Rome, indeed, had good reason to keep the peace. Augustus' yoke lay heavy upon no single class. Among the old oligarchical families, there were comparatively few who possessed either the obstinacy of a Cato or the philosophical republicanism of a Brutus. These remained sullenly aloof. The rest acquiesced. The knights accepted the altered conditions with enthusiasm. And if the people had lost their ancient political liberty they gave no sign that they lamented the loss.
It is customary to denounce the Roman populace of the time of Augustus as degenerate and degraded, as "the dregs of Romulus" and as "a starveling and contemptible mob." But exaggeration is natural to the partisan. Rome was a vast cosmopolitan city, just as is London or New York. If it was "a sink of the nations," so are these. Like them, it had its quota of destitute aliens and pauper citizens, wretched beings who herded together in the slums and whose lives were sordid, brutish, and mean. This is a universal, if not an inevitable, feature of all metropolitan cities, and the system of slavery, upon which the Roman civilization was based, doubtless intensified the evil. Provided they were fed and amused, and their prejudices were respected, they were willing enough to accept a master who, "though he ruled them, yet concealed the rule." To keep them in good humor was the policy of Augustus and all his successors. But Augustus did not originate this policy. Their own leaders and the popular party had long before begun the grain distributions which, more than anything else, had tended to create a lazy proletariate. The spectacles, the games, and the theaters were, in their origin, Republican and not Imperial institutions. These were now celebrated on a more magnificent scale than ever, for the appetite comes in eating, and the citizens who thronged the free seats of the amphitheaters grew to consider their amusements the most serious occupation of their idle lives.
The demoralizing effects of the corn distributions, the periodical largesses of money, the continual public festivals, games, and entertainments in the circus and the theaters are beyond denial. Augustus was sensible of the evil which they wrought, but he soon realized that it was impossible to eradicate it. He confessed on one occasion that he had entertained the idea of abolishing forever the public distributions of corn, because the fields of Italy were going out of cultivation, but that he had abandoned it because he knew that, when he was gone, someone would be certain to reintroduce the practice in order to gain popularity. He found himself obliged to make repeated largesses, varying in amount from 250 to 400 sesterces per head, and he gave even boys under eleven the right to participate therein. But when the citizens clamored for a largesse which had not been promised, he issued an edict sharply reprimanding their insolence. When they complained of the scarcity and high price of wine, he reminded them that his son-in-law, Agrippa, had provided an adequate water supply and that they had, therefore, no excuse for being thirsty. Nevertheless, the process of degeneration was painfully rapid. Thousands of citizens thought it no shame to receive daily their doles of food, which they fetched in baskets from the houses of the rich patrons to whom they attached themselves. They might be ragged, but they looked down with supreme contempt upon the freedmen who formed the shopkeeping classes. Their pride was unwounded by a charity which in their eyes carried with it no pauper taint.
Augustus did his best to restore a healthier public feeling. He devoted his whole energies to the task of recreating the old public spirit of Rome and identifying it with the maintenance of the new constitution. And he began by making the metropolitan city itself worthy of the empire of which it was the center. During his reign, Rome was in great measure rebuilt. It was his famous boast that he found it a city of brick and left it a city of marble: "Urbem marmoream se relinquere quam latericiam accepisset." The boast was not an idle one. His Board of Public Works enjoyed no rest. The number of great public buildings erected under his supervision will compare favorably with the record of any monarch, either before or after his time. First and foremost was the new Forum. The old one, even with the additions made to it by Julius, was far too small to accomodate the crowd of citizens and the courts of law which held their sittings within it. Augustus now greatly extended it, but even he was confronted by so many difficulties in appropriating the ground required that the northeastern corner had to be adapted to the irregular outlines of the adjoining streets. In the Julian Forum stood the stately temple to Venus Genetrix, commenced in fulfillment of a vow made during the Battle of Pharsalus and completed by Augustus after Caesar's death. In the new Forum, there arose the magnificent temple to Mars the Avenger, vowed by Augustus himself during the Battle of Philippi, and regarded by him with special veneration. It was in this building that the Senate henceforth met when the subject of debate was either the prosecution of a war or the bestowal of a triumph. It was from this hallowed spot that the provincial governors started to take up their commands, and hither that conquering generals brought their trophies of victory. But this was by no means the only temple which owed its foundation to Augustus. He erected the temple to Thundering Jupiter on the Capitol to commemorate his narrow escape from being struck by lightning in Spain, and the great temple of Apollo on the Palatine as a thank offering for "the crowning mercy" of Actium. This, which was one of the earliest marble temples of Rome, was filled with the choicest examples of Grecian art. Magnificent colonnades connected it with two adjoining marble halls, containing the first public library of the city, wherein were placed the writings of all the best Greek and Latin authors.
Augustus' own residence stood upon the Palatine. He had been born in his father's modest mansion on this hill, which contained so many memorials of early Rome, and, after spending a few years in a dwelling near the Forum, he returned to the Palatine, and occupied the house which had previously belonged to Hortensius, Cicero's great rival at the bar. There he remained more than forty years, and the simple tastes of the master of the world did not disdain a mansion which made no pretensions to style and magnificence, and could not boast a single marble pillar or elaborately tesselated floor. When it was destroyed by fire in 6 B.C., the citizens insisted that it should be rebuilt upon a scale more consonant with the dignity of its owner's position. We are told that Augustus refused to accept more than a single denarius from each individual subscriber, and, if the statement of Cassius Dio is to be believed, when the palace was completed he allowed the public free access thereto, and affected to regard it as belonging to the State rather than to himself. Close at hand, too, rose the magnificent palace of Livia, chosen by Tiberius for his own residence when he succeeded to the throne, and the Palatine thus became indissolubly associated with the Imperial House. Other public works, which were carried out by Augustus but were dedicated in the names of members of his family, were the portico and basilica of Gaius and Lucius, his grandsons, the porticoes of the Empress Livia and his sister Octavia, and the handsome theater of Marcellus, which contained seats for twenty thousand spectators.
Augustus encouraged others to follow his example. The erection of a fine public building was a certain passport to his favor. Marcus Philippus, his kinsman, raised a temple to Hercules; Lucius Cornificius to Diana, and Munatius Plancus to Saturn. Cornelius Balbus gave the city a theater with accommodation for eleven thousand spectators; Asinius Pollio built a hall which he boldly dedicated to Liberty; Statilius Taurus lavished his resources upon a splendid amphitheater. But the chief patron of architecture, who rivalled even the Emperor himself, was Marcus Agrippa. He gave Rome magnificent public baths on the Greek model, adapted to Roman requirements, which served as the pattern for the later baths built by Titus and Caracalla. They were profusely decorated with the finest sculpture and paintings, and the benefactor not only constructed the baths, but also the aqueduct, known as the Aqua Virgo, which supplied them with water. Close by, he had raised the glorious Pantheon; and near at hand was the Temple of Poseidon, founded to commemorate his many naval victories, and containing, like the Pantheon, the noblest statuary which the times were capable of producing. These three buildings were the principal gifts of Agrippa, but they by no means represent the full extent of his well-directed generosity. The architecture of Rome in Augustus' day is a subject beyond the scope of this work, but the few buildings we have enumerated will suffice to show that the reconstruction and adornment of the city were carried on without intermission. Nor did Augustus neglect works of public utility. The embankments of the Tiber, the repair of the great roads, and the provision of new aqueducts, were as carefully attended to as the plans for new temples and new theaters. He voluntarily took upon himself the expense of keeping in repair the Flaminian Way as far as Ariminum, while the charge of the other highroads was divided among those of his generals who were accorded the honors of a triumph, to be defrayed by them from the sale of the spoils which they had taken in war. In short, Augustus sought to make Rome outwardly worthy of her great imperial position, and to foster the pride which the Romans took in the Queen of Cities. The home of the race which wore the toga was to excite the admiration of the world. The grandeur of its public buildings was to serve as proof of its majesty, its prosperity, and its permanence.
The grandeur of Rome as it rose anew into fresh life after the long series of civil wars — this, too, was the constant theme of the poets whom Augustus gathered round him. He wished to convince the world that his marvelous success was due to the direct favor of heaven, that the regime he had established was the preordained event to which Rome and the Romans had been slowly moving during the long centuries of their history, that the blessing of the gods rested upon him and his work. We need not doubt his sincerity. All things in his case had worked together for good, and when he stood forward as the champion of the old religious spirit which was part and parcel of the Roman temperament, he came nearer to absolute sincerity than he did in most of his political institutions. The restoration of the Roman religion became one of the ruling passions of his life, not only because he knew that the Empire he was founding would be all the stronger for resting upon a religious basis and for the support of a religious sanction, but because he himself was religiously minded. We have seen how he raised magnificent new temples to his special tutelar divinities in recognition of their powerful and timely assistance. Throughout his reign, he was always ready to head a subscription list for the repair of an ancient fane. "Templorum positor, templorum sancte repostor" — thus Ovid addresses him in the Fasti as the founder of new shrines and the restorer of the old, not in Rome alone, but throughout Italy and the provinces. The blessing of the gods was a real thing to Augustus, an object to be secured at any cost. He had allowed Lepidus to retain the dignified office of chief pontiff until his death in 12 B.C. Then he himself assumed the pontificate and became the active head both of Church and State. In all matters connected with religion, there was no one more conservative or more national than he. While tolerating the alien cults and new-fangled superstitions which had invaded Rome, he reserved his most liberal patronage for what was venerable and of native growth. He collected the prophetical books, both Latin and Greek, and burnt them all, keeping none but the Sibylline, which he placed in two golden coffers under the pedestal of the statue of the Palatine Apollo. He increased the number of the sacred colleges, added to their dignities, swelled their endowments, and bestowed marks of special favor upon the Vestal Virgins. Ancient priestly foundations and ceremonies which had fallen upon evil days, such as the Augury of the Public Welfare, the Priesthood of Jupiter, the Festival of the Lupercalia, and the Secular and Compitalician Games, he refounded and reorganized. He restored the worship of the Lares, the minor deities of the street and the home, by raising three hundred little shrines at the crossways and street corners of the city, and by ordering that twice a year, in spring and summer, their modest altars should be adorned with flowers. Due honor to the gods, both great and small, such was the cardinal principle of Augustus, in dealing with religion.
And he had his reward, for the religion of Rome struck new roots deep into the life of the Roman people. It is one of the strangest facts in history that just at the period when there was born in Palestine the founder of Christianity, which was destined to destroy Paganism, there should have taken place so marked a revival of the old religion. Its genuineness is beyond argument. We have only to take note of the number of ruined temples, of the decay of the sacerdotal colleges, of the contemptuous and sceptical attitude of Cicero towards the State religion to see how low it had fallen in the last days of the Republic. It is true that when Cicero refers to religion in his public speeches he sounds a different note and speaks with sonorous, yet purely formal, respect of the gods of Rome. But in his philosophical writings, he is a sceptic of the sceptics. In his letters, religion scarcely finds a mention. If he needs consolation in distress, or hope in time of trouble, he does not turn to the altars of the gods for comfort or courage. But in the early days of the Empire, a profound change takes place. The gods enjoy a new lease of life. Men not only worship, they almost believe. They are prosperous again and they joyously lead victims to the altars.
This was not the work of Augustus alone, though it was Augustus who had lifted the deep depression which had settled down upon the people and restored gaiety and happiness to a world exhausted by war. It may be doubted whether he could have succeeded single-handed, whether the poet did not achieve more than the statesman. That poet, of course, was Virgil. His wonderful and instantaneous popularity may be explained in part by the exquisite music and cadences of his verse, by the charm and graces of his style, and by the dignity of his theme. But the great secret of the power which he wielded over his contemporaries and over the ages which were to follow lies not so much in this as in his moral earnestness and in the spirit of humanity and religion which permeates his work. To regard him simply as a court poet, because he labored in the same field as Augustus and furthered his projects, because he enjoyed the Imperial favor and wove into his poetry passages in which he eulogized the Imperial House, is to fail to understand both the man and his work. It was Horace who was the typical court poet, the debonair man of the world who could write religious and birthday odes to order, in polished stanzas which appealed to the ear, but not to the heart. Virgil stood on a loftier pedestal. Deep religion and intense burning patriotism — in these lie the secret of Virgil's influence. And in his view, they were inextricably intertwined. He looked back with regret to the bygone days when men lived simpler lives, and not only feared, but walked with, the gods.
"Fortunatus et ille deos qui novit agrestes,
Panaque, Silvanumque senem, Nymphasque sorores."
In one sense, the Georgics may be regarded as a political pamphlet, inasmuch as Augustus had already raised the cry of "Back to the Land," and was seeking to revive agriculture throughout Italy. He did not succeed. He failed to stem the influx of the rural population into the towns, just as every succeeding statesman who has sought to grapple with the same problem has failed also.
"A bold peasantry, a country's pride,
Once lost, can never be supplied."
The causes lay too deep for remedy, and the working of economic laws could not be suspended by the publication of an edict or a didactic poem. The old rural life was moribund, if not dead. The import of foreign corn, distributed either gratuitously or at an artificially reduced price, killed Italian agriculture. Yet, the Georgics had their due effect upon men's beliefs. Universally read and universally admired as they were, they contributed their part to the religious revival in the country districts. They were rather a tract for the times than a political pamphlet, a reminder to the farmer of the supreme dignity of his labor and of the sure blessing that would rest upon him if he remembered the gods. "Above all, venerate the gods" — "imprimis venerare deos" — that was the solemn charge of the Georgics. And the Aeneid again was essentially a religious and national poem. The gods of Virgil's Olympus are different from those of Homer's. They are more idealized, less fleshly, less mortal in their passions and their vices. There is a subtle touch of mysticism in the Roman poet which is absent from the Greek. Virgil leaves them as more shadowy beings, more remote from human affairs, more worthy of reverence because less frankly conceived on the human pattern. They rule the affairs of men in accordance with the decrees of fate, and the supreme virtue man can show is piety, that is to say, instant obedience to the divine will, when declared, and due observance of all religious ceremonies. And the reward of such piety? Clearly this was manifest in the continued favor of heaven which had made Rome the mistress of the world. It would require a lengthy analysis of the poem to show how Virgil expressed in his verse his conception of the duties as well as of the privileges of empire and his lofty view of Rome's civilizing mission. How by his masterly employment of local color and local legends he sought to bind together Rome and Italy in one common patriotism. How he crystallized in the Sixth Book the best thoughts of his time about the immortality of the soul and life after death, and grafted them on to the national religion, and how skillfully he represented Augustus as the lineal heir and descendant of the hero of his epic. The Sibylline Books might continue to be the law and the prophets of paganism, but Virgil had caused a new spirit to pass over men's ideas of the gods. The old religion glowed with a new life. The forms of certain of the deities whom they worshipped might be grotesque; the legends puerile. But a loftier and nobler conception of the divinity and of worship came to be taught by the philosophers, who from this time forward combined religion with philosophy, instead of elevating the latter to the detriment of the former. This was the fruit of the new revival begun by Augustus and Virgil, and thus, when Christianity came to grips with paganism, it found existing by the side of the official and state religion a real and living religious spirit which expressed itself in a language similar to its own. Augustus might be disheartened at the open profligacy of the capital and the irreligion of the upper classes, but the revival of religion throughout the Empire was none the less real.
This religious revival, however, assumed another and equally important shape. It encouraged the growth of Caesar worship. This has frequently been summarily dismissed as though it were merely a fantastic and abnormal form of worship, foisted upon an incredulous world by Augustus and his successors. Nothing could be further from the truth. It was, on the contrary, in its inception an essentially natural development which Augustus at first sought to repress rather than to foster. It started in the East, where the Greeks, to show their gratitude and loyalty, raised temples in his honor, just as they had raised them to the proconsuls of the Republic. Augustus refused deification while he still lived, but he permitted his Eastern subjects to associate his numen with that of the city of Rome, and temples were accordingly raised "to Rome and Augustus." This came perilously near to deification, but the distinction which seems so slight to the modern eye was then considered real. The fact, however, that Augustus forbade even this association of his own personal genius with that of Rome in the capital and throughout Italy shows that the idea was un-Roman. He melted down the silver statues which had been erected to him in the peninsula and with the proceeds dedicated some golden tripods to the Palatine Apollo. But though the deification or quasi-deification of a living man might be un-Roman, the apotheosis of the dead wounded the religious susceptibilities of none. If Romulus after his death had become divine, why should not the second founder of Rome be equally assured of a place among the immortals and have an equal tract of sky allotted to him? Thus when Augustus permitted a temple to be raised to Divus Julius, he was preparing the way for his own apotheosis after death. Nor was this repugnant to the religious instinct of his time. To a people accustomed to the cult of ancestor worship and hero worship, the immediate apotheosis of the dead ruler or statesman was easy of belief, and if in the twentieth century so large a proportion of mankind see nothing incredible in the canonization of a saint or in the idealism which speaks of "the sacred Majesty of Kings," we need hardly be surprised that the people of the first century transformed their dead emperors into gods.
The Crown is the strongest bond of union between the component parts of the British Empire today. The Emperor was the strongest bond of union between the component parts of the Empire of Rome. The feeling grew in intensity from year to year, and Augustus eventually recognized that the identification of himself with Rome and the Empire for purposes of public worship, the close union, that is to say, of Church and State, was a source of incalculable strength to the Principate. He would have failed in statesmanship, therefore, had he not encouraged this idea and given it definite shape. What stouter link could be forged between the throne and the army upon which it rested than that of religion? "It is religion," said Seneca, "which keeps the army together." "Primum militiae vinculum est religio.' The altar of the reigning emperor, which stood in every Roman camp, represented more to the legionary than the altar of the king of the gods. So, too, in the provinces the altar of Augustus became the focus of national life. It was there that the provincial diets met and offered sacrifice to the dead Emperors and incense to the numen of the living prince. It was there that they gathered on the emperor's birthday and prayed for his safety and that of Rome. Rightly considered, Caesar worship was far from being a degrading superstition. The new cult, with its priests and high priests chosen from the leading families, was in its essence a public acknowledgment of the debt which the provinces owed to the Empire, a sincere expression of loyalty to a political principle. The emperor of the day might be a bloodthirsty tyrant or an odious wretch, but the provincials never questioned the blessings which the Empire had conferred upon them.
During his lifetime, the genius of Augustus was principally associated in Rome and Italy with the worship of the Lares which he had taken pains to revive, and the old magistri vicorum took the name of magistri Augustales. Throughout Italy the cult spread with amazing rapidity. A new religious order arose, known as the ordo Augustalium, whose members were not priests and exercised no priestly functions, for they seem to have been principally composed of freedmen. Yet they were granted certain insignia of office, and membership was eagerly sought after, for it gave the rich freedman the dignitas which the accident of birth had denied to him.
Closely connected with this religious revival was Augustus' policy of social reform. Here again we see the essential conservatism of the man and his strenuous endeavor to restore the morals and the manners of an earlier and more austere age. His marriage laws and sumptuary laws were all directed to this one great aim, and reform was badly needed. Among the upper classes of Rome, the sanctity of marriage was scarcely respected. Irregular unions had become increasingly common. Men had recourse to divorce on the slightest and flimsiest pretexts, and marriage itself was regarded by a large section of the community as a burden and a tie. The old domestic life of the Romans had gone utterly out of fashion, with disastrous results to public morals and to the birthrate. The lines of Horace,
"Fecunda culpae saecula nuptias
Primum inquinavere et genus et domes;
Hoc fonte derivata clades
In patriam populumque fluxit,"
did not exaggerate the truth. The women of the highest society had thrown off the restraints previously imposed upon them, and if the careers of Sempronia, the friend of Catiline, and of Clodia, the sister of the tribune, were at all typical of their class, they had turned their newly won freedom to the most shameless uses. Roman society, in a word, was corrupt and vicious. Even in the days of the Republic, it had been found necessary to legislate for the encouragement of marriage and its fruits, and Julius had issued a series of enactments on the subject. Augustus increased their stringency. A law was passed making it obligatory on all citizens of a certain age to marry. They were given three years' grace in which to choose their wives, but the law met with so much passive opposition that a further extension of two years' liberty was permitted. Senators were forbidden to form legitimate marriages with freed-women. Celibacy was penalized by incapacity to profit by bequests, and if a union proved childless the husband was only allowed to receive one half of any legacies which might be left to him. On the other hand, the father of three children received special privileges in the shape of the remission of part of his taxes, exemption from jury service, a good seat in the theater, and priority of election in standing for public office. Yet, in spite of these extraordinary bounties on domesticity, the desired result was not obtained, and both Augustus and his successors strove in vain to overcome the growing disinclination of the upper classes of Rome to undertake parental responsibilities. The laws were constantly evaded. Men married and then immediately divorced their wives. When it was ordained that such persons should remarry within a specified time, the reluctant Benedicts sought to escape the meshes of the law by entering into nominal marriage contracts with young children. Thoughout his reign, Augustus was continually amending the marriage laws, and for the most part with meager success. Nor was he more successful by making adultery a criminal offense punishable by heavy fine or banishment to an island. Such a weapon could only be employed in exceedingly gross cases where there was flagrant public scandal.
His sumptuary laws fared little better, though he set his people a far better personal example in this respect than he did in the matter of morals. He tried to check luxurious living and extravagance in the building and decoration of private mansions. He sought, in the spirit of seventeenth-century Puritanism, to set bounds to the caprices of fashion in women's dress. But he might as well have preached to the winds and the waves. His motives were excellent, but Roman society was too steeped in corruption and luxury for him to be able to effect any radical improvement, much less a complete transformation. Moreover, he had given Rome a court, or the beginnings of a court, and the archaic virtues of simplicity and plain living rarely flourish in a courtly atmosphere. He was thus committed to an unavailing struggle to reconcile two almost irreconcilable ideals, and the deadliest blows were, as we shall see, dealt him by members of his own household.
Similarly, he attempted to check the license which prevailed in the theaters and at the public shows. He forbade boys from taking part in the Lupercalia. At the secular games, he issued an edict that no young person should attend the evening performances unless in the company of an elder relative. At the gladiatorial shows, he restricted women to the upper parts of the amphitheater. To the athletic festivals, he denied them entrance altogether. That they resented this interference with their liberty is shown by the fact that he was obliged to issue an edict expressing his disapproval of their flocking to the theaters before the fifth hour and sacrificing their siesta in order to get a front place. Augustus carried his passion for order and class privilege into the theater, and issued the most detailed instructions as to the allocation of the respective blocks of seats. And if he insisted upon order among the audience he made the same demand from the actors, especially from the Greek pantomimists, who had been wont to indulge in the free use of "gags" and political allusions. An actor named Stephanio was beaten with rods publicly in three theaters for bringing on to the stage a Roman matron with her hair cut to make her look like a boy. Another was banished from Italy for pointing with his finger to a member of the audience who had hissed him.
It is certainly strange that Augustus, who saw clearly enough that the theaters and games occupied far too much of the attention of the people and were fast becoming their most engrossing interest, should yet have been their unfailing patron. One can understand his frequent revival of the "Game of Troy," in which the best-born youths of Rome took part and performed a number of evolutions on horseback. This was a good training-school for the future officers of the army, and it is the more extraordinary that he abolished it because Asinius Pollio bitterly complained in the Senate that it was a dangerous exhibition, instancing the case of one of his young relatives who had been thrown from his horse and broken his leg. The incident brings out very clearly the decay of martial exercises among the upper classes and their increasing tendency to restrict their active share in sports to that of watching paid professionals in the arena. But we might almost say that Augustus adopted the role of public caterer for the people's amusements. He boasts in the Monumentum Ancyranum the number of shows he had provided for their delectation, as though his generosity in this respect constituted a lasting title to fame. We are told by Suetonius that he outstripped all his predecessors in the frequency, variety, and magnificence of his spectacles, that he gave four entertainments in his own name and twenty-three in the names of other magistrates, who were either absent from Rome or whose means were inadequate to bear the expense. Suetonius goes on to describe how, in addition to the wild beast hunts, the athletic festivals, and the great naval show held in a specially constructed lake, he got together special bands of players to amuse the people; how, whenever a rare beast was brought to Rome, such as a rhinoceros, a Bengal tiger, or a snake of extraordinary size, Augustus took care that the public should be given a free view of it; and with what scrupulous regularity he attended the shows himself. If he was ill, or public business was too pressing, he apologized for his absence and appointed a deputy to take his place as president. And, whenever he was present, he always feigned an engrossing interest in the performance, remembering that Julius had given rise to adverse comment because he had read letters and transacted business in the theater. It would seem from this curious passage that the people resented their ruler working while they were enjoying themselves, as though such seriousness contained a veiled reproof of their idleness. To us such a role as this seems hardly consistent with that of a serious statesman and ardent religious reformer, who was anxious to lead back his people to a simpler life, to check luxury, and to repress vice. Probably Augustus would have justified his conduct by saying that these games were part of the public life of Rome, that they possessed the sanction of antiquity, and that all State functions ought to be on a scale commensurate with the dignity of the Imperial city. His ideal, seen in his lavish expenditure upon the public buildings and temples of Rome, was that everything connected with the State should be imposing and magnificent, while the private individual should display an almost Puritanical simplicity in conduct, dress, and domestic life. Such an ideal may be intellectually intelligible, but it certainly was not translated into action by the Roman people of Augustus' day. They refused to draw so subtle a distinction.
Many have thought that Augustus set himself to amuse the people in order to make them forget the political liberty which they had lost, that he debauched them of deliberate purpose in order that he might keep them quiet. There is no doubt that the shows which he provided were extraordinarily popular and that the dregs of Rome, like the dregs of any other great city, ancient or modern, fawned upon the bounteous hand which fed them and pleasantly filled up their idle moments. But we may certainly acquit the Emperor of any such Machiavellian purpose, which was contrary to the general trend of his character and policy. If Augustus was sincere in anything, he was sincere in his passion for order, and for that quality of gravitas which differentiated the Roman from the Greek. Innovator as he was in a thousand ways, he was always an innovator malgré lui; he was at heart a disciple of Cato though he was grandnephew and adopted son of Julius. Augustus set out with the fixed determination to put back the hands of the clock, in all that related to domestic life, to morals, and to religion. In Rome, at any rate, the times were too strong for him.