by Allan Massie
Not even the most critical historians can impugn the merit of my suppression of piracy. Nothing is more necessary for the well-being of Rome than that merchants should be able to sail the Mediterranean in safety. Some may question my statement that 'the whole of Italy voluntarily took an oath of allegiance to me'; they may point at those senators whom I permitted to join Antony; they may suggest that compulsion was applied to some municipalities and they may find the term of the writs I sent out under my seal peremptory. I admit some pressure was applied; but I stand astonished at my own moderation in that year of crisis. Not only did I excuse the citizens of Bononia from the oath on account of that city's long association with Antony's family, but I punished few of the families who adhered to Antony. Besides the fact is that the response of the great part of Italy and the provinces was indeed spontaneous. After a half-century of civil strife, they longed for peace, and they recognized that I, and I alone, was capable of obtaining it. I also, unlike most Roman nobles, realized that Italy and Rome constituted one polity; that the strength of the Empire must henceforth rest on the full and eager consent of Italy. I was the first politician to be Italian as much as Roman. Even Cicero, though himself an Italian rather than a Roman, never realized this; he identified himself completely with the purely Roman politics of the City-State which we had outgrown. The following eight Articles spell out my conquests, the colonies I planted, the standards lost by some of my predecessors which I recaptured, the kings I subdued, the embassies from distant lands such as India which I received, the kings I gave to the Parthians and the Medes. I have been in my heart a man of peace. I have never claimed military genius, but one of my qualities has been the ability to select generals, the greatest of whom have been Agrippa and my stepson (now my adopted son), Tiberius. The Gods promised Aeneas and his seed limitless Empire. I have added more to the Empire of Rome than all the generals of the Republic put together; Caesar's achievements pale in comparison with mine, but I have never shown the beastly cruelty he displayed in Gaul, cruelty you may remember which shocked even Cato, and led him to urge the Senate that Caesar be handed over to the Gauls as a war criminal. As for my policy, Virgil once asked me to sum up Rome's mission as I saw it. I thought for some time and answered: 'to spare the subject and subdue the proud.' I am proud myself that he incorporated my reply in The Aeneid'.
I shall quote the last two Articles in full: without comment, at this point. Article XXXIV: 'In my sixth and seventh consulships, after I had put an end to the civil wars, having attained supreme power by universal consent, I transferred the state from my own power to the control of the Roman Senate and People. For this service of mine I received the title of Augustus by decree of the Senate and the doorposts of my house were publicly decked with laurels, the civic crown was affixed over my doorway, and a golden shield was set up in the Julian senate house, which, as the inscription on this shield testifies, the Roman Senate and People gave me in recognition of my valour, clemency, justice, and devotion. After that time I excelled all in authority, but I possessed no more power than the others who were my colleagues in each magistracy.' Article XXXV: 'When I held my thirteenth consulship, the Senate, the equestrian order, and the entire Roman People gave me the title of "Father of the Country" and decreed that this title should be inscribed in the vestibule of my house, in the Julian senate house, and in the Augustan forum on the pedestal of the chariot which was set up in my honour by the decree of the Senate.' At the time I wrote this document I was in my seventy-sixth year… No man has been more fortunate than I. I have often thought that. Yet I have never forgotten the proverb: 'Call no man fortunate till he is dead'. And in the years since my day of Triumph on which I ended the first volume of these memoirs, I have known bitter misfortunes, cruel disappointment. I have learned that Fate never smiles with constant benignity on any man. We must pay for our fortune, and often the price is such as to make achievement taste like cold ashes and sour wine. O Varus, give me back my legions!
TWO
My happiest memory of my Triumph remains that of Marcellus, my nephew, who rode on the trace-horse on the right of my chariot. Livia was displeased because her son Tiberius was placed on the left. But there were two reasons for this, both good ones. In the first place, Marcellus was the elder, and connected to me by blood. Secondly, the war of Actium and the conquest of Egypt represented for me revenge for the insults which Antony had paid to Marcellus' mother, my dear sister Octavia. The children of Antony and Cleopatra walked chained in the procession, while Marcellus, whom Antony had despoiled, rode a black steed in my triumph. A man would have to be dull to the fitness of things not to take pleasure in this.
But there was another reason. I became middle-aged the year of my Triumph. True, I was no more than thirty-six, but I had suffered seventeen years of war and perpetual crisis since Julius' murder. War and politics had eaten up the youth I had never had leisure to enjoy. It seemed to me, even as my chariot trundled over the paving stones of the Sacred Way, as the crowds cheered and wondered, and the noon sun beat down, and the tramp of the legions raised clouds of dust in the swimming air, it seemed to me, as if a cloud had crossed the sun, that I had thrown away my youth only for this vain show of power. I experienced an awful moment; a sense of waste, futility, of a life as barren and infertile as the desert, swept over me. That hour of glory which soldiers dream of tasted like stale bread. I caught an intimation of the vast and ponderous vanity of war and politics. And then I turned my head, and saw Marcellus, his eyes dancing, his smile wide, accepting, and altogether happy, as he caught the crowd's huzzas and threw them back again; and I felt refreshed. Tiberius, on my other flank, rode carefully, stern-faced, as indifferent to the mob then at the age of – what? – thirteen, fourteen, I really cannot remember – as he would always be. In time I have come to respect Tiberius' steely indifference to popularity, even his contempt for the mob, I respect and understand it as an expression of his nature, even while I see its danger, and would myself always be incapable of his Claudian superiority; but then, it irritated me that a boy should be so cold, and I delighted all the more in Marcellus' own delight.
And I loved Marcellus. There was nothing shameful in my love, nothing perverse; but it made Livia jealous and it was on account of Marcellus that she remained withdrawn from me. I loved him indeed for his beauty, for his straight limbs (he was an inch taller than I when he was fifteen, but stopped growing that year), for the dancing life in his dark blue eyes, for the curve of his lips, for the way in which his dark-gold hair curled into his nape, for his candid expression. I loved his beauty as it is right to love any beauty given us on earth, but I did so purely, as I would later love the beauty of my grandsons, Gaius and Lucius, whom I adopted as my sons. I relished his conversation too; it was a perpetual fountain of wit and fancy. I loved his speculations which reached beyond his intellect's range. I loved him for his loving lack of respect, for the way he teased me, and called me 'nuncle'. And yes, I saw in him the future of our house. But Livia, jealous of my love for Octavia, as she had always been, was still more jealous of my love for Marcellus. He seemed to her to stand between her sons and the light. She believed the worst, and continued to do so even after I had proved the nature of my love for the boy by giving him in marriage to my daughter Julia.
Throughout my life I have been puzzled by the perversity with which others view love; as if there were only one kind of love. As a matter of fact, sexual love has never been of great importance to me. I can divorce the body from emotions. Naturally, when Livia withdrew herself from me, I took mistresses: slave-girls, professional courtesans, the occasional married woman (but never free-born virgins; that is wrong). They were of little importance save as a means of physical relaxation. None of them touched my heart which was still given first to Livia, and then to other members of my family. Nevertheless these years after Actium were difficult ones in my marriage, as they were in other respects too.
***
The great question could be simply put
: what were we to do with the Republic now that we had saved it? We had eliminated faction. All our enemies were dead. In the mood of relaxed tension, my ardour dull, I sat by Livia as she lay stretched out in the shade of the colonnade, and said to her, 'I can consider my work done.' She sat up abruptly, but I continued,
'Why shouldn't I imitate Sulla, establish a few constitutional reforms, which will enable power to pass smoothly within the Republic, and retire to one of our country estates? Wouldn't you like, Livia, us to be able to live quietly together, like normal people, without this endless work, this alacrity to crisis, these appalling incessant demands? After all,' I said, 'I have been in politics long enough to know that there are no solutions, solutions don't exist, it isn't a political term, it's just one damned thing after another. I've lost my youth, I realized that the other day, and I'm tired. So tired of it all.' 'You must be mad,' she said.
I took an apple from a bowl of fruit and bit into it; it was sharp and sour.
Livia said, 'Or you are teasing me? Why struggle as you have struggled only to throw all away when the game is won? Do you really believe Rome can return to the old ways? Are you as naive as that old fool Cicero was? I may have only the body of a weak woman but I should scorn even to make such a suggestion. What's more, I am by reason of my Claudian birth naturally more inclined to the old ways than one of your background is likely to be. I have more consular masks among my forefathers than I care to count. My family has been prominent in the State since the expulsion of the kings, and yet I know that the old ways are finished. Your talk is sheer sentimentalism. It is unworthy of my husband…' It occurs to me that these memoirs may be read by future generations ignorant of the Republic's constitution, ignorant too of the causes of the crisis which had gripped Rome for almost a century. Yet, essentially it was simple. Our institutions were designed for a city state that was guided by a group of aristocratic families, each jealous lest any one family, any single person, should be able to grasp supreme power. They therefore guarded against this by ensuring that no man should hold power for long, and none should do so by himself. A system of annual magistracies was established; the two consuls, who were chief among them, had equal standing. In times of national emergency a dictator might be appointed to exercise supreme power, but, in the great days of the Republic, his appointment was always of brief duration. Julius Caesar had himself made dictator for life; nothing else that he did aroused more animosity, for a perpetual dictator was king in all but name, and we Romans, who love and value our liberty, have always despised and detested the idea of kingship. Only a man of Caesar's profound and infinite conceit could have thought of making himself king. However, as Rome's empire spread, our ancient constitution began to creak, to split at the seams like an old bolster. The first shock was given when, to guard against a barbarian invasion, Gaius Marius (himself barbarous and uncouth) was given five successive consulships. It was then that the citizen army of the early Republic became a professional force; and the new professional soldiers looked to their general for reward rather than to the Republic. They were his troops rather than Rome's. I myself had profited from this, but the Republic suffered. Moreover, the demands of Empire required that these generals held prolonged commands: Caesar's Proconsulship in Gaul was given him for five years in the first instance, then prolonged for five more. The annual magistrates became near ciphers in comparison with the military dynasts, the great proconsuls like Caesar and Pompey; and, let me add, Antony and myself. One magistracy only was not submerged: this was the tribunate. Tribunes, originally appointed to guard the interests of the plebeians, had no executive authority; but they could initiate and veto legislation, and their persons were sacrosanct. All the dynasts found it advisable to ensure that one or more of their adherents was numbered among the ten tribunes; only thus could their interests at Rome be safeguarded. The ostensible reason for Caesar's crossing of the Rubicon and invading Italy was that the sacrosanctity of the tribunate had been violated by his enemies. I early saw the importance of this office, and, though not being a plebeian and so ineligible to be a tribune myself, I arranged that I should be granted the authority, powers and status of a tribune. It was the wisest decision I ever made. It rendered my person safe, and it enabled me to be in touch with the people and so to safeguard their interests against the nobility.
The developments which had taken place were regretted by traditionalists. I could share their regret. I have no doubt that our ancestors' Republic was a fine and honourable thing. But, unlike the myopic Cato, unlike Cicero who was a sentimentalist, I knew it could never be recovered. We had to move on to some new thing, whatever it might be; and, after I had digested Livia's words, and knew she spoke the truth, I realized that my task was now to establish a new structure for Roman political life. It must reflect realities, as Cicero's plan for 'an agreement of the classes' never did; but, if it was to satisfy the old political classes, and, my nature being conservative I had no wish to do otherwise, it must also retain the form and appearance of the old Republic as far as possible.
I make no apology for the dryness of this part of my memoirs. Whoever wishes to understand me, must understand the work I had to do. Those who find constitutional politics boring can always skip this chapter. Only let them remember that their judgement of my life and work will then be flawed, for they will have neglected to examine the heart of the matter. They will be like those who judge a melon by its skin, and do not taste the flesh.
I invited Maecenas and Agrippa to dine with me, that we might explore the courses open to us. We dined sparingly, for there is no deep thinking on a full stomach, just as there is no sound thinking on an empty one.
Agrippa of course was generally as abstemious as I have always been myself, though, like many who are essentially men of action, he was given to occasional bouts of heavy asking. I avoided him then for it distressed me to see my closest friend give himself over to brutish vulgarity that would end in a stupor so deep that revolution might break out with him unaware. As for Maecenas, he was more and more given to tippling. Sip, sip, sip, all day long, never quite drunk, less and less often wholly sober. That night however he was in full possession of his faculties. I outlined the position as I saw it.
Agrippa said: They killed Caesar because he would not restore the Republic. They killed him in the name of liberty. We fought against the Liberators because it was in our interest to do so. We would have been nothing if we hadn't. And we fought against Antony, partly for that reason too, but also because, with all his Eastern nonsense, he was going the same bloody way as Caesar. He'd even taken up with the same woman, and Jupiter only knows what notions of Oriental tyranny she stuffed his poor head with. That's why Italy rallied to us, supported us, and, with a bit of help from our boys, swore an oath of loyalty to you. But that loyalty was – what's the bloody word? -conditional, that's it, and temporary. People, not only the nobles, but all good Romans, want the Republic back. They respect you, they're grateful to us all even, but they love the old forms of government and won't be happy without them. Don't go getting other ideas into your head, old boy. If you take the same road Julius did, you'll end up where he did, with your body full of dagger-thrusts, lying at the base of Pompey's statue. Don't kid yourself it won't be like that.'
Maecenas said: 'Well, of course, my dears, I'm only a poor Etruscan outsider. But that gives me a certain advantage. I can see things clearly. Now I'm quite sure Marcus Agrippa is right, as he usually is, when he says the Romans love their old institutions and won't be happy without them, but things change, that's the trouble. It's our business to ask, not so much why, as how, and then seek the remedy. I know you've kept me off the wine tonight but give me a small mug while I get this straight. Thanks, lovey. Well, it seems to me that, to put it in the proverbial nutshell, the cause of our troubles – and even Agrippa can't deny we've had troubles – isn't so much the vice and ambition of particular men, as the complexity of our situation. You could say it rests in the multitude of our population
and the magnitude of the business of government. The old ways were fine when Rome was a city of farmers and a few merchants, but now… just consider, the population of the Empire, even of the city itself, embraces men of every kind, both as regards race and endowment. Their tempers and desires are of every imaginable sort, and the business of the State has become so vast, so complicated and demanding that it can be administered only with the greatest difficulty…' He paused. I asked him to continue.
'Let me make a comparison,' he said. 'Our city is like a great merchant-vessel. It's manned by a crew of every race and lacks a pilot. So for many generations now, four, five, I don't know, it's been rolling and plunging, like a ship with neither ballast nor steersman. No wonder it's crashed into the rocks. The miracle is, it hasn't sunk. It's enough indeed to make one believe in the Gods and in a sacred destiny for Rome, that it hasn't sunk. But it can't continue long without the guidance of one directing spirit. Restore the Republic and everything we have achieved in the last seventeen years will be swallowed up. We will have performed a vast waste of effort. Oh yes, and one more thing, when I say a directing spirit, I mean the directing spirit of one man – which, in the circumstances, must be you. Don't even think in terms of a new triumvirate. That's a recipe for civil war. It's happened twice. It would happen again, even if the triumvirate were formed by us three here, who have been good friends for a long time. It's in the nature of things. I tell you, ducky, you have a simple choice. Assume your responsibilities and make the civil wars worthwhile; duck them and make your whole life to now a nonsense…' When I had landed at Naples on my return from Egypt, I found Virgil there. He was living in a villa a few miles out of the city on the Sorrentine peninsula, where, in ancient times, the Sirens dwelled. He invited me to dine with him, but, when I arrived in the mellow glow of the late afternoon, I found the poet pale, listless and unable to eat. It was the first intimation of the illness that would afflict him over the next decade and bring about his death, that came too soon for me, for Rome and for Poetry. He toyed with his food, but brushed aside my concern, and was himself solicitous for my health.
