Her reasons are naturally slightly different from mine, or at least they are graded differently, for we found in conversation that we were in very general agreement. Naturally, however, she speaks as a mother; very properly it is her maternal duty which is uppermost in her mind; and she is sure, as she has told you, that Marcellus and Julia are unsuited, precisely because they resemble each other too closely. The marriage would be bad for both of them, because it would encourage whatever is weak in them.
I know you think I am unjust to Julia, and it may be that your own attitude to Tiberius is provoked by this belief. But I am not unjust. I judge her fairly. I admit we are not temperamentally attuned, but I have always tried to do my duty to her. I recognize and am prepared to admire her beauty, charm and wit, but I deplore and have tried to correct her selfishness and levity of character. You have impeded and undermined my efforts, never willing to recognize that I have the girl's best interests at heart.
You always think you know best, of course, but even you must surely pause to reconsider when you realize that your sister and your wife are united in opposition.
I trust you have not spoken to Marcellus himself about this, and I ask you not to write to Julia. But probably you won't have. It would be just like you to present them with a gift of marriage out of your hat. I'm not so sure by the way that your precious Julia would be delighted by your scheme. She won't, I rather fancy, welcome a husband as likely to distract attention from her as Marcellus.
But, if you are wise, that won't come to the point of proof!
You say, you could never contemplate divorcing me. Very well, then, I must submit. But I warn you, if you want me to continue to behave like a wife when you return to Rome, you must treat me as a wife, as the partner you profess to love, and not like a rival politician from whom you conceal everything till it's on the point of accomplishment and so hope to outwit. Otherwise I shall deny you my bed again, and you know perfectly well that I shall keep my word. One thing I will say for you; you are not the sort of man to force yourself on me against my will… Of course, that was precisely what Agrippa had recommended me to do. Plancus also had had the impudence to say to me after dinner one night when he was well sunk in a bottle and so beyond gauging his impudence, 'They tell me, Caesar, Livia is putting on airs, in the way women sometimes do. Well, if you want any help, you know I'm willing to supply you with the most desirable of substitute bedmates – I still have Phrygian connections, and you must know how lovely and lubricious Phrygian girls are -but if you take an old campaigner's advice – one who has triumphed in the lists of Venus – you won't stand for that sort of nonsense. Women owe us their bodies in payment for the protection and luxuries we grant them. Everyone knows that, and our ancestors were accustomed to act on the knowledge.' I let it pass of course; the insults of drunk men are not worth bothering about.
My dear Livia, she flew up in anger quicker than boiled asparagus. My first reaction was to write and tell her not to be a beetroot, but I thought better of it. Instead, as far as I can remember, I replied in mollifying tones. It didn't alter my mind; Marcellus should indeed marry Julia.
How, you may ask, did I bring it off? It is hard to give an exact and satisfactory answer. I dropped the matter for a few months without ever telling either Livia or my sister that I had abandoned my intention. Then, from Spain, where we had gone to suppress a troublesome rising of the hill-tribes, I wrote to Livia praising Tiberius' development. 'I have no doubt,' I recall writing, 'that he is going to be a great servant of Rome. He shows a willingness to master detail which is wholly commendable, and I am pleased to tell you that his admirable example is shaming Marcellus into giving more attention to things which are necessary but which do not immediately appeal to him.' Then, a few weeks later, I praised Tiberius again, and into the same letter, slipped a casual reference to the prospects of Marcellus' marrying Julia. 'Of course,' I added, 'in view of the opinions you have expressed, there can be no question of this going forward till it has all been fully discussed. For my sake I hope you can reconcile yourself to the match, but I am not prepared to disrupt the harmony of the family by pushing forward any measure against your wishes.'
I was content. I had planted the seed. It was pertinacious as I am myself, and would grow. Meanwhile, what I had said was true. Marcellus was indeed maturing. The youth who would return to Rome was not the sometimes giddy and careless boy who had left. For reasons of tact I attributed the change to Tiberius' influence, but that was nonsense of course. It was I myself who moulded Marcellus, and taught him that nothing worthwhile in this world can be obtained without application. That year 1 spent in Spain had its bitter moments. The health of the Empire depended on its financial stability. (This is the sort of fact which the old Republicans, who bled the provinces, disdained to recognize.) Much of my time in Gaul had been spent in adjusting the system of taxation; in Spain I was engaged in safeguarding the silver mines. My expedition against the Alpine Salassi was aimed at controlling the gold production of their mountain valleys. But the key to the Empire's financial health lay in Egypt, land of endless resources. Conscious of its importance, I had reserved Egypt under my own authority, and appointed an old friend, Cornelius Gallus, as Prefect. I had every reason to trust Gallus, for he was a man of rare intelligence who had fought beside me for many years and whom I had always found resourceful and reliable. He was a friend of Virgil's too and I knew no better recommendation.
Yet one can never be sure how men will respond to changed circumstances. Under my eye, Gallus' prudence curbed his fecund imagination. Given a command which he interpreted as offering more independence than was actually the case, a reversal of nature occurred. Now his imagination got the upper hand of prudence. Perhaps that is a faulty interpretation. It may rather be that nature asserted itself, that the true Gallus emerged freed, as he must have thought, from the trammels of dependence. He began to behave like a proconsul of the old Republic, embarking on a war against the Sabeans. He wrote glowingly to me (after his expedition had started) that he would bring back a great treasure of gems, gold and spices from the remote heart of Arabia. His men suffered agonies of thirst in a long desert march, and he was fortunate to extricate them without disaster; without treasure either. I wrote urging him to be more circumspect. He paid no heed to my letter, for, without even acknowledging it, he marched south into Ethiopia, announcing that he would explore the springs of the Nile. Agrippa wrote assuring me that Gallus had gone off his head, and some senator – I forget which – laid a formal accusation against him. I was alarmed, and dismissed him, forbidding him however, for his own safety which I could not guarantee against the Senate's wrath, to come to Italy… The Senate, in my absence, proclaimed his banishment and confiscated his estates. Gallus, hearing this, did not wait for my response, but killed himself. I had wished no such fate on him. How could I? Whatever he had done, he had not forfeited my affection. I wept when I heard the news; was I the only man whose frown was followed by death? Who could not set a limit to the consequences of my displeasure with my friends?
Gallus had erected statues in his own honour, and had boastful inscriptions carved on the pyramids of Egypt. He had set up a high column recording that he had advanced with his army beyond the cataracts of the Nile where neither the Roman people nor the Kings of Egypt had previously despatched an army. He said nothing of the pointlessness and expense of this expedition. The cursed corruption of Egypt, distorting reality, had perhaps scattered his wits. Thereafter I resolved that that frightful but necessary country must remain under my direct authority.
Perhaps it was my evident grief over Gallus that touched Livia's heart. At any rate, suddenly, to my great joy, she withdrew her opposition to the marriage of Marcellus and Julia. That was how it seemed to me at the time. There were alas darker reasons.
How deceptive is one's progress through life. It is as if we travelled on a footpath cut through a gloomy forest. Because we remain on the path and are able to advance, we feel in control of our destiny. But the surrounding forest remains unknown and hostile, and we are ignorant of what dangers lurk only a few feet from the path.
THREE
I fell ill in Spain in the spring of 24, a fever that would not leave me. I had to hand over command of the army there to my legates, C. Antistius Vetus and P. Carisius, sound men who, following my plan of campaign, subdued the rebellious tribes. I therefore ordered the door of the temple of Janus to be closed, in order to show to the city what I had achieved for Rome, and to persuade my enemies of the unrivalled blessings of peace. Meanwhile I took the waters of the Pyrenaean mountains, and began to write a fragment of autobiography, dedicated to Agrippa and Maecenas. It did not proceed far but I was to draw on it later for that book which I wrote for the instruction, and, as I hoped, delight of my sons Gaius and Lucius.
