Silius goes through a pretence of carrying off Marcia by force—­another practice reminiscent of the ancient time when men won their brides by methods similar to those of the Australian aborigine with his waddy.  Both groom and bride are important people, and along the streets there is many a decoration; many a window and doorway is filled with spectators; shouts, not always of the most discreet, are heard from all sides, and loud above all rings the regular Io Talasse—­whatever that may have meant, for no man now knows, and almost certainly no one knew then.  In the midst of the procession Marcia, followed by bearers of her spindle and distaff, is being led by two pretty boys, while a third carries a torch; Silius meanwhile is scattering nuts or walnuts, or confetti made like them, to the crowd.  Arrived on the Caelian, the bride is once more seized and lifted over the threshold; when inside the hall, Silius presents her with fire and water in token of her common share in the household and its belongings; and she offers prayers to various old-fashioned goddesses who are supposed to preside over the introduction to married life.

If we have given with some particularity the orthodox proceedings of a fashionable wedding, it must again be remembered that not all weddings were fashionable, and that one or other of these details might be omitted as taste or circumstances required.  Among the poorer folk there must often have been practically no ceremony at all beyond the “bringing home.”  And if there are certain items which appear to us trivial and meaningless, it is probably unfamiliarity which breeds our contempt.  Perhaps a far-off generation may wonder how civilised folk in the twentieth century could perform absurd antics with rice and slippers.

Marcia is now what was known as a “matron.”  Her position is far more free than it could ever have been in Greece or the Orient, more free indeed than it would be in any civilised country at the present time.  The Romans had at all times placed the matron in a position of dignity and responsibility, and to this is now added the greatest liberty of action.  Her husband salutes her in public as “Madam.”  Since he is a senator, and it is beginning to be the vogue to call such men “The Most Illustrious,” she also shares that title in polite reference to herself.  She is not confined to any particular portion of the house, nor, within the limits of decorum, is she excluded from masculine company.  She is the mistress of the establishment, controlling, not only the female slaves, but also the males, in so far as they are engaged in the work of the household.  She keeps the keys of the store-rooms.  Theoretically at least she has been trained in all the arts of the housekeeper, and thoroughly understands domestic management, together with the weaving and spinning which her handmaids are to perform.  The merits of the wife, as summed up in the epitaphs of the middle classes, are those