Augustus

by Anthony Everitt

  Gaius was only four years old when his father died. In addition to the sadness of his loss, his premature death will have caused a family crisis. Domestic life was rigorously patriarchal. A widow, especially one of independent means, was often expected to marry again at the earliest opportunity, although if she remained true to the memory of her dead husband she would deserve praise for being a univira, a one-man woman.

  This may not always have been easy for a woman of a certain age with a growing family; but Atia was still young, and her connections made her highly eligible. A year or two after Octavius’ death, she landed another apparently rising politician, Lucius Marcius Philippus, an aristocrat who proudly claimed descent from the royal line of Macedon. He had just returned from Syria, where he had been provincial governor, and he stood successfully for one of the two consulships of 56 B.C.

  He backed his brother-in-law Julius Caesar as Caesar climbed the political ladder—but only cautiously so. Unlike his dashing ancestors, the Macedonian king Philip and Philip’s son Alexander the Great, who conquered the Persian empire in the fourth century B.C., Philippus was temperamentally risk-averse—a neutral who preferred diplomacy to commitment.

  After his father’s death, little Gaius seems to have been brought up by his maternal grandmother, Julius Caesar’s sister, in whose house Atia may well have passed her brief widowhood. That he stayed with her after his mother’s remarriage is a little odd; it could be explained by mutual affection or by Philippus’ lack of interest in a small stepson. It may have been in this house that he first met his famous great-uncle, Julius Caesar.

  Romans of high social status took very seriously the education of children, and especially of boys. During his early years, a boy was looked after by the women of a household, but once he reached the age of seven he usually passed into the control of his father, whose duty was to instill in his offspring the qualities of a good man, a vir bonus. High among these were pietas, loyalty and a due respect for authority and traditional values; gravitas, a serious (sometimes oversolemn) approach to the challenges of life; and fortitudo, manliness and courage. A son was expected to learn by observation; he helped his father on the land and, wearing his smart little toga praetexta, an all-enveloping cloaklike garment with a red stripe indicating the wearer’s childhood status, trotted around after him as he went about on public business or conducted religious ceremonies. In this way the boy would learn how the political system worked and how grownups were expected to behave.

  It is not clear who, if anyone, played this paternal role for the orphaned Gaius. For a time a friend of Octavius, one Gaius Toranius, was the boy’s guardian, but he left little mark (we know that the adult Gaius did not value him highly). However, Atia won a reputation as a strict and caring mother, even if she was not always directly involved in her son’s day-to-day supervision. One positive masculine influence is recorded: a slave called Sphaerus was Gaius’ “attendant” during his childhood. He seems to have been much loved; he was given his freedom and, when he died many years later, his charge, now adult and famous, gave him a public funeral.

  Boys from affluent families were sometimes taught at home, but many went to private elementary schools, ludi litterarii, which inculcated reading, writing, and arithmetic. Girls might also attend, but their schooling ended with puberty, although they were trained in the domestic arts by their mothers and some received private tuition in their teens. It is probable that Gaius attended classes in Velitrae or Rome, accompanied by Sphaerus.

  Teaching methods were painstaking, but hardly inspired, a matter of imitation and repetition. The school day opened with a breakfastless dawn and ran on into the afternoon. No attention was paid to games or gymnastics (fathers looked after boys’ physical exercise), but the long hours of instruction ended with a bath. Pupils had to learn the names of the letters of the alphabet before being shown what they looked like; they chanted the letters all in order forward and backward. They then graduated to groups of two or three letters, and finally to syllables and words.

  In about 51 B.C., when Gaius was twelve, his grandmother Julia died. It must have been a sign of their closeness that the boy was given the signal honor of delivering a eulogy at her funeral. The invitation is also evidence that he was growing into a self-possessed and clever teenager, who was likely to acquit himself well. He addressed a large crowd and was warmly applauded.

  Gaius at last moved into his stepfather’s household, where both Atia and Philippus took his secondary education into hand. He attended a school run by a grammaticus, a teacher of literature and language, the staples of the curriculum. Both Greek and Latin were taught, but literary studies centered on the Hellenic inheritance: the epic poems of Homer, the Athenian dramatists, and the great orators. (There was a Latin literature, but it was rough-hewn and heavily dependent on Greek paradigms.) As Cicero drily put it: “We must apply to our fellow-countrymen for virtue, but for our culture to the Greeks.”

  The teacher specialized in textual analysis, examining syntax and the rules of poetic scansion and explaining obscure or idiomatic phrases. The student learned to read texts aloud with conviction and persuasiveness, to master the art of parsing (that is, breaking a sentence down into its constituent grammatical parts), and to scan verse. This form of schooling had a long life: it survived into the Dark Ages and was reinvigorated in the Renaissance. As one modern commentator has observed, “There was not a great difference in the teaching of Latin and Greek between early nineteenth-century Eton and the schools of imperial Rome.”

  The grammaticus also introduced the student to rhetoric, the art of public speaking. Most upper-class Roman men were destined for a career in politics, so the ability to persuade people to adopt a course of action or entertain an opinion was an essential skill. But oratory was held to be more than a talent; it conduced to the leading of a good life. The statesman and moralist Cato the Censor defined an orator as “a good man skilled in speech.”

  Apparently Gaius showed great promise: if this is not a later invention, boys ambitious for a political career used to go around with him when he went out riding or visited the houses of relatives and friends. Like the adult senators, who used to walk through the city accompanied by crowds of dependents, Gaius was attracting young adherents whose support would be returned, they hoped, by help whether now or in the future. This will have had less to do with his charm or intelligence than with the fact that he was related to Rome’s most powerful politician, Julius Caesar.

  Gaius made two special school friends, very different from each other in personality. The first was Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, a year younger than Gaius. The origins of his family are unknown, but Suetonius says that he was of “humble origin”; the name “Vipsanius” is highly unusual and Agrippa himself preferred not to use it. He may have come from Venetia or Istria in northern Italy. Like the Octavii, the family was probably of affluent provincial stock.

  According to Aulus Gellius, a collector of curious anecdotes and other unconsidered trifles, the word “Agrippa” denoted an infant “at whose birth the feet appeared first, instead of the head.” Breech births were difficult to manage and could endanger the mother’s life. It is said that Marcus was born in this perilous manner, and was so named in memory of the event.

  Gaius’ second friend, Gaius Cilnius Maecenas, boasted a distinguished ancestry. He traced his lineage to the splendid, mysterious Etruscan civilization, based in today’s Tuscany, which dominated central Italy before the rise of Rome. The Etruscans were believed by some to be immigrants from Lydia in Asia Minor. Maecenas was of regal stock, descending on his mother’s side from the Cilnii, who many centuries before ruled the Etruscan town of Arretium (today’s Arezzo). By the first century B.C., though, the family had come down somewhat in the world: they were now equites.

  If one may judge by their later careers, Agrippa was likely a tough, down-to-earth boy who enjoyed physical exercise and warlike pursuits, while Maecenas had a more pacific, even feminine temperament and
was especially interested in literature and the arts. They grew into adulthood alongside Gaius, learning to accord him total trust and forming a lasting, loving bond with him.

  As his teens proceeded, an able upper-class adolescent moved from his secondary school to the ancient equivalent of a higher education. Leading politicians would often house writers and thinkers in their capacious homes. Young men were able to spend time there, learning from the conversation and watching the political career of their host. As a form of military service, they would also join the staff of a leading general.

  For most of his life, Gaius had seen little or nothing of his astonishing great-uncle, Julius Caesar, who had spent ten years conquering Gaul. Soon the triumphant general would be back in Rome and able to provide the eager teenager with the most remarkable introduction to the twin arts of politics and war in the history of western civilization. That finishing school finished off the Roman Republic for good.

  II

  THE GREAT-UNCLE

  48–47 B.C.

  * * *

  What were the causes of the crisis? It was partly the product of stubborn political, military, and economic facts, and partly of colorful but obstinate personalities.

  It was also the inadvertent outcome of astonishing success. As the patricians and the plebs fought for constitutional mastery, Rome’s legions slowly fought their way through Italy in war after war until they controlled the peninsula. After a titanic struggle with Carthage in northern Africa, the Republic emerged as a Mediterranean power by the beginning of the second century B.C.

  From then on, Rome increasingly acted as an international “policeman,” sending its legions to right wrongs in foreign countries—especially the Hellenistic kingdoms of the Middle East. Invited to intervene by some Greek cities, it vanquished Macedonia and eventually annexed it as a Roman province. It went on to defeat Antiochus, king of Syria, who unwisely challenged Rome to a fight. In 133 B.C., the king of Pergamum (in today’s western Turkey) died, leaving his kingdom to Rome, which renamed it the province of Asia.

  The Republic was now the leading power not only in the western Mediterranean but also in the Middle East. It commanded an empire stretching from Spain (which it had inherited from the Carthaginians nearly a century before) to western Turkey. A band of client kingdoms marked the boundary with the Parthian empire (today’s Iraq and Iran).

  The triumph of Rome has puzzled historians down the centuries. Of the many factors that accounted for the city’s emergence on the world stage, the most important was that from their earliest beginnings Romans lived in a permanent state of struggle—with their enemies abroad and with one another at home. Tempered in that fire, they became formidable soldiers as well as learning the political arts of negotiation, compromise, and anger resolution. Flexible and skilled at improvisation, they developed a practical imagination. They usually tried to settle a dispute, if they could, without violence, but when military force became necessary they applied it with a ruthless vigor.

  Three important consequences followed Rome’s emergence as a superpower. The first was a huge influx of wealth and slaves. Direct taxation for Roman citizens living in Italy was abolished. The lives of the ruling class became more and more opulent, the frequent festivals and gladiatorial games increasingly elaborate. With the opening up of foreign markets, cheap grain flooded into Italy, driving the native smallholder out of business and replacing him with large livestock ranches often run with slave labor.

  The rural unemployed fled to the big city, which became yet bigger. Unfortunately, the job market could not expand to soak up the refugees from the countryside. The authorities began to provide free grain to quiet a febrile and uncontrollable urban population.

  Second, to manage such extensive dominions demanded substantial military forces. In the old days, country smallholders were called up to fight short campaigns as and when necessary. Now standing armies were required, with soldiers serving for long periods. These soldiers depended on their generals to persuade the Senate to allocate farms to them when they retired, either in Italy or further afield. These farms would be their “pensions.”

  Largely as a result of conquest, the state owned a good deal of land. However, rich landowners, among whom were many senators, had quietly appropriated much of it without payment. These noble squatters were, to put it mildly, disinclined to disgorge their ill-gotten gains. So the legionaries depended on their generals to bully, finesse, or persuade the Senate to free up land for their retirement farms. They developed a loyalty to their generals rather than to Rome.

  The third consequence of empire was the strain that its administration placed on the ruling class, and indeed on the Republic’s constitution. So large was the throughput of elected officials that it is hardly surprising that their caliber was variable. A good number were corrupt and incompetent.

  Many Romans believed that their traditional virtues of austere duty and healthy poverty were being eroded, and that this decadence explained the growing violence and selfishness of political life. The picture was not quite so bleak as it was depicted, for some nobiles worked hard to maintain standards. However, others did live in extravagant, irresponsible, and self-indulgent ways, and it was they who set the tone.

  A tribune of the people, Tiberius Sempronius Gracchus (from one of Rome’s oldest families), wanted to reform Italian agriculture by providing small plots of land for would-be peasant farmers. The Senate turned down the idea, but it was approved by the people and became law. In 133 B.C., Gracchus was murdered in the street by a group of angry senators, who claimed that he wanted to set up a tyranny. Ten years later, Gracchus’ younger brother, Gaius, was elected tribune and proposed further reforms. He was either killed or took his life after being cornered in a street riot.

  These acts of violence were a turning point in the fortunes of the Republic. A historian writing in the following century said: “From now onward, political disputes that had been resolved by agreement were decided by the sword.”

  The ruling class’s long habit of cooperation was breaking down. Many leading Romans forgot that public office was meant to be held for the public good. Also, and more seriously, everyone could see that the Roman system of government was too unwieldy to manage an empire and needed drastic streamlining.

  Crises came crashing in one after another, like waves against a storm-battered ship. For the first time in three centuries, hordes of invading Celts poured into Italy; they were destroyed only with great difficulty.

  Italy was governed through a network of alliances, but its communities and tribes did not have full civic rights and had long pressed for Roman citizenship. In 91 B.C. they lost patience and revolted in what became known as the War of the Allies. Rome wisely gave them what they wanted, but too late to avoid much bitterness and bloodshed.

  The eastern provinces, led by the wily Mithridates, king of Pontus, twice rebelled, and it was many years before Rome regained full control.

  However, the real threat to the Republic lay in domestic dissension at home. While Rome had no political parties in the modern sense and, apart from the occasional new man like Octavius, almost all elected officials were drawn from a small number of noble families, two distinct trends of opinion marked the political scene.

  The optimates, the “best people,” represented conservative opinion, traditional values, and a collegiate approach to politics. They resented any challenge to the ruling oligarchy and, because they controlled the Senate, were able to block reform. The optimates’ opponents, the populares, claimed to stand, as their nickname suggests, for the interests of the Roman people, of the citizenry at large. Although some of the populares were genuine reformers, others were simply ambitious individualists.

  In the eighties B.C., two outsize political personalities collided. One was a respected popularis, Gaius Marius, victor over the Celts. The second was an optimate, Lucius Cornelius Sulla. In 88 B.C., despite the fact that it was illegal for armed soldiers to enter Rome, Sulla marched his a
rmy, loyal to him personally and to no one else, into the city to fight against Marius and his friends. Such an attack had never happened before in the history of the Republic. Sulla’s action set a black precedent for ambitious Romans to follow in later years, as violence among politicians became more common.

  One after another, Marius and Sulla staged massacres of their political opponents. In Sulla’s case, the bloodletting was legalized. He was elected dictator and, using the supreme emergency powers this gave him, he posted in the Forum a list of his political enemies who were to be killed without trial. Sulla even offered rewards for their execution. Modern scholars estimate that about five hundred died, senators and a larger number of equites. This summary procedure was called a proscription.

  Sulla introduced measures to strengthen the power of the Senate and weaken that of the people, and then retired into private life. When he died in 78 B.C., most of his reforms were quickly overturned.

  Both of these bitter rivals won power but failed to make good use of it, and to its ruin, Rome grew ever more accustomed to the use of force to settle political disputes.