Part 11

Thus in one of its aspects, and not its least important aspect, a Roman family was a community in itself, with many and far-reaching interests; the capacity of its chief personage was a matter of importance to a very large number of men and women; his failure involved the ruin of a hierarchy of relatives and dependents. Even in the earlier and simpler days of Rome the sons of the family were carefully trained to represent the family in the Forum and the Senate, to manage its estates, to conduct its financial relations and the extension of the family connexions, to hold office, to command armies. Greek culture added to the conception of obligation to the family, obligation to the state; Greek and Roman ideals alike forbade the young Roman noble to neglect himself. Even his deportment, his manners, his gestures were serious matters; he could not afford to be ungainly, or to express himself awkwardly. If a son proved to be physically or morally incapable of receiving the required training, Roman sentiment was not shocked by his supersession or removal. We have a curious illustration of this in the story of the Emperor Claudius. He was the younger brother of Germanicus, the son of Drusus, the grandson of Livia. In the ordinary course of events he would have been introduced to public life like his brother, but he was awkward, he rolled in his gait, his tongue was too large for his mouth, he stammered and sputtered, his family, and even his mother, were ashamed of him, he was kept in the background, and practically pensioned off. He was, however, a serious student, a linguist, or at any rate a philologist; as Emperor he planned and carried out works of great public utility; he was an extensive writer, an industrious worker. He may have been of feeble character, easily led by favourites and women, but his reign was by no means a disastrous one. No ancient writer, however, protests against the prejudice, which deprived Claudius of all opportunities of advancement, till a supposed freak of the soldiers made him Emperor; they unanimously accept with approval the verdict of Augustus, that he was unfitted by his personal defects for public life. Similarly the youngest son of Agrippa and Julia, the youngest grandson of Augustus himself, was removed from Rome, and sequestered in an island “on account of his intractability”; but though his subsequent fate is one of the many counts in the process against the reputation of Tiberius, no fault is found with Augustus for thus eliminating a member of his family who did not prove amenable to discipline.

Duty to the family, duty to the State, or it might be first duty to the State, then duty to the family, were impressed upon the young Roman noble as the conditions of his existence; he lived, like the heir-apparent to a throne, in a court which forced upon him the traditions and observances which the maintenance of the court demanded. If the father neglected his children, and evaded the responsibility of training them, there were numerous other persons ready and willing to undertake his work. The presiding genius of a Roman family was not infrequently an aged lady, or a trusted freedman, deeply imbued with the importance of the house and the sanctity of its traditions.

For the first nine years of his life Tiberius lived with his father--a man serious, fond of learning, full of the republican tradition. It is not impossible that, in spite of the association with Octavian through Livia, the house was to some extent a meeting place of the remnant of the Republican party. We at least know that one of these men made the young Tiberius his heir, and adopted him by his will; he seems to have been allowed to take the succession, but had to refuse the adoption, because his benefactor was anti-Cæsarian. The elder Tiberius, not being engaged in public business, would have plenty of time to give to his children, and Roman children in a Roman family of the old-fashioned type were much with their parents. We are told that Tiberius was very carefully educated; at his father’s death he was already sufficiently well advanced in recitation to pronounce the customary eulogy at his funeral. Up to this time everything in his surroundings would tend to encourage a naturally severe temperament; it can hardly have been a cheerful home, this house of the lost cause. The affections of the boy expanded themselves upon his brother Drusus, his junior by more than two years, to whom his attachment was deep and lasting.

On the death of their father the two boys were transferred to the care of their mother and stepfather, who was now their guardian. Tiberius was old enough to resent such an arrangement, but there is no evidence that he did so; he accepted his stepfather loyally, and Octavian himself was scrupulously careful of the interests of his stepsons. Diplomatic divorces and re-marriages were of such common occurrence in the Roman houses at this period that no slight was felt or intended, and as a rule the divorced parties maintained friendly relations. Octavia, the sister of Octavian, was neglected and eventually repudiated by Antonius, but she nevertheless took good care of his children by a former marriage, the children of the tigress Fulvia.

Scribonia, the divorced wife of Octavian, continued to be on sufficiently friendly terms with his family to watch over her daughter Julia, not altogether to the latter’s advantage, and eventually accompanied her into exile. Where marriage was treated entirely as a business arrangement, there was no room for wounded feelings, and children were not tempted to feel themselves aggrieved by a change of parents, or to cherish resentment. When a wife was repudiated on account of infidelity, and therefore disgraced, there was room for ill-feeling, but not otherwise.

As Octavian at a later date set up a school in his own house for the benefit of his grandchildren and the children of friends, it is not improbable that a somewhat similar arrangement was adopted for the young Neros; the course of grammar, the course of rhetoric, the course of philosophy would be duly followed out. Except in the far greater attention paid to elocution, the formal education will have differed little from that of an Eton boy in the middle of the nineteenth century. Both Roman and English boy learned Greek, and the Roman boy had the advantage of learning it as a spoken language; neither had a systematic instruction in mathematics, though the Roman had the advantage of being drilled in keeping accounts. But far more valuable than the formal instruction was the informal education given by the circumstances of the family. The Romans kept early hours, and it was customary for the children to dine in the same room with their parents, though at different tables. Octavian, partly from choice, partly from necessity imposed upon him by weak health, was not given to large entertainments. His table was a simple one, old-fashioned observances were rigorously maintained, but the company was choice. The children could sit and listen while the conversation was being conducted by Horace and Virgil; all the latest inventions, all the newest literature, everything that did not pertain to secret diplomacy, was discussed at that table. There was Mæcenas with his charming manners and casual dress; Agrippa, somewhat silent as a rule, but animated enough when the roof of the Pantheon or the model of a light galley had to be described to an appreciative audience; there too was Cornelius Gallus, the brilliant gentleman and poet, betraying by his passionate vivacity his Gallic origin; Varius too would be there ready to recite his last heroic poem. After dinner there would be amusements, sometimes games of chance for small stakes, sometimes recitations; or the last fashionable preacher, some Greek or Greek-speaking Jew, would discourse of virtue to the admiration of Livia and the ladies. Chieftains from Gaul and Spain, Princes from the East or Africa, wealthy citizens from Antioch or Alexandria or the cities of Asia Minor, were all to be met at that simple table, wondering at the exiguity of the repast, but none the less impressed by the personality of their host. The opportunity was a rare one for a youth who was bent on self-improvement, and it was not neglected by Tiberius or his brother.

Along with them was brought up Julia, the spoiled child of the family, and cousin Marcellus with his two sisters, the children of Octavia, whose other daughter, Antonia, was to be the wife of Drusus, and the lifelong friend of Tiberius, perhaps the most beautiful of Roman women.

There could be no better preparation for a life devoted to the public service than this household, in which power only served to increase the sense of responsibility, in which the routine of every day was a routine of duty, and the command of the resources of the civilized world did not add a dish to the table, a garment to the wardrobe, or a superfluous slave to the servants’ hall.

The atmosphere of the household of Augustus is not to be found in the scandalous gossip occasionally repeated by Suetonius or Tacitus, but in the works of Horace and Virgil; both poets repeatedly insist on the merits of simplicity, not because they were commissioned to do so, but because their own personal tastes and habits fell into line with those of the master of the civilized world.

The education of a young Roman was not confined to his home; he accompanied his father to war when he was old enough, and on peaceful expeditions at all times, where a great train did not involve inconvenience. Tiberius was probably still too young to attend Octavian on his Eastern tour after the battle of Actium, but when he was only seventeen he accompanied him to Spain, and there took his first lessons in the field, just as Octavian himself had previously been trained under Cæsar. A Roman was considered to be of age when he was sixteen, and he was quickly tested by being called upon to undertake minor responsibilities. In all departments of public life Tiberius had the advantage of the example and precept of the best authorities. The staff of Agrippa, and perhaps Agrippa himself, were ready to instruct him in the latest developments of the art of war; for finance and diplomacy he could go to Mæcenas. Octavian was a practised and careful orator; no one of these men could afford to slumber on his laurels; they were all hard at work modifying the old, organizing the new. The secrets of the Empire so frequently alluded to by Tacitus were not so very mysterious; hard work, discretion, tact, public spirit, formed the bulk of them. The time for intriguing came after the apprenticeship of Tiberius was finished, and the intriguers were not the men who had taught him his business.

Of the personal influences to which Tiberius was submitted in his youth the one best known to us is that of Horace, who incidentally throws a light upon his character as a young man. In the year 21 B.C. Augustus made a progress to the East, visiting notable cities on the way, and regulating their affairs. The chief object of the tour was, however, to settle the Eastern frontier of the Empire. Syria was to Rome what the North-West Provinces of India are to England; Herod and Aretas of Arabia with the princes of Armenia played the part of the Ameer of Afghanistan; they were the buffer states between Roman civilization and the aggressive powers of Central Asia. Their fidelity was by no means beyond suspicion, and from the mountains of Armenia, all along the west of the Euphrates down to the borders of Egypt, continuous intriguing prevailed, every ambitious kinglet making use of one or the other of the great powers to strengthen his position against his rivals. The strongest of these chieftains were the rulers of Armenia and Herod the Idumæan; the former were unquestionably treacherous, and their proximity to the Parthians rendered them peculiarly liable to wavering; the latter played skilfully for his own hand. So long as Rome was strong, Herod was her obedient servant, but if Rome showed signs of weakness, Herod had no scruples against making friends with a stronger power in order to further his own ends.

Since Cæsar had conquered Pharnaces, the son of Mithridates, by his mere apparition, the prestige of Rome in the East had been considerably damaged. The expeditions of Antonius against the Parthians had been unsuccessful, and a serious catastrophe had only been averted by the valour of his lieutenant, Ventidius Bassus, a former mule-driver; by submitting Herod to the demands of Cleopatra’s cupidity, he had to some extent alienated the Idumæan, and encouraged him to distrust Roman politicians. Now that the Spanish war was over and the Western half of the Empire in good order, Augustus wisely determined to study his Eastern questions on the spot, and make such a demonstration of power as would determine the judgment of waverers in favour of Rome. The plan of operations was to send an army through Asia Minor into Armenia, and thence if necessary along the Tigris into Parthia, while the possible allies of the Parthians in Syria were to be overawed simultaneously by the presence of the Emperor. The command of the army destined for Armenia was given to Tiberius, now twenty-one years of age. Both operations were successful; there was not much fighting, but the Parthians saw that Rome was in earnest, and made terms, sending back the standards which had been taken from Crassus some thirty years before; the Roman party in Armenia was strengthened by a change of rulers, and Tiberius returned in triumph. His first essay in war and diplomacy was successful.

Tiberius had taken with him a staff of secretaries, or literary companions, with whom Horace was in correspondence, the chief of whom seems to have been Julius Florus, a Romanized Gaul. From the tone of Horace’s letters to these young men we learn much of the future Emperor. It would seem that Tiberius had formed the idea of surrounding himself with what Horace on one occasion humorously calls “a gang” of earnestly minded young men. Their characteristics may be inferred from the following letter:--

“I am very anxious to know, Julius Florus, the quarter of the world in which Claudius the stepson of Augustus is campaigning. Are you in Thrace, or on the Bosphorus, or the rich plains and hills of Asia? What works is the studious company a-building? I should like to know this too. Who is undertaking to write the history of Augustus? Who is going to give immortality to his wars and peaceful exploits? What is Titius writing, Titius whom all Romans will sing, who has not been afraid to tap the Pindaric sources, and has ventured to turn away from commonplace pools and streams? Is he well? Does he think of me? Does he labour with the aid of the Muse to fit the Theban metres to Latin strings, or does he rage and bluster in tragedy? Tell me what Celsus is doing? Warn him against plagiary, tell him to beware of the fate of the daw in borrowed plumes. And what are your own ventures? What are the thyme beds about which you lightly hover? You have no mean ability, you are polished, refined, and will win the first prize as an advocate in private or public suits, or as a poet of the lighter kind. But if you could give up the chilling pursuit of business, you would go where inspired wisdom would lead you. This is the work and interest which should be sped by us all, whether small or great, if we wish to live in peace with our country and ourselves. You must also tell me this when you write, mind you do, how are you getting on with Munatius? Does the badly patched fellowship join and split again to no purpose? And are your independent spirits galled either by hot-headedness or misunderstanding? Wherever you both may happen to be, you who should not break the bond of brotherhood, I shall be very glad indeed to see you back again.”

Here is another letter to Celsus, the young gentleman who made somewhat too free use of the poems in the Palatine Library:--

“I beg you, Muse, to convey my compliments to Celsus Albinovanus, the companion and secretary of Nero. If he asks what I am doing, tell him that though I threaten all kinds of fine things, I am neither living properly nor pleasantly; not because my vines have been smashed by the hail, or my olives parched with the heat, or my cattle sick on the outlying lands, but because, more ill at ease in mind than body, I refuse to hear or learn anything that is good for an invalid, am annoyed with my faithful physicians, furious with my friends, because they try to deliver me from my deadly laziness; I am bent on what is bad for me, I avoid what I know to be good for me; I am fickle enough to be in love with Tibur at Rome, with Rome at Tibur. After this ask him how he is, how he manages his business and himself, how he gets on with his young chief and the company. If he says ‘well,’ first congratulate him, and then don’t forget to whisper just this little bit of advice into his ear, ‘Our treatment of you, Celsus, will depend upon the way you treat your own good fortune.’”

Other letters to Bullatius, to Albius, to Municius, to Secius, to Lollius are much in the same strain. Though these young men were not demonstrably included in the inner circle of the friends of Tiberius, they belonged to the same social rank; in all there is the same playfulness, in all good advice is conveyed in tactful form. In Lollius Horace seems to have felt a special interest; he too was a companion to some notable person, probably Drusus. Horace gives Lollius many practical directions, somewhat in the style of Polonius, as to his behaviour to his patron, Lollius being of an independent spirit, and irascible. Horace is particularly fond of impressing upon his young friends the duty of “living for themselves,” of considering wealth, fame, and even public usefulness, as of less importance than a good conscience. The moral earnestness of Horace is often underrated, as the moral earnestness of R. L. Stevenson is underrated, and of many other writers whose teaching has not run in the grooves prescribed by the professional preachers of their day. Horace had no love for the worthy gentlemen who improved the occasion after dining with Augustus; the red eyes of Crispinus affected him as the red nose of Stiggins affected Dickens; he had equally little patience with those men who labelled themselves Stoic or Epicurean or Cyrenaic, and professed to live according to the authorized manuals of the sects; the pretentiousness of the professors of virtue and the proselytising Jews disgusted him, as similar manifestations are wont to disgust humorous men at all ages and in all places, but these men have had their revenge in the solemnity with which for nearly two thousand years they have deplored his levity. Few men, however, have lived more consistently with their professions than Horace, and the world would be none the worse if his example were less unfrequently followed. The friendship of Mæcenas, a genuine personal affection, and not a mere literary or convivial sympathy, gave Horace many opportunities of enriching himself, or at least of parading his power; it was something to be the friend of the second or third man in the Roman Empire. But Horace studiously resisted every temptation to make use of this friendship; he would not even allow himself to be made the recognised channel of introduction for his literary friends. The time came when Augustus wished to transfer him to his own household--the letter is still extant in which the offer was made, and the greater opportunities hinted at--but Horace would not hear of such an advancement. It speaks well for Augustus that he was not offended by the refusal. From Mæcenas Horace accepted a moderate independence, sufficient for his needs, but a small gift to come from one of the richest men of his day. He was grateful, but he refused to sell his soul, and we still have the letter in which he bids Mæcenas take back his bounty, if it is to involve obligations which the poet cannot meet without injury to his health, or undue disturbance of his comfort. He adds with characteristic humour and strict justice, “but if you take back the Sabine Farm, you must restore to me the youth and vigour I enjoyed when I first entered your service.”

Men who cannot distinguish an official ode written to order and the forms imposed by such conditions from the genuine effusions of a literary artist are fond of accusing Horace of excessive adulation, but there is no adulation in offering unpalatable advice, or in pointing out to a patron that he is exceeding his prerogative. Instances may be found in the Odes, as well as in the Epistles, of not altogether complimentary exhortation. The truth was that Augustus was surprisingly the right man in the right place, and the compliments paid to him by Horace and Virgil and other literary contemporaries, though expressed in a liberal style, were not in spirit other than the occasion demanded. Epitaphs and dedications have a language of their own--Italy is more given to hyperbolical compliment than England--but the men who declared their admiration of Augustus, however extravagantly to our ears, had sound reason for admiring and wishing others to admire a very capable man surrounded by capable advisers and seconded by able lieutenants.

It is not probable that the first book of the letters of Horace was published in the lifetime of the poet, for they are often too intimate for publication. Lollius would not be likely to give the world the benefit of his castigation, or Mæcenas to allow contemporaries to enjoy the protest against his thoughtless insistence on the poet’s company. The collection was most probably made after the death of the writer, and the dedicatory letter placed at the beginning may equally well have referred to some other publication. Horace is not the only facile writer of verse who has occasionally amused himself with writing to his friends in metre, and the sting of some things which he wished to say was to some extent dulled by the adoption of a metrical form. We may take it that in the first book of the Epistles, if nowhere else, we have the genuine Horace writing without respect of persons, and without regard to the public. A peculiar interest therefore attaches to the one short letter in the collection which is written to Tiberius himself; it is a letter of introduction.

“Septimius I presume has some special information as to the esteem in which you hold me, Claudius; for in begging and prayerfully compelling me to try to say a good word for him, and introduce him as worthy of the intellect and family of that sound reader Nero, in asserting that I enjoy the privileges of an intimate friend, he sees and knows my power better than I do myself. I certainly gave a good many reasons for being let off with an excuse, but I was afraid of being thought to have falsely pretended incompetence, and to be given to disguising my real influence, and reserving it for my own sole use. So, in dread of the disgrace of a greater obloquy, I have entered for the prize awarded to impudence. If, however, you do not disapprove of my breach of good manners, committed at the request of a friend, enroll him in your ‘gang,’ and believe him to be staunch and good.”

Knowing as we do from other sources how strongly Horace objected to turning a private friendship to account, and how specially careful he was in the matter of introductions, we can see through this letter a real intimacy with Tiberius; the apology of Horace is addressed rather to his own conscience than to the recipient of the letter. We need not infer that Tiberius was particularly difficult of approach.