Augustus, page 45
Julius Caesar was now a god, and could not be treated as simply another Roman hero – hence his statue was inside the temple and not with the rest of the Julii. There is no hint that any Roman would have seen this as a conscious attempt to separate the god from some of the more questionable actions of the man. A Roman aristocrat at the beginning of his career talked a lot about his father and earlier generations of his family, offering their achievements as proof of his own worth. Yet once established – certainly once he reached any of the senior magistracies – this faded away, for by that stage in his life his own deeds were to speak for themselves. A man’s ancestors were not in competition with him, although it was clearly a good thing if his achievements matched or surpassed theirs. It was only later, at his public funeral, that the emphasis returned to the whole family line, as the generations were paraded and used to show the promise of sons and grandsons.
Augustus spoke less of Julius Caesar after the civil wars, but only because this was natural – the same process on a bigger scale of any Roman noble family. His own actions and victories were now far more important than those of his father and so were advertised. Julius Caesar was not forgotten, still less suppressed, and his reputation and glories continued to add to the auctoritas of his son, but they did not need to be paraded. Caesar Augustus had taken over and more than fulfilled the promise of his father’s glory, but the latter’s monuments were there, his statues numerous and prominent, and his image still sometimes useful for his son. Ultimately, it was only Julius Caesar who had raised the Julii from comparative obscurity, and made the name Caesar stand out as different from the family name of any other Roman aristocrat.
A century later Tacitus said that the writing of history withered under Augustus, not through active suppression but because of flattery. The Roman tradition was that history should only be written by the men involved in its making, by the senators who took part in debates, framed laws and led Rome’s legions in the field. Only such men were supposed to be capable of understanding how great events occurred, but under Augustus such men were also dependent on the favour of the princeps if they wished to have a distinguished career. As the years passed, either senators did not write about the recent past or they did so in a fawning tone. It was not just a question of pleasing Augustus – the civil wars had seen plenty of men acting in ways that they would happily forget. Drusus’ younger son Claudius announced a desire to write about the civil wars, and was quietly but firmly dissuaded from doing so by Livia and his mother Antonia.14
It was no coincidence that the most influential work of history written under Augustus was produced by Livy, a local aristocrat from northern Italy who never sought a career in public life. Here was a man without concerns about winning office – and also without direct experience of politics or war. Asinius Pollio felt that there was a strongly provincial tone to Livy’s work, but no one could doubt the industry that eventually produced a history of Rome from the foundation of the City down to the death of Drusus in 142 books. It is unclear when the books were released and some may not have appeared until after Augustus’ death. The tone of the introduction, written while civil war still raged, was markedly gloomy, but this may have changed as times improved. Livy was not part of Maecenas’ circle, and although he was on friendly terms with Augustus, he was far from being an official mouthpiece. Yet the mood of his work chimed with many of the princeps’ own views, and certainly the sense of Roman identity and culture his regime presented. Livy was fiercely patriotic, but also inclined to judge in moral terms – for him, Rome prospered when standards of morality were high and the Romans respected tradition and the gods, and behaved with virtue. Failures, outbreaks of disorder and ultimately civil war happened when all classes, and especially their senatorial leaders, failed to live up to proper standards.15
Only brief summaries survive of most of Livy’s history, including all the books dealing with the final century and a half, so that it is largely guesswork to judge how he treated specific individuals. Surviving books do show considerable differences between his version of events and the epitaphs given to many of the summi viri in the Forum of Augustus. Sometimes these were on minor matters of detail – for instance, the precise number of days it took Aemilius Paullus to win the war against King Perseus in 168 BC. Others appear to represent wholly different traditions, and there are claims in the inscriptions from the Forum that are markedly at variance with all our other sources for some individuals. One summary makes it clear that Livy harshly criticised the final years of Marius and his bloody return to Rome at the end of 88 BC – a stark contrast to the inscription on his statue in the new Forum.16
Livy’s account of Cornelius Cossus’ winning the spolia opima included Augustus’ interpretation but also conflicting traditions, just as he discussed the different accounts of whether Iulus was Aeneas’ son by his Trojan wife or his subsequent marriage in Italy. It is probable that he was also generous in his treatment of Pompey the Great, since Tacitus says that Augustus gently chided the historian with being an unrepentant Pompeian. Since Pompey was included among the summi viri this was scarcely subversive, and it was more startling that Livy is said to have questioned whether or not it was a good thing that Julius Caesar was born in the light of his subsequent career. The passage is lost, making it harder to judge the tone or the conclusion, but the surviving summaries do not suggest an account deeply hostile to the dictator.17
Scholars who believe that Caesar Augustus played down his father would see this as confirmation, on the basis that Livy would not have dared to write such a thing unless he was confident that it would not provoke the princeps’ anger. Yet, aside from the quiet pressure placed on the young Claudius to switch to a different theme, and a few cases in the final years of Augustus’ life, there is no evidence for any suppression of literature by the princeps. On one occasion he wrote to Tiberius telling him not to ‘take it too much to heart that anyone speak evil of me; we must be content if we can stop anyone from doing evil to us’. The official line was constantly promoted, in a lot of literature, in Augustus’ and his family’s speeches, decrees, Augustus’ own autobiography and on monuments throughout Rome and the provinces. It was reinforced by every repetition, and given support by continuing success and prosperity – Livy’s theme that success came from adherence to proper Roman virtues was a strong endorsement of the princeps.18
Augustus did not actively suppress alternative views or hide the past. Few chose to express such views and those few were lost in the deluge of opinion supporting and praising him. The fact that Julius Caesar had crossed the Rubicon and begun a civil war was as undeniable as Augustus’ involvement in the proscriptions and the frequent executions and depredations of the years between 44 and 30 BC. This was still living memory and, even as that faded, all the records and propaganda of those years survived. Concealing them, let alone rewriting them, would not have been practical and it is doubtful that Augustus even considered it. His own version was clear, spreading the blame and shifting it far more onto others. We should note that Livy’s willingness to ask whether Julius Caesar might have been wrong does not mean that he felt him wholly to blame and did not see others as also guilty. Livy deplored the death of Cicero while noting that the orator had been doing his very best to arrange the death of the triumvirs, and so was merely less successful rather than profoundly different to them.19
Literary sycophancy and adulation was transparent and in many ways self-defeating. Authors who appeared to offer their honest opinion, occasionally praising former – and invariably dead – opponents, or voice mild criticism of the princeps or those around him, reinforced their overall themes of praise for Rome and Augustus. Such works were likely to be of better quality, and just like the poetry of the age were an important part of creating a sense that there was once again a free and successful res publica. The boundaries were drawn as much or more by the authors themselves than by Augustus. Livy probably genuinely shared many of Augustus’ opinions, as did a large proportion of society, especially property owners and the better-off throughout Italy. The historian was an enthusiastic reporter of victories over foreign enemies and of the expansion of Roman power, and the two decades from Actium down to 9 BC provided plenty for him to describe and to praise.
THE HOUSE OF AUGUSTUS
In 1 BC the nineteen-year-old Caius Caesar received his first command and left Rome for the Danube. Soon after he reached the legions there his mission was changed, and he was given imperium over the eastern provinces and sent to deal with a threat to the stability of Rome’s eastern frontier. A power struggle within Armenia had led to Parthian intervention which placed their own nominee on the throne. As always, the prospect of a victorious war against the Parthians thrilled public opinion in Rome and inspired her poets. Ovid even worked such enthusiasm into the first book of his Art of Love: ‘Lo! Caesar is preparing to add what was lacking to the conquered world.’ The Parthians would pay the penalty for the massacre of Crassus’ army in 53 BC. The age and lack of experience of the leader sent against them would be no impediment to this inevitable victory. ‘Your avenger is at hand, and, though his years be few, proclaims his captaincy, and, though a boy, handles wars that no boy should handle . . . Valour falls early to the lot of Caesars . . . Father Mars and father Caesar, vouchsafe him your presence as he goes, for one of you is, and one of you will be, a god.’ The poet, returning to his theme, then imagines picking up a woman while watching Caius Caesar triumph on his return, Ovid impressing the lady with a mixture of real and invented but confident commentary on the procession.20
Tiberius should have received this command, but he was still in Rhodes, and now that five years had passed both his imperium and his tribunicia potestas had expired. Augustus had not bothered to consult him, but had sent Julia notice of divorce on her husband’s behalf when she was disgraced. Tiberius was simply informed that this had happened. He wrote, asking for leniency for his ex-wife, but was ignored. His frequent pleas to be allowed to return home as a private citizen were also refused, and so he remained on Rhodes, attending lectures and debates. Livia managed to secure him an undefined rank as legate to give him some protection, and generally he was treated with respect, although he did have one philosopher arrested when the man followed him home after a debate, not only disagreeing with him but subjecting him to bitter abuse. There were moments of awkwardness and misunderstanding of the sort that dogged Tiberius throughout his life. When he expressed a desire to visit the sick, his attendants had the local magistrates gather all the invalids they could find and lay them out for his inspection by order of condition. Deeply embarrassed, Tiberius apologised to them all and had them returned home.21
As he was stepson of the princeps and until recently his son-in-law, it was difficult for all concerned to know how to handle Tiberius. There are signs that many dignitaries chose to visit him, as did most Roman officials travelling that way as they went to their provinces. When Caius and his entourage passed nearby, Tiberius left Rhodes to pay Caesar’s son and the commander of the east his respects. Hostile sources later claimed that he prostrated himself before the youth, but this was probably a gross exaggeration. Yet his position was precarious. Communities throughout the east had to decide how to treat him, and how to treat those men whose local prominence owed a good deal to connections with him. In an effort to show that he was not plotting to build up a base of supporters or preparing to bid for power should the princeps die, Tiberius ceased wearing the garb of a Roman general and no longer practised such martial drills as riding and skill at arms. It was said that he dressed as a Greek, which if true was an echo of Antony’s holiday in Athens when newly married to Octavia. One city in Gaul concluded that he was in disgrace and destroyed his statues.22
Caius did not linger on Rhodes, but was no doubt welcomed there as he was throughout the eastern provinces – after all, this was Augustus’ son who had the power to answer petitions. Greek poets echoed the likes of Ovid: ‘Be on your way to the Euphrates, son of Zeus. To you already the Parthians in the east are deserting apace. Be on your way, my prince; you shall find their bows unstrung through terror, Caesar. Rule in accord with your father’s precepts. Be yourself the first to certify to the rising sun that Rome is bounded by the ocean on all sides.’23
Athens was one of many cities to honour the young prince, and at some point during these years moved an entire temple to Ares – the Greek war god equivalent to Mars – and rebuilt it stone by stone in the main Agora or market place. Yet for all the attention given to Caius Caesar, his father had taken care to send older and more experienced heads to advise the youth, and probably make many of the key decisions. His party was large, and included Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, who had recently done well in Germany, as well as Marcus Lollius, who had done less well and lost the eagle of Legio V Alaudae back in 16 BC. Another former consul, Publius Sulpicius Quirinius, may well have accompanied Caius from the beginning, for he was certainly on his staff in later years.24
Augustus remained in Rome, unwilling now to leave for long tours of the provinces. He was in his sixties, and probably feeling his age, especially since so few of his contemporaries remained. On his birthday in AD 2 he wrote to his elder son:
Ninth day before the Kalends of October [i.e. 23 September]
Greeting, my dear Caius, my dearest little donkey, whom, so help me, I constantly miss whenever you are away from me. But especially on such days as today my eyes are eager for my Caius, and whenever you have been today, I hope you have celebrated my sixty-fourth birthday in health and happiness . . . And I pray the gods that whatever time is left to me I may pass with you safe and well, with our country in a flourishing condition, while you both are playing the man and preparing to succeed to my sentry post.25
Sixty-three was considered a dangerous age in astrological terms, hence the joking relief to be past this. Talk of his ‘sentry post’ or ‘station’ – in Latin stationem meam – provides an insight into Augustus’ view of himself as a guardian watching over the state, as well as his expectation that in time his sons would take over the duty. In spite of his age, the workload did not let up, especially since Caius and Lucius were still young and were only beginning to share the burden.
The princeps was close to his adopted sons, although sadly this is the only letter to survive from a published collection of letters to Caius. Most likely there were others written to Lucius. The style is similar to his correspondence with other family members, with its light tone and frequent use of Greek expressions. Augustus was fond of quotations, and often used them to illustrate examples of good behaviour in his correspondence with governors and subordinates as well as his relatives. Throughout their lives he wrote to his sons when he was not with them, and when present took a direct interest in their upbringing, teaching them to swim and ride. Around 10 BC he had selected the grammaticus Marcus Valerius Flaccus to teach the boys. Flaccus already ran a school in Rome, but for a salary of 100,000 sesterces a year happily moved all of his charges up onto the Palatine Hill, where he was installed in a house once owned by the famous princeps senatus Catulus and still named after him.26
Augustus had purchased a number of houses on the Palatine and combined them to make up his own home. There was clearly a main entrance, the porch over which the corona civica was carved, but the various houses and the sacred spaces – notably the Temple of Apollo with its libraries and the shrine of Vesta which housed the palladium, supposedly originally brought from Troy by Aeneas – were probably separated by a network of narrow roads and alleys. The archaeology of the site remains unclear, and it has not proved easy to link the remains neatly to the literary record. The building known today as the House of Livia – her name was marked on a lead water pipe found there – was her residence after the death of Augustus, but it is impossible to know precisely where they lived before this. The site called the House of Augustus today is conventionally referred to in this way, but there is no clear evidence for its usage within the wider complex. Augustus adapted and modified existing buildings, and at least in the private areas does not appear to have altered the aristocratic houses in any drastic way.27
The princeps claimed to live a simple life. Suetonius says that for more than forty years he ‘stayed in the same bedroom in winter and summer’, by which he probably means that he did not move to separate chambers in the cold and hot weather, rather than keeping the same bedroom for such a long time. Augustus was not a natural early riser, and whenever he needed to be in another part of the City first thing in the morning he usually stayed with a friend who lived conveniently close. Elsewhere we are told that in the heat of the summer he slept with the doors of his chamber open, or even had his couch moved into one of the inner courtyards and slept near an ornamental fountain. Augustus took no more than seven hours’ rest each night, sleeping on a ‘low and simply furnished bed’, but if he woke he refused to lie there on his own and insisted on company. However, he often dozed after lunch or while being carried in his litter. He was moderate in his needs – the restlessly energetic Julius Caesar was satisfied with much less sleep – and also in his tastes, avoiding the conspicuous extravagance of many wealthy senators and equestrians, let alone the excesses of Mark Antony with his golden chamber pot. Couches and tables from Augustus’ house survived a century later, and Suetonius noted that they were generally quite plain.28
Comfortable moderation was Augustus’ hallmark. Such a comment should not be taken literally, but set against the taste for spectacular luxury already common in the first century BC, which would grow steadily and lead to the excesses of Caligula and Nero. Augustus lived in a way that he – and many of his peers – would have felt appropriate. Decorative wall paintings from the sites on the Palatine and others which may be associated with the princeps and his family are colourful, often elaborate, and conform to the latest fashions. His country villas – a frequent refuge from the bustle of Rome – were again not extravagant by aristocratic standards, and he only owned three of them, whereas even the moderately wealthy Cicero had maintained nine. Augustus did not own extensive art and sculpture collections kept only for private viewing, in contrast to some wealthy senators. Like Agrippa, his art was for display to the general population. Yet he did enjoy ornamental gardens, and had gathered all sorts of curiosities. His villa on Capreae (the island of Capri) displayed his ‘bones of giants’, the bones of huge animals and fish – presumably fossils of dinosaurs and the like – as well as ancient weapons claimed to have been wielded by famous heroes.29
