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OCTAVIUS CAESAR AUGUSTUS :THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE FOUNDER OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE
CHAPTER XI.
AUGUSTUS AND HIS WORSHIPPERS
After the settlement of the constitution in BC23 Augustus
was only absent from Italy three times, from BC22 to BC19 in Sicily and the
East, from BC16-BC13 in Gaul and Spain, and BC 9-10 in Gaul. At the outbreak of
the Pannonian and Dalmatian wars BC 6-9 he stayed for some time at Ariminum.
For the rest of the time he lived at Rome, with the usual visits to his country
houses, made by land or yacht. His return to the city after any prolonged
absence was celebrated with every sign of rejoicing, with sacrifices, music,
and a general holiday. On his return from Gaul in BC13 an altar was dedicated
to Fortuna redux. Nor was this mere
adulation. The people had come to look upon him as the best guarantee of peace
and security. The troubles of the days preceding the civil wars, the great
fighting and massacres, the horrors of the civil war itself, were not forgotten:
but his own part in them was ignored or forgiven; it was only remembered that
he had put an end to them; that he had restored the ruinous city in unexampled
splendour; that it was owing to his liberality, or that of his friends acting
under his influence, that at Rome there were luxurious baths, plentiful water,
abundant food, streets free from robbers, help ready in case of fire, and
cheerful festivals nearly always in progress. It was. thanks to him that the
roads in Italy were not beset by brigands, that the cornships from Egypt crowded the harbour of Puteoli unmolested
by pirates on their course, that not only the dreaded Parthian, but princes
from the ends of the earth were sending embassies desiring the friendship of
Rome. At the least sign of the old disorders they
clamoured for his return and besought him to become Dictator, director of the
corn trade, perpetual guardian of morals, anything, convinced that under his
absolute rule there would be peace, plenty, and security. Horace exactly
represents this feeling when he addresses Augustus in his absence in Gaul: “Oh
scion of the gracious gods, oh best guardian or the race of Romulus ... return ! Your country calls for you with vows and prayer ...
for when you are here the ox plods up and down the fields in safety; Ceres and
bounteous blessing cheer our farms; our sailors speed o’er seas that know no
fear of pirates; credit is unimpaired; no foul adulteries stain the home;
punishment follows hard on crime ... Who fears Parthian, Scythian, German, or
Spaniard with Caesar safe? Each man closes a day of peace on his native hills,
trains his vines to the widowed trees, and home returning, light of heart,
quaffs his wine and ends the feast with blessings on thee as a god indeed.”
These feelings found expression in a form which in our
day is apt to appear, according to our temperament, ridiculous or profane. In
plain terms this was to treat Augustus as divine, a god on earth. The various
expressions of Horace may perhaps be put down to poetical exaggeration or
conventional compliment, though there is a real meaning at their back ; but
though Augustus refused to allow temples and altars to himself in Rome and
Italy, “and even ordered certain silver statuettes to be melted down, the
evidence of inscriptions makes it certain that the cult began in his lifetime
in several places, as at Pompeii, Puteoli, Cunue in Campania, and in other parts of Italy. In Rome
itself, when Augustus reorganised the vici, the old worship of the Lares Compitales at
some consecrated spot in each vicus or “parish” was restored, but they were commonly spoken of as Lares Augusti, and
the Genius Augusti was associated with them. It is this fact that, to a certain extent, explains
and renders less irrational an attitude of mind which we are apt to dismiss as
merely absurd. Each man had a Genius—a
deity to whom he was a particular care. We speak of a man’s “mission”, implying
by the word itself some external and directing power, probably divine. The step
is not a long one which identifies the man and his genius, especially when his
mission seems to be to bring us peace and prosperity. “Oh Melibaeus,
’twas a god that wrought this ease for us!” exclaims the countryman in Vergil,
who had got back his lands. This confusion between the inspirer and the
inspired, between the mission and the man, was everywhere apparent. Among the
statues in the temples, and in the sacred hymns and other acts of worship, the
figure or the name of Augustus was associated with those of the gods in a way
that admitted, indeed, of a distinction being drawn between a memorial to an
almost divine man and an act of devotion to a god, but often obscured that
distinction for ordinary folk. When we dedicate in church to a saint, or “to
the glory of God and in memory of So-and-so,” the distinction is of course
clear, but the confusion which has from time to time resulted is also
notorious. Thus in the Cuman Calendar of a sacred
year, in which the anniversaries of striking events in the career of Augustus
are marked for some act of worship, sometimes the supplicatio is bluntly stated as Augusta, sometimes in honour of some
abstract idea as imperio Augusti, Fortuna reduci, Victoria Augusta; at others to a god—Iovi sempiterno,
Vesta, Marti Ultori, Veneri. In fact, the supplicatio always had a double reference, it was an act of prayer or thanksgiving to a
god, but it was also an honour to a successful man. The two ideas properly
distinct easily coalesced. A supplicatio in
honour of Augustus, without much violence, became a supplicatio to him.
Of the still more formal cult which arose after his
death with a temple regularly dedicated to him by Livia on the Palatine, and a
new college of Augustales to keep up the worship in all parts of the Empire, an
explanation somewhat analogous may be given. He was declared divus by the
Senate, he was the late Emperor of blessed memory, a sainted soul, the very
spirit or genius of eternal Rome. The traditions in early Roman history of the
god-born and deified founder, the hero-worship of Greece, the veil which
concealed (as it still conceals) the state of the departed, combined with the
tolerant spirit of polytheism to make it almost as easy for the men of that
time to admit a new deity into the Olympian hierarchy, as for mediaeval Europe
to admit a new saint into the Calendar.
Augustus, as we said, had the good sense and modesty
to put difficulties in the way of this worship in Rome and Italy. It was
another matter in the provinces. The divine, or semidivine, honours paid him
there were closely bound up with loyalty to Rome and a belief in her eternal
mission. He therefore allowed temples and altars to be built, but always on the
understanding that the name of Rome should be associated with his own. Such a
method of expressing devotion to Rome and reverence for her magistrates had not
been unknown in earlier times. In the second century BC a colossal statue of Rome had been set up by the Rhodians in a
temple of Athena; the people of Chalcis had erected a temple in honour of Flamininus; and Cicero implies that in his time it was not
an uncommon thing to do in the Asiatic provinces. At Smyrna a temple to Rome
had been erected in BC195, and even before these the communities in Asia and
Greece had been accustomed to honour the Ptolemies in a similar manner. The new
cult therefore had nothing strange to the feelings and habits of the time. It
began early in his career of success— not later at most than BC36, after the
defeat of Sextus Pompeius—and it spread rapidly. We hear of temples “to Rome
and Augustus,” or altars, at Cyme, Ancyra, Pergamus,
Nicomedia, Alexandria, Paneas, Sparta, and elsewhere
in the East. Connected with them were yearly festivals and games, as at Athens,
Ancyra, and in Cilicia. Nor was it in the East only that this worship began in
the lifetime of Augustus. We hear of temples or altars in Spain, Moesia,
Pannonia, Narbonne; and the altar at Lugdunum (Lyon),
consecrated by Drusus in BC12, was deliberately intended to supersede the
Druidical religion which was national and separatist.
For forming an estimate of Augustus himself it is of great interest to decide, if possible, how far he was deluded,
how far he was acting from deliberate policy in countenancing these things.
When some people of Tarraco reported to him, as an
omen of his victorious career, that a palm had grown on the mound of his altar
in that city, he replied with half-grave, half-playful irony, “That shows how
often you use it!”. But there is no note
of disapproval or abnegation in the answer. He accepts it as a natural fact
that there, should be such an altar, as a modern sovereign might accept the
compliment of a statue. Can we explain it, except as a case of conscious fraud
or blinding vanity? I believe we may. We must notice first that Augustus had
been zealous in the apotheosis of Iulius, had urged Antony to become his
flamen, had built a temple to him in Rome, and encouraged the building of temples
and altars elsewhere. Now this apotheosis and worship of Iulius had begun
before his death, as Augustus knew perfectly well. But in
spite of the manifestly party spirit of the packed Senate that voted the
divine honours to Iulius, he gave no sign of revulsion or incredulity. On the
contrary, he professed himself the heir not only of his wealth and honours, but
also of his religious obligations and political purposes. It is clear, again,
that Augustus believed in the gods, that is, in some immortal being or beings
who governed and controlled the world. The restorer of a
hundred temples, of sacred writings and ancient religious rites, the
pious fulfiller of vows made in the hour of danger or escape, may have had
crude or uncertain beliefs, have held views philosophical or superstitious,
wise or foolish, but he could hardly have been an atheist.
He was too busy a man to be much troubled with
philosophic doubts, and perhaps—obvious as it may be—the answer of Napoleon
would have represented his view: who after listening for a time to certain
atheistic arguments, said, pointing to the starry heavens, “All very well,
gentlemen, but who made all that?”. Given a belief in oneself and in
Providence, the next step is to believe that Providence is on our side, as Cromwell
saw the hand of God even in his most questionable achievements. If we can
translate this into the language of an age accustomed to hear at any rate with
acquiescence of heroic men, sons of the gods and destined to be enrolled among
their peaceful ranks, of the genius which attended each man from the cradle to
the grave, of the care of the gods for the welfare of the state in its darkest
hours, manifested by omens, warnings, and even material appearances: if again
we consider how much it adds to the strength of a belief to find it shared by
others and to see that it makes for the moral good of the world, we may come
faintly to conceive a frame of mind in Augustus on this subject which need not—
in view of his age and its sentiments—be set down either as wholly irrational
or wholly hypocritical. “The Roman Empire,” he might say to himself, “is all
that really matters in the world. I am divinely appointed to restore and defend
it. I have in fact secured its peace and prosperity. If the people call me god, it is their way of honouring the Genius that directs
me, the Providence that has selected me to be their benefactor and saviour. If
they believe in that, they must also believe in the sanctity and eternal
authority of Rome and the Empire. Religion and loyalty are but different words
for the same virtue.” In his eyes the state was divinely appointed, even in
itself divine, and in so far as he represented the state he was a divinity to its subjects. Stability was its first requisite. “My
highest ambition”, he said in an edict, “is to be called the author of an
ideally good constitution, and to carry with me to the grave a hope that the
foundations I have laid will remain unmoved.” Goodness, and loyalty to the
state, had become convertible terms to him. Once as he was looking at a villa
formerly belonging to Cato, one of his companions, thinking to please him by
denouncing an anti-Caesarean, spoke of the “obstinate wrong-headedness of
Cato.” But he answered gravely “anyone who is opposed to revolution is a good
man as well as a good citizen.” At another time he came upon one of his
grandsons reading a book of Cicero. The boy, thinking he was on forbidden
ground, tried to conceal the book; but Augustus took it into his hand, read in
it a short time, and handed it back
with the remark, “A true scholar, my boy, and a patriot.” Perhaps he thought
with remorse of his own part in the great man’s death, perhaps of the time when
he believed him to have been false to himself, but “patriot”—“a
lover of his country”— made up for all.
It is clear, again, that it was not personal vanity or
a desire for adulation that actuated Augustus. He disliked fulsome compliments
or overstrained titles of respect, and laughed at cringing attitudes, as when
he said of some obsequious petitioner that “he held out his billet and then
snatched it away again like a man giving a penny to an elephant.” He specially
objected to be called dominus, a word
properly applying to a master of slaves, and forbade the word to be used even
in jest in his own family. He wished to be regarded as a citizen among
citizens. He took care to show interest (unlike Iulius) in the games ad shows that were liked by the people, and
disapproved of special marks of respect being paid to his young grandsons by
the people rising and cheering when they entered the circus. He went through
the streets on foot even when Consul, or rode with the curtains of his sedan
drawn back, that he might not seem to avoid the looks or approach of the crowd;
he admitted all kinds of people without distinction of rank to his morning
levees; forbade the Senators to rise when he entered or left the house; visited
friends without state, and was careful to attend
family festivities such as betrothal parties. At elections he went round with
his candidates and canvassed for votes, and appeared
for his clients in the courts (though anxious not to allow his presence to
exercise an unfair influence) and showed no annoyance at being cross-questioned
and refuted. In the Senate he allowed great freedom of speech without
resentment. He was interrupted while-speaking by cries of “We don’t
understand,” “I would contradict you if it were of any use.” On one occasion,
when he was leaving the house with some signs of anger after a tiresome debate,
he was followed by cries, “Senators should be allowed to speak freely on public
affairs,” something like the shouts of “Privilege” that greeted Charles I on a
famous occasion. When he mildly remonstrated with Antistius Labeo for nominating Lepidus (whom he particularly
disliked and treated with great contumely) to the Senate, Antistius retorted rudely, “Every one is entitled to his own opinion.” He was tolerant of such language and wrote a
soothing note to Tiberius, who expressed himself vehemently about some
occurrence of the sort: “My dear Tiberius, don’t give way to youthful
excitement, or be so very indignant at some one being
found to speak harm of me. It is quite enough if we can prevent their doing us any harm.” In matters more
personal or private he could stand a telling or rough retort. When holding a
review of the equites he brought up a number of charges against a certain eques, who rebutted them one after the other and
ended with the contemptuous remark: “Next time, sir, you cause inquiries to be
made about a respectable man, you had better intrust the business to
respectable people.” Seeing another eques eating in the circus he sent a
message to him, “When I want to lunch, I go home.” “Yes,” was the answer, “but
you are not afraid of losing your place.” Another eques was rebuked by him for
squandering his patrimony, and deigned no further remark than, “Oh well, I was
under the impression that it was my own property.” He once paid a Senator’s
debts, and got no more thanks than a note with the words, “Not a farthing for myself!”. A young man was once noticed at Court with an
extraordinary likeness to himself. Augustus ordered him to be introduced and
said: “Young gentleman, was your mother ever at Rome?”. “No,” he replied, “but
my father was.” In this case it must be acknowledged that the Emperor richly deserved the retort. The point, however, in
all these stories is that he was content to give and take and be a man among
men. There would be no longer any ground for Pollio’s remark, when Augustus
wrote some satirical epigrams upon that incarnation of all the talents: “I say
nothing. It is not easy to write against a man who can write one’s name in a
proscription list.” There are other anecdotes which still farther illustrate
this human side of Augustus. A veteran begged him to appear for him in court,
and Augustus named one of his friends to undertake the case. The veteran cried
out, “But when you were in danger at Actium, Caesar, I did not get a
substitute; I fought for you myself!”. With a blush Augustus consented to
appear. The troubles and tragedies of life interested him. On hearing of one of
Herod’s family executions, he remarked, “I had rather be Herod’s pig than his
son!”. And when a man supposed to be rich was found on his death to be
overwhelmed with debt, he sent to purchase his pillow at the auction, which had
enabled him to sleep when he owed such enormous sums. He could bear to have the
laugh turned against himself. The story of the man with the two ravens, one
taught to greet himself and the other Antony, has been already referred to.
Another is of a similar kind. A poor Greek poet was in the habit of waylaying
him as he left his house for the forum with complimentary epigrams to thrust
into his hand. Augustus took no notice for sometime, but one day seeing the inevitable tablet
held out he took it and hastily scribbled a Greek epigram of his own upon it.
The poet by voice and look affected to be overpowered with admiration, and
running up to the Emperor’s sedan handed him a few
pence, crying, “By heaven above you, Augustus, if I had had more I would have
given it you!” Everybody laughed and Augustus ordered his steward to give him a
substantial sum of money.
It is curious that though Augustus was unmoved by
rough retorts or offensive speeches he showed considerable sensitiveness to
attacks which took the form of lampoons and epigrams. He went so far on some
occasions as to refute them in an edict. But he used the “edict” as a means of
communication with the citizens and provinces on all sorts of subjects, such as
for explaining his purpose in putting up the bust of distinguished men, or to
draw attention to what he thought useful in ancient writers. But he shrank not
only from offensive poems, but from being the subject of any poetry or history
composed by incompetent people. Before all things he was not to be made to look
ridiculous by witty attacks or clumsy praise. The prize poem or declamation was
an abomination to him, and the praetors were charged to prevent the public use
of his name in such compositions. Connected with this sensitive refinement of
taste may be mentioned the simplicity of his manners and way of life.
The Palace of Augustus, though in a group of great
splendour, was not in itself on a scale approaching the huge constructions of
later Emperors. He appears at first to have occupied a modest house close to
the forum, which had once belonged to the orator Licinius Calvus, who died BC47. He then purchased a site on the Palatine on which to
erect a new house; but BC36, after the final defeat of Sextus Pompeius, the
Senate voted him the house of Hortensius. In a
chamber of this house he slept, summer and winter for the rest of his life,
though occasionally when unwell he would pass the night in the house of
Maecenas on the Esquiline which was regarded as a healthier situation. On
receiving this house from the Senate, he devoted the site already purchased to
the temple of Apollo and its libraries, which with its peristyle was filled
with the most precious specimens of Greek art, and in which under the statue of
Apollo by Scopas the Sibylline books were preserved in gilded caskets. In BC12,
upon becoming Pontifex Maximus, he built a small temple of Vesta between these
buildings and his house, to keep up the tradition of the Pontiff residing near
the shrine of Vesta in the forum, while he handed over the official residence
of the Pontiff to the Vestal Virgins themselves. The house of Hortensius was afterwards partly destroyed by fire and
rebuilt with greater magnificence, the neighbouring house once owned by
Catiline being taken in; but even then it was on a
moderate scale compared with the later palaces. Its entrance, however, was
conspicuously marked by the laurels, the civic crown, and gilded shields which
were placed there by vote of the Senate since BC27. Besides this town-house, which has furnished the name for a royal
residence to this day, he had of course various villas in different parts of
Italy. But they were not numerous in comparison with the number we know to have
been owned by nobles at the end of the republic. There was one at the ninth
milestone on the Flaminian Way called ad gallinas, in the gardens of which was the bay tree,
from the leaves of which Augustus had his garland made when celebrating his triumphs; as it became the traditional habit of succeeding
Emperors to do also. The others near Rome were selected for their coolness and
healthy position—Lanuvium twenty miles from the city
on a lofty spur of the Alban Mountains, “cold Prasneste”
twenty-five miles, and “sloping Tibur” about twenty miles away. These, however,
were suburban residences and gave no escape from society or business. They were
full of Roman villas, and in the temple of Hercules at Tibur he frequently sat
to administer justice. When he could get a real holiday he preferred a yachting voyage among the islands on the Campanian coast. For
one of them (Aenaria) he took in exchange from the
municipality of Naples the beautiful Capreae,
destined for greater notoriety under his successor. He used to call it or some
small island in the bay his “Castle of Idleness.” His villas were on a modest
scale. He greatly disapproved of the vast country palaces which were becoming
the fashion, and forced his granddaughter to demolish
one which she was building. Earlier in life he was accused of extravagance in
the matter of rich furniture and antique bronzes. But he seems to have shaken
off this weakness later on. The furniture of his
villas was extremely simple, and there were no costly pictures and statues in
them, but the gardens were carefully laid out with terraces and shrubberies,
and generally adorned with various curiosities, as at Caprese with the huge
bones of a whale.
His table was simple and the dinners never long. He
was careful in selecting his company, but knew how to
make graceful concessions as to the rank of his guests when occasion required
it. He drank little wine, and generally not of the best vintages; but he
exerted himself to promote conversation and to draw out the silent and shy. He
would sometimes come late and retire early without breaking up the party;
sometimes talked instead of eating, taking his own simple food before or after
the meal. Before all he does not appear to have adopted the unsociable habit,
often mentioned by Cicero and especially characteristic of Iulius, of reading
and answering his letters at table. The dinner was generally a family function and his young grandsons were always present at it.
Sometimes conversation was varied by reciters, readers, actors or professors of
philosophy. But at the Saturnalia and other festivals the quiet and decorum of
these meals gave way to the spirit of the hour. The table was better furnished
and the Emperor presented his guests with all kinds of
gifts, or amused himself by holding a kind of blind auction, putting together
lots of widely different value which the guests bid for without knowing what
they were purchasing. On such occasions gambling with dice was permitted,
though in family parties the Emperor took care to lose
or to surrender his winnings, and sometimes he supplied each member of the
party with a sum of money beforehand with which to make their stakes. But games
of chance had a fascination for him at all times of his life, and his real
gambling was not confined to festival days. He made no secret of it, and we
hear nothing of any great loss or gain. Social life at Rome began early in the
day, visitors at a levee would arrive soon after daybreak, and a magistrate
would sometimes have to be up immediately after midnight, to take omens or perform
some other religious rite. But as Augustus worked late at night, and was not a
good sleeper, early rising was painful to him, and resulted in his falling fast
asleep in his sedan. If any of these night duties became imperative he took the precaution of sleeping in some lodging near the place. But his
normal habit was to work up to noon, then after the light luncheon or prandium, often consisting of bread and a few
grapes, to sleep for a short time fully dressed. Having finished the morning’s
work and bath, dinner (cena) would come
between 3 and 4, though busy men like the Emperor often pushed it on to 6 or 7; after dinner he went to his study, and there
finished off what was left of the day’s work, his memoranda and accounts,
sitting or reclining on his couch far into the night. The amount of work which
he must have bestowed upon his official business is shewn by the state of
readiness and completeness in which the various schedules of the finances of
the Empire and the army, and the book of political maxims were found at his
death. In early youth he had dabbled in literature, and composed a tragedy in the Greek fashion called “Ajax”; but coming in later
years to estimate its value more truly he destroyed it, and when some friend or
flatterer inquired for it, he said, “Ajax has fallen on his own sponge.” He
composed also memoirs of his own life, but they were interrupted by his serious
illness after the Spanish War (BC 25-3), and never resumed. They were used by
Suetonius and other writers, as well as collections of his letters, edicts, and
speeches, but have not been preserved. Only one of his epigrams has survived,
of which I shall speak hereafter. These excursions into literature, never very
serious, seem to have ceased as he got on in life. In the third book of his Odes (written between BC 30-25), Horace
tells the Muses that “they afford a recreation to high Caesar when he has put
his troops into winter quarters and seeks a rest from toil,” but in the fourth
book (BC 13-12) it is the statesman, the
conqueror, and reformer that he addresses, not the man of letters. The Epistle
addressed to Augustus in BC12, though it deals with literary criticism and
explicitly supports the Emperor’s well-known dislike
of being the theme of inferior writers, while it dwells upon his numerous
employments and warmly compliments him on his successful achievements, contains
no word or hint of his authorship. The principate was a most laborious
profession, absorbing all his energies and occupying all his time, and though
he might enjoy the company of literary men, despatches, edicts, and state
papers would' now be the limit of his literary ambition.
The heavy work of his lofty position was performed
under painful conditions of health. Besides at least four serious illnesses of
which we hear, he was subject to periodical complaints, generally recurring at
the beginning of spring and autumn. Soon after BC30 he gave up the martial
exercises of the Campus, then the less fatiguing ball games, and finally
confined himself to getting out of his sedan to take short runs or walks. As he
grew old his only outdoor amusements (except yachting) seem to have been
fishing and playing games with little children.
In the last years of his life he gave up going into Roman society. In the earlier part of his principate he dined out freely, and not always in select
company. He seems to have been rather inclined to the vulgar millionaire,
perhaps because he could reckon on contributions to the public objects which he
had at heart. He did not expect splendid entertainments, and was content with
the wine of the district, still he did not like being treated with too little
ceremony. To one man who gave him a dinner ostentatiously plain and common, he
remarked on leaving—“I did not know that I was such an
intimate friend of yours.” At times, too, he had occasion to assume the Emperor with some of these nouveaux riches, as in the celebrated case of Vedius Pollio. This man had a stewpond of lampreys, which he
fed with flesh. When he was entertaining Augustus on one occasion the cup-bearer dropped a valuable crystal cup, and his master
ordered him at once to be thrown to the lampreys. Augustus tried to beg him
off, but when Pollio refused, he ceased to entreat; assuming imperial airs he
ordered all the cups of the same sort in the house, and all others of value, to
be brought into the room and broken. Licinius, the
grasping procurator of Gaul, was another of these rich vulgar people, with whom
Augustus was somewhat too intimate, and expected in return for that honour
large contributions to his works. On one occasion he even took the liberty of
altering the figure in the promissory note sent by him so as
to double the sum. Licinius said nothing, but
on the next occasion he sent a note thus expressed: “I promise towards the
expense of the new work—whatever your Highness pleases.”
Wit is seldom kind, and some of the retorts attributed
to him are not always exceptions to the rule. To a humpbacked advocate pleading
before him, and often repeating the expression, “If you think I am wrong in any
way, pray set me straight,” he said, “I can give you some advice but I can’t set you straight”. To an
officer who made rather too much fuss about his services, and kept pointing to an ugly scar on his forehead, he said, “When you run away you
shouldn’t look behind you.” More good-natured are the following. To a young
prefect who was being sent home from camp for misbehaviour, and who exclaimed
“How can I go home? What am I to say to my father?” he replied, “Tell him that
you did not like me.” To another who was being cashiered, and pleaded to have the usual good-service pension, that people might think he had
left the service in the usual way, he said, “Well, give out that you have
received the money; I won’t say that I haven’t paid it.”
Though affable to all, and neither an unkind nor
unreasonable master to his slaves, or patron to his freedmen, he was enough a
man of his age not to hesitate to inflict cruel punishment for certain
offences. A secretary who had taken a bribe to disclose some confidential
paper, he ordered to have his legs broken. A favourite freedman was forced to
commit suicide when detected in intrigues with Roman married ladies. He ordered
the personal servants of his grandson Caius, who had taken advantage of his
illness and death to enrich themselves in the province of Syria, to be thrown
into the sea with weights attached to their feet.
To those who had been his friends there is hardly any
instance of extreme severity after the end of the civil wars. It is possible
that Muraena died before trial, though his
fellow-conspirator was put to death. Cornelius Gallus, the first praefectus of Egypt, committed suicide rather than confront
the accusations brought against him and the evident animus of the Senate; but
Augustus did not wish it, and exclaimed with tears in his eyes that it was hard
that he should be the only man who might not be angry with his friends without
the matter going farther than he intended. The coldness that arose between him
and his ministers Agrippa and Maecenas was only temporary and never very grave.
He deeply deplored their loss at their death. We shall have to discuss his
conduct to his daughter and granddaughter and their paramours in another
chapter. But neither in regard to these persons nor
the conspirators against his life did he ever act in a way that his
contemporaries would think cruel.
These anecdotes of Augustus do not suggest a very
heroic figure, very quick wit, or great warmth of heart. They rather indicate
what I conceive to be the truer picture, a cool and cautious character, not
unkindly and not without a sense of humour; but at the same time as inevitable
and unmoved by pity or remorse as nature herself. No one accuses him of having
neglected or hurried any task that it was his duty to perform. But neither
friend, relation, nor minister ever really influenced him. He issues orders,
and they all obey instinctively, without remonstrance, and generally with
success. He is providence to them all. Everything succeeds under his hands. He
is no soldier, though he knows one when he sees him, but all the nations of the
earth seek his friendship. Till the last decade of his life no serious reverse
befell his armies; at home all opposition melted away, as the difficulties in a
road or course disappear before a skilful driver or steerer. He is not godlike,
but there is an air of calm success about him which swayed men’s wills and
awakened their reverence.
CHAPTER XIIAUGUSTUS, THE REFORMER AND LEGISLATOR
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