that it formed at least three books. It would have been very interesting
had it been preserved. In reading it we might follow all the phases of
that friendship of a few months which was to end in such a terrible
manner. Probably the earlier letters of Cicero would show him
distrustful at first, doubtful and coldly polite. Notwithstanding what
has been said, it was not he who called Octavius to the help of the
republic. Octavius came of his own accord. He wrote to Cicero every
day;[376] he overwhelmed him with protestations and promises, he assured
him of a devotion that could not fail. Cicero hesitated for a long time
to put this devotion to the proof. He thought Octavius was intelligent
and resolute, but rather young. He dreaded his name and his friends. “He
has too many bad men around him,” said he, “he will never be a good
citizen.”[377] Nevertheless he allowed himself to be gained over; he
forgot his mistrust, and when the _boy_, as he affected to call him, had
raised the siege of Modena, his gratitude was carried to an excess that
the prudent Atticus disapproved, and which displeased Brutus. The joy
that he felt at the defeat of Antony made him forget all restraint; he
was blinded and carried away by his hatred. When he saw “that drunkard
fall into the snares of Octavius, on coming from his debauches,”[378] he
was beside himself. But this joy did not last long, for he learnt of the
treason of the general almost at the same time as of his victory. It is
at this moment above all that his letters would become interesting. They
would throw a light on the last months of his life, the history of which
we do not know well. The efforts that he then made to soften his old
friend have been imputed to him as a crime, and I admit that, consulting
only his dignity, it would have been better not to have asked anything
from him who had so basely betrayed him. But it was not a question of
himself alone. Rome had no soldiers to oppose to those of Octavius. The
sole resource that remained in order to disarm him, was to remind him of
the promises he had made. No hope remained of success in reviving any
sparks of patriotism in that selfish mind; but the attempt at least
should be made. The republic was in danger as well as the life of
Cicero, and what it was not proper for him to do to prolong his own
life, it was necessary to attempt in order to save the republic.
Supplication is not base when a man defends the liberty of his country,
and there is no other way of defending it. It was, no doubt, at this
terrible moment that he wrote those very humble words to Octavius that
we find in the fragments of his letters: “Let me know for the future
what you wish me to do, I shall exceed your expectation.”[379] Far from
reproaching him for his entreaties, I admit that I cannot see without
emotion this glorious old man humble himself thus before _the boy_ who
had betrayed his confidence, who had played with his credulity, but who
has the power to save or destroy the republic!
Unfortunately there only remain fragments of these letters, which can
teach us nothing. If we wish to know him who held so great a place in
the last events of Cicero’s life we must look elsewhere. It would be
easy and instructive to reproduce here the opinions that the historians
of the empire give of him. But I prefer to keep to the method that I
have followed in this work to the end, and if it is possible, to judge
Octavius, like Cicero, by what he tells us himself, by his admissions
and his confidences. In the absence of his correspondence and memoirs
which are lost, let us take the great inscription at Ancyra, which is
sometimes called the political testament of Augustus, because he sums up
his whole life in it. Fortunately it has come down to us. We know from
Suetonius that he had ordered it to be engraven on brass plates fixed on
his tomb.[380] It is probable that it was very widely diffused in the
first century of the Christian era, and that flattery or gratitude had
multiplied copies everywhere, at the same time that the worship of the
founder of the empire extended throughout the universe. Fragments have
been found among the ruins of Apollonia, and it still exists entire at
Angora, the ancient Ancyra. When the inhabitants of Ancyra erected a
temple to Augustus, who had been their benefactor, they thought they
could not honour his memory better than by engraving this account, or
rather this glorification of his life that he had himself composed.
Since that time, the monument consecrated to Augustus has more than once
changed its destination; to the Greek temple a Byzantine church
succeeded, and to the church a Turkish school. The roof has fallen in,
dragging with it the ornaments of the summit, the columns of the
porticoes have disappeared, and to the ancient ruins has been added the
rubbish of the Byzantine and Turkish buildings, which are already also
in ruins. But by singular good fortune the slabs of marble which recount
the actions of Augustus have remained solidly attached to the
indestructible walls.
This is a favourable opportunity for studying this monument. M.
Perrot[381] has just brought from Galatia a more correct copy of the
Latin text, and an altogether new part of the Greek translation which
elucidates and completes the Latin. Thanks to him, with the exception of
a few lacunae of little importance, the inscription is now complete, and
can be read from beginning to end. We can therefore now perceive and
interpret its general sense.
I.
The first characteristic that we notice when we read the Ancyran
inscription, is its majestic tone. It is impossible not to be struck by
it. We see at once, by a certain air of authority, that the man who is
speaking has governed the whole world for more than fifty years. He
knows the importance of the things he has done: he knows that he has
introduced a new state of society, and presided over one of the greatest
changes of human history. Accordingly, although he only recapitulates
facts and quotes figures, all he says has a grand air, and he knows how
to give so majestic a turn to these dry enumerations that we feel
ourselves seized by a sort of involuntary respect in reading them. We
must, however, be on our guard. A majestic tone may be a convenient veil
to hide many weaknesses; the example of Louis XIV., so near to our own
times, ought to teach us not to trust it without examination. We must
not forget, besides, that dignity was so truly a Roman characteristic,
that its appearance was preserved long after the reality had
disappeared. When we read the inscriptions of the latter years of the
empire we scarcely perceive that it is about to perish. Those wretched
princes who possessed but a few provinces speak as though they ruled
over the entire universe, and their grossest falsehoods are expressed
with an incredible dignity. If we wish, then, to avoid being deceived
when studying the monuments of Roman history, we must be on our guard
against a first impression, which may be deceptive, and look at things
closely.
Although the inscription that we are studying is called “An account of
the deeds of Augustus,” it was not really his whole life that Augustus
meant to relate. There are great and intentional lacunae; he did not
intend to tell everything. When, at the age of seventy-six, and in the
midst of the admiration and respect of the whole world, the aged prince
reviewed his past life to make a rapid summary of it, many memories must
have disturbed him. There is no doubt, for instance, that he must have
been very reluctant to recall the earlier years of his political life.
It was needful, however, to say something about them, and it was more
prudent to try and gloss them over than to preserve a silence that might
give rise to much talk. He extricated himself in the following manner:
“At nineteen years of age,” he says, “I raised an army by my own
exertions and at my own expense; with it I restored liberty to the
republic, which had been dominated by a faction that oppressed it. In
return, the senate, by its decrees, admitted me into its number, among
the consulars, conferred upon me the right of commanding the troops, and
charged me together with the consuls C. Pansa and A. Hirtius to watch
over the safety of the state with the title of pro-praetor. Both the
consuls having died the same year, the people put me in their place, and
appointed me triumvir to put in order the republic.” In these few lines,
which form the beginning of the inscription, there are already some very
singular omissions. One would infer from them that he had obtained all
the dignities that he enumerates, in serving the same cause, and that
nothing had happened between the first offices that he had received and
the triumvirate. Thanks to the _Philippics_ we know those decrees of the
senate which are here alluded to with a certain shamelessness. The
senate congratulates the young Caesar “for defending the liberty of the
Roman people,” and for having defeated Antony; now, it was after having
concerted with Antony to enslave the Roman people, in that dismal
interview at Bologna, that he received, or rather took the title of
triumvir. The inscription preserves a prudent silence on all these
things.
What followed this interview was still more difficult to relate. Here
especially Augustus desired forgetfulness. “I exiled those who had
killed my father, punishing their crime by the regular tribunals. Then,
as they made war against the republic, I conquered them in two battles.”
It will be remarked that there is no mention of the proscriptions. What,
indeed, could he say about them? Could any artifice of language diminish
their horror? On the whole it was more becoming not to speak of them.
But as, according to the fine reflection of Tacitus, it is easier to
keep silence than to forget, we may be assured that Augustus, who says
nothing here of the proscriptions, thought of them more than once during
his life. Even if he did not feel remorse, he must often have been
embarrassed by the terrible contradiction between his past and his later
policy; for, whatever he might do, the memory of the proscriptions
always belied his official character as a clement and honourable man.
Even here, it seems to me, he betrays his embarrassment. His silence
does not entirely satisfy him, he feels that in spite of his discretion
unpleasant memories cannot fail to be awakened in the minds of his
readers; and, therefore, to anticipate and disarm them, he hastens to
add: “I carried my arms by land and sea over the whole world in my wars
against the citizens and foreigners. After my victory, I pardoned the
citizens who had survived the combat, and I chose to preserve rather
than to destroy those foreign nations whom I could spare without
danger.”
This difficult place once passed it became easier to relate the rest.
Nevertheless, he is still very brief with respect to the earlier times.
Perhaps he feared lest the memory of the civil wars should interfere
with that reconciliation of parties which the universal exhaustion had
brought about after Actium? There is certainly not a single word in the
whole inscription to revive the former rancours. He says scarcely
anything of his old rivals. There is at the most but a single disdainful
word about Lepidus, and an ill-natured but passing accusation against
Antony of having seized the treasures of the temples. The following is
all he says of his war with Sextus Pompey which gave him so much
trouble, and of those valiant seamen who had vanquished him: “I cleared
the sea of pirates, and in that war I captured thirty thousand fugitive
slaves, who had fought against the republic, and delivered them to their
masters to be chastised.” As to that great victory of Actium, which had
given him the empire of the world, he only recalls it to state the
eagerness of Italy and the western provinces to declare themselves in
his favour.
Naturally he prefers to dwell upon the events of the later years of his
reign, and we feel that he is more at ease when he speaks of victories
in which the vanquished were not Romans. He is justly proud to recall
how he had avenged the insults the national pride had suffered before
him: “I re-took, after victories gained in Spain and over the
Dalmatians, the standards that some generals had lost. I forced the
Parthians to restore the spoils and ensigns of three Roman armies, and
humbly to come and demand our friendship. I placed these ensigns in the
sanctuary of Mars the Avenger.” We can understand also that he speaks
with satisfaction of the campaigns against the Germans, being careful,
however, to pass over in silence the disaster of Varus, and that he is
anxious to preserve the memory of those distant expeditions that
impressed so strongly the imagination of his contemporaries. “The Roman
fleet,” he says, “sailed from the mouth of the Rhine towards the quarter
where the sun rises, as far as those distant countries where no Roman
had yet penetrated either by land or sea. The Cimbri, the Charydes, the
Semnones and other German tribes of those countries sent ambassadors to
ask my friendship and that of the Roman people. Under my orders and
direction two armies were sent almost at the same time to Arabia and
Ethiopia. After having conquered many nations, and taken many prisoners,
they reached the city of Nabata, in Ethiopia, and the boundaries of the
Sabaeans and the city of Mariba, in Arabia.”
But whatever interest we may find in these historical recollections, the
interest of the Ancyra monument does not specially lie in them. Its real
importance consists in what it tells us of the internal government of
Augustus.
Here again we must read with caution. Politicians are very seldom in the
habit of posting up on the walls of temples the principles that guide
them, and of imparting the secrets of their conduct so generously to the
public. It is evident that Augustus, who wrote here for all the world,
did not intend to tell everything, and that if we wish to learn the
exact truth, and to know thoroughly the character of his institutions,
we must look elsewhere. The historian, Dio Cassius, gives us the most
complete information on this subject. Dio is very little read, and it is
not surprising, for he has none of the qualities that attract readers.
His narrative is constantly interrupted by interminable harangues, which
repel the most patient reader. He was a man of narrow mind, without
political capacity, taken up with ridiculous superstitions, and he
attributes the same characteristics to his historical personages. Truly
it was worth while to have been twice consul in order to tell us
seriously that, after a great defeat, Octavius took courage on seeing a
fish leap out of the sea to his feet! What adds to the annoyance he
gives us is, that as he has often treated of the same subjects as
Tacitus, he constantly suggests comparisons that are unflattering to
himself. We must, however, take care not to underrate him; tedious as he
is, he renders us very useful services. If he has not the broad views of
Tacitus, he devotes himself to details and does wonders. No one has ever
been more exact and minute than he. I think of him as a zealous
government official who has passed through all the grades and grown old
in his profession. He knows thoroughly that official and administrative
world in which he has lived; he speaks of it accurately, and loves to
speak of it. With these inclinations, it is natural that he should be
interested in the reforms introduced by Augustus into the internal
government of the empire. He is anxious to let us know them in detail;
and, true to his rhetorician’s habits and to his unbridled love for fine
speeches, he assumes that it was Maecenas who proposed to Augustus to
establish them, and he takes advantage of the opportunity to make him
speak at great length.[382] The discourse of Maecenas contains, in
truth, what we may call the general theory of the empire. This
interesting sketch, which was realized later, aids us greatly in
understanding that part which we have still to examine of the
inscription of Ancyra. We should always bear it in mind in order to
apprehend thoroughly the spirit of the institutions of Augustus, the
motive of his liberalities, the hidden meaning of the facts he mentions,
and above all the character of his relations with the different classes
of citizens.
Let us begin by studying the relations of Augustus with his soldiers.
“About ... thousand Romans,”[383] says he, “bore arms under me. I
established in colonies, or sent back to their municipia after their
term of service, rather more than three hundred thousand. I gave land,
or money to buy it, to all of them.” On two different occasions, after
the wars against Sextus Pompey, and against Antony, Augustus was at the
head of about fifty legions; he had only twenty-five when he died. But
this number, reduced as it was, still weighed intolerably upon the
finances of the empire. The immense increase of expenditure that the
creation of great standing armies threw upon the treasury prevented
Augustus for a long time, notwithstanding the prosperity of his reign,
from having what we should now call a budget in equilibrium. Four times
he was obliged to aid the public treasury from his private fortune, and
he reckons the amounts that he presented to the state at one hundred and
fifty million sesterces (£1,200,000). He had much trouble to remedy
these financial difficulties, of which the expenses of the army were the
principal cause. This gave him the idea of creating a sort of military
pension fund, and of appealing, in order to fill it, to the generosity
of the allied kings and cities, and of the richest Roman citizens; and
in order to stimulate others by his own example, he gave one hundred and
seventy million sesterces (£1,360,000) at one time. But these voluntary
gifts being insufficient it was necessary to impose new taxes, and to
fill the treasury of the army with the proceeds of a tax of a twentieth
on inheritances and a hundredth on sales. Yet it seems that,
notwithstanding these efforts, pensions were ill paid, since this was
one of the grievances that the legions of Pannonia alleged in their
revolt against Tiberius. It is certain that the army of Augustus was one
of the greatest anxieties of his administration. His own legions gave
him as much trouble as those of the enemy. He had to do with soldiers
who felt that they were the masters, and who for ten years had been
corrupted by flattery and promises. On the eve of battle they were very
exacting because they knew how much they were required; after victory
they became unmanageable from the pride with which it inspired them. In
order to satisfy them, it would have been necessary to expropriate all
the inhabitants of Italy in a body. Octavius had consented to this at
first, after Philippi; but later, when his policy changed, when he
understood that he could not found a stable government if he drew on
himself the hatred of the Italians, he resolved to pay the proprietors
handsomely for the lands that he gave his veterans. “I reimbursed the
municipia,” he says, “in money, the value of the lands that I gave to my
soldiers in my fourth consulship, and later under the consulship of M.
Crassus and Cn. Lentulus. I paid six hundred million sesterces
(£4,800,000) for the lands situated in Italy, and two hundred and sixty
million sesterces (£2,080,000) for those situated in the provinces. Of
all those who have established colonies of soldiers in the provinces and
in Italy, I am, up to now, the first and only one who has acted thus.”
He was right in boasting of it. It was not at all the habit of the
generals of that time to pay for what they took, and he himself had
given another example for a long time. When, a little later, he dared to
resist the demands of his veterans, he had to maintain terrible
struggles in which his life was more than once in danger. In every way,
his demeanour towards his soldiers at that time is one of the things
that do him most honour. He owed everything to them, and he had none of
the qualities which were necessary to master them, neither the abilities
of Caesar nor the defects of Antony; and yet he dared to make head
against them, and succeeded in obtaining the mastery. It is very
remarkable that, although he had gained his power solely by war, he was
able to maintain the predominance of the civil element in the government
that he founded. If the empire, in which there was no longer any other
element of strength and life than the army, did not become from that
period a military monarchy, it is assuredly owing to his firmness.
Nothing is more simple than the relations of Augustus with the people.
The information that the Ancyra inscription furnishes upon this subject
is quite in accord with the discourse of Maecenas: he fed them and
amused them. Here, to begin with, is the exact account of the sums he
expended to feed them: “I reckoned to the Roman people three hundred
sesterces (£2 8_s._) a head according to my father’s testament, and four
hundred sesterces (£3 4_s._) in my own name, out of the spoils of the
war during my fifth consulship. Another time, in my tenth consulship, I
gave a gratuity of four hundred sesterces to each citizen, from my
private fortune. During my eleventh consulship I made twelve
distributions of corn at my own cost. When I was invested for the
twelfth time with the tribunitian power, I again gave four hundred
sesterces a head to the people. All these distributions were made to no
fewer than two hundred and fifty thousand persons. Invested for the
eighteenth time with the tribunitian power, and consul for the twelfth,
I gave sixty denarii (£1 10_s._ 4_d._) a head to three hundred and
twenty thousand inhabitants of Rome. During my fourth consulship I had
one thousand sesterces (£8) for each of my soldiers, previously deducted
from the spoil, and distributed in the colonies formed by them. About
one hundred and twenty thousand colonists received their share in the
distribution that followed my triumph. Consul for the thirteenth time, I
gave sixty denarii to each of those who then received distributions of
corn; there were rather more than two hundred thousand.” After these
truly startling liberalities Augustus mentions the public games he gave
to the people, and although the text has several lacunae here, we may
suppose that it did not cost him less to amuse the people than to feed
them. “I gave shows of gladiators[384] ... times in my own name, and
five times in the names of my children or grandchildren. In these
different _fêtes_ about ten thousand men fought. Twice in my own name,
and three times in the names of my son and grandson, I had combats of
wrestlers whom I had brought from all countries. I celebrated public
games four times in my own name, and twenty-three times in place of
magistrates who were absent or could not support the expense of these
games.... I showed twenty-six times in my own name, or in the names of
my sons and grandsons, African wild beast hunts, in the circus, on the
Forum, or in the amphitheatres, and about three thousand five hundred of
these beasts were killed. I gave the people the spectacle of a naval
combat, beyond the Tiber, where the wood of the Caesars now is. I had a
canal dug there one thousand eight hundred feet long by one thousand two
hundred feet broad. There thirty ships armed with rams, triremes,
biremes, and a large number of smaller vessels fought together. These
vessels contained, besides their rowers, a crew of three thousand men.”
Here, as it seems to me, is a curious and official commentary on the
famous expression of Juvenal, _panem et circenses_. We see clearly that
it was not a sally of the poet, but a veritable principle of policy
happily invented by Augustus that his successors preserved as a
tradition of government.