John Williams - Augustus

V. Letter: Marcelin to Julia (8 B. c.)

Julia, dear, please come to our house next Wednesday for dinner, and a simple entertainment afterward. Some of your friends (who are also our friends, I might add) will be there-certainly Quinctius Crispinus, perhaps others. And of course you are to bring anyone you wish.

I'm so?lad that we've become friends again, after all these years. I often remember our childhoods, with such fondness- all those children! And the games we played! You, and poor Marcellus, and Drusus, and Tiberius (sorry!) and my sisters-I can't even remember them all now… Do you remember that even Julius Antonius lived with us for a while, after his father's death? My mother cared for him when he was little, even though he was not her own. And now Julius is my husband. It's a strange world. We have so many things to reminisce about.

Oh, my dear, I know it was I who caused the estrangement between us. But I did feel awkward when my uncle (your father!) forced Marcus Agrippa to divorce me so that he could marry you. I know you had nothing to do with it-but I was young, and felt that never would I have a husband so important as Marcus was. And I did resent you, though I knew that you were not at fault. But things work out for the best, I've always believed; and perhaps Uncle Octavius is wiser than we know. I am well pleased with Julius. Oh, to tell the truth, Julia, I am more pleased with him than I was with Marcus Agrippa. He is younger and more handsome, and nearly as important as Marcus was. Or he will be, I'm sure. My uncle seems very fond of him.

Oh, I do chatter on, don't I? I'm still the chatterbox. We don't change very much, do we, over the years? I do hope I haven't offended you by anything I've said. I may not be any wiser than I used to be, but I'm older; and I have learned that it's foolish for women to hold their marriages against each other. They have nothing to do with us, really, have they? At least, so it seems to me.

Oh, you must come to our party. Everyone will be devastated if you do not. Shall I have some of my servants call for you? Or had you rather come by your own means? Do let me know.

And bring whomever you like-though there will be some very interesting people here. We understand your situation perfectly

VI Letter: Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso to Tiberius Claudius Nero, in Germany (8 B. c.)

I hasten to write you, my friend, before you get the news elsewhere and move without the knowledge that ought to determine any action. I have spoken to your mother; and despite our recent disagreement about the "reports" I have been sending you, we are, I believe, in full agreement about what you should do now. You must understand that she cannot speak directly; she will in no way betray the trust of her husband, nor will she recommend in secret what she could not do openly.

Within a few days you will receive a message from your stepfather in which you will be offered the consulship for next year. You may be pleased to know that I will be offered the co-consulship. In ordinary times, and under ordinary circumstances, this might have been thought of as a triumph; but neither the times nor the circumstances are ordinary, and it is essential that you act with the utmost caution.

You must, of course, accept the consulship; it would be unthinkable to refuse it, and disastrous to any future ambition you might have.

But you must not stay in Rome. Your stepfather's aim, of course, is to see that you do. But you must not. Before you leave Germany for the inauguration here, you must arrange your affairs so that it will become absolutely necessary for you to return there as soon as you possibly can. If you have no one you can trust, you must deliberately put your armies in a dangerous position, so that you must return to remedy the danger. I am sure you will be able to arrange something.

I shall now attempt to explain the reasons to justify this seemingly strange course that you must take.

Your wife continues to live as she has done for more than a year. She is openly contemptuous of your marriage contract, and careless of your reputation. Her father must know something of her conduct, yet he does nothing to prevent it- whether out of policy, or affection, or blindness, I do not know. Despite the marriage laws (or perhaps because the Emperor himself inaugurated them), no one quite dares to be the public informer. Everyone knows that the laws are not enforced, and knows it would be inexpedient to insist upon their enforcement now, especially when they would be enforced against one so powerful and popular as your wife.

For she is powerful; and she is popular. Whether by design or accident (and I suspect the former), she has gathered into her circle some of the most powerful younger people in Rome. And it is here that the danger lies.

Those with whom she now regularly and most intimately consorts are your most dangerous enemies, and that they may also oppose the Emperor does not diminish the threat to your position. It does, in fact, enhance that threat.

As you well know, the power that you have is in your following, which is largely made up of families such as mine, who are (in your stepfather's words) the "old Republicans." We are rich, we are ancient, and we are closely knit; but it has been the policy for nearly thirty years to see to it that our public power is limited.

I fear that the Emperor wants you to return as a kind of buffer between the factions-his own, and that of the younger people, of whom Julia is an especial favorite.

If you return and allow yourself to be placed between them, you will, quite simply, be chewed up. And then you will be spit out. And your stepfather will have eliminated a dangerous rival, without having appeared to have lifted a hand. More importantly, he will have discredited an entire faction, without having elevated another. For as long as the faction of the young is fond of his daughter, he trusts that the danger that confronts him is negligible.

But you will be destroyed.

Consider the possibilities.

First: The Claudians and their followers may, under our leadership, gain enough power to turn the Empire back to the course it once followed, and to reinstitute the values and ideals of the old days. This is highly unlikely, but I grant that it is possible. But even if we are able to do so, then we will in all likelihood have united against us both the New People of your stepfather, and the New Young. I think we both would shudder at the consequences of such a unification.

Second: If you remain in Rome, your wife will continue to work against your interests-whether out of design or whim does not matter. She will do so. It is clear that she considers that her power comes from the Emperor, not from your name or station. She is the Emperor's daughter. You would be powerless against her will, and would be made to seem foolish if you set yourself against that will and did not prevail.

Third: Her continued life of dissipation and self-indulgence will, among both your friends and your enemies, offer continued occasion for gossip. Were you to act against this life of hers and insist upon a divorce, it would bring a scandal upon the Octavian house, it is true; it would also gain you the eternal despite of the Emperor and those who support him. If you do not act against her behavior, you will seem a weakling; you may even be accused of complicity in her law-breaking.

No, my dear Tiberius, you must not return to Rome with any intention of remaining here, while things are as they are. It is fortunate that I have been made co-consul with you. While you are away, you may be sure that I will protect your interests. It is ironic that I, unworthy as I am, shall be able to do so with more safety and more effectiveness than you might be able to do. It is a most depressing commentary upon the course that our lives have taken us.