But this conciliating spirit did not prevent the fickle Antony from breaking her heart, as he had that of the fiery and ambitious Fulvia. The strongest proof of her sweetness of temper and greatness of soul may be found in the fact that she brought up the children of Fulvia with her own, also the children of Cleopatra, after the latter’s death. The worst fault ascribed to Octavia was aiding in the divorce of her own innocent daughter from Agrippa, the stern old soldier who was chosen by Augustus as a desirable husband for his only child, the young and widowed Julia. Whatever ambitions she may have had were crushed by the death of her youthful son. Naturally she did not love the intriguing sister-in-law, who ruled all about her in a way that was none the less sure because it was quiet. It is even possible that she was not unwilling to do what came in her path to circumvent the schemes of Livia for her own family. “She detested all mothers,” says Seneca, “and, above all, Livia,” who had domestic joys which she had not. But Seneca may not have been quite just, as he preferred women of a strong, heroic type, and this mother of sensibilities so acute that she fainted when Vergil read his eulogy of Marcellus in her presence, was not much to his liking. It is more probable, however, that resistance was useless. Where the emperor decreed, she had only to obey. Once, indeed, she had shown her loyalty and her strength by refusing a like proposal in her own case, but the marriage of Julia was vital as a matter of State, and it is not likely that Augustus would have sacrificed a thing upon which he had set his heart, to the happiness of any woman whatever. Perhaps, too, she shared the common belief that private inclination must never stand in the way of public benefit. It was the _noblesse oblige_ of good rulers.