through the domestic worship. Attached to the family, it, was transmitted from the dead to the living not according to the will and choice of the dead, but by virtue ol superior rules which religion had estab¬ lished. 1 Isæus, X. Demosthenes, passim. Gaius, III. 2. In¬ stitutes , III. 1, 2. It is hardly necessary to state that these rules were modified in the pretorian laws. CHAP. VH. THE RIGHT OF SUCCESSION. 105 The will was not known in ancient Hindu law. Athenian legislation, up to Solon’s time, forbade it absolutely, and Solon himself permitted it only to those who left no children. 1 Wills were for a long time forbidden or unknown at Sparta, and were authorized only after the Peloponnesian war. 2 Aristotle speaks of a time when the case was the same at Corinth and at Thebes. 3 It is certain that the power of trans¬ mitting one’s property arbitrarily by will was not rec¬ ognized as a natural right ; the constant principle of the ancient ages was, that all property should remain in the family to which religion had attached it. Plato, in his treatise on the Laws, which is largely a commentary on the Athenian laws, explains very clearly the thought of ancient legislators. He sup¬ poses that a man on his death-bed demands the power to make a will, and that he cries, “ O gods, is it not very hard that I am not able to dispose of my property as I may choose, and in favor of any one to whom I please to give it, leaving more to this one, less to that one, according to the attachment they have shown for me?” But the legislator replies to this man, “Thou who canst not promise thyself a single day, thou who art only a pilgrim here below, does it belong to thee to decide such affairs? Thou art the master neither of thy property nor of thyself: thou and thy estate, all these things, belong to thy family; that is to say, to thy ancestors and to thy posterity.” 4 For us the ancient laws of Rome are very obscure; they were obscure even to Cicero. What we know reaches little farther back than the Twelve Tables, 1 Plutarch, Solon, 21. 8 Aristotle Polit,, II. 3, 4. * Id., Agis, 5. 4 Plato, Laws, XI. 106 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. which certainly are not the primitive legislation ol Rome ; and of these only fragments remain. This code authorizes the will ; yet the fragment relating to the subject is too short, and too evidently incomplete to enable us to flatter ourselves that we know the exact provisions of the legislators in this matter. W hen they granted the power of devising property, we do not know what reserve and what conditions they placed upon it. 1 We have no legal text, earlier than the Twelve Tables, that either forbids or permits a will ; but the language preserved traces of a time when wills were not known ; for it called the son the self-successor and necessary — heres suus et necessarius. This formu¬ la, which Gaius and Justinian still employed, but which was no longer in accord with the legislation of their time, came, without doubt, from a distant epoch, when the son could not be disinherited or refuse the heritage. The father had not then the free disposition of his fortune. In default of sons, and if the deceased had only collateral relatives, the will was not absolutely un¬ known, but was not easily made valid. Important for¬ malities were necessary. First, secrecy was not allowed to the testator during life ; the man who disinherited his family, and violated the law that religion had estab¬ lished, had to do this publicly, in broad daylight, and take upon himself, during his lifetime, all the odium attached to such an act. This was not all ; it was also necessary that the will of the testator should receive the approbation of the sovereign authority — that is to say, of the people assembled by curies, under the presi- 1 Uti legassit, ita jus esto. If we had of Solon’s law only the words duxôtoôai onwç uv iôîX we should also suppose that the will was permitted in all possible cases; but the law adds, a TlUÎÔtÇ WOt. CHAP, y LU THE EIGHT OF SUCCESSION. 107 dency of the pontiff. 1 We must not imagine that this was an empty formality, particularly in the early ages. These comitia by curies were the most solemn assem¬ blies of the Roman city; and it would be puerile to say that they convoked the people under the presidency of the religious chief, to act simply as witnesses at the reading of a will. We may suppose that the people voted, and we shall see, on reflection, that this was absolutely necessary. There was, in fact, a general law which regulated the order of succession in a rigor¬ ous manner; to modify this order in any particular, another law was necessary. This exceptional law was the will. The right of a man to devise by will was not, therefore, fully accorded, and could not be, so long as this society remained under the empire of the old re¬ ligion. In the belief of these ancient ages, the living man was only the representative, for a few years, of a constant and immortal being — the family. He held the worship and the property only in trust; his right to them ceased with his life. 6. The Right of Primogeniture. We must transport ourselves beyond the time of which history has preserved the recollection, to those distant ages during which domestic institutions were established, and social institutions were prepared. Of this epoch there does not remain, nor can there remain, any written monument ; but the laws which then gov¬ erned men have left some traces in the legislation of succeeding times. 1 Ulpian, XX. 2. Gaius, I. 102, 119. Aulus Gellius, XV. 27. The testament calatis comitiis was doubtless the oldest in use. It was no longer known in Cicero’s time. {De Orat ., I. 53.) 108 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. In these distant days we distinguish one institution which must have survived a long time, which had a considerable influence upon the future constitution of societies, and without which this constitution could not be explained. This is the right of primogeniture. I he old religion established a difference between the older and the younger son. “The oldest,” said the ancient Aryas, “was begotten for the accomplishment of the duty due the ancestors; the others are the fruit 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 property. 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 A erforms the duties towards the ancestors ; he ought, therefore, to have all.” 1 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. Sparta preserved it longer than other Greek cities, because the Spartans 1 Laws of Manu , IX. 105-107, 126. This ancient rule was modi tied as the old religion became enfeebled. Even in the code of Manu we find articles that authorize a division of the inheritance. UH AF. vu. THE RIG HI OF SUCCESSION. 109 were longer faithful to old institutions ; among them the patrimony was indivisible, and the younger brothers had no part of it. 1 It was the same with many of the ancient codes that Aristotle had studied. He informs 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. 2 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. 3 It consisted in retaining, above his proportion, the paternal dwelling — an advantage which was materially considerable, and which was still more considerable in a religious point af 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. 4 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 al.l- 1 Fragments of the Greek Historians , Didot’s Coll., t. II p. 211. * Aristotle, Polit., II. 9; II. 3. 3 TToenfitlix, Demosthenes, Pro Phorm.. 34. 4 Demosthenes, in Bœot. de nomine. 110 THE FAMILY. BOOK 11 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 effaced. 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. 1 1 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¬ nifient, 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 Vcrrem, II. 323. Livy, XLI. 27 Velleius, I. 10. Lucretius, III. 772; Vi. 1280). CHAP. VIII. AUTHORITY IN THE FAMILY. Ill CHAPTER VIII. Authority in the Family. 1. The Principle and Nature of the Paternal Power among the Ancients . The family did not receive its laws from 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, “Your 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 speak 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 L.. 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, — kuna déonoivu i — whom the Romans called Lar 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 beina; 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 .nto 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. ^ III. 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 husband. Greek law, Roman law, and Hindu law, all derived from this old religion, agree in considering the wife as always a minor. 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* fancy, depends 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.” 1 2 The Greek laws and those of Rome are to the same effect. As a girl, she is under her father’s control ; if her father dies, she is governed by her brothers ; married, she is under the guardianship of her husband ; if the husband dies, she does not return to her own family, for she has re¬ nounced that forever by the sacred marriage; 3 the widow remains subject to the guardianship of her hus¬ band’s agnates — that is to say, of her own sons, if stn. 1 Festus. v. Mater families. * Laws of Manu , V. 147, 148 3 She returned only in case of divorce. Demosthenes, %n Eubulid.f 41. 8 114 THE FAMILY. BOOK n has any, or, in default of sons, of the nearest kin¬ dred. 1 * So complete is her husband’s authority over her, that he can, upon his death, designate a guardian for her, and even choose her a second husband. 8 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 manus. 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 w T ise 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 power. 3 * * * * 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 1 Demosthenes, m Steph ., II. ; in Aphob. Plutarch, Themisi ., 32. Dionysius of Halicarnassus, II. 25. Gaius, I. 149, 155- Aulus Gellius., III. 2. Macrobius, I. 3. 3 Demosthenes, in Aphobum ; pro Phormione. 3 Cicero, Topic ., 14. Tacitus, Ann.., IV. 16. Aulus Gellius, XVIII. 6. It will be seen farther on, that, at a certain epoch, new modes of marriage were instituted, and that they had the lame legal effects as the sacred marriage. CHAP. VIII. AUTHORITY IN THE FAMILY. 115 chief of the worship, and that the son shall merely aid him in his sacred functions. But nature requires this 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. 1 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 1 When Gaius said of the paternal power, Jus proprium est civium 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 II. authority upon the one and commanded obedience of the other. Paternity, of itself, gave the father no rights. Thanks to the domestic religion, the family was a small organized body; a little society, which had its chief and its government. Nothing in modern society can give us an idea of this paternal authority. 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 to 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 sacred formulas of prayer. The whole religion resides in him. 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 formulas 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 human race existed before him. The same title of pater was given to Neptune, to Apollo, to Bac¬ chus, to Yulcan, 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 lan- CHAP. VIII. AUTHORITY IN TI1B .FAMILY. 117 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 ( gânitar , ytwipr^, genitor). The word pater had an¬ other sense. In religious language they applied it to the gods; in legal language to every man who had a worship 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, {tuadevç. 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 thh word suffices to give us an idea of the power which the father exercised 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. Enumeration of the Eights 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 4.18 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. 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 first 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, 1 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 sufficient to admit one into the sacred circle of the family ; the consent of its chief, and an initiation into its worship, are necessary. 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. 1 Herodotus, L. 6&. Plutarch, Alcib., 23 ; Agesilaus, 3- CHAP. VIII. AUTHORITY IN TH*, TAMILY. 119 Tho right to emancipate— that is to say, to exclude a son from the family and the worship. The right to adopt — that is to say, to introduce a stranger to the domestic hearth. The right, at his death, of naming a guardian for his 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 the 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. 1 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 itselfj 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 1 Demosthenes, in Eubul., 40 and 43. Gain?, T. 155. Ulpian, VIII. 8. Institutes, I. 9. Digest , I. tit. 1, 11 120 THK FAMILY. BOOK II. the rights of an administrator, but of an owner. What¬ ever the wife might have acquired during her marriage fell into the hands of lier husband. She did not even recover her dower on becoming a widow. 1 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 labor, 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 the 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. 2 We see in the Roman laws, and we find also in the laws of Athens, that a father could sell his son. 3 This was because the father might dispose of all the prop¬ erty of the family, and the son might be looked upon as property, since his labor was a source of income. The father might, therefore, according to choice, keep this instrument oflabor, 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 appears cer¬ tain that the son thus sold did not become the slave of the purchaser. * His liberty was not sold ; only his labor. 1 Gaius, II. 98. All these rules of primitive law were modi¬ fied by the pretorian law. 2 Cicero, De Lcgib., II. 20. Gaius, II. 87. Digest , XVIII. tit. 1, 2. 3 Plutarch, Solon , 13. Dionys. of Halic., II. 26. Gaius, I. li/ ; I. 132; IV. 79. Ulpian, X. 1. Livy, XLI. 8. Festus, v. Dtmimitus • URAJt*. Yin. AUTHORITY 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 son. III. Plutarch informs us that at Rome women could not appear in court even as witnesses . 1 We read in the jurisconsult Gains, “ 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 .” 2 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 his marital and parental authority, in the name of the fam¬ ily and under the eyes of the domestic divinities . 3 4 1 Plutarch, Publicola , 8. * Gaius, II. 96; IV. 77, 78 3 There came a time when this jurisdiction was modified; the father consulted the whole family, and formed it into a tribunal, over which he presided. Tacit., XIII. 32. Digest , XXIII. tit. 4 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 appeal. 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 whi> 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 Roman 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 arid 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 '7fiAf\ IX. MORALS OF THE ANCIENT FAMILY. 123 derived from the right of the strongest. It had its foundation in 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 he 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 justice, and to establish private law in all its details. CHAPTER IX. Morals of the Ancient Family. History does not study material facts and institu¬ tions alone ; its true object of study is the human 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 remains 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 religious 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 . 1 This signified, You separate yourself from 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 affec¬ tion had not yet passed beyond the narrow circle of the family. It is natural that moral ideas, like religious ideas, 1 r Eot'ui ôrsiç. Pseudo-Plutarch, ed. Dubner, V. 167. CHAP. IX. MORALS OP THE ANCIENT FAMILY. 125 should have their commencement and progress, 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, from stage to stage, they reached the point of proclaiming 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 is 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 our bodies and regulate our minds.” 1 Men loved to apply to the holy fire 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 bom 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 1 Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 51. Macrobius, Sat., III. 4. 126 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. prayer, or to offer the sacred repast The god was so severe that he admitted no excuse ; he did not d s- tinguish between an involuntary murder and a pre¬ meditated crime. The hand stained with blood could no longer touch sacred objects . 1 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 . 2 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 charity, at any rate it traced for man with admirable precision his family duties. It rendered marriage obligatory ; celi¬ bacy was a ciime in the eyes of a religion that made the perpetuity of the family the first 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 t ■> perform any sacred act ; he could not pray . 3 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 1 Hdts., I. 35. Virgil, Æn., II. 719. Plutarch, Theseus , 12 s Apollonius of Rhodes, IV. 704-707. Æsch., Choeph.> 96. * Isærs, VII. Demosthenes, in Mvcari. CHAP. IX. MORALS OF THE ANCIENT FAMILY. 121 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 buried in the tomb, all the princi- pies 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 . 1 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 . 2 These, then, are the first moral and domestic laws discovered and sanctioned. Here is, besides the nat¬ ural sentiment — an imperious religion, which tells the husband and wife that they are united forever, and 1 Laws of Manu , III. 175. * 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 Neœr ., 22 ; Corn. Nepos., prooemium ; id., Life of Cimon ; Minu- cius Felix, in Octavio ), but it was forbidden, as a principle, to marry a woman of another city. 128 THE FAMILY. cook: II. 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 serious and sacred character of the conjugal union among the an¬ cients, and the purity which the family long preserved. This domestic morality prescribed 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 . 1 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 .” 2 Among the Romans the presence of the wife was so necessary in the sacrifices that the priest lost his office on becoming a widower . 3 Jt 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 famiJias and mater familias ; the Greeks, olxoÔFanÔTTjç and olxfiéonoiru ; the Hindus, gri/iapati and grehapatni. Hence also came this formula, which the wife pronounced in the Roman marriage: ubi tu Cains , 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 1 Cato, 143. Dion vs. of Ilalic., II. 22. Laics of Manu , III. 62; V. 151. 2 Xenophon, Govt, of the Lacedcemonians. 2 Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 50. CHAP. IX. MORALS OF TIIE 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 ; his presence on certain days was so necessary that the Homan who had no son was forced to adopt a fictitious one for those days, in order that the rites might be per¬ formed. 1 And here religion established 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 funeral repasts were regularly offered. Thus the father is convinced that his destiny after this life will depend upon the care that his son will take of his tomb, and the son, on his part, is convinced that his father will be¬ come a god after death, whom he will have to invoke. We can imagine how much respect and reciprocal affection this belief would establish in the family. The ancients gave to the domestic virtues the name of 'piety — the obedience of the son to 1ns father, the love which he bore to his mother. This was piety —pietas erga parentes. The attachment of the father for the child, the tenderness of the mother, — these, too, were piety —pietas ergaliberos . Everything in the family was divine. The sense of duty, natural affection, the religious idea, — all these were confounded, were con¬ sidered as one, and were expressed by the same word. It will, perhaps, 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 secs Troy in flames, is still unwilling to leave his old home. Ulysses, when countless treasures, and immor¬ tality itself, are offered him, wishes only again to see the flame of his own hearth-fire. Let us come down tc Dionys. of Halic., II. 20, 22. 9 l 130 TIÏE 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 my forefathers. I cannot express the charm which I find here, and which penetrates my heart and my senses.” 1 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 everywhere. 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. 2 Thus the religion of the primitive ages w r as 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- 1 Cicero, De Legib., H. 1. Pro Domo, 41. 2 Of the sanctity of the domicile, which the ancients always spoke of as inviolable, Demosthenes, in And rot., 52; in Ever- gum , 00. Digest , de in jus voc ., II. 4. C1IAP. X. TH E GENS AT ROME AND IN GREECE. 131 terior of eacli house; a man loved bis house, bis borne, fixed and durable, which be bad 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, and 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. 1 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 yéroç. 1 What is said of ancient morals in this chapter is intended to apply to those peoples that afterwards became Greeks and Ho¬ 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 II. As the nature and constitution of the gens have been much discussed, it may not be amiss here to point out what has constituted the difficulty of the problem. The gens , as we shall see presently, formed a body whose constitution was radically aristocratic. It was through their internal organization that the patricians of Rome and the Eupatrids of Athens were able to perpetuate their privileges for so long a time. No sooner had the popular party gained the upper hand, than they attacked this old institution with all their power. If they had been able completely to destroy it, they would probably not have left us the slightest memorial of it. But it was singularly endowed with vitality, and deeply rooted in their manners, and 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 wmy of the new regime. Thus, at Rome, the plebeians undertook to form gentes , 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 imitation of them. We shall have to return to the subject when we speak of the revolutions. Let it suffice here for us to remark, that this profound alteration wdiich the democracy introduced into the regime of the gens 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 that part which the revolutions had allowed to subsist. Let us suppose that, twenty centuries hence, all knowledge of the middle ages has perished; that there CIlAr. X. THE GEN'S AT ROME AND IN GPS Ç JE. 1^3 remain no documents relating to what passed before the revolution of 1789; and that, notwithstanding 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 hand would show him the nobility of the nineteenth century — that is to say, something very different from that of feudalism; but he would suspect that a great revolution had taken place, and he would rightly conclude that this institution, like all the others, must have been modified. This nobility, which his au¬ thorities would describe to him, would no longer be for him anything but the shadow or the enfeebled and altered image of another nobility, incomparably more powerful. Finally, if he examined with attention the slight remains of ancient monuments, a few ex¬ pressions preserved in the language, a few terms escaped from, the law, vague souvenirs or sterile re¬ grets, he would perhaps be able to conjecture some¬ thing concerning the feudal system, and would obtain an idea of the institutions of the middle ages that would not be very far from the truth. The difficulty would assuredly be great; nor is it less for him who to-day desires to understand the antique gens ; for he has no information regarding it except what dates from a time when it was no longer anything but a shadow of itself. We will commence by analyzing all that the ancient writers tell us of the gens ; that is to say, what remained of it at the epoch when it was already greatly changed. Then, by the aid of these remains, we shall attempt to catch a glimpse of the veritable system of the antique gens. THE FAMILY. BOOK II. 134 1. What Ancient Writers tell us of the Gens. If we open a Roman history at the time of the Punic wars we meet three personages, 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 jth'oc, that of the Brytidæ. What is remarkable in this example is, that the seven persons cited as mem¬ bers of the same yèvo; are inscribed in six different denies. This shows that the yéro; did not correspond exactly with the deme, and was not, like it, a simple administrative division. 1 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 members of the same gens were recognized “ by the fact that they had performed sacrifices in common from a very early period.” 2 Plutarch speaks of the place where the Lycomedæ sacrificed, and Æschines speaks of the altar of the gens of the Butadæ. 3 1 Demosthenes, in Neær., 71. Plutarch, Themist ., 1 . Æs¬ chines, De Falsa Legal., 147. Bceckh, Corp. Insc., 385. Ross, Demi Attici. 24. The gens among the Greeks is often called nàjqa. Pindar, passim. * Ilesychius, ytvn]rai. Pollux, III. 52, Harpocration, oçyecùrtç. * Plutarch Themist I. Æsch., De Falsa Legal.. 147. CHAP. X. THE GENS AT ROME AND IN GREECE. 13f) At Rome, too, each gens had religious ceremonies to perform ; the day, the place, and the rites were fixed by its particular religion. 1 When the capital is be¬ sieged by the Gauls, one of the Fabii, 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 offer 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 first importance to the republic that he remains with his army; and yet he leaves it in the hands of the im¬ prudent Minucius: this is because the anniversary of the sacrifice of his gens has arrived, and he must be at Rome to perform the sacred act. 2 It was a duty to pe/petuate 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 his 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 — Da y entiles — protected no other gens, and did not desire to be invoked by an¬ other. No 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 offended, and all the members were guilty of grave impiety. Just as every gens had its worship and its religious 1 Cicero, De Arusp. Resp., 15. Dion. Ilalic., XI. 14. Fes- tus, Propudi. 2 Livy, V. 40; XXII. 18. Yaler. Max., I. 1,11. Polybius, III. 94. Pliny, XXXIV. 13. Maerobius, III. 5. 136 THE FAMILY. BOOK IL festivals, so also it had its common tomb. We read in an oration of Demosthenes, “ This man, having lost 7 O his children, buried them in the tomb of his fathers, in that tomb that is common to all those of his gens.” I he rest of the oration shows that no stranger could be buried in this tomb. In another discourse, the same orator speaks of the tomb where the gens of the Dusel- idæ buried its members, and where every year it per¬ formed its funeral sacrifices : “ this burial-place is a large field, surrounded with an enclosure, according to the ancient custom.” 1 The same was the case among the Romans. Vel- leius Paterculus speaks of the tomb of the Quintilian gens, and Suetonius informs us that the Claudian gens had one on the slope of the Capitoline Hill. The ancient law of Rome permits the members of a gens to inherit from each other. The Twelve Tables declare that, in default of sons and of agnates, the gentilis is the natural heir. According to this code, therefore, the gentiles are nearer akin than the cog¬ nates; that is to say, nearer than those related through females. Nothing is more closely united than the members of a gens. United in the celebration of the same sa¬ cred ceremonies, they mutually aid each other in all the needs of life. The entire gens is responsible for the debt of one of its members ; it redeems the prison¬ er and pays the fine of one condemned. If one of its members becomes a magistrate, it unites to pay the expenses incident to the magistracy. 2 The accused was accompanied to the tribunal by all 1 Demosthenes, in Macart ., 79; in Eubttl., 28. 9 Livy, V. 32. Dion. Halic., XIII. 5. Appian, Annib., 28. CHAP. X. THE GENS AT ROME AND IN GREECE. 137 the members of his gens; this marks the close relation which the law established between a man and the body of which he formed a part. For a man to plead or bear witness against one of his own gens was an act contrary to religion. A certain Claudius, a man of some rank, was a personal enemy of Appius Claudius the Decemvir; yet when the latter was placed on trial, and was menaced with death, this Claudius appeared in his defence, and implored the people in his favor, but not without giving them notice that he took this step “ not on account of any affection which he bore the accused, but as a duty.” If a member of a gens could not accuse another member before a tribunal of the city, this was because there was a tribunal in the gens itself. Each gens had its chief, who was at the same time its judge, its priest, and its military commander. 1 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 the whole war against the Veientes, we see that this gens had its chief, who spoke in its name before the senate, and who led it against the enemy.* 2 In Greece, too, each gens had its chief; the inscrip¬ tions confirm this, and they show us that this chief generally bore the title of archon. 3 Finally, in Rome, as in Greece, the gens had its assemblies; it passed laws which its members were bound to obey, and which the city itself respected. 4 1 Dion. Ilalic., II. 7. * Ibid., IX. 5. 3 Bœckli, Corp. Inscrip ., 897, 399. Ross, Demi Attici , 24. 4 Livy, VI. 20. Suetonius, Tiber ., 1. Ross, Demi Attici , 24. 138 TUE FAMILY. BOOK II. Such are the usages and laws which we find still in force at an epocli when the gens was already enfeebled and almost destroyed. Such are the remains of this ancient institution. 2. An Examination of certain Opinions that have been put forth to explain the Roman Gens . On this subject, which has long been the theme of learned controversy, several theories have been offered. Some say that the gens was nothing more than a simi¬ larity in name ; 1 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 patrons 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- 1 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 vhat the ancient gens really was. en a p. x. THE GENS AT ROME AND IN 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- molpidæ worshipped Eumolpus, the author of their race ; the Phytalidæ adored the hero Phytalus; the Butadæ, Butes; the Buselidæ, Buselus; the Lakiadæ, Lakios; the Amynandridæ, Cecrops. 1 At Rome the Claudii are descended from a Clausus ; the Cæcilii honored as chief of their race the hero Cæculus ; the Calpurnii, a Calpus ; the Julii, a Juins; the Clœlii, a Clœlus. 2 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 ruies 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 1 Demosthenes, in Macart ., 79. Pausanias, I. 37. Inscrip¬ tion of the Amynandridæ, cited by Poss, p. 24. s Festus, Cæculus , Calpurnii , Claslii. 140 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. from him. To counterfeit a tomb, to establish anniver¬ saries and an annual worship, would have been to carry falsehood into what they held most dear, and to trifle with religion. Such a fiction was possible in the time of Cæsar, when the old family religion was cher¬ ished by nobody. But if we go back to the time when this creed was in its vigor, we cannot 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 descendants 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 often found in history, it is well to seek from the terms of lano-uas-e all the instruc- tion which they can afford. An institution is some¬ times explained by the word that designates it. Now, the word gens means exactly the same as the word genus ; so completely alike are they that we can take the one for the other, and say, indifferently, gens Fahia and genus Fabium; both correspond to the verb gig- nere and to the substantive genitor , precisely as yh : og corresponds to yewùv and to yopeig, All these words convey the same idea of filiation. The Greeks also designated the members of a yèvog by the word oyoyh- luy.Tfç, which signifies nourished by the same milk. Let these words be compared with those which we are ac¬ customed to translate by family — the Latin familia , the Greek ôixog. 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 is for this reason that the Twelve Tables say, in speaking of the heir, familiam CHAP. X. THE GENS AT ROME AND IN GREECE. 14 ] nancitor —let him take the succession. As to Zmo;, it is clear that this word presents to the mind no other idea than that of property or of domicile. And yet these are the words that we habitually translate by family. Now, is it admissible that terms whose intrinsic meaning is that of domicile or property were often used to designate a family, and that other words whose primary sense is fili¬ ation, birth, paternity, have never designated anything but an artificial association? Certainly this would not be in conformity with the logic, so direct and clear, of the ancient languages. It is unquestionable that the Greeks and the Romans attached to the words gens and yèvng the idea of a common origin. This idea might have become obscured after the gens was modified, but the word has remained to bear witness of it. The theory that presents the gens as a factitious association has against it, therefore, 1st, the old legis¬ lation, which gives the gentiles the right of inheritance ; 2, the old religion,which allowed a common worship only where there was a common parentage; 3d, the terms of language, which attest in the gens a common origin. The theory has also this other defect, that it supposes human societies to have commenced by a convention and an artifice — a position which historical science can¬ not admit as true. 3. The Gens is the Family still holding its primitive Orgaviization and its Unity. All the evidence presents us the gens as united by the tie of birth. Let us again consult language: the names of the gentes, in Greece as well as in Rome, all have the form which was used in the two languages for patronymics. Claudius signifies the son of Clausus, and Butadæ, the sons of Butes. 142 THE FAMILY. book n. Those who think they see in the gens an artificial association, set ont from a false assumption. They suppose that a gens always consisted of several families having different names, and they cite the Cornelian gens, which did indeed include Scipios, Lentuli, Cossi, and Syllæ. But this is very far from having been 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 Quintil¬ ian gens, for a long time. It would certainly be very difficult to tell what families composed the Fabian çens 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 Scipio. 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 — pram omen ; Scipio was a name added — agnomen. The true name was Cornelius ; and this name was at the same time that of the whole gens. FTad 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 oiten 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 Camillas that one of its branches adopted the surname of Scipio. CHAP. X. 7nE GENS AT ROME AND IN GREECE. 143 A litt le later another branch took the surname of Rufus, which it replaced afterwards by that of Sylla. The Lentuli do not appear till the time 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 origin. 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 Centhos, 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 w T e 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 offer him the funeral repast. This fire always kept burning, this tomb always hon¬ ored with a worship, were the centre around whi(h all 144 THE FAMILY. BOOK II. later generations came to live, and by which all the 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? While studying the nature of authority in the ancient family, we saw that the son did not separate from the father ; while studying the rules for the transmission of the patrimony, we saw that, on account of the right of pri¬ mogeniture, the younger brothers did not separate from the oldest. Hearth, tomb, patrimony, all these, in the beginning, were indivisible. The family, consequently, 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 unity which its religion enjoined, and having attained all the development which ancient private law permitted it to attain. 1 1 We need not repeat what we have already said of agnation vXn6uade tic. 2 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 social pow r er above it. 1 Demosthenes, in Theocrinem. Æschines, III. 27. Isæus, VII. 36. Pausanias, I. 38. Schol., in Demosih., 702. In the history of the ancients a distinction 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. Iliad , II. 362, 668 ; Odyssey, XIX. 177 ; Herodotus, IV. 161. 2 Æschines, III. 30, 31. Aristotle, Frag , cited by Photius, v. NavrçaQia. Pollux, VIII. 111. Boeckh, Oorp. Inscr., 82, 85, 108. Few traces remain of the political and religious organiza¬ tion of the three primitive tribes of Rome. These tribes were t-oo considerable bodies for the city not to attempt to weaken them and take away their independence. The plebeian!*, more¬ over, labored to abolish them. s O HAP. II. NEW RELIGIOUS BELIEFS. 159 CHAPTER II. Hew Religious Beliefs. 1. The Gods of Physical Nature . Before passing from the formation 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 principal figures were Zeus, Here, Athene, Juno, that of the Hellenic Olympus, and of the Roman Capitol. Of these two religions, 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 his religious sentiment another course. Man, in the early ages, was continually in the pres¬ ence of nature; the habits of civilized 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 terrified by the night ; and wher he saw the “holy light of heaven” return, he experi¬ enced a feeling of thankfulness. His life was in the hands of nature; he looked for the beneficent cloud on which his harvest depended ; he feared the storm which 160 THE CITY. BOOR 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 ruling the universe ; for as yet he had no idea of the universe. He knew not that 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 himself 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. dims 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; CHAI», n. NEW RELIGIOUS 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 distinct, 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. Relation of this Religion 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¬ trine. 1 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 1 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. 289; Virg., Georg., I. 126. Æsch., Eumen. Pausanias, VIII. 8. It appears that among the Hindus the Fitris were anterior to the Deras. 11 162 THE CITY. BOOK III. origin of tliis religion neither a prophet nor a body of priests. It grew up in different minds by an effort of their natural powers. Each man created it for himself in 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. I3ut there was also a great variety, because each mind was the author 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 which nourishes, the clouds, by turns beneficent and destructive — such were the different 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 of 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 NEW RELIGIOUS 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 sort 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. 1 As the first appearance of these beliefs was at a time when men still lived under family government, these new goda had at first, like the demons, the heroes, and the Lares, the character of domestic divinities. Each family made gods for itself, and each kept them for itself, as protectors, whose good offices it did not wish to share with strangers. This thought appears fre¬ quently in the hymns of the Vedas; 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 personifying a phys¬ ical agent, had created a god, it associated him with its sacred fire, counted him among its Penates, and added a few words for him in its formula of prayer. This ex¬ plains why we often meet among the ancients with expressions like this : The gods who sit near my hearth ; the Jupiter of my hearth; the Apollo of my fathers.* U I conjure you,” said Tecmessa to Ajax, “in the name 1 The same name often conceals very different divinities. Po¬ seidon Hippius, Poseidon Phytalmius, the Erechthean Poseidon, the Ægean Poseidon, the Heliconian Poseidon, were different gods, who had neither the same attributes nor the same worship- pel's. * r EoTiovgoif icfiiOTtut, nur^Moi. r O iu'oç Ztvç , Eurip., Hecu~ ha , 345: Mzdea, 395. Sophocles, Ajax , 492. Virgil, VIII. 543. Herodotus, I. 44. 164 THE CITY. book in. of the Jupiter who sits 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 my 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 unity 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 regarded them as their patrimony. We know even that many of them never became disengaged from this sort of domestic tie. The Demeter of Eleu¬ sis remained the special divinity of the family of the Eumolpidæ. 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. 1 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 course of time, the divinity of a family having acquired a great prestige over the imagi¬ nations of men, and appearing powerful in proportion 1 Livy, IX. 29. Dionysius, YI. 69. CH 4P. n. NiCW KELIGIOUS BELIEFS. VL 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 Eumolpidæ, the Athene of the Butadæ, and the Hercu¬ les of the Poti/ii. 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 hereditary, and could not go out of a certain family. 1 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 perpetual and impassable line of demarcation between families. The religion of the gods of nature was more comprehensive. No rigorous 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 1 Herodotus, Y. 64, 65; IX. 27. Pindar, Isthm., VII. 18. Xenophon, Hell., VI. 8. Plato, Laws, p. 759; Banquet , p. 40. Cicero, De Divin., I. 41. Tacitus, Ann. II. 54. Plutarch, The¬ seus, 23. Strabo, IX. 421 ; XIV. 634. Callimachus, Hymn U Apollo, 84. Pausanias, 1.37; VI. 17; X. 1. Apollodorus, 117 IÇ. Harpocration, v. EvnS'ai. Boeckh, Corp. Inscript., 134C, 166 THE CITY. BOOK III. 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 Gres. 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 struggles and to take part in theii combats ; often, also, to enjoin concord, and to teach them 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 first, afterwards assumed large proportions. In the beginning it was, so to speak, shel¬ tered under the protection of its elder sister, near the domestic hearth. There the god had obtained a small place, a narrow cella , near and 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 from vulta 9 to inhabit) was, moreover, built after the fashion of the ancient sanctuary ; it was, as before, a cella opposite a hearth ; but the cella was enlarged and embellished, and became a temple. The holy fire 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. ill. THE CITY FORMED. 167 strument tor the sacrifice. Its office was to burn tb* 1 flesh of the victim, and to carry the offering with men's prayeis 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 m. 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 respect¬ ed. The day on which this alliance took place the city existed. It is of little account to seek the cause which 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 CITY. BOOK III 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 body, 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 least for several centuries, to respect the religious and civil independence of the tribes, curies, and families, and had not the right, at first, to interfere in the private affairs of 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 judging his wife, his son, and his client. It is for this reason that private law, which had been fixed at the time when families were isolated, could sub ÏÏHAP. DI. THE CITY FORMED. 169 sist in the city, and was modified only at a very late period. The mode of founding ancient cities is attested by usages 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, 1 “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 , 2 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 before it, and which it permitted 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 1 Homer, Iliad , II. 362. Varro, De Ling. Lot V. 89. Isæus, II. 42. 8 Aulus Gellius, XV. 27. 170 THÏÏ CITY. BOOK in. 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 himself, 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. 1 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. An 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. 2 Some of these families of the primitive period, like the Eumolpidæ, the Cecropidæ, the Gephyræi, the Phytalidæ, and the Lakiadæ, 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 Eumolpidæ, fixed at Eleusis, adored Demeter; the Cecropidæ, who inhabited the rocks where Athens was afterwards built, had Poseidon and Athene for protecting divinities, 1 Demosthenes, in Eubul. Isæus, VII. IX. Lycurgus, I 76. Scliol., in Demosth.^ p. 438. Pollux, VIII. 105. Stobseus De Repub. * Kura Plutarch, Theseus . 24, 13. CHAP. 111. THE CITY FORMED. 171 Near by, oi. the little hill of the Areopagus, the pro¬ tecting god was Ares. At Marathon it was Hercules ; at Prasiæ an Apollo, another Apollo at Phlius, the Dios¬ curi at Cephalus, and thus of all the other cantons . 1 Every family, as it had its god and its altar, had 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 and judge? Some hundred little societies then lived isolated 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 . 2 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 Piræus, Phalerum, and two neighboring burghs, united and built a temple to Hercules . 3 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, vas attributed by tradition to the efforts of Cecrops: we are merely to understand by this, that it was not ac- * Pausanias, I. 15; 31, 37, II. 18. 2 Plutarch, Theseus, 13. 3 Id., ibid., 14. Pollux, VI. 105. Stephen of Byzantium, ijrêUSai. 172 THE CITY. 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 . 1 Several centuries passed, during which the Cecrop- idæ insensibly acquired greater importance. Of this period there remains the tradition of a bloody struggle sustained by them against the Eumolpidæ 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 . 2 There were doubtless other struggles and other conquests, of which no memorial has been preserved. The rock of the Cecropidæ, 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 Cecropidæ. 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- nathenæa 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 . 3 From that time Athenian unity was established. In 1 Philochorus, quoted by Strabo, IX. Thucydides, II. 16. Pollux, VIII. 111. * Pausanias, I. 38. 3 Thucydides, II. 15. Plutarch, Theseus , 24. Pausanias, 1, 26- VIII. 2. s CHAP. III. THE CITY FORMED. 173 religion every car,ton 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 . 1 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 1 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 Theocrinera. Pollux, VIII. Ill. 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 Ionians of the Peloponnesus, it is not probable that the Athenians would have so religiously preserved their names of Cecropidæ, and Erechtheidæ, and that they would have been ashamed of the name of Ionians. (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 Xutlius, the legendary hero of Euripides, the parent stock of these Ionians; 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 class of men as conquerors who oppressed a conquered people. There is no ancient testimony to support this opinion. 174 THE CITY. BOOK III. so fast as religion enlarged its sphere. We cannot, indeed, say that religious 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 all-powerful 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. HL THE CITY FORMED. 175 belief grew, and human society grew at 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— d&ol ttutqmoi, dii gentiles. Above the family was formed the phra¬ try with its god — Otog cpo&TQiog , Juno curialis . Then came the tribe, and the god of the tribe — deog yvhog. Finally came the city, and men conceived a god whose providence embraced this entire city — ôc-oç nohevç, pé¬ 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 traditions of the Hindus, of 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 ; but those gods, so powerful and beneficent, were nothing else than the beliefs of men. Such was the origin of cities among the ancients. This study was necessary to give us a correct idea of the nature and institutions of the city. But 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 IU went to found another, lie 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 ne\v 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 worship, and from 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 Arcadia, or because it had been cor¬ rupted and dissolved by too rapid revolutions, as at Cyrene and Thurii. 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 . 1 Thus Plato did when he imagined a model city. 1 Herodotis, IV. 161. Cf. Plato, Lavs, V. 738 ; VI. 771. CHAP. IV. THE CITY. 17 ? CHAPTER IV. The City. Ox vitas, and Urbs, either of which we translate by the word city , were not synonymous words among the ancients. Civitas was the religious and political associ¬ ation of families and tribes ; Urbs 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 ourselves 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 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 him vagabonds and robbers, and that all these men, collected without distinction, built at hazard a few huts to shelter their booty; but ancient 12 178 THE CITY. BOOK ill. 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 sacred 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, religious 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 authors 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 preserved ip part for us, both men deeply versed in Roman antiquities, lovers ol truth, in no wise credulous, and well acquainted with CHIP. IV. THE CITV. 179 the rules of historical criticism. All these 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 — a 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 , 1 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 offers a sacrifice. His companions are ranged around him ; they light a fire of brushwood, and each one leaps through the flame . 2 The explanation of this rite is, Cicero, De Divin ., I. 17. Plutarch, CamillnSy 32. Pliny, XIV. 2; XVTU. 12. s Dionysius, I. 88. 180 THE CITY. BOOK. III. that for the act about to take place, it is necessary that the people be pure; and the ancients believed 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 ot earth, which he had brought from the city of Alba. 1 Then each of his companions, approaching by turns, following his example, threw in a little earth, which he had brought 1’rom 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 lire; there their lathers 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 carry with him, under the symbol of a clod of earth, the sacred soil where his ancestors were buried, and to which their manes w T ere 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 of my fathers, terra pa- trum , patria ; here is my country, for here are the manes of my family. The trench into which each one had thrown a little earth was called muudus . Now, this word designated in 1 Plutarch, Romulus , It. Dion Cassius, Fragm 12. Ovid, Fasliy IV. 821 Festus, v. Quadrat a. CHAP. IV. THE CITY. 181 the ancient language, the region ot the manes. 1 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¬ dition, the real thought of these ancient men ? When placing in the trench a clod of earth from their former country, they believed they 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 fire of the city. 2 Around this hearth arose the city, as the house rises 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, himself held the 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. 3 This enclosure, traced by re¬ ligion, was inviolable. Neither stranger nor citizen had 1 Festus, v. Mundus . Servius, ad Æn., III. 134. Plutarch, Romulus , 11. 2 Ovid, ibid. Later the hearth was removed. When the three cities, the Palatine, 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. 3 Plutarch, Romulus , 11. Ovid, Ibidem. Varro, De Ling. Lat. t V. 143. Festus, v. Primigenius\ v. Urvai v irgil, V. 755. 182 THE CITY. BOOK III the right to cross over it. To leap over this little farrow 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. 1 But, in order that men might enter and leave the city, the furrow was interrupted in certain places. 2 To accomplish this, Romulus raised the plough and carried it over; these intervale were called portæ ; 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. 3 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 pomœrium y 4 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 asked 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 tho 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 1 See Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 27. * Cato, in Servius, V. 755. 3 Cicero, De Nat. Deor., III. 40. Digest, 8, 8. Gaius, II. 8. 4 Yarro, V. 143. Livy, I. 44. Aulus Gellius, XIII. 14. CH 4P. IV. THE CITY. 183 been founded in the same manner. According to Varro, these rites were common to Latiura and to Etruria. 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. 1 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. 2 * 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 dty 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. 4 We may see in a comedy of Aristophanes a sufficiently exact picture of the ceremony practised in such cases. When the poet represented the amusing foundation of the city of the birds, he certainly had in mind the customs which were observed in the foundation of the cities of men. Now he 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. 1 Cato, in Servius, V. 755. Yarro, L. L., Y. 143. Festus, v. Rituales. 2 Diodorus, XII. 12; Pausanias, YII. 2. Athenæus, VIII. 62 ' Herodotus, V. 42. 4 Thucydides, Y. 1G; III. 24. 184 THE CITY. BOOK Ill. Pausanias travelled in Greece about Adrian’s time. In Messenia he had the priests describe to him the foundation of the city of Messene, and he has trans¬ mitted this account to us. 1 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 country : they had been soiled by the conquest. To choose the place where they should establish them¬ selves, they could not have recourse 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 Messenian 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 1 Pausanias, IV. 27. s CHAP. IV. THE 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 sacred 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 possession 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¬ treated to return. Formulas were pronounced, which, it was believed, would determine them to inhabit the new city in common with the citizens. This was the great object; to fix the residence of the gods with themselves was what these men had the most at heart, and we may be sure that the religious ceremony had no other aim. Just as the companions of Romulus dug 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 III, 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 first 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 had 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 Lacedaemon, and the Ionians Miletus, though these two tribes found Lace¬ daemon 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. 1 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 the 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 Yeii. But the pious Camillus replied, “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, 2 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. 1 ' IXioç iQtj, "sqcu ’sièïiQcu (Aristoph., Knights, 1319). Aaxt- datuovi lQia tiov 7rokèo)v ovrôemva. Athenæus, V. 2. 206 THE CITY. BOOK IU 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 . 1 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 very moment when the city, assembled about its king, was performing the sacred act . 2 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 . 3 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 . 4 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 % 1 Homer, Odyssey . III. * Athenæus, X. 49. 3 Athenæus, IV. 17; IV. 21. Herodotus, VI. 57. Plutarch, Cleomenes, 13. 4 This custom is attested, for Athens, by Xenophon, Gov. Ath., 2; Schol. on Aristophanes, Clouds , 393; —for Crete and Thessaly, Athenæus, IV. 22; — for Argos, Boeckh, 1122;— for other cities, Pindar, Nem., XI.; Theognis, 2G9 ; Pausanias, V 15; Athenæus, IV. 32; IV. 61 ; X. 24 and 25; X. 49; XI. 66. CHAP. VIZ. THE RELIGION 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 . 1 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 . 2 If we observe how matters passed at this meal, >ve shall easily recognize the religious ceremony. Evovy 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 .” 3 “A crown,” they also said, “ is a herald of good omen, which prayer sends before it towards the gods.” 4 For the same reason the banqueters were clothed in robes of white; white was 1 Plutarch, Solon , 24. Athenæus, VI. 26. 2 Demosthenes, Pro Corona , 63. Aristotle, Politics , VII. 1 , 19. Pollux, VIII. 155. 3 Fragment of Sappho, in Athenæus, XV. 16. 4 Athenæus, XV. 19. 208 THE CITY. BOOK III. the sacred color among the ancients, that which pleased the gods . 1 2 The meal invariably commenced with a prayer and libations, and hymns were sung. The nature of the dishes and the kind of wine that tvas 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 immutably fixed . 8 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 religion. 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 . 3 The custom of religious meals was common in Italy as well as in Greece. It existed anciently, Aristotle 1 Plato, Laïcs, XII. 956. Cicero, De Legib.y II. 18. Virgil, V. 70, 774; VII. 185; VIII. 274. So, too, among the Hindus, in religious ceremonies, one was required to wear a crown, and to be clothed in white. 2 Athenæus, I. 58 ; IV. 32; XI. 66. 3 Ibid., IV. 19; IV. 20 CHAP. VII. THE RELIGION OP THE CITY. 209 tells us, among the peoples known as CEnotrians, Os- cans, and Ausonians . 1 Virgil has mentioned it twice in the Æneid. Old Latinos receives the envoys of Æneas, not in his home, but in a temple, “consecrated by the religion 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 Æneas 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 priests, who were called epulones . 2 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 white, 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 the same altar; in their midst their ancestors are present, and the protecting gods share the meal. Neither in- 1 Aristotle, Politics , IY. 9, 3. * Dionysius, II. 23. Aulus Gellius, XII. 8. Livy, XL. 59. 14 ‘210 THE CITY. BOOK II!. 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 senti¬ 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 praters ; at the head walked priests, leading victims, which they sacrificed at the close of the ceremony. 1 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, 4 Tibullus, IV. 1. Festus, v. Amburbialet. CHAP. VU. THE RELIGION OP THE CITY. 211 even to the nurse of Romulus, and Evander’s mother. In the same way Athens had the festival of Cecrops, that of Erechtheus, that of Theseus ; and it celebrated each of the heroes of the country, the guardian of Theseus, and Eurystheus, and Androgeus, 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. 1 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. 2 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. Pliny, XVIII. Festus, v Vinalia. Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 40; Numa, 14. 3 A law of Solon, cited by Demosthenes, in Timocrat. ?12 THE CITY. » BOOK HI. pontiff, after having offered a sacrifice, convoked the people, and named the festivals that would take place ivi the course of the month. This convocation was called the calatio , whence came the name of calends, which 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 form 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. 1 We can see that the calendar of one city would in no wise resemble that of another, since the religion was not the same in both, and the festivals, as well as the gods, were different. 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 names than at Thebes, and at Rome they had not the same names as at Lavinium. This was due to the fact that the name 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. 1 Ceneorinus, 22. Macrobiug, I. 14; I. 15. Varro, V. 28 VI. 27. CHAP. \n, THE RELIGION OF THE CITY. 213 3. The 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 years. 1 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 faitli and purity of intention went for very 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 from the anger or malice of some god. An expiatory sacrifice was necessary, therefore, to reassure the heart of man. The magis¬ trate 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¬ ple by means of a herald, who, for this purpose, made use of a certain sacramental formula. All the citizens, on the appointed day, collected outside the walls ; there, all being silent, the magistrate walked three times around the assembly, driving before him three vic¬ tims, a sheep, a hog, a bull (suovetaurile) ; these three animals together constituted, among the Greeks, as 1 Diogenes Laertius, Life of Socrates , 23. Harpocration, < Paçnuxôç . They also purified the domestic hearth every year Æschylus, Ghoeph., DOG. 214 THE CITY. BOOK III. 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. 1 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 religious ceremony should be preceded by a numbering of the citizens. At Rome and at Athens, they were counted with scru¬ pulous care. It is probable 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. 2 1 Yarro, L. L., VI. 86. Valerius Maximus, V. I, 10. Livy, I. 44; III. 22; VI. 27. Propertius, IV. 1, 20. Servius, ad Eclog ., X. 55; ad Æn., 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 Rome. It is attributed to Servius just because he modified it, as we shall see. * Citizens absent from Rome were required to return home for CHAP. VII. THE RELIGION OF THE CITY. 215 We are enabled to judge of the importance 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. Tn 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. Velleius [I 15. 216 THE CITY. BOOK III. 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. Religion in the Assembly , in the Senate , in the Tribunal , in the Army , in the Triumph . There was not a single act of public life in which the gods were not seen to take a part. As he was 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 ; they 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. 1 Before any 1 Aristophanes, Acharn., 44. Æschines, in Timarch I. 21; in Ctesiph., 176, and Scholiast Dinarch., in Aristog ., 14 L’HAP. VII. ïflE RELIGION OF THE CITY. 217 orator 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. 1 The tribune, or speaker’s stand, was a sacred pi ace, and the orator never ascended it without a crown upon his head. 2 The place 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 president 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 time invoking the gods. a 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, every senator wore a crown upon his head, as in religious ceremonies. 4 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 saa * Aristophanes, Acharn ., 171. * Aristophanes, Tliesmoph ., 381, and Scholiast. 3 Vafro, cited by Aulus Gellius, XIV. 7. Cicero, ad Family X. 12. Suetonius, Aug., 35. Dion Cassius, LIY. p. 621. Ser- vius, VII. 153. 4 Andoeides, De Myst., 44, De Red., 15. Antiphon, Pro Chor ., 45. Lycurgus, in Leocr., 122. Demosthenes, in Meidi- 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. 1 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 consulship, like that oflice, 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. 2 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 sufficient to establish the ruler of a city. So long as 1 Livy, XXVII. 40. • Varro, L. L. VI. 54. Athenæus, XIV. 79. s CHAP. X. THE MAGISTRACY. 243 the primitive royalty lasted, it appeared 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 appointed 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. 1 1 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. Nor is it a democratic procedure : we know, indeed, that even in the time of Lysias 244 THE CITY. BOOK IU Aflairs 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. During 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. 1 If the presages were favorable, it was because the gods accepted the candi¬ date. The next day the people assembled in the Cam¬ pus Martins ; the same one who had consulted the gods presided at the assembly. He pronounced 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 Tnvalido , c. 13; in Andocidem, c. 4) : for a still stronger reason was this true when the Eupatrids only, or the Pentakosiomedimni 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 of the democracy. 1 Valerius Maximus, I. 1, 3. Plutarch, Marcellus , 5. CHAP. X. THE MAGISTBACY. 245 sought the consulship there was one for whom the auspices had not been favorable, his name was omitted. 1 The people voted upon those names only which had been pronounced by the president. 2 If the president named but two candidates, the people necessarily voted for them; if he named three, they chose two of them. The assembly never had the right to vote for other men than those whom 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 the 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 the president has not taken the auspices concerning 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. 3 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 peojle, 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. 1 Livy, XXXIX. 39. Velleius, II. 92. Valerius Maximus, til. 8, 3. * Dionysius, IV. 84; V. 19; V. 72; V. 77; VI. 49. * Livy, II. 42 ; II. 43. 246 THE CITY. BOOK III. Here we see how great was the power of the presi¬ dent of the comitia, and we no longer wonder at the expression, Créât comities , 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 mont ns afterwards, t he 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, we 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 archon 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 the 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 . 1 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. 1 Plato, Laws , VI. Xenophon, Mem., II. Pollux, VIII. 85, 86, 95 248 THE CITY. BOOK HI. These are the principal questions that were addressed to one who was about to become a magistrate. It appeared that men 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 Rome. We have not, it is true, any information as to the ques¬ tions which the consul was required to answer. But it is enough to know that this examination was made by the pontiffs . 1 CHAPTER XL The Law. Among 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 collection 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 burial, and for the worship of the dead. 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 altars ; another forbade certain dishes to be served in the sacred re¬ pasts; a third prescribed what religious ceremony a 1 Dionysius, II. 73. s CHAP. 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 marriage 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 his 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 ancient 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 religion were but one . 1 At Athens the archon and the king had very nearly the same judicial functions as the Roman pontiff . 2 The origin of ancient laws appears clearly. No man invented them. Solon, Lycurgus, 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 his 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 1 Hence this old definition, which the jurisconsults pre¬ served even to Justinian’s time — Jurisprudentia est rerum divinarum atque humanarum notitia. Cf. Cicero, De Legib. IT. 9; II. 19; De Arusp. Resp.,1. Dionysius, II. 73. Tacitus Ann., I. 10; Hist., I. 15. Dion Cassius, XLVIII. 44. Pliny, H H., XVIII. 2. Aulus Gellius, V. 19 : XV. 27. * Pollux, VIII. 90. s CHAP. XI. THE LAW. 251 established the hearth — inoresque viris et moenia ponit. He instituted them at the same time that he instituted the religion. Still it could not be said that he had prepared them himself. Who, then, was the true author of them? 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 that the house was hereditary property. The man who had buried his fa¬ ther in his field believed that the sjfirit 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 III. 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 Numa 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. 1 he veritable legislator among the ancients was not a man, but the religious belief which men en¬ tertained. 1 he laws long remained sacred. Even at the time when it was admitted that the will of a man or the votes ot a people might make a law, it was still neces- 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 weie required to attest that the gods were favorable to the proposed law. 1 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 ?” 2 1 Dionysius, IX. 41 ; IX. 49. * Dionysius, X. 4. Livy, III. 31. L'HAP. XT. THE LAW. •2 63 From this we can understand the respect and at¬ tachment which the ancients 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 Thermopylæ, “Passer-by, go and tell Sparta that we lie here in obedience to its laws.” The law among the ancients was always holy, and in the time of royalty it was the queen of the kings. In 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 ofces, but old ones still remained, however they might conflict with the new ones. The code of Draco was not abol¬ ished by that of Solon; 1 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 turn 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 respect. In an oration of Isæus we find two men contesting an inher¬ itance ; each quotes a law in his favor; the two laws are absolute contraries, and are equally sacred. In the same manner the code of Manu preserves the ancient 1 Andocides, I. 82, 83. Demosthenes, in Everg 71 254 THE CITY. BOOK III. law which establishes primogeniture, 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. 1 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. 2 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 care 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. 3 According to Aristotle, before the laws were written, they were sung. 4 Traces 1 Varro, L. L., VI. 16. 3 Ælian, V. IL, II. 39. 2 Dionysius, X. I. 4 Aristotle, Probl ., XIX. 28. CHAP. XT. THE LAW. 255 of this custom have remained in language; the Ro¬ mans called the laws carmina — verses ; the Greeks said vo/uoi — songs. 1 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 the 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 Wal obligation. Where O o there was no formula, the obligation did not exist. The strange forms of ancient Roman legal procedure 1 Niyw, to divide; voyog, division, measure, rhythm, song. See Plutarch, De Musica , p. 1133; Pindar, Pyth., XII. 41* fragm.y 190 (Edit. Hey ne). Scholiast on Aristophanes, Knights , 9 ; Nôfioi xa/LovvTCit o[ tig ôtoùç vpvoi. 256 THE CITY. book m. would 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 him. Gaius 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 sa : d 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 religion, 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 law, by its origin and nature, long appeared to be a mystery, to which one could be initiated only after having first been initiated into the national worship and the domestic worship. CH\P. XI. THE LAW. 257 The religious origin of ancient law also explains to us one of the principal characteristics of this law. Re¬ ligion was purely civil, that is to say, peculiar to each city. There could flow from it, therefore, only a civil law. But it is necessary to distinguish the sense which this word had among the ancients. When they said that the law was civil ,—jus civile , vôijoi nolmxol, — they did not understand simply that every city had its code, as in our day every state has a code. They meant that their laws had no force, or power, except between the members of the same city. To live in a city did not make one subject to its laws and place him under their protection ; one had to be a citizen. The law did not exist for the slave ; no more did it exist for the stranger. We shall see, further along, that the stranger domi¬ ciled in a city could be neither a proprietor there, nor an heir, nor a testator ; he could not make a contract of any sort, or appear before the ordinary tribunals of the citizens. At Athens, if he happened to be the creditor of a citizen, he could not sue him in the courts for the payment of the debt, as the law recognized no contract as valid for him. These provisions of ancient law were perfectly logi¬ cal. Law was not born of the idea of justice, but of religion, and was not conceived as going beyond it. In order that there should be a lemal relation between O two men, it was necessary that there should already exist a religious relation; that is to say, that they should worship at the same hearth and have the same sacrifices. When this religious community did not exist, it did not seem that there could be any legal re¬ lation. Now, neither the stranger nor the slave had any part in the religion of the city. A foreigner and a 17 258 *tiE CITY. BOOK III. citizen in ght live side by side during long years, with¬ out one’s thinking of the possibility of a legal relation being established between them. Law was nothing more than one phase of religion. Where there was no common religion, there was no common law. CHAPTER XII. The Citizen and the Stranger. The citizen was recognized by the fact that he had a part in the religion of the city, and it was from this participation that he derived all his civil and political rights. If he renounced the worship, he renounced the rights. We have already spoken of the public meals, which were the principal ceremony of the national wor¬ ship. Now, at Sparta, one who did not join in tkes<, even if it was not his fault, ceased at once to be count' id among the citizens. 1 At Athens, one who did not take part in the festivals of the national gods lost the rights of a citizen. 2 At Rome, it was necessary to have been present at the sacred ceremony of the lustration, in order to enjoy political rights. 3 The man who had not taken part in this — that is to say, who had not joined in the common prayer and the sacrifice — lost his citizenship until the next lustration. ' Aristotle, Politics , II. 6, 21 (II. 7). * Boeckh, Corp. Inscr. , 3641, b. s Velleius, II. 15. Soldiers on a campaign were exet^u, but the censor was required to have their names taken, so that, having been registered in the ceremony, they were considered as present. CHAP. XII. THE CITIZEN AND THE STRANGER. 259 If we wished to give an exact definition of a citizen, we should say that it was a man who had the religion of the city. 1 The stranger, on the contrary, is one who has not access to the worship, one whom the gods of the city do not protect, and who has not even the right to invoke them. For these national gods do not wish to receive prayers and offering except from citizens ; they repulse the stranger; entrance into their temples is for¬ bidden to him, and his presence during the sacrifice is a sacrilege. Evidence of this ancient sentiment of repul¬ sion has remained in one of the principal rites of Roman worship. The pontiff, when he sacrifices in the open air, must have his head veiled: “ For before the sacred fires in the religious act which is offered to the national gods, the face of a stranger must not appear to the pontiff; the auspices would be disturbed. ’ 2 A sacred object which fell for a moment into the hands of a stranger at once became profane. It could not recover its religious character except by an expiatory ceremo¬ ny. 3 If the enemy seized upon a city, and the citizens succeeded in recovering it, above all things it was im¬ portant that the temples should be purified and all the fires extinguished and rekindled. The presence of the stranger had defiled them. 4 Thus religion established between the citizen and the stranger a profound and ineffaceable distinction. This 1 Demosthenes, in Neceram, 113, 114. Being a citizen was called, in Greek, oi vreÀtiv, that is to say, making the sacrifice together, or ^dtivai [{qwv xui oenwv. 2 Virgil, Æn., III. 406. Festus, v. Exesto : Lidor in qui- bvsdam sacris clamitabat, hostis exesto. IJostis , as we know, meant stranger (Macrobius I. 17) ; hostilis facie % in Virgil, means the face of a stranger. 3 Digest , XI. tit. G, 36. * Plutarch, Aristides , 20. Livy, V. 60. 260 THE CITY. BOOK III. same religion, so long as it held its sway over the minds of men, forbade the right of citizenship to be granted to a stranger. In the time of Herodotus, Sparta had accorded it to no one except a prophet; and even for this the formal command of the oracle was necessary. Athens granted it sometimes; but with what precautions! First, it was necessary that the united people should vote by secret ballot for the admission of the stranger. Even this was nothing as yet; nine days afterwards a second assembly had to confirm the previous vote, and in this second case six thousand votes were required in favor of the admis¬ sion— a number which will appear enormous when we recollect that it was very rare for an Athenian assem¬ bly to comprise so many citizens. After this a vote of the senate was required to confirm the decision of this double assembly. Finally, any citizen could oppose a sort of veto, and attack the decree as contrary to the ancient laws. Certainly there was no other public act where the legislator was surrounded with so many dif¬ ficulties and precautions as that which conferred upon a stranger the title of citizen. The formalities to go through were not near so great in declaring war, or in passing a new law. Why should these men oppose so many obstacles to a stranger who wished to become a citizen? Assuredly they did not fear that in the po¬ litical assemblies his vote would turn the balance. Demosthenes gives us the true motive and the true thought of the Athenians : “ It is because the purity of the sacrifices must be preserved.” To exclude the stranger was to “ watch over the sacred ceremonies.” To admit a stranger among the citizens w r as “to give him a part in the religion and in the sacrifices.” 1 Now 1 Demosthenes, in Neesram x 89, 91, 92, 113, 114. CHAP. XII. THE CITIZEN AND THE STRANGES. 261 for such an act the people did not consider themselves entirely free, and were seized with religious scruples; for they knew that the national gods were disposed to repulse the stranger, and that the sacrifices would per¬ haps be rendered useless by the presence of the new comer. The gift of the rights of a citizen to a stranger was a real violation of the fundamental principles of the national religion ; and it is for this reason that, in the beginning, the city was so sparing of it. We must also note that the man admitted* to citizenship with so much difficulty could be neither archon nor priest. The city, indeed, permitted him to take part in its worship, but as to presiding at it, that would have been too much. No one could become a citizen at Athens if he was a citizen in another city ; 1 for it was a religious impos¬ sibility to be at the same time a member of two cities, as it also was to be a member of two families. One could not have two religions at the same time. The participation in the worship carried with it the possession of rights. As the citizen might assist in the sacrifice which preceded the assembly, he could also vote at the assembly. As he could perform the sacri¬ fices in the name of the city, he might be a prytane and an archon. Having the religion of the city, he might claim rights under its laws, and perform all the ceremonies of legal procedure. The stranger, on the contrary, having no part in the religion, had none in the law. If he entered the sacred enclosure which the priests had traced for the assem¬ bly, he was punished with death. The laws of the city did uot exist tor him. If he had committed a 1 Plutarch, Solon , 24. Cicero, Pro Cacina, 34. 262 THE CITY. BOOK III. crime, be was treated as a slave, and punished without process of law, the city owing him no legal protection. 1 When men arrived at that stage that they felt the need of having laws for the stranger, it was necessary to establish an exceptional tribunal. At Rome, in order to judge the alien, the pretor had to become an alien himself — prœtor peregrinus. At Athens the judge of foreigners was the polemarch — that is to say, the magistrate who was charged with the cares of war, and of all transactions with the enemy. 2 Neither at Rome nor at Athens could a foreigner be a proprietor. 3 He could not marry; or, if he married, his marriage was not recognized, and his children were reputed illegitimate. 4 lie could not make a contract with a citizen; at any rate, the law did not recognize such a contract as valid. At first he could take uo part in commerce. 5 The Roman law forbade him to inherit from a citizen, and even forbade a citizen to in¬ herit from him. 6 They pushed this principle so far, that if a foreigner obtained the rights of a citizen with out his son, born before this event, obtaining the same favor, the son became a foreigner in regard to his father, and could not inherit from him. 7 The distinc¬ tion between citizen and foreigner was stronger than the natural tie between father and son. At first blush it would seem as if the aim had been 1 Aristotle, Politics , III. 1, 3. Plato, Laws , VI. 2 Demosthenes, in Neoeram , 49. Lysias, in Pancleonem . 3 Gaius,/r. 234. 4 Gaius, I. 67. Ulpian, V. 4-9. Paulu», II. 9. Aristophanes, Birds, 1652. 0 Ulpian, XIX. 4. Demosthenes, Pro Phorm.; in Eubul 9 Cicero, Pro Archia, 5. Gaius, II. 110. 7 lausanias, VIII. 43. CHAP. 711. 'fHE CITIZEN AND THE STRANGER. 203 to establish a s ystem that should be vexatious towards •> foreigners ; but there was nothing of this. Athens and Rome, on the contrary, gave him a good reception, both for commercial and political reasons. But neither their good will nor their interest could abolish the ancient laws which religion had established. This religion did not permit the stranger to become a proprietor, because he could not have any part in the religious soil of the city. It permitted neither the foreigner to inherit from the citizen, nor the citizen to inherit from the foreigner; because every transmission of property carried with it the transmission of a worship, and it was as impossible for the citizen to perform the foreigner’s worship as for the foreigner to perform the citizen’s. Citizens could welcome the foreigner, watch over him, even esteem him if he wat A ich and honorable; but they could give him no part m their religion or their laws. The slave in certain respects was better treated than he was, because the slave, being a member of the family whose worship he shared, was connected with the city through his master ; the gods protected him. The Roman religion taught, therefore, that the tomb of the slave was sacred, but that the foreigner’s was not. 1 A foreigner, to be of any account in the eyes of the law, to be enabled to engage in trade, to make con¬ tracts, to enjoy his property securely, to have the benefit of the laws of the city to protect him, must become the client of a citizen. Rome and Athens required every foreigner to adopt a patron. 2 By choosing a citizen as a patron the foreigner became connected with the city, 1 Digest, XI. tit. 7, 2; XLVJI. tit. 12, 4 . * Uarpocration, nQoaTÙTrjç. 264 THE CITY. BOOK Ill. Thenceforth he participated in some of the benefits of the civil law, and its protection was secured. CHAPTER XIII. Patriotism. Exile. The word country , among the ancients, signified the land of the fathers, terra patria — fatherland. The fatherland of every man was that part of the soil which his domestic or national religion had sanctified, the land where the remains of his ancestors were deposited, and which their souls occupied. His little fatherland was the family enclosure with its tomb and its hearth. The great fatherland was the city, with its prytaneum and its heroes, with its sacred enclosure and its terri¬ tory marked out by religion. “ Sacred fatherland ” the Greeks called it. Nor was it a vain word ; this soil was, indeed, sacred to man, for his gods dwelt there. State, city, fatherland : these words were no abstraction, as they are among the moderns; they really represented a group of local divinities, with a daily worship and beliefs that had a powerful influence over the soul. This explains the patriotism of the ancients — an en¬ ergetic sentiment, which, for them, was the supreme virtue to which all other virtues tended. Whatever man held most dear was associated with the idea of country. In it he found his property his security, his (aws, his faith, his god. Losing it he lost everything. It was almost impossible that private and public in¬ terests could conflict. Plato says, “ Our country begets us, nourishes us, educates us ; ” and Sophocles says. k It is our country that preserves us.” CHAP. xm. PATRIOTISM. 265 Such a country is not simply a dwelling-place for man. Let him leave its sacred walls, let him pass the sacred limits of its territory, and he no longer finds for himself either a religion or a social tie of any kind. Everywhere else, except in his own country, he is out¬ side the regular life and the law; everywhere else he is without a god, and shut out from all moral life. There alone he enjoys his dignity as a man, and his duties. Only there can he be a man. Country holds man attached to it by a sacred tie. He must love it as he loves his religion, obey it as he obeys a god. He must give himself to it entirely. He must love his country, whether it is glorious or obscure, prosperous or unfortunate. He must love it for its favors, and love it also for its severity. Socrates, un¬ justly condemned by it, must not love it the less. He must love it as Abraham loved his God, even to sacri¬ ficing his son for it. Above all, one must know how to die for it. The Greek or Roman rarely dies on account of his devotion to a man, or for a point of honor ; but to his country he owes his life. For, if 1ns country is attacked, his religion is attacked. He fights literally for his altars and his fires, pro arts et focis / for if the enemy takes his city, his altars are overturned, his fires are extinguished, his tombs are profaned, his gods are destroyed, his worship is effaced. The piety of the ancients was love of country. The possession of a country was very precious, for the ancients imagined few chastisements more cruel than to be deprived of it. The ordinary punishment of great crimes was exile. Exile was really the interdiction of worship. To exile a man was, according to the formula used both by the Greeks and the Romans, to cut him < ff from 266 THE CITY. BOOK III both firo and water. 1 By this fire we are to understand the sacred fire of the hearth ; by this water the lustral fc’ater which served for the sacrifices. Exile, therefore, placed man beyond the reach ol religion. “ Let him flee,” were the words of the sentence, “ nor ever ap¬ proach the temples. Let no citizen speak to or receive him ; let no one admit him to the prayers or the sacri¬ fices ; let no one offer the lustral water.” 2 Every house was defiled by his presence. The man who received him became impure by his touch. “Any one who shall have eaten or drank with him, or who shall have touched him,” said the law, “should purify himself” Under the ban of this excommunication the exile could take part in no religious ceremony ; he no longer had a worship, sacred repasts, or prayers j he was disin¬ herited of his portion of religion. We can easily understand that, for the ancients, God was not everywhere. If they had some vague idea of a God of the universe, this was not the one whom they considered as their providence, and whom they invoked. Every man’s gods were those who inhabited his house, his canton, his city. The exile, on leaving his country behind him, also left his gods. He no longer found a religion that could console and protect him ; he no longer felt that providence was watching over him ; the happiness of praying was taken away. All that could satisfy the needs of his soul was far away. Now, religion was the source whence flowed civil and political rights. The exile, therefore, lost all this in losing his religion and country. Excluded from the city worship, he saw at the same time his domestic ' Herodotus, VII. 231. Cratinus, in Atheneeus , XI. 3. Cicero Pro JDomo, 20. Livy, XXV. 4. Ulpian, X. 3. * Sophocles, Œdipus Rex , 239. Plato, Laws , IX. 881. CHAP. xm. EXILE. ‘267 worship taken vom him, and was forced to extinguish his hearth-fire. 1 He could no longer hold property ; his goods, as if he was dead, passed to his children, unless they were confiscated to the profit of the gods or of the state. 2 Having no longer a worship, he had no longer a family; he ceased to be a husband and a father. His sons were no longer in his power; 3 his wife was no longer his wife, 4 and might immediately take another husband. Regains, when a prisoner of the enemy, the Roman law looked upon as an exile; if the senate asked his opinion, he refused to give it, because an exile was no longer a senator ; if his wife and children ran to him, he repulsed their embraces, because for an exile there were no longer wife and children,— “Fertur pudicæ conjugis osculura Parvosque natos, ut capitis minor , A se removisse.” 5 “ The exile,” says Xenophon, “ loses home, liberty, country, wife, and children.” When he dies, he has not the l ight to be buried in the tomb of his family, for he is an alien. 6 It is not surprising that the ancient republics almost all permitted a convict to escape death by flight. Exile did not seem to be a milder punishment than death. The Roman jurists called it capital punishment. 1 Ovid, Trist., I. 3, 43. 8 Pindar, Pyth ., IV. 517. Plato, Laws , IX. 877. Diodorus, Kill. 49. Dionysius, XI. 46. Livy, III. 58. 3 Institutes of Justinian, I. 12. Gaius, I. 128. 4 Dionysius, VIII. 41. 1 Horace, Odes , III. * Thucydides, I. 138. 268 THE CITY. BOOK III. CHAPTER XIV. The Municipal Spirit. What we have already seen of ancient institutions, and above all of ancient beliefs, has enabled us to obtain an idea of the profound gulf which always separated two cities. However near they might be to each other, they always formed two completely separate societies. Between them there was much more than the distance which separates two cities to-day, much more than the frontier which separates two states; their gods were not the same, or their ceremonies, or their prayers. The worship of one city was forbidden to men of a neighboring city. The belief was, that the gods of one city rejected the homage and prayers of any one who was not their own citizen. These ancient beliefs, it is true, were modified and softened in the course of time; but they had been in their full vigor at the time when these societies were formed, and these societies always preserved the im¬ pression of them. Two facts we can easily understand: first, that this religion, peculiar to each city, must have established the city in a very strong an$ almost unchangeable manner; it is, indeed, marvellous how long this social organization lasted, in spite of all its faults and all its chances of ruin ; second, that the effect of this religion, during long ages, must have been to render it impossi¬ ble to establish any other social form than the city. Every city, even by the requirements of its religion, was independent. It was necessary that each should V CHAP. XIV. THE MUNICIPAL SPIRIT. 269 have its particular code, since each had its own re¬ ligion, and the law flowed from the religion. Each was required to have its sovereign tribunal, and there could be no judicial tribunal superior to that of the city. Each had its religious festivals and its calendar; the months and the year could not be the same in two cities, as the series of religious acts was different. Each had its own money, which at first was marked with its religious emblem. Each had its weights and measures. It was not admitted that there could be anything com mon between two cities. The line of demarcation was so profound that one hardly imagined marriage possible between the inhabitants of two different cities. Such a union always appeared strange, and was long con¬ sidered illegal. The legislation of Rome and that of Athens were visibly averse to admitting it. Nearly everywhere children born of such a marriage were con¬ founded with bastards, and deprived of the rights of citizens. To make a marriage legal between inhabit¬ ants of two cities, it was necessary that there should be between those cities a particular convention —jus connubii , èniyu/zla. Every city had about its territory a line of sacred bounds. This was the horizon of its national religion and of its gods. Beyond these bounds other gods reigned, and another worship was practised. The most salient characteristic of the history of Greece and of Italy, before the Roman conquest, is the excessive division of property and the spirit of isola¬ tion in each city. Greece never succeeded in forming a single state ; nor did the Latin or the Etruscan cities, or the Samnite tribes, succeed in forming a compact body. The incurable division of the Greeks has been attributed to the nature of their country, and we are told that the 270 THE CITY. BOOK III. mountain . which intersect each other establish natural lines of demarcation among men. But there were no mountains between Thebes and Platæa, between Argos and Sparta, between Sybaris and Crotona. There were none between the cities of Latium, or between the twelve cities of Etruria. Doubtless physical na¬ ture has some influence upon the history of a people, but the beliefs of men have a much more powerful one. In ancient times there was something more im- passable than mountains between two neighboring cities, there were the series of sacred bounds, the dif¬ ference of worship, and the hatred of the gods towards the foreigner. For this reason the ancients were never able to es¬ tablish, or even to conceive of, any other social organiza¬ tion than the city. Neither the Greeks, nor the Latins, nor even the Romans, for a very long time, ever had a thought that several cities might be united, and live on an equal footing under the same government. There might, indeed, be an alliance, or a temporary association, in view of some advantage to be gained, or some danger to be repelled ; but there was never a complete union ; for religion made of every city a body which could never be joined to another. Isolation was the law of the city. With the beliefs and the religious usages which we have seen, how could several cities ever have become united in one state? Men did not understand human association, and it did not appear regular, unless it was founded upon religion. The symbol of this association was a sacred repast partaken of in common. A few thousand citizens might indeed literally unite around the same prytaneum, recite the same prayer, and par¬ take of the same sacred dishes. But how attempt, with CHAP XIV. THE MUNICIPAL SPIRIT. 271 these usages, to make a single state of entire Greece? How could men hold the public repasts, and perform all the sacred ceremonies, in which every citizen was bound to take a part? Where would they locate the prytaneum? How would they perform the annual lustration of the citizens? What would become of the inviolable limits which had from the beginning marked out the territory of the city, and which sepa¬ rated it forever from the rest of the earth’s surface? What would become of all the local worships, the city divinities, and the heroes who inhabited every canton ? Athens had within her limits the hero QEdipus, the enemy of Thebes: how unite Athens and Thebes in the same worship and under the same government? When these superstitions became weakened (and this did not happen till a late period, in common minds), it was too late to establish a new form of state. The division had become consecrated by custom, by inter¬ est, by inveterate hatreds, and by the memory of past struggles. Men could no longer return to the past. Every city held fast to its autonomy : this was the name they gave to an assemblage which comprised their worship, their laws, their government, and their entire religious and political independence. It was easier for a city to subject another than to annex it. Victory might make slaves of all the inhaV itants of a conquered city, but they could not be made citizens of the victorious city. To join two cities in a single state, to unite the conquered population with the victors, and associate them under the same govern¬ ment, is what was never seen among the ancients, with one exception, of which we shall speak presently. If Sparta conquered Messenia, it was not to make of the Spartans and Messeniaus a single people. The Spar 272 THE CITY. BOOK IH tans expelled the whole race of the vanquished, and took their lands. Athens proceeded in the same man¬ ner with Salamis, Ægina, and Melos. The thought of removing the conquered to the city of the victors could not enter the mind of any one. The city possessed gods, hymns, festivals, and laws, which were its precious patrimony, and it took good care not to share these with the vanquished. It had not even the right to do this. Could Athens admit that a citizen of Ægina might enter the temple of Athene Polias? that he might offer his worship to Theseus ? that lie might take part in the sacred re¬ pasts? that, as a prytane, he might keep up the public fire? Religion forbade it. The conquered population ot the isle of Ægina could not, therefore, form a single state with the population of Athens. Not having the same gods, theÆginetans and the Athenians could not have the same laws or the same magistrates. But might not Athens, at any rate, leaving the conquered city intact, send magistrates within its walls to govern it? It was absolutely contrary to the prin¬ ciples of the ancients to place any man over a city, who was not a citizen of it. Indeed, the magistrate was a religious chief, and his principal function was to sacri¬ fice in the name of the city. The foreigner, who had not the right to offer the sacrifice, could not therefore be a magistrate. Having no religious function, he had not in the eyes of men any regular authority. Sparta attempted to place its harmosts in the cities, but these men were not magistrates; they did not act as judges, or appear in the assemblies. Having no regular rela¬ tion with the people of the cities, they could not main¬ tain themselves there for any great length of time. Every coiqueror, consequently, had only the alterna CHAP. XV. RELATIONS BETWEEN THE CITIES. 273 tive of destroying a subdued city and occupying its territory, or of leaving it entirely independent. There was no middle course. Either the city ceased to exist, or it was a sovereign state. So long as it retained its worship, it retained its government; it lost the one only by losing the other; and then it existed no longer. This absolute independence of the ancient city could only cease when the belief on which it was founded had completely disappeared. After these ideas had been transformed and several revolutions had passed over these antique societies, then men might come to have an idea of, and to establish, a larger state, gov¬ erned by other rules. But for this it was necessary that men should discover other principles and other social bonds than those of the ancient ages. CHAPTER XV. Relations between the Cities. War. Peace. The Alli¬ ance of the Gods. This religion, which exercised so powerful an empire over the interior life of the city, intervened with the same authority in all the relations between cities. We may see this by observing how men of those ancient ages carried on war, how they concluded peace, and how they formed alliances. Two cities were two religious associations which had not the same gods. When they were at war it was not the men alone who fought — the gods also took part in the struggle. Let no one suppose that this was gimply a poetical fiction. There was among the an- 18 274 THE CITY. BOOK III. cients a very definite and a very vivid belief, by reason of which each army took its gods along with it. Men believed that thes* gods took an active part in the bat¬ tle ; the soldiers defended them and they defended the soldiers. While fighting against the enemy, each one believed he was fighting against the gods of another city. These foreign gods he was permitted to detest, to abuse, to strike ; he might even make them prison¬ ers. Thus war had a strange aspect. We must pic¬ ture to ourselves two armies facing each other: in the midst of each are its statues, its altar, and its stan¬ dards, which are sacred emblems; each has its oracles, which have promised it success; its augurs, and its soothsayers, who assure it the victory. Before the bat¬ tle each soldier in the two armies thinks and says, like the Greek in Euripides, “The gods who fight for us are more powerful than those of our enemies.” Each army pronounces against the other an imprecation like that which Macrobius has preserved — “ O gods, spread fear, terror, and misfortune among our enemies. Let these men, and whoever inhabits their lands and cities, be deprived by you of the light of the sun. May their city, and their lands, and their heads, and their persons, be devoted to you.” After this imprecation, they rush to battle on both sides, with that savage fury which the notion that they have gods fighting for them and that they are fighting against strange gods inspires in them. There is no mercy for the enemy ; war is im¬ placable ; religion presides over the struggle, and ex¬ cites the combatants. There can be no superior rule to moderate the desire for slaughter; they are permit* ted to kill the prisoners and the wounded. Even outside the field of battle they have no idea of a duty of any kind towards the enemy. There are CHAP. XV. WAR. 275 never any rights for a foreigner, least of all in t me of war. No one was required to distinguish the just from the unjust in respect to him. Mucius Scæv- ola and all the Romans believed it was a glorious deed to assassinate an enemy. The consul Marcius boasted publicly of having deceived the king of Mac* ~ donia. Paulus Æmilius sold as slaves a hundred thoi sand Epirots who had voluntarily surrendered them selves to him. The Lacedaemonian Phebidas seized upon the cita¬ del of the Thebans in time of peace. Agesilaus was questioned upon the justice of this action. “Inquire only if it is useful,” said the king; “for whenever an action is useful to our country, it is right.” This was the international law of ancient cities. Another king of Sparta, Cleomenes, said that all the evil one could do to enemies was always just in the eyes of gods and men. The conqueror could use his victory as he pleased. No human or divine law restrained his vengeance or his cupidity. The day on which the Athenians decreed that all the Mitylenaeans, without distinction of age or sex, should be exterminated, they did not dream of transcending their rights ; and Avben, on the next day, they revoked their decree, and contented themselves * with putting a thousand citizens to death, and confis¬ cating all the lands, they thought themselves humane and indulgent. After the taking of Platæa, the men were put to death, and the women sold ; and yet no one accused the conquerors of having violated any law. These men made war not only upon soldiers, but upon an entire population, men, women, children, and slaves. They waged it not only against human beings, but against fields and crops. They burned houses and 276 THE CITY. BOOK ITT. cut down trees; the harvest of the enemy was almost always devoted to the infernal gods, and consequently burned. They exterminated the cattle ; they even de¬ stroyed the seed which might produce a crop the fol¬ lowing year. A war might cause the name and race of an entire people to disappear at a single blow, and change a fertile country into a desert. It was by virtue of this law of war that the Romans extended a solitude around their city; of the territory where the Volscians had twenty-three cities, it made the Pontine marshes; the fifty-three cities of Latium have dis¬ appeared ; in Samnium, the places where the Roman armies had passed could long be recognized, less by the vestiges of their camps than by the solitude which reigned in the neighborhood. When the conquerors did not exterminate the van¬ quished, they had a right to suppress their city — that is to say, to break up their religious and political asso¬ ciation. The worship then ceased, and the gods were forgotten. The religion of the city being destroyed, the religion of every family disappeared at the same time. The sacred fires were extinguished. With the w r orship fell the laws, civil rights, the family, property, everything that depended upon religion . 1 Let us listen to the prisoner whose life is spared ; he is made to pro¬ nounce the following formula : “I give my person, my city, my land, the water that flows over it, my boundary gods, my temples, my movable property, everything which pertains to the gods, — these I give to the Ro¬ man people.” 2 From this moment the gods, the tem¬ ples, the houses, the lands, and the people belonged tc * Cicero, in Very'., II. 3, 6. Siculus Flaccus, passim . Thu¬ cydides, III. 50 and 68. ’ Livy, I. 38. Plautus, Amphitr ., 100-105. JHAP. XV. PEACE. 277 the victors. We shall relate, farther on, what the result of this was under the dominion of Rome. When a war did not end by the extermination or subjection of one of the two parties, a treaty of peace might terminate it. But for this a convention was not sufficient; a religious act was necessary. Every treaty was marked by the immolation of a victim. To sign a treaty is a modern expression; the Latins said, strike a kid, icere hœdus, or fœdus ; the name of the victim most generally employed for this purpose has remained in the common language to designate the entire act . 1 The Greeks expressed themselves in a similar manner; they said, offer a libation — onèvôeoôtu. The ceremony of the treaty was always accomplished by priests, who conformed to the ritual . 2 In Italy they were called feciales , and spendophoroi , or libation-carriers, in Greece. These religious ceremonies alone gave a sacred and inviolable character to international conventions. The history of the Caudine Forks is well known. An entire army, through its consuls, questors, tribunes, and cen¬ turions had made a convention with the Samnites ; but no victims had been offered. The senate, therefore, believed itself justified in declaring that the treaty was not valid. In annulling it, no pontiff or patrician be lieved that he was committing an act of bad faith. It was the universal opinion among the ancients that a man owed no obligations except to his own gods. We may recall the saying of a certain Greek, whose city adored the hero Alabandos ; he was speaking to an inhabitant of another city, that worshipped Hercules. 1 Festus, Fœdum, and Fœdus. s In Greece they wore a crown. Xenophon, Hell IV. 7, 3. 278 THE CITY. BOOK III. “Alabandos,” said he, “is a god, and Hercules is not one.” 1 With such ideas it was important, in a treaty of peace, that each city called its own gods to bear witness to its oaths. “We made a treaty, and poured out the libations,” said the Platæans to the Spartans; “we called to witness, you the gods of your fathers, we the gods who occupy our country.”* Both parties tried, indeed, if it was possible, to invoke divinities that were common to both cities. They swore by those gods that were visible everywhere —the sun, which shines upon all, and the nourishing earth. But the gods of each city, and its protecting heroes, touched men much more, and it was necessary to call them to witness, if men wished to have oaths really confirmed by religion. As the gods mingled in the battles during the war, they had to be included in the treaty. It was stipulated, therefore, that there should be an alliance between the gods as between the men of the two cities. To indicate this alliance of the gods, it sometimes happened that the two peoples agreed mutually to take part in each other’s sacred festivals . 3 Sometimes they opened their temples to each other, and made an exchange of religious rites. Rome once stipulated that the city god of Lanuvium should thence¬ forth protect the Romans, who should have the right to invoke him, and to enter his temple . 4 Afterwards each of the contracting parties engaged to worship the divinities of the other. Thus the Eleans, having con¬ cluded a treaty with the .Ætolians, thenceforth offered an annual sacrifice to the heroes of their allies . 5 It often happened, after an alliance, that the divini- Cicero, De A at. Deor ., III. 19. 2 Thucydides. II. 3 Thucydides, V. 23. Plutarch, Theseus , 25, 33. 4 Livy, VIII. 14 5 Pausanias> y. 15. CHAP. XV. THE ALLIANCE OF THE GODS. 279 ties of two cities were represented by statues or medals holding one another by the hand. Thus it is that there are medals on which are seen united the Apollo of Miletus and the Genius of Smyrna, the Pallas of the Sideans and the Artemis of Perga, the Apollo of Hie- rapolis and the Artemis of Ephesus. Virgil, speaking of an alliance between Thrace and the Trojans, represents the Penates of the two nations united and associated. These strange customs corresponded perfectly with the idea which the ancients had of the gods. As every city had its own, it seemed natural that these gods should figure in battles and treaties. War or peace between two cities was war or peace between two religions. International law among the ancients was long founded upon this principle. When the gods were en¬ emies, there was war without mercy and without law; as soon as they were friends, the men were united, and entertained ideas of reciprocal duties. If they could imagine that the protecting divinities of two cities had some motive for becoming allies, this was reason enough why the two cities should become so. The first city with which Rome contracted ties of friendship was Caere, in Etruria, and Livy gives the reason for this: in the disaster of the Gallic invasion, the Roman gods had found an asylum in Caere; they had inhabited that city, and had been adored there ; a sacred bond of friendship was thus established between the Roman gods and the Etruscan city.' Thenceforth religion would not permit the two cities to be enemies; they were allied forever,* 1 Livy, V. 50. Aulus Gellius, XVI. 13. * It does not enter into our plan to speak of the numerous confederations or amphictyonies in ancient Greece and Italy. 280 THE CITY. BOOK IIL CHAPTER XVL The Roman. The Athenian. This same religion which had founded society, and which had governed it for a long time, also gave the human mind its direction, and man his character. By its dogmas and its practices it gave to the Greek and the Roman a certain manner of thinking and acting, and certain habits of which they were a long time in divesting themselves. It showed men gods every- We will only remark here that they were as much religious as political associations. There was not one of them that had not a common worship and a sanctuary. That of the Boeotians wor¬ shipped Athene Itonia, that of the Achæans Demeter Panachæa, the god of the Ionians in Asia Minor was Poseidon Helliconius, as that of the Dorian Pentapolis was Apollo Triopicus. The confederation of the Cyclades offered a common sacrifice in the isle of Delos, the cities of Argolis at Calauria. The Amphic- tyony of Thermopylae was an association of the same nature. All their meetings took place in temples, and were principally for offering sacrifices. Each of the confederate cities sent citizens clothed for the time with a sacerdotal character, and called theori, to take part in these meetings. A victim was slain in honor of the god of the association, and the flesh, cooked upon the altar, was shared among the representatives of the cities. The common meal, with the songs, prayers, and sacred plays that accompanied them, formed the bond of the confederation. The same usage existed in Italy. The cities of Latium had the feriæ Latinæ, in which they shared the flesh of a victim. It was the same with the Etruscan cities. Besides, in all these amphictyonies, the political bond was always weaker than the religious one. The confederate cities preserved perfect inde¬ pendence. They might even make war against each other, provided they observed a truce during the federal festival. CHAP. XVI. THE ROMAN. 281 where, little gods, gods easily irritated and malevolent. It crushed man with the fear of always having gods against him, and left him no liberty in his acts. We must inquire what place religion occupied in the life of a Roman. His house was for him what .? temple is for us. He finds there his worship and his gods. His fire P a god ; the walls, the doors, the thresh¬ old are gods ; 1 the boundary marks which surround his field are also gods. The tomb is an altar, and his ancestors are divine beings. Each one of his daily actions is a rite; his whole day belongs to his religion. Morning and evening he invokes his fire, his Penates, and his ancestors ; in leav¬ ing and entering his house he addresses a prayer to them. Every meal is a religious act, which he shares with his domestic divinities. Birth, initiation, the taking of the toga, marriage, and the anniversaries of all these events, are the solemn acts of his worship. He leaves his house, and can hardly take a step with¬ out meeting some sacred object — either a chapel, or a place formerly struck by lightning, or a tomb; some¬ times he must step back and pronounce a prayer; some¬ times he must turn his eyes and cover his face, to avoid the sight of some ill-boding object. Every day he sacrifices in his house, every month in his cury, several months a year with his gens or his tribe. Above all these gods, he must offer worship to those of the city. There are in Rome more gods than citizens. He offers sacrifices to thank the gods ; he offers them, and by far the greater number, to appease their wrath. 1 St. Augustine, City of God , VI. 7. Tertullian, Ad. Nat., II. 15. 282 THE CITY. BOOK Ill. One day he figures in a procession, dancing after a certain ancient rhythm, to the sound of the sacred flute. Another day he conducts chariots, in which lie statues of the divinities. Another time it is a lectüternium. a table is set in a street, and loaded with provisions upon beds lie statues of the gods, and every Roman passes bowing, with a crown upon his head, and a branch of laurel in his hand . 1 There is a festival for seed-time, one for the harvest, and one for the pruning of the vines. 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 has, above all, a multitude of festivals for the dead, because he is afraid of them. He never leaves his own house without looking to see if any bird of bad augury appears. There are words which he dares not pronounce for his life. If he experiences some desire, he inscribes his wish upon a tablet which he places at the feet of the statue of a divinity. At every moment he consults the gods, and wishes to know their will. He finds all his resolutions in the entrails 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 him 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. 1 Livy, XXXIV. 55 ; XL. 37. CHAP. XVI. THE liOMAN. 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 . 1 He does not deliberate 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, 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 Roman 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 patrician, the noble, powerful, and rich man. This patrician is, by turns, warrior, magistrate, consul, farmer, merchant; but everywhere and always he is a 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 striking truth concerning the Romans : — “ Dis te minorera quod geris, imperas.” 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 1 Cato, De Re Rust., 1G0. Varro, De Re Rust., I. 2; I. 37. Pliny, N. H VIII. 82; XVII. 28; XXVII. 12; XXVIII. 2 Juvenal, X. 55. Aulus Gellius, IV. 5. 284 THE CITY. BOOK III. 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 imposture. Let any one count in Livy how many times tins 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 lie was required to wear the 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 Droke out* and the priest became a soldier ; he was ^een, when wounded in the thigh, in a cavalry combat, s CHAP. XVI. THE ROMAN. 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 army, 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, augurs, aruspices, 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 years has been besieged without success. Yeii is an Etruscan city — that is to say, almost a sacred city ; it is again&v, 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 is 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 CITY. BOOK III “the level of the Albnn Lake must be lowered, taking good care that the water does not run 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 promised the protecting 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 pontiffs and au¬ gurs surround him ; clothed in the paludamentum , 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.” But it is not enough to have gods on his side ; the enemy also has a powerful divin¬ ity that protects him. Camillus invokes this divinity in these words : “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 is taken. 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 conrngo, or even discipline, but the enunciation of certain formulas exactly pronounced, according to the rites. These formulas, addressed to the gods, determined them and constrained them almost always to give him the victory. For such a general the supreme recompense was for the senate to permit him to offer the triumphal sacrifice. Then he ascends the sacred chariot drawn by four white horses; he wears the sacred robe with which the sods are O clothed on festal days; his head is crowned, his right hand holds a laurel branch, his left the ivory scep¬ tre; these are exactly the attributes and the costume of Jupiter’s statue . 1 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 Ro¬ 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 elevated by it, long preserved the marks of their first education. We know the scruples 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 day of the month, and when a fleet set sail on an expedition, great care was taken to regild the statue of Pallas. 1 Livy, X. 7 ; XXX. 15. Dionysius, V. 8. Appian, Punic Wars, 59. Juvenal, X. 43. Pliny, XXXIII. 7. 288 THE CITY. BOOK IIL Xenophon declares that the Athenians had more religious festivals than any other Greek people . 1 “How many victims offered to the gods!” says Aristophanes, “ how many temples ! how mnny statues ! how many sacred processions! At every moment of the year we see religious 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 his 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 theii 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 rites are observed from age to age. One day in the year the Athenians offer a sacrifice in honor ol Ariadne; and because it was said that the beloved of Theseus died in childbirth, they are compelled to imitate the cries and movements of a woman in travail. They cele¬ brate another festival, called Oschophoria, which is a 1 Xenophon, Gov. of the Athenians , III. 2. * Aristophanes, Cloud*. CHAP. XVI. THE ATHENIAN. 289 sort of pantomime, representing the return of Theseus 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 herald 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 . 1 The Athenian, like the Roman, had unlucky days: on these days no marriage took place, no enterprise was begun, no assembly was held, and justice was not admin¬ istered. The eighteenth 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 contrary, on the day of the Panathenæa, 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 offered them to cure sickness, and to drive away famine or pestilence . 2 Athens has its collection of ancient oracles, as Rome has her Sibylline books, and supports in the Pryta- neurn men who foretell the future. In her streets we meet at every step soothsayers, priests, and interpreters of dreams. The Athenian believes in portents ; sneez- 1 Plutarch, Theseus , 20, 22, 23. * Plato, Laws , p. 800. Philochorus, Lragm. Euripides Suppl, j 80. 19 290 THE CITY. BOOK III. ing, or a ringing in the ears, arrests him in an entei- prise. He never goes on shipboard without tnking 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 theie 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 . 1 The Athenian hardly commences r. sentence without first invoking good fortune. He puts the same woids 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 countiy. The people are led by oracles. The orators, to give their advice more force, repeat, at every moment, “The goddess ordains thus.” 2 Nicias belongs to a great and rich family. While still young he conducts to the sanctuary of Delos i 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, and where 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 régime. 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.” 1 As to the inhabitants of the cantons near the sea,—-the 1 Solon, Ed. Bach, pp. 104, 105. 352 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. Paralii, —the ownership of the 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 possible. There is a part of the work of this legislator which the ancients have very imperfectly explained to us, but which appears to have been the principal part of it. Before his time, the greater part of the inhabitants of Attica still held but a precarious 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 borrowers 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 s CHAP. VI, THE CLIENTS BECOME FREE. 353 owned nothing ? Men are not much accustomed, in any society, 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 have 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 former masters ; and in the slavery into which they fell if they failed to pay, the former clientship, to which they were again reduced. 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 enslaved, 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 Terminus, retained the land in a small 23 354 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IT 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 before a master, I have made free.” It is probable that this enfranchisement is what the contemporaries of Solon called oeiouxdelu (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 reveals 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 put an end to the slavery of the people.” 1 3. Transformation of Clientship at Rome . 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 centuries afterwards, we look for these clients, we no longer find 1 Aristotle, Oov. of Ath., Fragrn ., coll. Didot, t. II. p. 107. CHAP. VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FREE. 355 them. The name still exists, but not clientship. Foi there is nothing more 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. 1 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 fight to judge the freedman, as be had to judge the client; he can remit to slavery for the crime of in¬ gratitude. 2 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 1 The freedman became a client. The identity of these two terms is marked in a passage of Dionysius, IV. 23. 2 Digest , XXV. tit. 2, 5 ; L. tit. 1G, 195. Valerius Maximus, V. 1, 4. Suetonius, Claudius , 25. Dion Cassius, LV. The legislation was the same at Athens ; see Lysias and Hyperides in Harpocration, v. ’ Anooruaiov . Demosthenes in Aristogitonem , and Suidas, v. 'Avay^atov. 356 THE REVOLUTIONS. 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; 1 he 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, which 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. 9 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 1 Festus, r. Patres. * Institutes of Justinian, III. 7. CHAP. YI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FREE. 357 strong probability that they were already 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 enfranchised, 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 very 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 ? 358 THE REVOLUTIONS. 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 from the gens and to join the plebs, where 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 by their votes in the comitia centuriata , they caused the balance to incline in favor of the patricians. 1 About the same time, the plebs having refused to enroll, the patricians were able to form an army with their clients. 8 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. 3 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, u As many clients as you have been about a single patron, so many Livy, II. 56. 2 Dionysius, VII. 19; X. 27. * Inculti per secessionem plebis agri. Livy, II. 34. CHAP. VI. THE CLIENTS BECOME FREE. 359 now shall you be against a single enemy. 1 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, 2 it recalled them to 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 cli¬ ents, and that their freedmen 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 vei^ ob¬ scure. Rut it would not have been so foui centuiies 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. 1 Livy, VI. 18. * Cicero, De Oratore, I. 39- 360 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. CHAPTER VII. Third Revolution. The Plebs enter the City. 1. General History of this Revolution . The changes which, in the course of time, had taken place in the constitution of the family, brought with them others 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 subjects. The people of the lower orders were 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 struggle 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 hands 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. CHAP. 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 numbers 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 organization 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 worship, 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 rules of a regular government. This inferior class, in its weak¬ ness, saw T 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 Prisons king; it loved Servius, and regretted Tarquinius Su¬ perbus. When the kings had been everywhere over- 362 THE REVOLUTIONS. 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 to call them kings, because this title implied the idea of relig ious functions, and could only be borne by the sacerdotal families, they called them tyrants. 1 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 there had been no other chiefs of the state than those who had been 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- 1 The name of king was sometimes given to these popular chiefs when they were descended from religious families. He todoîu.'', V. hJ. CIIAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 363 pie supported the government of the Bacchiadse veiy unwillingly ; Cypselus, understanding this hatied, 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 Bacchiadæ, and obeyed Cypselus. 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 Cumae, at Crotona, at Sybaris — indeed everywhere. At Syracuse, in 435, 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. 1 Everywhere these tyrants, with more or less violence, had the same policy. A tyrant ot Corinth one day asked advice concerning government of a tyrant ot Miletus. The latter, in reply, struck off the heads of grain that were higher than the others, dlius 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 Cassius, and Manlius. The accusation which the patricians so often addressed to those of their own order who became popular, cannot have been pure 1 Nicholas of Damascus, Fraym. Aristotle, Pol., V. 9. Thucydides, I. 126. Diodorus, IV. 6. 864 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. 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 means 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 up a tyrant for the needs of the strug¬ gle ; they left him the [tower afterwards from gratitude or from necessity. But when a few years had elapsed, and the recollection of the hard oligarchy had been effaced, 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 nec rnancipi , and could pass from hand to hand without any religious formality, and without difficulty could reach the plebeians. Religion, CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER 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 geutes alone could be proprietors, and here were former cli¬ ents and plebeians who were rich and who displayed their 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, rank 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-constituted 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 aristocracy, 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. Indeed, 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. 1 In some cities the nobles even gave them¬ selves 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 manœuvres 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 infiuence. The social and political state of n nation always bears a certain relation to the nature and composition of its armies. 1 Aristotle, Politics , VI. 3, 2. CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 367 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 thî ancient principle which prescribed that every god belonged to a family, and that the right of prayer wa* 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 fight 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 citv. At Rome those who had no sacred fire, and consequently no domestic festival, offered their annual sacrifices to the god Quirinus. 1 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 forms of worship which, like Buddhism, 1 Varro, L. L VI. 13. 368 THE REVOLUTIONS. 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 altar in every quarter of the city, so that the multitude might have places to sacrifice ; just as Peisistratus set up Hermæ in the streets and squares of Athens. 1 Those were the gods of the democracy. The plebeians, pre¬ viously a multitnde 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 the city was a revolution, which, from the seventh to the filth century» filled the history of Greece and Italy. The efforts of the people were every where 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 Erythræ, and at Miletus. In other cases, on the contrary, the peojile employed 1 Dionysius, IV. 5. Plato, Hipparchus. \ CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 369 means less violent. Without an armed struggle, and merely by the moral force which their last step had 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 Cumae, the 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 democratic form of government. 1 In a few cities, the admission of the plebs among the citizens was the work of the kings; this was the case at Rome. In others it was the work of popular tyrants, as at Corinth, at Sicyon, and at Argos. When the aristocracy regained the supremacy, they generally had the good sense to leave to the lower orders the rights of citizens which the kings or tyrants had given them. At Samos the aristocracy did not succeed in its struggle with the tyrants until it had freed the lower classes. It would occupy us too long to enumerate all the different forms under which this great revolution appeared. The result was everywhere the same ; the inferior class entered the city, and became a part of the body politic. The poet Theognis has given us a very clear idea of this revolution, and of its consequences. He tells us that in Megara, his country, there were two sorts of men. He calls one the class of the good , àyuôol ; this, 1 Heracleideg of Pontus. Fragm ., coll. Didot, t. 11, p. 217. 24 370 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV indeed, is the name which they took in most of the Greek cities. The other he calls the class of the bad , xaxol ; this, too, is the name by which it was custom¬ ary to designate the inferior class. The poet describes the ancient condition of this class: “Formerly it knew neither tribunals nor laws;” this is as much as to say that it had not the right of the citizenship. These men were not even permitted to approach the city ; “ they lived without, like wild beasts.” They took no part in the religious repasts; they had not the right to marry into the families of the good . But how changed is all this ! Rank has been over¬ thrown ; “the bad have been placed above the good.” Justice is disturbed ; the ancient laws are no more, and laws of strange novelty have replaced them. Riches have become the only object of men’s desires, because wealth gives power. The man of noble race marries the daughter of the rich plebeian, and “ marriage con¬ founds the races.” Theognis, who belonged to an aristocratic family, vainly strove to resist the course of events. Con¬ demned to exile, and despoiled of his property, he could no longer protest and fight except in his verses. But if he no longer hoped for success, at least he never doubted the justice of his cause. He accepted defeat, but he still preserved a sense of his rights. In his eyes, the revolution which had taken place was a moral evil, a crime. A son of the aristocracy, it seemed to him that this revolution had on its side neither justice nor the gods, and that it was an attempt against re¬ ligion. “The gods,” he says, “have quitted the earth; no one fears them. The race of pious men has dis¬ appeared ; no one now cares for the Immortals.” But these regrets are useless, and he knows it welL CU AP. vn. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 371 If lie complains thus, it is as a sort of pious duty ; it is because he has received from the ancients “ the holy tradition,” and his duty is to perpetuate it. But he labors in vain ; the tradition itself will perish ; the sons of the nobles will forget their nobility ; soon all will be seen united by marriage to plebeian families; “they will drink at their festivals and eat at their tables ” ; they will soon adopt their sentiments. In Theognis’ time, regret was all that was left for the Greek aristoc- racy, and even this regret was soon to disappear. In fact, after Theognis the nobility were nothing but a recollection. The great families continued piously to preserve the domestic worship and the memory of their ancestors, but this was all. There were still men who amused themselves by counting their ancestors; but such men were ridiculed. They preserved the cus¬ tom of inscribing upon some tombs that the deceased was of noble race, but no attempt was made to restore a system forever fallen. Isocrates said, with truth, that in his time the great families of Athens no longer ex¬ isted except in their tombs. Thus the ancient city was transformed by degrees. In the beginning it was an association of some hundred chiefs of families. Later the number of citizens in¬ creased, because the younger branches obtained a position of equality. Later still, the freed clients, the plebs, all that multitude which, during centuries, had remained outside the political and religious association, sometimes even outside the sacred enclosure of the city, broke down the barriers which were opposed to them, and penetrated into the city, where they im¬ mediately became the h* asters. 372 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV 2. History of this Revolution at Athens. The Eupatrids, after the overthrow of royalty, gov¬ erned Athens during four centuries. Upon this long dominion history is silent ; we know only one fact — that it was odious to the lower orders, and that the people tried to change the government. In the year 598, the discontent, which appeared general, and certain signs which showed a revolution to be at hand, aroused the ambition of a Eupatrid, Cylon, who undertook to overthrow the government of his caste, and to establish himself as a popular tyrant. The energy of the archons frustrated the en¬ terprise, but the agitation continued after him. In vain the Eupatrids employed all the resources of their religion. In vain did they announce that the gods were irritated, and that spectres had appeared. In vain did they purify the city from the crimes of the people, and raise two altars to Violence and Insolence to ap¬ pease these two divinities, whose malign influence had agitated all minds. 1 All this was to no purpose. The feeling of hatred was not appeased. They brought from Crete the pious Epimenides, a mysterious person¬ age, who was said to be the son of a goddess, and he performed a series of expiatory ceremonies ; they hoped, by thus striking the imaginations of the people, to revive religion, and consequently to fortify the aristoc¬ racy. But the people were not moved ; the religion of the Eupatrids no longer had any influence upon their minds; they persisted in demanding reform. For sixteen years longer the fierce opj>osition of the 1 Diogenes Laertius, I. 110. Cicero, De Leg., II. 11. Athe- ûæus, p. G02. CHAP. VII THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 37a peasants of the mountain and the patient opposition of the rich men of the shore waged war against the Eu- patrids. Finally, those who were wisest among the three parties agreed to intrust to Solon the care of terminating the discords, and of preventing still greater misfortunes. Solon had the rare fortune to bêlons: at the same time to the Eupatrids by birth, and to the merchants by the occupation of his earlier years. His poetry exhibits him to us as a man entirely free from the prejudice of caste. By his conciliatory spirit, by his taste for wealth and luxury, by his love of pleasure, he was far removed from the old Eupatrids. He belonged to new Athens. We have said above that Solon began by freeing the land from the old domination which the religion of the Eupatrid families had exercised over it. He broke the chains of clientsbip. So great a change in the social state brought with it another in the political order. The lower orders needed thenceforth, according to the expression of Solon himself, a shield to defend their newly-found liberty. This shield was political rights. Solon’s constitution is far from being well known to us; it appears, however, that all the Athenians made from that time a part of the assembly of the people, and that the senate was no longer composed of Eupa¬ trids alone; it appears even that the archons could be elected outside the ancient priestly caste. These grave innovations destroyed all the ancient rules of the city. The right of suffrage, magistracies, priesthood, the direction of society, all these had to be shared by the Eupatrid with the inferior caste. In the new constitu¬ tion no account was taken of the rights of primogeni¬ ture. There were still classes, but men were no longer 374 PHE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. distinguished except by wealth. The rule of the Eu- patrids disappeared. The Eupatrid was no longer of any account, unless he was rich; he had influence through his wealth, and not through birth. Thence¬ forth the poet could say, “ In poverty the noble is of no account,” and the people applauded iu the theatre this line of the poet • “ Of what rank is this man ?— Rich, for those are now the noble.” 1 The system which was thus founded had two sorts of enemies — the Eupatrids, who regretted their lost privileges, and the poor, who still suffered from the inequality of their rank. Hardly had Solon finished his work when agitation recommenced. “The poor,” says Plutarch, “showed themselves the fierce enemies of the rich.” The new government displeased them, perhaps, quite as much as that of the Eupatrids. Besides, seeing that the Eupatrids could still be archons and senators, many imagined that the revolution had not been complete. Solon had maintained the republican forms ; now the people still entertained a blind hatred against these forms of government under which they had seen, for four centuries, nothing but the reign of the aristocracy. Alter the example of many Greek cities, they wished for a tyrant. Peisistratus, a Eupatrid, but following his own per¬ sonal ambition, promised the poor a division of the lands, and attached them to himself. One day he ap¬ peared in the assembly, and, pretending that he had been wounded, asked for a guard. The men of the higher classes were about to reply and unveil his false¬ hood, but “the people were ready to resort to violence 1 Euripides, Phaniss. Alexis, in Athenæus, IV. 49. CHAI . viï. THE PLEBS ENTEK THE CITY. 375 to sustain Peisistratus ; the rich, seeing this, fled in dis¬ order.” Thus one of the first acts of the popular as¬ sembly recently established was to enable a man to become master of his country. But it does not appear that the reign of Peisistratus offered any check to the development of the destinies of Athens. Its principal effect, on the contrary, was to guarantee this great social and political reform, which had just taken place, against a reaction. The Eupatrids never regained their lost power. The people showed themselves little desirous of re¬ covering their liberty. Twice a coalition of the great and the rich overthrew Peisistratus; twice he returned to power, and his sons governed Athens after him. The intervention of the Lacedæmonian army was re¬ quired in Attica to put an end to this family’s rule. The ancient aristocracy had for a moment the hope of profiting by the fall of Peisistratus, and regaining its privileges. They not only failed of this, but re¬ ceived a still ruder blow. Cleisthenes, who belonged to this class, but who was of a family which it had covered with opprobrium, and had seemed to reject for three generations, found the surest means of taking away the little of its power that still remained. Solon» in changing the constitution, had retained the old reli¬ gious organization of Athenian society. The population remained divided into two or three hundred gentes, into twelve phratries, and four tribes. In each one of these groups there were, as in the preceding period, an hereditary worship, a priest, who was a Eupatrid, and a chief, who was the same as the priest. All this was a relic of the past, which disappeared slowly. Through this the traditions, the usages, the rules, the distinc¬ tions that existed in the old social state, were perpetu- 376 THE EE VOLUTION'S. B( OK IV. ated. All these had been established by religion, and in their turn they maintained religion — that is to say, the power of the great families. There were in each of these organizations two classes of men. On the one side were the Eupatrids, who had, by right of birth, the priesthood and the authority; on the other, men of an inferior condition, who were no longer either slaves or clients, but who were still retained by reli¬ gion under the authority of the Eupatrids. In vain did the laws of Solon declare that all Athenians were free. The old religion seized a man as he went out of the assembly where he had voted freely, and said to him, “.Thou art bound to the Eupatrid through worship; thou owest him respect, deference, submission ; as a member of the city, Solon has freed thee; but as a member of a tribe, thou obeyest the Eupatrid ; as a member of a phratry, thou also hast a Eupatrid for a chief; in the family itself, in the gens where thou wert born, and which thou canst not leave, thou still findest the authority of the Eupatrid.” Of what avail was it that the political law had made a citizen of this man, if religion and manners persisted in making him a cli¬ ent? For several generations, it is true, many men lived outside these organizations, whether they had come from foreign countries, or had escaped from the gens and the tribe, to be free. But these men suffered in another way ; they found themselves in a state of moral inferiority compared with other men, and a sort of ignominy was attached to their independence. There was, therefore, after the political reform of So¬ lon, another reform to be made in the domain of reli¬ gion. Cleisthenes accomplished it by suppressing the four old religious tribes, and replacing them with tec tribes, whic ^ 'uto demes. CHAP. VIL. THE PLEBS ENTEE THE CITY. 377 These tribes and denies resembled in appearance the ancient tribes and gentes. In each one of these or¬ ganizations there were a worship, a priest, a judge, assemblies for religious ceremonies, and assemblies to deliberate upon the common interests. 1 But the new groups differed from the old in two essential points. First, all the free men of Athens, even those who had not belonged to the old tribes and gentes, were included in the divisions of Cleisthenes. 2 This was a great reform ; it gave a worship to those who before had none, and included in a religious association those who had previously been excluded from every associa¬ tion. In the second place, men were distributed in ihe tribes and denies, not according to birth, as for¬ merly, but according to their locality. Birth was of no account; men were equal, and privileges were no longer known. The worship for which the new tribe and deme were established was no longer the heredita¬ ry worship of an ancient family ; men no longer assem¬ bled around the hearth of a Eupatrid. The tribe or deme no longer venerated an ancient Eupatrid as a divine ancestor ; the tribes had new eponymous heroes chosen from among the ancient personages of whom the people had preserved a grateful recollection, and as for the denies, they uniformly adopted as their protect¬ ing gods Zeus, the (juuTclian of the walls , and the patev - nal Apollo. Henceforth there was no reason why the priesthood should be hereditary in the deme, as it had been in the gens, or why the priest should always be a Eupatrid. In the new groups the priestly office, as 1 Æschines, in Ctesiph., 30. Demosthenes, in Eubul. Pol¬ lux, VIII. 19, 95, 107. 2 Aristotle, Politics, III. 1, 10; VII. 2. Scholiast on Æs¬ chines, edit. Didot, p. 511. 378 THE KEYOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. well as that of the chief, was annual, and every mem¬ ber might enjoy it in his turn. This reform completed the overthrow of the aristoc¬ racy of the Eupatrids. From this time there was no longer a religious caste, no longer any privileges of birth, either in religion or in politics. Athenian socie¬ ty was completely transformed. 1 Now, the suppression of the old tribes, replaced by new ones, to which all men had access, and in which they were equal, was not a fact peculiar to the history of Athens. The same change took place at Cyrene, Sicyon, Elis, and Sparta, and probably in many other Greek cities. 2 Of all the means calculated to weaken the ancient aristocracy, Aristotle saw none more effi¬ cacious than this : “ If one wished to found a democ¬ racy,” he says, “ he would proceed as Cleisthenes did at Athens; he would establish new tribes and new phratries ; for the hereditary family sacrifices he would substitute sacrifices where all men might be admitted, and he would associate and blend the people together as much as possible, being careful to break up all ante¬ rior associations.” 3 When this reform has been accomplished in all the cities, it may be said that the ancient mould of society has been broken, and that a new social body has been formed. This change in the organizations which the ancient hereditary religion had established, and which 1 The ancient phratries and the ylvr\ were not suppressed; they continued, on the contrary, down to the close of Greek history; but they were thenceforth only religious bodies, and of no account politically. 2 Herodotus, V. 67, 68. Aristotle, Politics , VII. 2, 11. Pau- sanias, V. 9. 3 Aristotle, Politics , VII. 3, 11 (VI. 3). s CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITV . 379 it had declared immutable, marks the end of the reli¬ gious government of the city. 3. History of this Revolution at Rome. At Rome the plebs had a great influence at an early date. The situation of the city, between the Latins, the Sabines, and the Etruscans, condemned it to perpetual war, and war required that there should be a numerous population. The kings, therefore, had welcomed and invited all foreigners, without regard to their origin. Wars succeeded each other without in- termission, and as there was a need of men, the most common result of every victory was to take away the inhabitants of the conquered city and transfer them to Rome. What became of these men, brought with the booty ? If there were found among them patrician and priestly families, the patricians hastened to associ¬ ate them with themselves. As to the multitude, some of them became the clients of the great, or of the king, and a part were left w r ith the plebs. Still other elements entered into the composition of this class. Many foreigners flocked to Rome, as a place whose situation rendered it convenient for com¬ merce. The discontented among the Sabines, the Etruscans, and the Latins, found a refuge there. All this class joined the plebs. The client who succeeded in escaping from the gens became a plebeian. The patrician, who formed a misalliance, or was guilty of any crime that lost him his rank, fell into the inferior class. Every bastard was cast out by religion from pure families, and counted among the plebs. For ad these reasons the plebs increased in numbers. The sV ggle which had begun between the patricians 380 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. and the king increased their importance. The kings and the plebs early felt that they had the same ene¬ mies. The ambition of the kings was to cut loose from the old principles of government, which limited the exercise of their power. The ambition of the ple¬ beians was to break the ancn-nt barriers which exclud¬ ed them from the religious and political associations. A tacit alliance was established — the kings protected the plebs, and the plebs sustained the kings. The traditions and testimony of antiquity place the great progress of the plebeians under the reign of Ser¬ vais. The hatred which the patricians preserved for this king sufficiently shows what his policy was. His first reform was to give lands to the plebeians, not, it is true, in the ager Romanus , but in the territory taken from the enemy ; still, this conferring the right to own land upon families that had previously cultivat¬ ed only the fields of others was none the less an in¬ novation. 1 What was graver still was, that he published laws for the plebs, which had never been done before. These laws, for the most part, related to obligations which the plebeian might contract with the patrician. It was the commencement of a common law between the two orders, and for the plebs it was the commencement of equality. 2 Later this same king established a new division in the city. Without destroying the three ancient tribes, where the patrician families and clients were classed 1 Livy, I. 47. Dionysius, IV. 13. The preceding kings had already distributed the lands taken from the enemy ; but it is not certain that they admitted the plebs to share in the di¬ vision. * Dionysius, IV. 13; IV. 43. CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 381 according to rank, he formed four new tribes, in which the entire population was distributed according to resi¬ dence. We have seen this reform at Athens, and we know what were its effects; they were the same at Rome. The plebeians, who did not enter the ancient tribes, were admitted into the new ones. 1 This multi¬ tude, up to that time a floating mass, a species of no¬ madic population that had no connection with the city had thenceforth its fixed divisions and its regular or¬ ganization. The formation of these tribes, in v hich the two orders were mingled, really marked the entrance of the plebs into the city. Every tribe had a hearth and sacrifices. Servius established Lares in every pub¬ lic place of the city, in every district of the country. They served as divinities for those who had no rank. The plebeian celebrated the religious festivals of his quarter, and of his burgh ( compitcilia , paganalia ), as the patrician celebrated the sacrifice of his gens and of his cury. The plebeian had a religion. At the same time a great change took place in the sacred ceremony of the lustration. Ihe people were no longer ranged by curies, to the exclusion of those whom the curies did not admit. All the free inhabit¬ ants of Rome, all those who formed a part of the new tribes, figured in the sacred act. For the first time all men, without distinction of patrician, or client, or ple¬ beian, were united. The king walked around this mixed assembly, driving victims befoie him, and sing¬ ing solemn hymns. The ceremony finished, all alike found themselves citizens. Before Servius, only two classes of men were dis¬ tinguished at Rome — the sacerdotal caste of pati i* 1 Dionysius, I. 26. 38ü THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. cians with their clients, and the plebeian class. No other distinction was known than that which religion had established. Servius marked a new division, which had wealth for its foundation. He divided the inhab¬ itants of Rome into two great categories; in the one were those who owned property, in the other those who had nothing. The first was divided into five classes, in which men were divided off according to the amount of their fortune. 1 By this means Servius in¬ troduced an entirely new principle into Roman society; wealth began to indicate rank, as religion had done before. Servius applied this division of the Roman popula¬ tion to the military service. Before him, if the plebe¬ ians fought, it was not in the ranks of the legion. But as Servius had made proprietors and citizens of them, he could also make them legionaries. From this time the army was no longer composed of men exclusively from the curies; all free men, all those at least who had property, made a part of it, and the poor alone continued to be excluded. The rank of patrician or client no longer determined the armor of each soldier and his post in battle ; the army was divided by classes, exactly like the population, according to wealth. The first class, which had complete armor, and the two fol¬ lowing, which had at least the shield, the helmet, and 1 Modern historians generally reckon six classes. In reality there were but five : Cicero, De Repub., II. 22; Aulus Gellius, X. 28. The knights on the one hand, and the proletarii , poor inhabitants, on the other, were not counted in the classes. We must note, moreover, that the word classis had not, in the an¬ cient language, a sense similar to our word class; it was applied to a military body; and this shows that the division established by Servius was rather military than political. CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 383 the sword, formed the three first lines of the legion. The fourth and the fifth, being light-armed, made up the body of skirmishers and slingers. Each class was divided into companies, called centuries. The first of these consisted, we are told, of eighty men ; the four others twenty or thirty each. The cavalry was a sepa¬ rate body, and in this arm also Servi us made a great innovation. Whilst up to that time the young patii- cians alone made up the centuries of the knights, Ser¬ vi us admitted a certain number of plebeians, chosen from the wealthiest, to fight on horseback, and formed of these twelve new centuries. Now, the army could not be touched without at the same time modifying the political constitution. The plebeians felt that their importance in the state had in¬ creased : they had arms, discipline, and chiefs; every century had its centurion and its sacred ensign. This military organization w r as permanent; peace did not dissolve it. The soldiers, it is true, on their return from a campnign, quitted their ranks, as the law forbade them to enter the city in military order. But after¬ wards, at the first signal, the citizens resumed their arms in the Campus Martius , where each returned to his century, his centurion, and his banner. Now, it happened, twenty-five years after Servius Tullius, the army was called together without any intention of making a military expedition. The army being as¬ sembled, and the men having taken their ranks, every century having its centurion at its head, and its ensign in the centre, the magistrate spoke, proposed laws, and took a vote. The six patrician centuries and the twelve of the plebeian knights voted first; after them the centuries of infantry of the first class, and the others in turn. Thus was established in a short time the 384 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK 1'7 comitia centuriata , where every soldiei had the right of suffrage, and where the plebeian and the patrician were hardly distinguished. 1 All these reforms made a singular change in the ap¬ pearance of the Roman city. The patricians remained, with their hereditary worship, their curies, their senate. But the plebeians became accustomed to indepen¬ dence, wealth, arms, and religion. The plebs were not confounded with the patricians, but became strong by the side of them. The patricians, it is true, took their revenge. They commenced by killing Servius; later, they banished 1 It appears to us incontestable that the comitia oy centurns were identical with the Roman army. What proves this is, first, that this assembly is often called the army by Latin writers urbanus exercitus (Varro, VI. 93) ; quum com.itiorum causa exer - citus eductus esset (Livy, XXXIX. 15) ; miles ad suffragia voca- tur et comitia centuriata dicuntur (Ampelius, 48) : second, that these comitia were convoked exactly as the army was when it entered on a campaign — that is to say, at the sound of a trum¬ pet (Varro, V. 91) ; two standards floated from the citadel, one red, to call the infantry, the other dark-green for the cavalry : third, that these comitia were always held in the Campus Martius, because the army could not assemble within the city (Aulus Gellius, XV. 27) : fourth, that every voter went with his arms (Dion Cassius, XXXVII.) : fifth, that the voters were dis¬ tributed by centuries, the infantry on one side, and the cavalry on the other : sixth, that every century had at its head its cen¬ turion and its ensign, motisq h no?.t^(o (Dionysius, VII. 59) : sev¬ enth, that men more than sixty years of age, not being a part of the army, had not the right to vote in these comitia (Macrobius, I. 5; Festus, v. Depontani). Then, in the ancient language, the word classis signified a military body, and the word centuria de¬ signated a military company. The proletarii did not appear in this assembly at first; still, as it was a custom in the army to form a century of laborers, they might form a century in the comitia. CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 385 Tarquin. The defeat of royalty was the defeat cf the plebs. The patricians attempted to take away from them all the conquests which they had made under the kings. One of the first acts was to take from them the lands that Servius had given them ; and we must remark, the only reason given for despoiling them thus, was that they were plebeians. 1 The patricians, therefore, re¬ stored the old principle, which required that hereditary religion alone should establish the right of property, and which did not permit a man without religion and without ancestors to exercise any right over the soil. The laws that Servius had made for the plebs were also withdrawn. If the system of classes and the comi- tia centuriata were not abolished by the patricians, it was because the state of war did not allow them to dis¬ organize the army, and also because they understood now to surround the comitia with formalities such that they could always control the elections. They dared not take from the plebs the title of citizens, and allowed them to figure in the census. But it is clear that, while allowing the plebs to form a part of the city, they shared with them neither political rights nor religion, nor the laws. In name, the plebs remained in the city ; in fact, they were excluded. Let us not unreasonably accuse the patricians, or suppose that they coldly conceived the design of op¬ pressing and crushing the plebs. The patrician who was descended from a sacred family, and felt himself the heir to a worship, understood no other social system than that whose rules had been traced by the ancient religion. In his eyes the constituent element of every * Cassius Hemina, in Nonius, Book II. v. Pleviias. 25 386 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. society was the gens, with its worship, its hereditary chief, and its clientship. For him the city could not be anything except an assembly of the chiefs of the gentes. It did not enter his mind that there could be any other political system than that which rested upon worship, or other magistrates than those who performed the public sacrifices, or other laws than those whose sacred formulas religion had dictated. It was useless to say to him that the plebeians also had within a short time adopted a religion, and that they offered sacrifices to the Lares of the public squares. He would reply that this religion had not the essential character of a real religion, that it was not hereditary, that the fires were not ancient fires, and that these Lares were not real ancestors. He would have added, that the plebeians in adopting a worship, had done what they had no right to do, and to obtain one, had violated all principle; that they had taken only the external forms of worship, and had neglected the essential principle; it was not hereditary; that, in fine, this image of religion was ab¬ solutely the opposite of religion. Since the patrician persisted in thinking that heredi¬ tary religion alone should govern men, it followed that he saw no religion possible for the plebs. He could not understand how the social power could be regularly exercised upon this class of men. The sacred law could not be applied to them; justice was sacred ground, which was forbidden to them. So long as there had been kings, they had taken upon themselves to govern the plebs, and they had done this according to certain rules, which had nothing in common with the ancient religion, and which necessity or the public interest had produced. But by the revolution, which had abolished royalty, religion had assumed its empire; it necessar i‘y CHAP. VII. T11.Æ PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 38Ï followed that the whole plebeian class were placed be yond the reach of social laws. The patricians then established a government con¬ formable to their own principles ; but they had not dreamed of establishing one for the plebs. The patri¬ cians had not the courage to drive the plebeians from Rome, but they no longer found the means of organizing them into a regular society. We thus see, in the midst of Rome, thousands of families for which there ex¬ isted no fixed laws, no social order, no magistrates. The city, th a populuSy — that is to say, the patrician society, with the client that had remained to it,—arose powerful, organized, majestic. About it lived a plebeian multi¬ tude, which was not a people, and did not form a body. The consuls, the chiefs of the patrician city, maintained order in this confused population ; the plebeians obeyed: feeble, generally poor, they bent under the power of the patrician body. The problem that was to decide the future of Rome was this : How can the plebs become a regular society ? Now, the patricians, governed by the rigorous prin- ples of their religion, saw only one means of resolvino- this problem ; this was to adopt the plebs, as clients, into the sacred organization of the gentes. It appears that one attempt was made in this direction. The question of debts, which agitated Rome at this period, can only be explained, if we see in it the more o-rave question of clientship and slavery. The Roman plebs. robbed of their lands, were no longer able to support themselves. The patricians calculated that, by the sacrifice of a little money, they could bring this poor class into their hands. The plebeian began to borrow. In borrowing, he gave himself up to the creditor—sold himself. It was so much a sale that it was a transac- 388 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. tion per œs et libram — that is to say, with the solemn formality which was commonly employed to confer upon a man the right of property in any object. 1 The plebeian, it is true, took security against slavery. By a sort of fiduciary contract, he stipulated that he should retain his rank of freeman until the day of the pay¬ ment, and that on that day he should recover full pos¬ session of himself on paying the debt. But on that day, if the debt was not paid, he lost the benefit of his contract. He was in the power of his creditor, who took him to his house and made him his client and servant. In all this the creditor did not think he was committing any act of inhumanity ; the ideal of society being, in his eyes, the government of the gens, he saw nothing more legitimate or more commendable than to bring men into it by any means possible. If this plan had succeeded, the plebs would have disappeared in little time, and the Roman city would have been noth¬ ing but an association of patrician gentes, sharing among them a multitude of clients. But this clientship was a chain which the plebeian held in horror. He fought against the patrician who, armed with his debt, wished to make a client of him. Clientship was for him equivalent to slavery ; the pa¬ trician’s house was, in his eyes, a prison ( ergastulum ). Many a time the plebeian, seized by the patrician, called upon his associates, and stirred up the plebeians, cry¬ ing that he was a free man, and displaying the wounds which he had received in the defence of Rome. The calculation of the patricians only served to irritate the plebs. They saw the danger, and strove with all their 1 Varro, L. L ., VII. 105. Livy, VIII. 28. Aulus Gellius, XX. 1. Festus, v. Nexum. \ (•HAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 389 energy to tree themselves from this precarious state, in which the fall of the royal government had placed them. They wished to have laws and rights. But it does not appear that these men aspired at first to share the laws and rights of the patricians. Perhaps they thought, with the patricians themselves, that there could be nothing in common between the two orders. No one thought of civil and political equality. That the plebeians could raise themselves to the level of the patricians, never entered the minds of the plebeian of the first centuries any more than it occurred to the patrician. Far, therefore, from claiming equality of rights and laws, these men seem to have preferred, at first, com¬ plete separation. In Rome they found no remedy for their sufferings ; they saw but one means of escaping from their inferiority — this was to depart from Rome. The historian has well expressed their thoughts when he attributes this language to them : “ Since the patri¬ cians wish to possess the city alone, let them enjoy it at their ease. For us Rome is nothing. We have neither hearths, nor sacrifices, nor country. We only leave a foreign city ; no hereditary religion attaches us to this place. Every land is good for us ; where we find liberty, there shall be our country.” 1 And they went to take up their abode on the Sacred Mount, beyond the limits of the ager Romanus. In view of such an act the senate w r as divided in opinion. The more ardent of the patricians showed clearly that the departure of the plebs was far from afflicting them. Thenceforth the patricians alone would remain at Rome with the clients that w r ere still * Dionysius, VI. 45, 7t. 890 THE REVOLUTION S. BOOK IV. faithful to them. Rome would renounce its future grandeur, but the patricians would be masters there. They would no longer have these plebeians to trouble them, to whom the rules of ordinary government could not be applied, and who were an embarrassment to the city. They ought, perhaps, to have been driven out at the same time with the kings ; but since they had of themselves taken the resolution to depart, the pa¬ tricians ought to let them go, and rejoice at their de¬ parture. But others, less faithful to old principles, or solici¬ tous for the grandeur of Rome, were afflicted at the departure of the plebs. Rome would lose half its sol¬ diers. What would become of it in the midst of the Latins, Sabines, and Etruscans — all enemies? The plebs had good qualities; why could not these be made use of for the interests of the city? These senators desired, therefore, at a cost of a few concessions, of which they did not perhaps see all the consequences, to bring back to the city those thousands of arms that made the strength of the legions. On the other side, the plebs perceived, at the end of a few months, that they could not live upon the Sacred Mount. They procured, indeed, what was materially necessary for existence, but all that went to make up an organized society was wanting. They could not found a city there, because they could not find a priest who knew how to perform the religious ceremony of the foundation. They could not elect magistrates, for they had no prytaneum with its perpetual fire, where the magistrate might sacrifice. They could find no foundation for social laws, since the only laws of which men then had any idea were derived from the patrician, religion. In a word, they had not among them the ele- CHAP. VII. THE PLEBS ENTER THE CITY. 891 ments of a city. The plebs saw clearly that by being more independent they were not happier; that they did not form a more regular society than at Rome ; and that the problem, whose solution was so important to them, was not solved. They had gained nothing by leaving Rome ; it was not in the isolation of the Sacred Mount that they could find the laws and the rights to which they aspired. It was found, therefore, that the plebs and patricians, though they had almost nothing in common, could not live without each other. They came together and concluded a treaty of alliance. This treaty ap¬ pears to have been made on the same terms as those which terminate a war between two different peoples. Plebeians and patricians were indeed neither the same people nor the same city. By this treaty the patrician did not agree that the plebeian should make a part of the religious and political city ; it does not appear that the plebs demanded it. They agreed merely that in the future the plebs, having been organized into some¬ thing like a regular society, should have chiefs taken from their own number. This is the origin of the tribuneship of the plebs — an entirely new institution, which resembled nothing that the city had known before. The power of the tribunes was not of the same na¬ ture as the authority of the magistrates ; it was not derived from the city worship. The tribune performed no religious ceremony. He was elected without the auspices, and the consent of the gods was not neces¬ sary to create him. 1 He had neither curule chair, nor purple robe, nor crown of leaves, nor any cf those 1 Dionysius, X. Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 8 4. 392 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK TV. insignia which, in all the ancient cities, designated ma¬ gistrates and priests, for the veneration of men. He was never counted among the Roman magistrates. What, then, was the nature, and what was the princi¬ ple, of his power? Here we must banish from our minds all modern ideas and habits, and transport our¬ selves as much as possible into the midst of the ideas of the ancients. Up to that time men had understood political authority only as an appendage to the priest¬ hood. d bus, when they wished to establish a power that was not connected with worship, and chiefs who were not priests, they were forced to resort to a singu¬ lar device. For this, the day on which they created the first tribune, they performed a religious ceremony of a peculiar character. 1 Historians do not describe the rites; they merely say that the effect was to render these first tribunes sacrosancti. Now, these words signified that the body of the tribune should be reck¬ oned thenceforth among the objects which religion forbade to be touched, and whose simple touch made a man unclean. 2 Thus it happened, if some devout Roman, some patrician, met a tribune in the public street, he made it a duty to purify himself on return¬ ing home, “ as if his body had been defiled simply by the meeting.” 3 This sacrosanct character remained attached to the tribune during the whole term of his office ; then in creating his successor, he transmitted 1 Livy, III. 55. 2 This is the proper sense of the word sacer. Plautus Bacch., IV- 6, 13. Catullus, XIV. 12. Festus, v. Sacer. Macrobius, III. 7. According to Livy, the epithet sacrosanctus was not at first applied to the tribune, but to the man who injured the per¬ son of the tribune. 3 Plutarch, Rom. Quest., 81. CHAI'. VII. THE PLEBS ENTEE THE CITY. 393 the same character to him, just as the consul, in creat¬ ing other consuls, passed to them the auspices, and the power to perform the sacred rites. Later, the tribune- ship having been interrupted during two years, it was necessary, in order to establish the new tribunes, to renew the religious ceremony which had been per¬ formed on the Sacred Mount. We do not sufficiently understand the ideas of the ancients, to say whether this sacrosanct character rendered the person of the tribune honorable in the eyes of the patricians, or marked him, on the contrary, as an object of malediction and horror. The second conjecture is more in accordance with probability. What is certain is, that in every way the tribune was inviolable ; the hand 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 law, calling down upon their heads the wrath of the gods if they violated it, and added that whoever ren¬ dered himself guilty of an attempt against a tribune “should be tainted with the deepest impurity.” 1 1 Dionysius, VI. 89; X. 32, 42. 394 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV 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. 1 The patricians had not given the plebeians rights ; they had only agreed 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 altar, 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. 2 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 1 Tribuni antiquitus créatif non juri dicundo nec causis que- relisque de absentibus noscendis , sed intercessionibus faciendis quibus pressentes fuissent , ut injuria quœ coram Jieret ai cere tur. Aulus Gellius, XIII. 12. * Aulus Gellius, XV. 27. Dionysius, VIII. 87 ; VI. 90. CHAP. VII. THE FLEBS 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 his. 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 they 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 EE VOLUTIONS. HOOK IV. As soon as the plebs thus had their chiefs, 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 comitia, were distrib¬ uted into tribes; the domicile, not religion 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 comitia 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 plébiscita. There was at Rome, for a long time, a double series of decrees — senatusconsulta for the patricians, plé¬ biscita for the plebs. The plebs did not obey the sen¬ atusconsulta, nor the patricians the plébiscita. 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 . 1 They were two peoples that did not even understand 1 Livy, II. GO. Dionysius, VII. 16. Festus, y. Scita plebis. We speak only of the earliest times. The patricians were en¬ rolled in the tribes, but 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. 391 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 ihe 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 privileges. In the assembly of the tribes the patrician saw 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; he 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 fllled 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 of sol diers. They had left to the plebeians the title of citi 898 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 the 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 without taking away his wealth, or the sentiment of dignity that ordi¬ narily accompanies it. Sometimes, too, the plebeian had 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. UHAP. VII. THE plebs enter 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 tbe 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 poition, 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, they 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 inciease 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 REVOLUTIONS. 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 halt 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 separate. As they desired the greatness of Rome, they wished for the union of the two orders. Besides, they were ambitious ; they calculated that the absolute separation of the two orders forever limited their own career, by chaining them forever to the 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 plébiscita to make a species of laws for their own use, and to prepare a code which would have no official value, they inspired the plebs with the idea of penetrating into the patrician city, and sharing its laws, institutions, and dignities, From 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. There were laws at Rome, as in all cities, unchangeable and holy laws, which were written, and the text of which was preserved by priests . 1 But these laws, which were a part of the religion, applied 1 Dionysius, X. 1. CHAP. vn. THE PLEB8 ENTER THE CITY. 401 only 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 and their clients, but not for others. They did not recognize the right to hold property in one who had no sacra ; 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 laws should be reduced to writing and made public, but that there should be laws that should be equally applicable to the patricians and themselves. The tribunes wished at first, it appears, that the laws should be drawn up by the plebeians. The patrician* replied, that apparently the tribunes were ignorant ol 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 you in common with sacred things, among which the laws must be counted ?” 1 This notion of the plebeians appeared monstrous to the pa¬ tricians; and the old annals, which Livy and Dionys¬ ius of Halicarnassus consulted in this part of their his¬ tories, mention frightful prodigies — the heavens on fire, spectres leaping in the air, and showers of blood . 2 The real prodigy was that the plebeians thought of making laws. Between the two orders, 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 are unwilling that the 1 Livy, III. 31. Dionysius, X. 4. * Julius Obsequens, 16. 26 402 THE REVOLUTIONS. 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 war 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 single word that implies any inequality between the plebeian and the patrician, either in the rights of prop- ert.y, or in contracts and obligations, or in legal pro¬ ceedings. From that moment the plebeian appeared 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 Home. CHaP. VII. THE PLEB8 ENTER THE CITY. 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 îeligion and manners no longer sufficed 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 woiship 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 \\ 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 gen tes, the Fabii, the Cor- neui, and the Manlii . 1 It could then be seen that the 1 Livy V. 12; VI. 34, 39 404 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV law had been for a moment the only barrier 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 — nefas 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 them how important religion was to the city, that religion had founded the city, and that it presided over all public acts, directed the deliberative assemblies, and gave the republic its magistrates. They added, that this religion was, according to ancient customs (more ma - jorum), 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 \ CHAP. YH. 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 . 1 The patricians used all their 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 shown in conquer¬ ing the tribuneship and a code. But if the plebs were somewhat indifferent, there was a plebeian aristocracy that was ambitious. Here is a legend of this period: “Fabius Ambustus, one of the most distinguished of the patricians, had married his two daughters, one to a patrician, who became a military tribune, the other to Licinius Stolo, a promi¬ nent plebeian. TLis plebeian’s wife was one day at the house of her sister, when the lictors, conducting the military tribune to 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 sister showed her how much a plebe* 1 Livy, VI. 41. 406 THE -REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. ian marriage had degraded lier by placing her in a house where dignities and honors could never enter. Her father guessed her cause of trouble, and consoled hei by piomising 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. Iu appeals that Licinius and Sextius, who was joined with him, did not calculate that the plebs would make gieat efforts to gain the right of being consuls; for they thought it necessary to propose three laws at the same time. r lhe 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 granted 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 Lieini- us îeplied that the three laws were inseparable, and that they must be accepted or rejected together. The Roman 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 CHAT. VII. THE PLEB8 ENTEE THE CITY. 407 afterwards confirm the decree . 1 It refused for ten years to do this. Finally an event took place which Livy has left too much in the shade . 2 It appears that the plebs took arms, and that civil war raged in the streets of i orne. 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 right 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 had made for themselves domestic Lares, altars in public squares, and a hearth for the tribes. At first the patri¬ cians had nothing but contempt for this parody upon 1 Livy, IV. 49. * Livy, IV. 42. 408 THE REVOLUTIONS. 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 pa¬ trician. Here were two opposing principles in action. The patrician persisted i n declaring that the sacerdotal character and the right of adoring the divinity were hereditary. The plebs freed religion and the priest¬ 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 priest. If the priestly offices had been distinct from the mili tary commands, and from politics, it is possible that the plebeians would 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 equality. They therefore claimed that the pontificate should be shared by the two orders, as the consulship had been. It became difficult to allege their religious incapacity as an objection, since, for sixty years, 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 offices ; 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 them invoked the CHAP. VU. THE PLEBS ENTEE THE CITY. 409 ancient rules, declaring, “The worship will oe changed and sullied by unworthy hands; you are stacking the gods themselves; take care that their anger is not felt against our city.” It does not seem that these argu¬ ments had much influence with the plebs, or even that the majority of the patricians were moved by them. The new mariners gave the 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 had conquered. 1 The dignities of king of the sacrifices, of flamens, salii, and vestals, to which no political importance 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 REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IY. 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 had not the belief on which it was founded, this law appeared to them to be without foundation. chap. yin. CHANGES IN PKI VATE 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 REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV ordained in the last instance is the law.” 1 Of all 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 —lex ; 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 the 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, attempted 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 religion 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 away 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- 1 Livy, VII. 17; IX. 83, 84. CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PRIVATE LAW. 413 cept slowly and by degrees. The history of Roman law, as well as that of Athenian law, proves this. The Twelve Tables, as we have seen above, were written in the midst of social changes ; patricians made them, but they were made upon the demand ol the plebs, and for their use. This legislation, therefore, is no longer the primitive law of Rome ; neither is it pretorian law; it is a transition between the two. Here, tnen, 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 sell him. While the father lives, the son never reaches his majority. As to the law of succession, this also follows the an¬ cient rules : the inheritance passes to the agnates, and in default of agnates, to the gentiles. 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 succeed to the son, nor the son to the mother . 1 Emancipation and adoption preserve the character and effects 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 primitive law : — It formally admits that the patrimony may be divided among the brothers, since it grants the actio familiœ erciscundce . 2 It declares that the father cannot sell his son more 1 Gaius, III. 17, 24. Ulpian, XVI. 4. Cicero, Be Invent II. 50. * Gaius, III. 19. 414 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. than three times, and that after the third sale, the son shall be free . 1 This is the first blow struck by Roman law at the paternal authority. 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 trace 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 disposing 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 he 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 . 2 But now he could employ 1 Digest , X. tit. 2, 1. * There was, indeed, the testament in procinctu , but we are CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PRIVATE 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 were still applied only to religious families; but new rules uid 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 (mutvus con¬ sensus ), and on the affection which, they had promised each other (ciffectio maritalis). No formality, religious or civil, took place. This plebeian marriage finally prevailed in custom and in law ; but in (he 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 eves 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; perhaps it was to the testament calatis comitiis what the assembly by centuries was to the assembly by curies. 416 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV The wife was bought by the husband — coemptio / from that time she was recognized in law as a part of his property — familia. She was in his hands, and ranked as his daughter, absolutely as if the religious ceremony had been performed . 1 We cannot affirm that this proceeding was not older than the Twelve Tables. It is 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. Usus corresponds to coemptio / these are two forms of the same act. Every 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 marriage; they were only means of acquiring the marital and paternal power . 2 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 1 Gaius, I. 114. * Gaius, I. Ill; qua anno continuo nupta per sever abat. So little was the coemptio a mode of marriage that a wife might contract it with another besides her husband — with a guardian, for example. OHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PRIVATE LAW. 41 # 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 . 1 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 w T ith it in the eyes of the law. 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 power from being estab¬ lished. Thus the wife preserved a legal connection 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 government and the social state, 1 Gaius, I. 117, 118. That this mancipation was merel) fictitious in Gaius’s time, is beyond doubt; but it was, perhaps, real in the beginning. The case was not the same, moreover, with the marriage by simple consensus as with the sacred mar¬ riage, which established between husband and wife an indissolu¬ ble bond. 27 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. 41S 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 pledge 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 had 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 difference between these codes, therefore, is great. Draco was a Eupatrid ; he had all the sentiments of his caste, and was w 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 offer 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 PRIVATE LAW. 419 touch the lustral water, or the vessels used in the ceremonies . 1 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 . 2 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. I he code of Solon is entirely different j 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 1 Aulus Gellius, XI. 18. Demosthenes, in Lept ., 158. Por¬ phyry» De Abstinentia, IX. * Demosthenes, in Everg ., 71; in Macart67. 420 THE REVOLUTIONS. 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 from the ancient law; on othci 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 otheis on which he departs more widely from 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 so?is. v 1 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 hei. 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 : 3 “If a father leaves only a daughter, the nearest agnate inherits by marrying the daughter. If 1 Isæus, VI. 25. s Isæus, III. 42. * Isæus, VII. 19; XI. 1,11. s CHAP. VIII. CHANGES IN PRIVATE LAW. 421 he leaves ho children, his brother 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 inherit. 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: “Males and the descendants through males exclude women and the descendants of women.” But this sort of relationship was recognized and took its place 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 him 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 yivog 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 yépoç had over each of its members, be did not suppress the rights of the natural family, — the son remained the necessary heir. If the deceased left only a daughter, he could choose his heir only on con- diticn that this heir should many the daughter. A 122 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV man without children was free to will his property ac¬ cording to his fancy . 1 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 . 2 Solon, conforming to new manners, limited this power . 3 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- 1 Isæus, III. 41, 68, 73; VI. 9 ; X. 9, 13. Plutarch, Solon , 21 * Plutarch, Solon , 13. 3 Plutarch, Solon y 23. CHAP. IX. NEW PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. 423 cient code when it permitted women to claim their dower . 1 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 light to every citizen . 2 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 sprang 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 Principles of Government. The Public Interest and the Suffrage. The revolution which overthrew the rule of the sacer¬ 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 class 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, pie- served the exterior forms of the preceding period. The republican system remained; almost everywhere the 1 Isæus, VII. 24, 25. Dion Chrysostomus, Jlsçi à moTiag. Harpocration, IJfQa pedinvov. Demosthenes, in Evergum ; in Bœot um de dote ; in Necereim, 51, 52. * Plutarch, tSolon , IS. 424 THE REVOLUTIONS. 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 prayers, — 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, carrying with it the rigorous rules which it had established in all thijigs; a new order of things was established, and human life changed its aspect. During long ages religion had been the sole princi¬ ple of government. Another principle had to be found capable of replacing 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 superior 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. CHA**. IX. NEW PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. 425 And if the sacerdotal class had tried to defend them, 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 wills 5 and which obliges them all to submit — is public inter¬ est. What the Latins call res publica , the Greeks ré xoiv or, 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 popular 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 régime . 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 are not so absolutei THE UE VOLUTION S. BOOK IV. 426 so clear, so manifest, ns are those of religion. We may always discuss them ; they m e not perceived at once. The way that appeared the simplest and surest to know what the public interest 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 formality 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 first. 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 V CHAP. IA. NEW PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. 427 Athenians rejected the old religious form of govern¬ 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 caused to be established. Finally 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 the examination which they had to undergo before they were appointed (dojo/./uo '«), 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 they had always performed their du¬ ties as citizens, and held real property in Attica . 1 The archons 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 complicated, as piety was no longer the principal quab 1 Deinarchus, I. 171 (coll. Didot). 428 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. ity, and as skill, prudence, courage, and the art of com¬ manding became necessary, men no longer believed the choice by lot was sufficient to make a good magistrate. The city no 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 arehon, 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 strategi. 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, unperceived, 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. s CHAP. IX. NEW PRINCIPLES OF GOVERNMENT. 429 We may also remark that there was a change in the manner of nominating the consuls. Indeed, in the first asres, 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 tor 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 religious 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 candi¬ dates. Men make the choice. 430 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV CHAPTER X. An Aristocracy of Wealth attempts to establish itself. Establishment of Democracy. Fourth Devolution. The government which succeeded to the rule of the religious aristocracy was not at first a democracy. We have 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. Pie divided the citizens into four ranks, and gave them unequal rights ; none but the rich could hold the highest offices; none below the two intermediate classes could belong to the senate, or sit in the tribunals. 1 1 Plutarch, Solon , 18; Aristides , 13. Aristotle, cited by Harpocration at the words “lnnnç, Ofjrsç. Pollux, VIII. 129. CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DEMOCRACY. 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 live 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. 1 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 Cumae, 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 in 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. 2 Thus the political rights which, in the preceding 1 Livy, I. 43. * Aristotle. Politics , III. 3, 4; VI. 4, 5 (edit. Didot). 432 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. epoch, belonged to birth, were, during some time, en¬ joyed by fortune alone. This aristocracy 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. 1 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. 2 1 Lyeias, in Alcib ., I. 8; II. 7. Isæus, VII. 89. Xenophon, Ilellen., VII. 4. Harpocration, Oi}rsg. 2 The relation between military service and political rights is manifest : at Rome the centuriate assembly was no other than 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 comitia. Historians do not tell us that there was a similar law at Athens ; but there are figures that are significant. Thucydides 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 tellf CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DEMOCRACY. 433 There was thus, in almost all the cities whose nistory is known to ns, a period during which the rich class, 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, during 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¬ ernment gave the most political importance to the most laborious, the most active, or the most skilful man ; it was, therefore, 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 affairs. We are not, therefore, surprised that under this government Greece and Rome enlarged the 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 J8, that at the same 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 430 was not yet completely democratic. 28 434 THE REVOLUTIONS. 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 EupatricL, 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 series 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 prevented 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 ; nut 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 lander estates, and where men became rich especially by industry, man¬ ufactures, and commerce, the instability of fortune* CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DEMOCRACY. 435 soonei 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 ancestors 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 arms; 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 X ^ s 11 u 1 1 o n i, 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 Iapygians, 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 ne pessary to grant the rights of citizens to 436 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. a multitude of Periœci } It was to avoid falling into this extremity that Sparta was so sparing of the blood of the real Spartans. As to Rome, its revolu¬ tions are explained, in a great measure, by its con¬ tinual wars. First, war destroyed its patricians ; of the three hundred families which this caste comprised under the kings, there remained hardly a third part, after the conquest of Samnium. War afterwards har¬ vested the primitive plebeians, those rich and coura¬ geous plebeians who filed 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 arms 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 unwilling, to commence a campaign. She allowed her¬ self to be dragged, in spite of herself, into the Pelopon¬ nesian war; but how many efforts she made to with¬ draw ! This was because she was forced to arm her Tuno t uelopsg f 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 1 Aristotle, Politics , VIII. 2, 8 (V. 2). CHAP. X. ESTABLISHMENT OF DEMOCRACY. 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, and required modifica¬ tion. Besides, it must have been seen that all privi¬ leges were necessarily in contradiction to the principle which then governed 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 rights. 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. How, the right of suffrage had at that time a value incomparably 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 peace, and prepared treaties of alliance. This extension of the right of suffrage, 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 REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV if they had been able to found what Thucydides calls àUyaqxlct laovofiog , — 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 learn from Thucydides, who certainly is not suspected of too much zeal for dem¬ ocratic government, that under the rule of the oligarchy the people were subjected to many vexatious, arbitrary condemnations, and violent executions. We read in this historian “that democratic 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 every 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. RULES OF DEMOCRATIC GOVERNMENT. 439 CHAPTER XI. Rules of Democratic Government. Examples of Athe¬ nian 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 arehon, 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 iFQÔnoioi, who consulted the oracles and offered cer¬ tain sacrifices ; the who accompanied the arclion and the king in the ceremonies ; the ten ath- lothetae, 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 the 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 DEVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. 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 Piræeus ; 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 ol 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 without meeting an official. These offices 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 suffrage. Every newly elected official was subjected to an examination, either before the sen¬ ate, or before the magistrates going out of office, 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 equals, named for only a single year, CHAP. XI. RULES OF DEMOCRATIC GOVERNMENT. 441 responsible and even removable, could have had little prestige and authority. We need only read Thucydi¬ des and Xenophon, however, to assure ourselves that they were respected and obeyed. There was alwavs 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 sovereignty. 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 prytanes,— that is to say, of the annual priests of the sacred fire, — 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. 1 Above even the senate there was the assembly of the people. This was the real sovereign. But, just 1 Æschines, III. 2; Andocides, II. 19; I. 45-55. 442 THE REVOLUTIONS. 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 sort of platform were the prytanes, and in front of them the prcedri, 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 (>njoe£) proclaimed, “Keep silence, religious silence • pray the gods and goddesses [here he named the prin¬ cipal divinities of the country] that all may pass most prosperously in the assembly for the greatest advan¬ tage of Athens and the hapjnness of its citizens.” Then the people, or some one in their name, replied, “We invoke the gods that they may protect the city. May the advice of the wisest prevail. Cursed be he who shall give us bad counsel, who shall attempt to change the decrees and the law, or who shall reveal our secrets to the enemy.” 1 Then the herald, by order of the presidents, declared the subjects with which the assembly was to occupy itself A question, before being presented to the peo¬ ple, was discussed and studied by the senate. The people had not what is called, in modern language, the 1 Æschines, I. 23; III. 4. Deinarchus, II. 14. Demosthe¬ nes, in Aristocr ., 97. Aristophanes, Acharn., 4?, 44, and Scho¬ liast, Thesmoph.y 295-310. CHAP. XI. .RULES OF DEMOCRATIC GOVERNMENT. 443 initiative. The senate offered a draught of a decree (the bill) ; the people could reject or adopt it, but could not deliberate on any other question. When the herald had read the proposed law, the discussion was opened. The herald said, “ Who wishes to speak?” The orators ascended the speak¬ er’s stand according to age. Any man could speak, without distinction of fortune or profession, but on the condition that he had proved that he enjoyed political rights, that he was not a debtor to the state, that his habits of life were correct, that he was lawfully mar¬ ried, that he was a land-owner in Attica, that he had fulfilled all his duties towards his parents, that he had taken part in all the military expeditions to which he had been assigned, and that he had never thrown his shield away in any battle. 1 These precautions against eloquence once taken, the people gave themselves entirely up to it. The Athe¬ nians, as Thucydides says, did not believe that words could damage actions. On the contrary, they felt the need of being enlightened. Politics were no longer, as under the preceding government, an affair of tradi¬ tion and faith. Men reflected and weighed reasons. Discussion was necessary, for every question was more or less obscure, and discussion alone could bring the truth to light. The Athenian people desired to have every question presented in all its different phases, and to have both sides clearly shown. They made great account of their orators, and, it is said, paid them in money for every discourse delivered to the people. 1 1 Æschines, I. 27-33. Deinarchus, I. 71. 8 At least tills is what Aristophanes gives us to understand. Wasps, 711 (689). See the Scholiast. 444 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV They did even better; they listened to them. For we are not to picture to ourselves a noisy and turbulent multitude ; the attitude of the people was quite the contrary. The comic poet represents them motionless upon their stone seats, listening open-mouthed. 1 His¬ torians and orators frequently describe these popular assemblies. We rarely see an orator interrupted; whether it was Pericles or Cleon, Æschines or Demos¬ thenes, the people were attentive ; whether the orators flattered them or upbraided them, they listened. They allowed the most opposite opinions to be expressed, with a patience that was sometimes admirable. There were never cries or shouts. The orator, whatever he might say, could always reach the end of his discourse. At Sparta eloquence was little known. The princi¬ ples of government were not the same. The aristoc¬ racy still governed and had fixed traditions, which saved the trouble of a long discussion upon every question. At Athens the people desired to be in¬ formed. They could decide only after a contradictory debate ; they acted only alter they had been convinced, or thought they had been. To put universal suffrage in operation, discussion is necessary ; eloquence is the spring of democratic government. The orators, there¬ fore, soon received the title of demagogues, — that is to say, of conductors of the city ; and indeed they did direct its action, and determined all its resolutions. The case where an orator should make a proposition contrary to existing laws had been anticipated. Athens had special magistrates called guardians of the laws. Seven in number, they watched over the assembly, oc¬ cupying high seats, and seemed to represent the law, Aristophanes, Knights , 1119. s CttAI XI. BULBS OF DEMOCRATIC GOVERNMENT. 440 which was above even the people. If they saw that the law was attacked, they stopped the orator in the midst of his discourse, and ordered the immediate dis¬ solution of the assembly. The people separated with¬ out having a right to reach a vote. 1 There was a law, little applicable indeed, that pun¬ ished every orator convicted of having given the people bad advice. There was another that forbade access to the speaker’s stand to any orator who had three times advised resolutions contrary to the existing laws. 2 Athens knew r very well that democracy could be sustained only by respect for the laws. The care of preparing the changes that it might be useful to propose belonged especially to the thesmothetæ. Their propositions were presented to the senate, which had the right to reject, but not to convert them into laws. In case of approval the senate convoked the assembly, and presented the bill of the thesmothetæ. But the people could decide nothing at once; they put off the discussion to another day. Meanwhile they designated live orators, whose special mission should be to defend the existing laws, and to point out the inconveniences of the innovation proposed. On the day fixed the people again assembled and heard, first, the orators charged wdth the defence of the old laws, and afterwards those who supported the new. When speeches had been heard, the people did not decide yet. They contented themselves w T ith naming a commission, very numerous, but composed exclusively of men who had held the office of judge. This commission returned to the ex- 1 Pollux, VIII. 94. Philochorus, Fragm ., coll. Didot, p. 407. * Athenæus, X. 73. Pollux, VIII. 52. See G. Perrot, Hist du droit public d'Athènes, chap. II. 446 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. amination of the affair, heard the orators anew, dis¬ cussed, and deliberated. If the commissioners rejected the proposed law, their decision was without appeal. If they approved it, the people were again assembled ; and this third time they voted, and by their votes the bill became a law . 1 Notwithstanding so much prudence, an unjust or un¬ wise proposition might still be adopted; but the new law forever carried the name of its author, who might afterwards be prosecuted and punished. The people, as the real sovereign, were reputed infallible, but every orator always remained answerable for the advice he had given . 2 Such were the rules which the democracy obeyed. But we are not to conclude from this that they never made mistakes. Whatever the form of government,— monarchy, aristocracy, or democracy, — there are days when reason governs, and others when passion rules. No constitution ever suppressed the weaknesses and vices of human nature. The more minute the rules, the more difficult and full of peril they show the direc¬ tion of society to be. Democracy could last only by force of prudence. We are astonished, too, at the amount of labor w hich this democracy required of men. It w r as a very labori¬ ous government. See how the life of an Athenian is passed. One day he is called to the assembly of his deme, and has to deliberate on the religious and politi¬ cal interests of this little association. Another day he must go to the assembly of his tribe ; a religious 1 Æschines, in Ctesiph ., 38. Demosthenes, in Tivnocr. / in Leptin. Andoeides, I. 83. * Thucydides, III. 43. Demosthenes, in Timocratem . s CHAP. XI. RULES OF DEMOCRATIC GOVERNMENT. 447 festival is to be arranged, or expenses are to be ex¬ amined, or decrees passed, or chiefs and judges named. Three times a month, regularly, he takes part in the general assembly of the people; and he is not permit¬ ted to be absent. The session is long. He does not go simply to vote; having arrived in the morning, he must remain till a late hour, and listen to the orators. He cannot vote unless he has been present fiom the opening of the session, and has heard all the speeches. For him this vote is one of the most serious affairs. At one time political or military chiefs are to be elected, — that is to say, those to whom his interests and his life are to be confided for a year; at another a tax is to be imposed, or a law to be changed. Again, he has to vote on the question of war, knowing well that, in ease of war, he must give his own blood or that of a son. Individual interests are inseparably united with those of the state. A man cannot be indifferent or in¬ considerate. If he is mistaken, he knows that he shall soon suffer for it, and that in each vote he pledges his fortune and his life. The day when the disastrous Si¬ cilian expedition was decided upon, there was no citi¬ zen who did not know that one of his own family must make a part of it, and who was not required to give his whole attention to weighing the advantages of such an expedition against the dangers it presented. It was of the greatest importance that one should see the subject in a clear light; for a check received by his country was for every citizen a diminution of his personal dig¬ nity, of his security, and of his wealth. The duty of a citizen was not limited to voting. When his turn came, he was required to act as a magis¬ trate in his deme or in his tribe. Every third year* 1 There were 5,000 heliasts out of 14,000 citizens ; but we may 448 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. he was a heliast, and passed all that year in the courts of justice, occupied in hearing cases and applying the law. There was hardly a citizen who was not called upon twice in his life to be a senator. Then for a year he sat every day from morning till evening, receiving the depositions of magistrates, demanding their ac¬ counts, replying to foreign ambassadors, drawing up instructions for Athenian ambassadors, examining into al) affairs that were to be submitted to the people, and preparing all the laws. Finally, he might be a magis¬ trate of the city, an arch on, a strategus, or an nstynome, if the lot or suffrage designated him. It was, we see, a heavy charge to be a citizen of a democratic state. There was enough to occupy almost one’s whole ex¬ istence, and there remained very little time for per¬ sonal affairs and domestic life. Therefore Aristotle says, very justly, that the man who had to labor in order to live could not be a citizen. Such were the requirements of a democracy. The citizen, like the public functionary of our day, was required to devote himself entirely to the state. He gave it his blood in war and his time during peace. He was not free to lay aside public affairs in order to give more attention to bis own ; it was rather his own that he was required to neglect in order to labor for the profit of the city. Men passed their lives in governing themselves. De¬ mocracy could not last except through the incessant labor of all citizens. Let their zeal diminish ever so little, and it perished or became corrupt. * deduct from this second number 3,000 or 4,000, who might hav« been thrown out by the doxipuoia. JHAP. XII. RICH AND POOR-THE TYRANTS. 44a CHAPTER XII. Rich and Poor. Democracy Perishes. The Popular Tyrants. When a series of revolutions had produced an equality among men, and there was no longer occasion to fight for principles and rights, men began to make war for interests. This new period in the history of cities did not commence for all at the same time. In some it closely followed the establishment of democ¬ racy; in others it appeared only after several genera¬ tions that had known how to govern themselves with moderation. But all the cities sooner or later passed through these deplorable struggles. As men departed from the ancient system, a poor class began to grow up. Before, when every man be¬ longed to a gens, and had his master, extreme poverty was almost unknown. A man was supported by his chief; the one to whom he owed obedience was bound in turn to provide for his wants. But the revolutions which had dissolved the yêioç had also changed the conditions of human life. The day when man was freed from the bonds of clientship, he saw the necessi¬ ties and the difficulties of existence stand out before him. Life had become more independent, but it was also more laborious and subject to more accidents. Thenceforth each one had the care of his own well¬ being, his enjoyments, and his task. One became rich by his activity or his good fortune, while another re¬ mained poor. Inequality of wealth is inevitable in every society which does not wish to remain in th« patriarchal state or in that of the tribe. 29 450 TUE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. The democracy did not suppress poverty, but, on the contrary, rendered it more perceptible. Equality of political rights made the inequality of conditions ap¬ pear still more plainly. As there was no authority that was above rich and poor at the same time, and could constrain them to keep the peace, it could have been wished that eco¬ nomic principles and the conditions of labor had been such as to compel the two classes to live on good terms. If, for example, the one had stood in need of the other,— if the wealthy could not have enriched themselves except by calling upon the poor for their .abor, and the poor could have found the means of liv¬ ing by selling their labor to the rich, — then the ine¬ quality of fortunes would have stimulated the activity and the intelligence of man, and would not have be¬ gotten corruption and civil war. But many cities were absolutely without manufac¬ tures and commerce; they had, therefore, no means of augmenting the amount of public wealth in order to give a part of it to the poor without despoiling any one. Where there was commerce, nearly all its bene¬ fits were for the rich in consequence of the high rate of interest. If there were manufactures, the workmen were slaves. We know that the rich men of Athens, and of Rome, had in their houses weavers, carvers, and armorers, all slaves. Even the liberal professions were almost closed to the citizen. The physician was often a slave, who cured diseases for the benefit of his mas¬ ter; bank-clerks, many architects, ship-builders, and the lower state officials were slaves. Slavery was a scourge from which free society itself suffered. The citizen found few employments, little to do; the want of occupation soon rendered him indolent. As he saw il AP, XII. RICH AND POOR-THE TYRANTS. 451 only slaves at work, he despised labor. Thus eco¬ nomic habits, moral dispositions, prejudices, all com¬ bined to prevent the poor man escaping from his miser}- and living honestly. Wealth and poverty were not constituted in a way to live together in peace. The poor man had equality of rights ; but assuredly his daily sufferings led him to think equality of for¬ tunes far preferable. Nor was he long in perceiving that the equality which he had might serve him to ac¬ quire that which he had not, and that, master of the votes, he might become master of the wealth of his city. He began by undertaking to live upon his right of voting. He asked to be paid for attending the assem¬ bly, or for deciding causes in the courts. If the city was not rich enough to afford such an expense, the poor man had other resources. He sold his vote, and, as the occasions for voting were frequent, he could live. At Rome this traffic was regular, and was carried on in broad dav ; at Athens it was better concealed. At Rome, where the poor man did not act as a judge, he sold himself as a witness; at Athens, as a judge. All this did not relieve the poor man from his misery, and reduced him to a state of degradation. These expedients did not suffice, and the poor man used more energetic means. He organized regular warfare against wealth. At first this war was dis £uised under legal forms; the rich were charged with all the public expenses, loaded with taxes, made to build triremes, and to entertain the people with shows. Then fines were multiplied, and property confiscated for the slightest fault. No one can tell how many men were condemned to exile for the simple reason diat they were rich. The fortune of the exile went 452 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. into the public treasury, whence it afterwards flowed, under the form of the triobolon, to be distributed among the poor. But even all this did not suffice; foi the number of poor continued to increase. The poor then began to use their right of suffrage either to de¬ cree an abolition of debts, or a grand confiscation, and a general subversion. In earlier times they had respected the right of prop¬ erty, because it was founded in a religious belief. So long as each patrimony was attached to a worship, and was reputed inseparable from the domestic gods of a family, no one had thought of claiming the right to de¬ spoil a man of his field ; but at the time to which the revolutions have conducted us, these old beliefs are abandoned, and the religion of property has disappeared. Wealth is no longer a sacred and inviolable domain. It no longer appears as a gift of the gods, but as a gift of chance. A desire springs up to lay hold of it by de¬ spoiling the possessor, and this desire, which formerly would have seemed an impiety, begins to appear l ight. Men no longer saw the superior principle that conse¬ crates the right of property. Each felt only his own wants, and measured his rights by them. We have already seen that the city, especially among the Greeks, had unlimited power, that liberty was un¬ known, and that individual rights were nothing when opposed to the will of the state. It followed that a majority of votes might decree the confiscation of the property of the rich, and that the Greeks saw neither illegality nor injustice in this. What the state had declared Was right. This absence of individual liberty was for Greece a cause of misfortunes and disorders, Rome, which had a little more respect for the rights cf man, suffered lesa. CHAI. XII. RICH AND POOR — THE TYRANTS. 453 At Megara, as Plutarch relates, after an insurrection, it was decreed that debts should be abolished, and that the creditors, besides the loss of their capital, should be held to reimburse the interest already paid. 1 “ At Megara, as in other cities,” says Aristotle, 2 “the popular party, having got the power into their hands, began by confiscating the property of a few rich fami¬ lies. But, once on this road, it was impossible to stop. A new victim was necessary every day; and, finally, the number of the rich who were despoiled or exiled became so great that they formed an army.” In 412, “ the people of Samos put to death two hun¬ dred of their adversaries, exiled four hundred more, and divided up the lands and houses.” 3 At Syracuse, hardly were the people freed from the tyranny of Dionysius, when they decreed the partition of the lands. 4 In this period of Greek history, whenever we see a civil war, the rich are on one side, and the poor are on the other. The poor are trying to gain possession of the wealth, and the rich are trying to retain or to recover it. “ In every civil war,” says a Greek histo¬ rian, “ the great object is to change fortunes.” 3 Every demagogue acted like that Molpagoras of Cios, who delivered to the multitude those who possessed money, massacred some, exiled others, and distributed their property among the poor. At Messene, as soon as the popular party gained the upper hand, they exiled the rich, and distributed their lands. The upper classes among the ancients never had in* 1 Plutarch, Greek Quest ., 18. * Aristotle, Politics, VIII. 4 (V. 4). Thucydides, VII. 21. 4 Plutarch, Dion., 87, 48- Polybius, XV. 21. * Polybius, VII. 10. 464 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. telligence or ability enough to direct the poor towards labor, and thus helj) them to escape honorably from their misery and corruption. A few benevolent men attempted it, but they did not succeed. The res alt was, that the cities always floated between two revolu¬ tions, one to despoil the rich, the other to enable them to recover their fortunes. This lasted from the Pelo¬ ponnesian war to the conquest of Greece by the Romans. In every city the rich and the poor were two ene¬ mies living by the side of each other, the one coveting wealth, and the other seeing their wealth coveted. ISTo relation, no service, no labor united them. The poor could acquire wealth only by despoiling the rich. The rich could defend their property only by extreme skill or by force. They regarded each other with the eyes of hate. There was a double conspiracy in every city; the poor conspired from cupidity, the rich from fear. Aristotle says the rich took the following oath among themselves: “I swear always to remain the enemy of the people, and to do them all the injury in my power.” 1 It is impossible to say which of the two parties com¬ mitted the most cruelties and crimes. Hatred effaced in their hearts every sentiment of humanity. “ There was at Miletus a war between the rich and the poor. At first the latter were successful, and drove the rich from the city; but afterwards, regretting that they had not been able to slaughter them, they took their chil¬ dren, collected them into some threshing-floors, and had them trodden to death under the feet of oxen. The 1 Aristotle, Politics , VIII. 7, 19 (V. 7). Plutarch, Lysan- ier, 19. CHAV. XII. RICH AND POOR — THE TYRANTS. 455 rich afterwards returned to the city, and became mas¬ ters of it. They took, in their turn, the children of oic poor, covered them with pitch, and burnt them alive. 1 What, then, became of the democracy? They weie not precisely responsible for these excesses and crimes, Btill they were the first to be affected by them. There were no longer any governing rules; now, the de¬ mocracy could live only under the strictest and best observed rules. We no longer see any government, but merely factions in power. The magistrate no longer exercised his authority for the benefit of peace and law, but for the interests and greed of a party. A command no longer had a legitimate title or a sacred character; there was no longer anything voluntary in obedience; always forced, it was always waning for an opportunity to take its revenge. The city was now, as Plato said, only an assemblage of men, where one 1 Heracleides of Pontus, in Athenæus, XII. 26. It is quite the fashion to accuse the Athenian democracy of having set Greece the example in these excesses and disorders. Athens was, on the contrary, the only Greek city, known to us, that did not see this atrocious war between rich and poor within its walls. This intelligent and wise people saw, from the day when this series of revolutions commenced, that they were moving towards a goal where labor alone could save society. They therefore en¬ couraged it and rendered it honorable. Solon directed that all men who had not an occupation should be deprived of political rights. Pericles desired that no slave should labor in the construction of the great monuments which he raised, and re¬ served all this labor for free men. Moreover, property was so divided up, that a census, taken at the end of the fifth century, shows little Attica to have contained more than ten thousand proprietors. Besides, Athens, living under a somewhat better economical régime than the other cities enjoyed, was less vio¬ lently agitated than the «est of Greece ; the quarrels between rich and pool were calmer, and did not end in the same disorders. THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. 455 party war master and the other enslaved. The govern- ment wa<= called aristocratic when the rich were in power, democratic when the poor ruled. In reality, true democracy no longer existed. From the day when it was mastered by material in¬ terests, it was changed and corrupted. Democracy, with the rich in power, had become a violent oligarchy; the democracy of the poor had become a tyranny. From the fifth to the second century before our era, we see in all the cities of Greece and of Italy, Rome still ex¬ cepted, that the republican forms are imperilled, and that they have become odious to one party. Now, we can clearly see who wish to destroy it, and who desire its preservation. The rich, more enlightened and more haughty, remain faithful to republican government, while the poor, for whom political rights have less val¬ ue, are ready to adopt a tyrant as their chief. When this poor class, after several civil wars, saw that victories gained them nothing, that the opposite party always returned to power, and that, after many interchanges of confiscations and restitutions, the struggle always recommenced, they dreamed of establishing a monarch¬ ical government which should conform to their inter¬ ests, and which, by forever suppressing the opposite party, should assure them, for the future, the fruits of their victory. And so they set up tyrants. From that moment the parties changed names; they were no longer aristocracy or democracy ; they fought for liberty or for tyranny. Under these two names wealth and poverty were p'ill at war. Liberty signified the government where the rich had the rule, and defended their fortunes; tyranny indicated exactly the contrary. It is a general fact, and almost without exception in the history of Greece and of Italy, that the tyrants CHAP. XII. RICH AND POOR—THE TYRANTS. 457 sprang from the popular party, and had the aristocracy as enemies. “ The mission of the tyrant,” says Aris¬ totle, “is to protect the people against the rich ; he has always commenced by being a demagogue, and it is the essence of tyranny to oppose the aristocracy.” “The means of arriving at a tyranny,” he also says, “is to gain the confidence of the multitude ; and one doee this by declaring himself the enemy of the rich. This was the course of Peisistratus at Athens, of Theagenes at Megara, and of Dionysius at Syracuse.” 1 The tyrant always made war upon the lich. At Megara, Theagenes surprises the herds of tne rich in the country and slaughters them. At Uumæ, Aristo- demus abolishes debts, and takes the lands of the rich t r give them to the poor. This was the course of Nicocles at Sicyon, and of Aristomachus at Argos. All these tyrants writers represent as very cruel. It is uot probable that they were all so by nature; but they were urged by the pressing necessity, in which they found themselves, of giving lands or money to the poor. They could maintain their power only while they sat¬ isfied the cravings of the multitude, and administered to their passions. The tyrant of the Greek cities was a personage of whom nothing in our day can give us an idea. He was a man who lived in the midst of his subjects, without intermediate officers and without ministers, and who dealt with them directly. He was not in that lofty and independent position which the sovereign of a great state occupies. He had all the little passions of the private man ; he was not insensible to the profits of u confiscation ; he was accessible to anger and to the 1 Aristotle, Politics, V. 8 ; VIII. 4, 5 ; V. A 458 THE REVOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. desire of personal revenge; he was disturbed by fear; he knew that he had enemies all about him, and that public opinion approved assassination, when it was a tyrant that was struck down. We can imagine what the government of such a man must have been. With two or three honorable exceptions, the tyrants who were set up in all the Greek cities in the fourth and third centuries reigned only by flattering all that was worst in the multitude, and by destroying all that was superior in birth, wealth, or merit. Their power was unlimited. The Greeks could see how easily a republican government, when it did not profess a great respect for individual rights, was changed into a des¬ potism. The ancients had conferred such powers upon the state that, the day when a tyrant took this om¬ nipotence in hand, men no longer had any security against him, and he was legally the master of their lives and their fortunes. CHAPTER XIII. Revolutions of Sparta. We are not to believe that Sparta remained ten cen¬ turies without seeing a revolution. Thucydides tells us, on the contrary, “ that it was torn by dissensions more than any other Greek city.” 1 The history of these in¬ ternal dissensions, it is true, is little known to us; but this is due to the fact that the government of Sparta made a rule and a custom of surrounding itself with the most profound mystery. 2 The greater part of the 1 Thucydides, I. 18. 2 Thucydides, V. 68. CHAP. XIII. REVOLUTIONS SPARTA. 459 struggles that took place there have been concealed and forgotten ; but we know enough of them, at least, to say, that if the history of Sparta differs materially from that of other cities, it has none the less passed through the same series of revolutions. The Dorians were already united into a people when they overran Peloponnesus. What had caused them to leave their country? Was it the invasion of a for¬ eign nation? or was it an internal revolution? We do not know. But it appears certain that, at this stage in the life of the Dorians, the old rule of the gens had already disappeared. We no longer distinguish among them this ancient organization of the family; we no longer find traces of the patriarchal government, or vestiges of the religious nobility, or of hereditary client- ship; we see only warriors, all equal, under a king. It is probable, therefore, that a first social revolution had already taken place, either in Doris or on the road which conducted this people to Sparta. ' If we com¬ pare Dorian society of the ninth century with Ionian society of the same epoch, we perceive that the former was much farther advanced than the other in the series of changes. The Ionian race entered later upon the revolutionary road, but passed over it quicker. Though the Dorians, on their arrival at Sparta, no longer had the government of the gens, they had not been able so completely to free themselves from it as not to retain some of its institutions, — as, for example, the right of primogeniture and the inalienability of the pat¬ rimony. These institutions could not fail to establish an aristocracy in Spartan society. All the traditions show us that, at the time when Lycurgus appeared, there were two classes among the Spartans, and that they were hostile to each other. 4G0 THE HE VOLUTIONS. BOOK IV. Royalty had a natural tendency to take part with the lower class. Lycurgus, who was not king, became the chief of the aristocracy, and at the same blow weak¬ ened royalty, and brought the people under the yoke. The declamations of a few of the ancients, and of many of the moderns, on the wisdom of Spartan in¬ stitutions, on the unchangeable good fortune which the Spartans enjoyed, on their equality, and on their living in common, ought not to blind us. Of all the cities that ever were upon the earth, Sparta is perhaps the one where the aristocracy reigned the most oppressive¬ ly, and where equality was the least known. It is use¬ less to talk of the division of the land. If that division ever took place, it is at least quite certain that it was not kept up; for, in Aristotle’s time, “some possessed immense domains; others had nothing, or almost noth ing. One could reckon hardly a thousand proprietors in all Laconia.” 1 If we leave out the Helots and the Laconians, and examine only Spartan society, we shall find a hierarchy of classes superposed one above the other. First, there are the Neodamodes, who appear to be former slaves freed; 2 then come the Epeunactæ, who had been ad¬ mitted to fill up the gaps made by war among the Spartans; 3 in a rank a little above figured the Motha- ces, who, very similar to domestic clients, lived with their masters, composed their cortège , shared their oc¬ cupations, their labors, and their festivals, and fought by their side; 4 then came the class of bastards, who, though descended from true Spartans, were separated 1 Aristotle, Politics , II. 6, 10 and 11. 2 Myron of Priene, in Athenæus. VI. * Theopompus, in Athenæus, VI. 4 Athenæus, VI. 102. Plutarch, Cleomenes,&. Ælian, XII 4P CHAP. XIII. REVOLUTIONS OP SPARTA. 461 from them by religion and law. 1 There was still an¬ other class, called the inferiors, inQ/uEloveg* ^ho were probably the younger, disinherited so 03 lectors of the revenue. Their magistrates rendered their accounts to the governor of the province, who also heard the appeals from the judges. 1 Now, such was 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 a 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 appearance, 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 than to keep the streets in order, and inspect the mar¬ kets. 2 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 this difference, 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. 1 Livy, XLY. 18. Cicero, ad Attic., YI. 1, 2. Appian, Civil Wars, I. 102. Tacitus, XV. 45. 2 Philostratus, Lives of the Sophists , I. 23. Boeckh., Gory. Inscr., passim. 004 MUNICIPAL REGIME 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 did not give their own instead. The Romans never thought of creating new institutions for their use; they nevei made a constitution lor 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 stran¬ gers to her — a reason why she exercised this irregular and unlimited power which ancient municipal law al¬ lowed citizens to exercise 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 which it was carried on. Rome sent one of her citizens into a country. She made that country the province of this man, — that is to say, his charge, his own care, his personal affair; this was the sense of the word provincia. At the same time she conferred upon this citizen the imperium ; this signified that she gave up in his favor, for a deter¬ mined time, the sovereignty which she held over the country. From that time this citizen represented in his person all the rights of the republic, and by this means he was an absolute master. He fixed the amount of 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-seat, he pronounced decisions accord¬ ing to his own will ; no law controlled him, neither the piovincial laws, as he was a Roman, nor the Roman laws, as he passed judgment upon provincials. If there CHAP. Iï. THE ROMAN CONQUEST. 505 were laws between him and those that he governed, he had to make them himself, for he alone could bind him¬ self. Therefore the imperium with which he was clothed included the legislative power ; and thus it happened that the governors had the right, and estab¬ lished the custom, on entering the provinces, of pub¬ lishing a code of laws, which they called their Edict, and to which they morally promised to conform. But as the governors were changed annually, these codes changed every year, for the reason that the law had its source only in the will of the man who was for the time invested with the imperium. This principle was so rigorously applied that, when a judgment had been pronounced by a governor, but had not been entirely executed at the time of his departure from the province, the arrival of his successor completely annulled this judgment, and the proceedings were recommenced. 1 Such was the omnipotence of the governor. He was the living law. As to invoking the justice of Rome against his acts of violence or his crimes, the provin¬ cials could not do this unless they could find a Roman citizen who would act as their patron ; 2 for, as to them¬ selves, they had no right to demand the protection of the laws of the city, or to appeal to its courts. They were foreigners; the judicial and official language called them peregrini ; all that the law said of the hostis con¬ tinued to be applied to them. The legal situation of the inhabitants of the empire appears clearly in the writings of the Roman juris¬ consults. We there see that the people are considered as no longer having their own laws, and as not yet hav- iug those of Rome. For them, therefore, the law Gaius, IV. 103, 105. 1 Cicero, De Orat ., I. 9. 506 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V did not exist in any manner. In the eyes of the 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 reason 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 Romanus. 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. 1 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 his, 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 2 Rome thus invented 1 Gaius, II. 7. Cicero, Pro Flacco , 32. * Gaius, I. 52; II. 5, 6, 7. chap. n. THE ROMAX CONQUEST. 50T for the benefit of the subject a multitude of turns and artifices of language. Indeed, the Roman genius, if its municipal traditions prevented it from making laws for the conquered, could not suffer 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 effect 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 issolve and that in which another form of society ap¬ peared. The nation did not at once succeed the city, fo v the Roman empire in no wise resembled a nation, it was a confused multitude, where there was rea^ order only in one central point, and where all the rest en dyed only a factitious and transitory order, and ob Gained this only at the price of obedience. The coi 508 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK Y quered nations succeeded in establishing themselves 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, press 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 great event in all its successive phases, we must examine its commencement, in the fourth century before our era. s CH Al*. II. 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 per¬ ceived that the alliance was entirely to their detriment, that they were expected to obey in everything, and that they were required every year to lavish their blood and money for the sole benefit of Rome. They formed a coalition ; their chief, Annins, 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 civitas / let us have but a single name; let us all alike be called Romans.” Annius thus announced, in the year 340, the desire which all the nations of the empire, one after another expressed, and which was to be com¬ pletely realized only after five centuries and a half. Then such a thought 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 slay 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, “Thou hast heard, O Jupiter, the impious words that have come from this man’s mouth. 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¬ eigner should be detested by the men because he was cursed by the gods of the city. It appeared to him im¬ possible that a Latin should be a senator because the 510 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V. place of meeting for the senate was a temple, and the Roman gods could 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 falsehood, and had decided to restore to the dif¬ ferent cities their municipal governments, their laws, and their magistracies. But by a skilful device Rome opened a door which, narrow as it was, permitted subjects to enter the Roman çity. It granted to every Latin who had been a magis- trate in his native city the right to become a Roman CHAP. n. THE ROMAN CONQUEST. 511 citizen at the expiration of his term of office.’ 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, ami its laws; only its favors were individual, and were addressed not to entire cities, but to a few men in each of them. Rome admitted to her bosom only what was best, wealthiest, and most estimable in Latium. 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 modest 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 *he lands of the ager publicus. Wherever one lived he was effectually 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 1 Appian, Civil Wars, II. 26. MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V bSA 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 ^\ar were thus repaired. But the Latin cities suffered ; 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 subjects 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 greater 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 icar} CHAP. n. THE ROMAN CONQUEST. 513 the allies of Rome took up 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 ol 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 Italicum: this was the law, not of 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 Romanus .* From that time all Italy formed a single state. There still remained the provinces to enter into the Roman unity. 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 form 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 make 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 local worship, its Genius , and its city-protecting divinity nfter the manner of those in ancient Greece and an* ' Thenceforth also called res mancipi. See Ulpian. 33 514 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V cient Italy* Now, this municipal system, thus estab¬ lished, did not prevent men from arriving 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 lights; 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 different classes no marriage or other legal relation was possible. Rut 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, from 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. s CHAP. II. THE ROMAN 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 prytaneum 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 rights ; 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. Some- 516 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V. times to construct a merchant 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 the act of freeing him according to legal forms con¬ ferred the right of citizenship. 1 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 alien ; he was no longer subject to the laws of the city, he no longer obeyed its magistrates, no longer supported its pe¬ cuniary burdens. 2 This was a consequence of the old principle, which did not permit a man to belong to two cities at the same time. 3 It naturally happened that, after several generations, there were in every Greek city 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 natural death, perished the municipal system. There came a time when the city was a mere framework that contained nothing, where the local laws applied to hardly a per¬ son, where the municipal judges no longer had anything to adjudicate upon. Finally, when eight or ten generations had sighed for the Roman franchise, and all those who were of any account had obtained it, there appeared an imperial 1 Suetonius, Nero , 24. Petronius, 57. Ulpian, III. Gaius, I. 16, 17. 2 He became an alien even in respect to his own family, if it had not, like him, the right of citizenship. He did not inherit its property. Pliny, Panegyric , 37. a Cicero, Pro Balbo, 28 ; Pro Archia, 5 ; Pro Ccecina , 36. Cornelius Nepos, Atticus , 3. Greece long before had abandoned thia principle, but Rome held faithfully to it. CHAP. n. THE ROMAN CONQUEST. 517 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 the name of the prince who is¬ sued it. The honor is given, with some probability of truth, to Caracalla, — 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 which had existed since the Ro¬ man conquest between the dominant nation and the subject peoples ; it even caused to disappear a much older distinction, which religion 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 jurisconsults and a short notice in Dion Cassius. 1 If this decree did not strike contempo 1 “ Antoninus Pius jus Romance civitatis omnibus subjectis donavit.” Justinian, Novels , 78, ch. 5. “ In orbe Romano qui sunt , ex constituiione imperatoris Antonini, cives Romani ejfedi sunt.” Ulpian, in Digest, I. tit. 5, 17. It is known, moreover, from Spartianus, that Caracalla was called Antoninus in official acts. Dion Cassius says that Caracalla 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 peregrin! , 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> judge from certain indications that the distinction between the Italian lands and the provincial lands still continued for a long time. ( Code , VII. 25; YII. 31; X. 39. Digest , L. tit. 1.) Thus the city of Tyre, in Phoenicia, even later than Caracalla, enjoyed as a privilege the/ws ltalicum. (Digest , IV. 15.) The continuance of this distinction is explained by the interest of the 518 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOR 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 pass unperceived under the veil 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 ; or, 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 transformation 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 disap- emperors, who did not wish to be deprived of the tribute which the provincial lands paid into the treasury. CHAP. III. CHRISTIANITY. 519 geared, and the Roman city, the last one left, w*.s 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. The 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 REGIME DISAPPEARS. 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 religion 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 the 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 human association was neces¬ sarily 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 at the same time as in religious ideas. Already in the fifth century which preceded Christianity, the alliance 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 sacerdotal class, the labors of philosophers, the progress of thought, had unsettled the ancient principles of hu¬ man association. Men had made incessant efforts tc free themselves from the thraldom of this old religion, in which they could no longer believe ; law and politics. s CHAP. Ill. CHRISTIANITY. 621 as well as morals, in the course of time were 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 less material exjn-ession. 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 practices, 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 had been transmitted from age to age, and which owed 522 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V. its sacred character to its antiquity alone, — was now 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 protector, and that such a work was contrary at the same time 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. m. CHRISTIANITY. 623 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 men a single God, a universal God, a God who be¬ longed to all, who had no chosen people, and 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 i) 24 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V ceased to be hereditary, because religion was no longer 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 carried to those who were the far¬ thest aivay, and which sought out the most indifferent. The spirit of propagandism replaced the law of ex¬ clusion. From this 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 barriers between nations or races were thus thrown down ; the pomœrium 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 neither Greek nor Jew, circumcision nor uncircumcision, 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 father. 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 the state made but one ; every CHAP. III. CHRISTIANITY. 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 infraction of the rites and the worship of the city. Instead of this, Christ teaches that his kingdom is not of this world. He separates religion from government. Religion, being no longer of the earth, now interferes the least possible in terrestrial affairs. Christ adds, “Render to Cæsar the things that are Caesar’s, and to God the things that are God’s.” It is the first time that God and the state are so clearly distinguished. For Caesar at that period was still the pontifex maximus , the chief and the prin¬ cipal organ of the Roman religion ; he was the guardian and the interpreter of beliefs. He held the worship and the dogmas 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 which antiquity had attached to the king-pontiffs and to the priest-founders. But now Christ breaks the alliance which paganism and the em¬ pire wished to renew. He proclaims that religion is no longer the state, and that to obey Cæsar 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 civil society. It professes that between the state and itself there is nothing in common. 526 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V. It separates what all antiquity had confounded. We may remark, moreover, that during three centuries the new religion lived entirely beyond the action of the state; it knew how to dispense with state protection, and even to struggle against it. These three centuries established an abyss between the domain of the gov¬ ernment and the domain of religion ; and, as the recol¬ lection of this period could not be effaced, it followed that this distinction became a plain and incontestable truth, which the efforts even of a part of the clergy could not eradicate. This principle was fertile in great results. On one hand, politics became definitively freed from the strict rules which the ancient religion had traced, and could govern men without having to bend to sacred usages, without consulting the auspices or the oracles, without conforming all acts to the beliefs and requirements of a worship. Political action was freer ; no other authority than that of the 'moral law now impeded it. On the other hand, if the state was more completely master in certain things, its action was also more limited. A complete half of man had been freed from its control. Christianity taught that only a part of man belonged to society ; that he was bound to it by his body and by his material interests; that when subject to a tyrant, it was his duty to submit ; that as a citizen of a republic, he ought to give his life for it, but that, in what re¬ lated to his soul, he was free, and was bound only to God. Stoicism had already marked this separation ; it had restored man to himself, and had founded liberty of conscience. But that which was merely the effort of the energy of a courageous sect, Christianity made a universal and unchangeable rule for succeeding genera* CHAP. m. CHRISTIANITY. 527 tions; what was only the consolation of a few, it made the common good of humanity. If, now, we recollect what has been said above on the omnipotence of the states among the ancients,— if we bear in mind how far the city, in the name of its sacred character and of religion, which was inherent in it, exercised an absolute empire,— we shall see that this new principle was the source whence individual lib¬ erty flowed. The mind once freed, the greatest difficulty was over¬ come, and liberty was compatible with social order. Sentiments and manners, as well as politics, were then changed. The idea which men had of the duties of the citizen were modified. The first duty no longer consisted in giving one’s time, one’s strength, one’s life to the state. Politics and war were no longer the whole of man ; all the virtues were no longer comprised in patriotism, for the soul no longer had a country. Man felt that he had other obligations besides that of living and dying for the city. Christianity distinguished the private from the public virtues. By giving less honor to the latter, it elevated the former; it placed God, the family, the human individual above country, the neigh¬ bor above the city. Law was also changed in its nature. Among all ancient nations law had been subject to, and had re¬ ceived all its rules from, religion. Among the Persians, the PI in dus, the Jews, the Greeks, the Italians, and the Gauls, the law had been contained in the sacred books or in religious traditions, and thus every religion had made laws after its own image. Christianity is the first religion that did not claim to be the source of law. It occupied itself with the duties of men, not with their interests. Men saw it regulate neither the laws of 528 MUNICIPAL REGIME DISAPPEARS. BOOK V property, nor the order of succession, nor obligations, nor legal proceedings. It placed itself outside the law, and outside all things purely terrestrial. Law was in¬ dependent ; it could draw its rules from nature, from the human conscience, from the powerful idea of the just that is in men’s minds. It could develop in com¬ plete liberty ; could be reformed and improved without obstacle ; could follow the progress of morals, and could conform itself to the interests and social needs of every generation. The happy influence of the new idea is easily seen in the history of Roman law. During several centuries preceding the triumph of Christianity, Roman law had already been striving to disengage itself from reli¬ gion, and to approach natural equity ; but it proceeded only by shifts and devices, which enervated and en¬ feebled its moral authority. The work of regenerating legislation, announced by the Stoic philosophers, pur¬ sued by the noble efforts of Roman jurisconsults, out¬ lined by the artifices and expedients of the pretor, could not completely succeed except by favor of the independence which the new religion allowed to the law. We can see, as Christianity gained ground, that the Roman codes admitted new rules no longer by subterfuges, but openly and without hesitation. The domestic penates having been overthrown, and the sacred fires extinguished, the ancient constitution of the family disappeared forever, and with it the rules that had flowed from this source. The father had lost the absolute authority which his priesthood had former¬ ly given him, and preserved only that which nature itself had conferred upon him for the good of the child. The wife, whom the old religion placed in a position inferior to the husband, became morally his equal. The s . hap. in. CHRISTIANITY. 529 laws of property were essentially altered; the sacred landmarks disappeared from the fields ; the right of property no longer flowed from religion, but from labor ; its acquisition became easier, and the formalities of the ancient law were definitively abolished. Thus, by the single fact that the family no longer had its domestic religion, its constitution and its laws were transformed ; so, too, from the single fact that the state no longer had its official religion, the rules for the government of men were forever changed. Our study must end at this limit, which separates ancient from modern polities. We have written the history of a belief. It was established, and human society was constituted. It was modified, and society underwent a series of revolutions. It disappeared, and society changed its character. Such was the law of ancient times. 84 s