The Woman of Andros and The Ides of March (13 page)

The Supreme Pontiff, if resident in the City, will be present on each occasion.

The entire ritual will be observed with the following additions and corrections:

Two hundred soldiers will be present and will deliver the Invocation to Mars as is customary on military posts.

The Adoration of Rhea will be rendered by the Vestal Virgins. The President of the College will herself be held responsible for this attendance, for the excellence of the rendition, and for the decorum of the participants. The abuses which have crept into the ritual will be corrected at once; these celebrants will remain invisible until the final procession, and no resort will be made to the mixolydian mode.

The Testament of Romulus will be directed toward the seats reserved for the aristocracy.

The priests exchanging the responses with the Supreme Pontiff will be letter perfect. Priests failing in any particular will be given thirty days’ training and sent to serve in the new temples in Africa and Britain.

Caesar’s Journal-Letter to Lucius Mamilius Turrinus on the Island of Capri.

[
For a description of this journal-letter see the opening of Document 111.
]

968. [
On religious rites
]

I enclose in this week’s packet a half-dozen of the innumerable reports which, as Supreme Pontiff, I receive from the Augurs, Soothsayers, Sky Watchers, and Chicken Nurses.

I enclose also the directions I have issued for the monthly Commemoration of the Founding of the City.

What’s to be done?

I have inherited this burden of superstition and nonsense. I govern innumerable men but must acknowledge that I am governed by birds and thunderclaps.

All this frequently obstructs the operation of the State; it closes the doors of the Senate and the Courts for days and weeks at a time. It employs several thousands of persons. Everyone who has anything to do with it, including the Supreme Pontiff, manipulates it to his own interest.

One afternoon, in the Rhine Valley, the augurs of our headquarters forbade me to join battle with the enemy. It seems that our sacred chickens were eating fastidiously. Mesdames Partlet were crossing their feet as they walked; they were frequently inspecting the sky and looking back over their shoulders, and with good reason. I too on entering the valley had been discouraged to observe that it was the haunt of eagles. We generals are reduced to viewing the sky with a chicken’s eyes. I acceded for one day, though in my capability of surprising the enemy lay one of my few advantages, and I feared that I would be similarly impeded in the morning. That evening, however, Asinius Pollio and I took a walk in the woods; we gathered a dozen grubs; we minced them into fine pieces with our knives and strewed them about the sacred feeding pen. The next morning the entire army waited in suspense to hear the will of the Gods. The fateful birds were put out to feed. They first surveyed the sky emitting that chirp of alarm which is sufficient to arrest ten thousand men; then they turned their gaze upon their meal. By Hercules, their eyes protruded; they uttered cries of ravished gluttony; they flew to their repast, and I was permitted to win the Battle of Cologne.

Most of all, however, these observances attack and undermine the very spirit of life within the minds of men. They afford to our Romans, from the street sweepers to the consuls, a vague sense of confidence where no confidence is and at the same time a pervasive fear, a fear which neither arouses to action nor calls forth ingenuity, but which paralyzes. They remove from men’s shoulders the unremitting obligation to create, moment by moment, their own Rome. They come to us sanctioned by the usage of our ancestors and breathing the security of our childhood; they flatter passivity and console inadequacy.

I can cope with the other enemies of order: the planless trouble making and violence of a Clodius; the grumbling discontents of a Cicero and a Brutus, born of envy and fed on the fine-spun theorising of old Greek texts; the crimes and greed of my proconsuls and appointees; but what can I do against the apathy that is glad to wrap itself under the cloak of piety, that tells me that Rome will be saved by overwatching Gods or is resigned to the fact that, Rome will come to ruin because the Gods are maleficent?

I am not given to brooding, but often I find myself brooding over this matter.

What to do?

At times, at midnight, I try to imagine what would happen if I abolished all this; if, Dictator and Supreme Pontiff, I abolished all observation of lucky and unlucky days, of the entrails and flights of birds, of thunder and lightning; if I closed all temples except those of Capitoline Jove.

And what of Jove?

You will hear more of this.

Prepare your thoughts for my guidance.

The next night.

[
The letter continues in Greek.
]

Again it is midnight, my dear friend. I sit before my window, wishing that it overhung the sleeping city and not the Trasteverine gardens of the rich. The mites dance about my lamp. The river barely reflects a diffused starlight. On the farther bank some drunken citizens are arguing in a wine shop and from time to time my name is borne to me on the air. I have left my wife sleeping and have tried to quiet my thoughts by reading in Lucretius.

Every day I feel more pressure upon me, arising from the position I occupy. I become more and more aware of what it enables me to accomplish, of what it summons me to accomplish.

But what is it saying to me? What does it require of me?

I have pacified the world; I have extended the benefits of Roman law to innumerable men and women; against great opposition, I am extending to them also the rights of citizenship. I have reformed the calendar and our days are regulated by a serviceable accommodation of the movements of the sun and the moon. I am arranging that the world be fed equably; my laws and my fleets will adjust the intermittence of harvests and surplus to the public need. Next month torture will be removed from the penal code.

But these are not enough. These measures have been merely the work of a general and of an administrator. In them I am to the world what a mayor is to a village. Now some other work is to be done, but what? I feel as though now, and only now, I am ready to
begin.
The song which is on everyone’s lips calls me: father.

For the first time in my public life I am unsure. My actions have hitherto conformed to a principle which I may call a superstition: I do not experiment. I do not initiate an action in order to be instructed by its results. In the art of war and in the operations of politics I do nothing without an extremely precise intention. If an obstacle arises I promptly create a new plan, every potential consequence of which is clear to me. From the moment I saw that Pompey left a small portion of every venture to
chance,
I knew that I was to be the master of the world.

The projects which now visit me, however, involve elements about which I am not certain that I am certain. To put them into effect I must be clear in my mind as to what are the aims in life of the average man and what are the capabilities of the human being.

Man – what is that? What do we know of him? His Gods, liberty, mind, love, destiny, death – what do these mean? You remember how you and I as boys in Athens, and later before our tents in Gaul, used to turn these things over endlessly. I am an adolescent again, philosophising. As Plato, the dangerous beguiler, said: the best philosophers in the world are boys with their beards new on their chins; I am a boy again.

But look what I have done in the meantime in regard to this matter of the State religion. I have bolstered it by re-establishing the monthly Commemoration of the Founding of the City.

I did it, perhaps, to explore in myself what last vestiges of such piety as I can discover there. It flatters me also to know that I am of all Romans the most learned in old religious lore, as my mother was before me. I confess that as I declaim the uncouth collects and moves about in the complicated ritual, I am filled with a real emotion; but the emotion has no relation to the supernatural world: I am remembering myself when at nineteen, as Priest of Jupiter, I ascended the Capitol with my Cornelia at my side, the unborn Julia beneath her girdle. What moment has life since offered to equal that?

Hush! There has just been a change of guard at my door. The sentries have clashed their swords and exchanged the password. The password for tonight is C
AESAR WATCHES
.

The Lady Clodia Pulcher, from her villa at Baiae on the Bay of Naples, to the Steward of her Household in Rome.

[
September 3, 45
B.C.]

My brother and I are giving a dinner on the last day of the month. If any mistakes occur this time I shall replace you and offer you for sale.

Invitations have been sent to the Dictator, and to his wife and aunt; to Cicero; to Asinius Pollio; and to Gaius Valerius Catullus. The entire dinner will be conducted in the old mode, that is to say, the women will be present only in the second part of the dinner and will not recline.

If the Dictator accepts this invitation, the strictest protocol will be observed. Start rehearsing the servants now: the reception before the door, the carrying of the chair, the tour of the house, and the leave-taking. Make arrangements to hire twelve trumpeters. Inform the priests of our temple that they are to perform the ceremony suitable for the reception of the Supreme Pontiff.

Not only you, but my brother also, will taste the Dictator’s dishes in his presence, as was done in the old days.

The menu will depend upon the new amendments to the sumptuary laws. If they are passed by the day of the dinner only one entree may be served to the entire company. It will be the Egyptian ragout of sea food which the Dictator once described to you. I don’t know anything about it; go at once to his chef and find out how it is prepared. When you are sure of the recipe, make it at least three times to insure that it will be perfect on the night of the dinner.

If the new laws have not been passed, we will have a variety of dishes.

The Dictator, my brother, and I will have the ragout. Cicero will have lamb on the spit in the Greek manner. The Dictator’s wife will have the sheep’s head with roast apples which she praised so highly. Did you send her the recipe as she asked you to? If so, change the preparation slightly; I suggest that you add three or four peaches soaked in Albanian spirits. The Lady Julia Marcia and Valerius Catullus will be offered their choice among these dishes. Asinius Pollio will probably eat nothing as usual, but have ready some heated goat’s milk and some Lombardy porridge. I leave the matter of the wines entirely in your hands; watch the laws about it.

I am having twenty to thirty dozen oysters dragged under water in nets to Ostia. Some of them can be brought up to Rome on the day of the dinner.

Go at once to Eros, the Greek mime, and engage him for the evening. He will probably make his accustomed difficulties; you may hint to him the quality of the guests I am expecting. When you have closed the interview you may tell him that in addition to his usual fee I will give him Cleopatra’s mirror. Tell him I wish him, with his troupe, to perform ‘Aphrodite and Hephaestus’ and Herondas’s ‘The Procession of Osiris.’ Alone, I wish him to declaim Sappho’s ‘Garland-Weaver’s Cycle.’

I am leaving Naples tomorrow. I shall stop a week with the family of Quintus Lentulus Spinther at Capua. I shall expect a letter from you there telling me how my brother is occupying himself. You may expect me in Rome about the 10th.

I wish to have a report from you on the matter of cleaning up all scribbling about our family in public places. I want this to be very thorough.

[
What Clodia meant by this last paragraph is best illustrated by a passage in one of Cicero’s letters and by some selected graffitti
:]

Cicero, in Rome, to Atticus, in Greece.

[
Written in the spring of this year.
]

Second only to the master of us all, Clodia has become the most discussed person in Rome. Verses of unbounded obscenity are scribbled about her over the walls and pavements of all the baths and urinals in Rome. I am told there is an extended satire dedicated to her in the cooling-off hall of the Baths of Pompey; seventeen poets have already put their hands to it; it receives additions daily. I am told that it turns in large part upon the fact that she is widow, daughter, niece, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter of consuls and that her ancestor Appius first laid down the road upon which she now seeks consolatory if not remunerative companionship.

The lady, it is reported, has heard of these tributes. Three cleaning men are engaged nightly in surreptitious erasure. They are overworked; they cannot keep up with their task.

Our Dominie [
Caesar
] does not have to engage workmen to efface calumny. There are scurrilous verses enough; but for every decrier he has three advocates. His veterans have rearmed themselves with sponges.

Poetry has become a fever in our city. I am told that the verses of this new-come Catullus – verses also addressed to Clodia, though in a different vein – are likewise scrawled upon our public buildings. The Syrian pie vendors have got them by heart. What do you say to that? Under the absolute power of one man our occupations are taken from us, or lose their savour. We are not citizens but slaves and poetry is the resource of an enforced idleness.

Graffitti scrawled on the walls and pavements of Rome.

Clodius Pulcher in the Senate says to Cicero:

My sister wouldn’t budge; she wouldn’t give me a foot, he says.

Oh, says Cicero, we thought she was more genrus.

We thought she give you above the knee, he says.

Her ancestors laid down the Appian Way. Caesar

Took up this Appia and laid it down in another way.

Haw, haw, haw.

The Fourpenny Girl is a millionaire, but avaricious and no idler;

How proudly she brings in her fifty pennies at dawn.

Monthly, Caesar commemorates the Founding of the City.