The Sibyl’s Prophecy…a Curse? – The Great Enigma of Ancient Rome (Part 2)

“Not foreign invaders, Italy, but your own sons will rape you, a brutal interminable gang-rape, punishing you, famous country, for all your many depravities, leaving you prostrated, stretched out among the burning ashes. Self-slaughterer! No longer the mother of upstanding men, but rather the nurse of savage, ravening beasts!”[1]

The message can hardly be more dystopian. Murders, intrigues, vice, disintegration, collapse; the Sibyl had foreseen it all. Nor was this prophecy confined only to the capital, but also rippled throughout the Republic. Although this verse has been kept secret from the public eyes, its much older version has been circulating in the East for a long time. The Sibyl did not visit only the Romans, it seemed. The Greeks and Jews also had their share of the prophecy no less haunting and foreboding than the one above.

“An empire will rise from beyond the western sea, white and many-headed, and its sway will be measureless, bringing ruin and terror to kings, looting gold and silver from city after city.”[2]

The Roman Republic’s rise is likened to a deadly multi-headed hydra, ready to burn and devour everything in its path, causing untold destruction and havoc in its wake. Ancient kings, monarchs, cities, empires and civilisations would be either utterly consumed or swept by the hydra’s great torrents. The age of a single order would begin, but no peace would ensue! Indeed, it is the Romans who would themselves be responsible for their own demise.

“They will sink into a swamp of decadence: men will sleep with men, and boys will be pimped in brothels; civil tumults will engulf them, and everything will fall into confusion and disorder. The world will be filled with evils.”[3]  

The portrayal of the Republic as a mother of savage ravenous beasts destroyed and consumed by its own children is first confirmed when the Republic decided to conclude its unfinished business with the half-dead nemesis, Carthage. Not that did go without disapproval. How would the Republic expect to maintain its greatness in the absence of great rival to keep its pride and confidence in check? Ruthless competition is, after all, the basis of all civil virtue. Nonetheless, against the surging and overwhelming tide of the majority, Carthage’s ultimate annihilation was guaranteed, and its death warrant promptly signed. After all, why nurse a serpent who might one day bite you back? Why keep alive your foe who would see no qualm in effecting your destruction? Such was the ultimately prevailing logic; one which irrefutably exposed Rome’s ambition to be the best, and equally its abandonment of its fundamental principle it has always upheld since its establishment by Romulus.

The Fall of Carthage

In 149 BC, the legions moved in for the kill. The Carthaginians refused to abandon their city, preferring death to the loss of liberty. In this, they were hardly different from their nemesis. Under the generalship of the renowned Scipio Aemilianus, the city was stormed in 146 BC, stripped of its treasure and set ablaze. On its ruin, the Romans then forbid anyone from every again building upon Carthage’s site. 700 years of history was erased from the face of the earth, literally wiped clean. The portrayal of Rome as a mother of ravenous and bloodthirsty beasts cannot get any more vivid and real indeed!   

Not that Rome’s blood-lust stopped at Carthage. It spent the spring of 146 BC terrorising the Greeks. In retaliation to the upsetting of the balance of power established by Rome, the Roman army overwhelmed its Greek counterpart, and the ancient city of Corinth was reduced to dust. Corinth’s fame for its prostitutes and art offered the Romans ample plunder and opportunity to satiate its thirst for blood. Shrines were desecrated, priceless objects denigrated, and treasure looted and carried back to Rome.

The annihilation of two great cities of the Mediterranean was a horror. No longer can the citizens of the Republic pretend that they were destroying their enemies in self-defence. No longer can they invoke the name of liberty to glorify and legitimise their cause. The fundamental principle of virtue has been irreparably breached! No doubt the Sibyl’s prophecy was increasingly becoming a curse, something that could no longer be averted. Rome had gone too far. The damage was done. The blood has been shed. The die has been cast. Rome must pay. Even some Romans were looking at these two disasters with shame and guilt. Even Scipio was said to have watched the flames consuming Carthage with tears in his eyes. The working of some kind of indescribable force he could feel. With Rome’s supremacy guaranteed, so too was its doom. At that moment, lines from Homer came to him.

“The day of the destruction of sacred Troy will arrive,

And the slaughter of Priam and his people”[4]

After the destruction of Carthage and Corinth, countless other events ensued which would confirm the Sibyl’s prophecy of the Republic’s demise, from the rivalry of Sulla and Marius, the rise of the first triumvirate between Caesar, Pompey and Crassus, the bloody civil war, Caesar’s rise to power as dictator and his assassination, and ultimately the death of the Republic as has always been foretold and the rise of one man to take control of the now Roman Empire, Octavian (later Augustus).

In the end, the Republic, like any other things in the mortal realm, became a distant image whose memory would eventually fade away like a dream. In this, no prophecy is needed. Great kingdoms and empires have rise and fall. Everything in the end is subject to the law of impermanence of all things! Ultimately, the Sibyl was merely relaying to us a blatantly and outrageously obvious message; and one which will eventually hold true until the end of time.

   

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[1] The Sibylline Oracles, 3.464-9.

[2] Ibid., 3.175-80.

[3] Ibid., 184-8.

[4] Appian, The Punic Wars, 132.

The Sibyl’s Prophecy…a Curse? – The Great Enigma of Ancient Rome (Part 1)

Tarquinius Superbus and the Sibyl

“Long ago before the time of the Roman Republic, Rome was being ruled a series of kings (Romulus being the first King of Rome), the last of whom was the haughty Tarquinius Superbus (AKA Tarquin the Proud). One day, as he was in his palace, he heard a void of an old woman calling out to him. In her arms were nine books. When she offered these books to Tarquin at a ridiculous price, he laughed at her and refused. The old woman turned and left without a word, burnt three books, and reappeared before Tarquin to offer the remaining three volumes at the same price. The King again refused. Another three books went into the fire. By now, Tarquin was seriously doubting and afraid of what he might be rejecting, bought the remaining three books without delay at the original price offered! The old crone took the money and disappeared, never to be seen again”.  

    

This story about the acquisition of the Sibylline Books by Tarquin is among the most famous legends of Roman History. The books were found to contain prophecies so potent that their authorship could only be traced back to the Sibyl, who was widely believed to have foretold the Trojan War. However, who is she? Did she even exist? Is it rather a group of prophetesses or immortals?   Two things are, however, certain. First, in the three books Tarquin had purchased were inscribed complex antique Greek, which could be deciphered to interpret the events to come. Second, they actually existed.

Tarquinius Superbus, the last king of Rome

Ironically, none of the prophecies assisted Tarquin. In 509 BC, he was deposed. With Tarquin’s expulsion, came the end of the 200 years of monarchy in Rome. In its place, a free republic was proclaimed. The title of ‘king’ would be utterly despised by the Roman people, and liberty would be consecrated as the birthright of its every citizen. Now saw the beginning of the careful and prudent division of power. No longer would any one person hold the sole power to rule in his hands. 

Tarquin’s books of prophecies remained, however, after his exile. From now on, they will act as Rome’s window to the future. Indeed, so sensitive was the information they provided that they had to be strictly guarded. Only when looming catastrophe was threatening could the books be consulted. Once every alternative has been exhausted, a special magistrate would be appointed to climb the temple of Jupiter where the books were kept under the tightest of security. Scrolls would be spread, and ancient Greek language would be deciphered to determine how best to appease the wrath of Gods. Most of time, advice was found. 

A famous occasion where the Sibylline Books were consulted is during the Second Punic War. Rome was fighting her nemesis, Carthage, the latter being led by our famous Hannibal. His army went through Spain, southern Gaul, and crossed the Alps, and defeated three Roman armies. In his third victory at Cannae, the Roman Republic faced the worst military disaster in its history. Nonetheless, rather than submitting to Hannibal and suing for peace, the Romans resorted to consulting the Sibylline Books for guidance. The prophecies advised that two Gauls and two Greeks be buried alive in the marketplace. The advice was duly followed, and the act of barbarism was condoned, demonstrating the Romans’ determination to stop at nothing to preserve their freedom, the only alternative of which is death. The result? Defeat was ultimately inflicted on Hannibal. The Republic was saved.

The Sibyl

Hannibal’s defeat set in motion a series of Roman’s victories all over the Mediterranean world. Kingdoms after kingdoms fell prey to Rome’s might even Carthage. After a few years, the Republic’s territory vastly expanded.  Nevertheless, the Sibylline Books remained stacked away in a dark corner of the temple of Jupiter waiting to be consulted, their dark prophecies constantly looming the seemingly prosperous and peaceful Republic.

As treasures and gold were heaped upon the city of Rome, something else precious was being destroyed piece by piece – ancient customs – the essential element of the Republic, without which it would surely crumble. Disorientation, vice and complacence that are often symptomatic of one kingdom’s rise to power were now plaguing the Republic itself. Nor dark and foreboding portents were lacking. Monstrous abortions and ominous flights of birds continued to unsettle Rome. Once again, the books were consulted. Once again the advice was followed, the customs were preserved and reaffirmed, and the Republic was saved. 

Nonetheless, Rome had already undergone a permanent mutation beyond salvage, and with it a decline of the Republic. It has now become so blatantly obvious that not all ancient customs or the Sibylline Books can save the Republic forever. With the streets of Rome tirelessly seething, the only remaining question now is how long will the Republic last.   

To be continued in the next blog

Pandateria (Ventotene): Island Prison for Imperial Women

Seemingly an insignificant island in the Tyrrhenian Sea, 46 km off the coast of Gaeta, the island of Ventotene (in ancient Roman time known as “Pandateria”) is actually a place of some historical significance, being as a prison for the several distinguished (and sometime infamous) women of the Julio-Claudian dynasty.  The place holds numerous dark secrets of the tragedies of several Imperial women, which stand in stark contrast to its pink and white houses and navy-blue harbour. As a place of exile, its residence (such as Julia the Elder mentioned in our last blog) were confined to lonely existence, cut off from visitors and all kinds of pleasure. Nowadays, there can be found on the island a prison fortress built in 1965.

The island of Ventotene itself is part of the Pointine islands, which were created as a result of volcanic activity. The islands were inhabited for thousands of years. Neolithic artifacts and obsidians dating back to the Bronze Age have been discovered on these islands. The Etruscans also inhabited the islands, but the earliest recorded history of these islands occurs with the Roman Victory over the Volsci in 338 BC.

Julia the Elder is not the only ‘unfortunate’ residence of Ventotene. In 19 AD, her daughter, Agrippina the Elder was also banished by the Emperor Tiberius, was flogged until she lost her eyes, and finally perished due to malnutrition just like her mother. After Agrippina the Elder’s son, Caligula, became Emperor in 37 AD, he went to the island to collect remains and bring them back to Rome. However, Caligula then banished two of his sisters, Julia Livilla and Agrippina the Younger, after the ‘plot of the three daggers’ where both his sisters and Marcus Aemlius Lepidus conspired to overthrow him in 39 AD. Both sisters eventually returned, however, after their uncle Claudius took the throne, only for Julia Livilla to be banished again at the instigation of Claudius’ wife, Messalina, in 41 AD. Julia Livilla’s fate was finally sealed on her second exile when she was starved to death on the island (the same fate as her mother and grandmother). Her remains were brought back to Rome when her sister Agrippina the Younger became Claudius’ wife and hence Empress (yes, she did replace Messalina and marry her uncle!). The last distinguished Julio-Claudio woman who was banished was Claudia Octavia, Claudius and Messalina’s daughter and first wife of the Emperor Nero. She was banished in 62 AD when Nero wanted to replace her with Poppaea Sabina, and was later executed at Nero’s order (she was boiled alive). The island has indeed flovoured all generations of Julio-Claudian Imperial women! Nowadays, its dark history is still looming beneath its colourful façade of buildings and azure water which attract holidaymakers worldwide.

Julia the Elder – The Disgrace of the Roman Imperial Court (Part 2)

Julia the Elder, an adventurous and scandalous
daughter of Augustus, and a great
disappointment to the ideal of austere and virtuous
living example he was trying to promote

Before moving on, it is important to note that three years into Julia’s marriage to Agrippa, in 18 BC, Augustus introduced a series of highly controversial laws aimed at promoting virtue represented by Imperial women and stamp out the vice of the Roman aristocracy.

In response to a decline in marriage rate among the Roman elite, leges Iuliae (“Julian Laws”) were introduced strict new measures aimed at deterring laxity and promoting marriage and procreation through offer of incentives. The law also achieves a related agenda of strengthening the social hierarchy through preservation of the integrity of upper class families by restricting marriage between unequal class groupings. Lex Iulia de adulteriis, a centerpiece legislation, made adultery a criminal offence. Women caught having sex with anyone but her husband can be killed by her father along with her lover, and her husband was obliged to divorce her at once. If found guilty, the woman and her lover would most likely face exile as punishment. In contrast, a man will only be guilty of adultery if the woman he was involved with was married. Such was the norm in the society which has always favoured male ascendancy, while women took the blunt of almost all the repercussions. In addition to the law on adultery, other laws existed to offer incentives to married couples, especially the women, who produced three or more offspring. This again encouraged the women of the Roman Empire to imitate Julia’s child-bearing example (Julia already had several children by this time). Overall, the new laws promised a reintroduction to the long-forgotten traditional family values, the “good old days” when women were chaste and virtuous and adultery considered an abhorrence. 

Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa
Augustus' son-in-law and greatest general,
he was Julia's second husband and  the father
ofher five children, two of whom were
considered by Augustus as potential heirs

However, thing won’t be going well for the Imperial family. Augustus found himself vexed with the questions of succession after the death of second his son-in-law and most trusted friend and general, Agrippa, in Naples in 12 BC, the subsequently death of two of Julia’s sons and.  In fact, his real nemesis, an antagonist to his attempt to introduce and revive all the traditional values he deemed crucial to the image of the Imperial family, was quite shockingly, his own daughter. It is indeed irony at its best! The girl whom Augustus has trained to represent his idea of ideal womanhood, the only woman who appeared thus far on coins minted at Rome, turned out to be a good-time girl, a “Clodia” of the Imperial era, who must have held private grievance against her upbringing marked by strict supervision and rigorous education. A register was even kept of what she did and said! If Augustus was anything but extravagant, Julia was a complete opposite, and indeed a great disappointment. Rumours and whispers about Julia’s affairs with various prominent men were flying around Rome while she still was married to Agrippa. When asked how it was that all her children resembled Agrippa when she had so many other lovers, Julia wittingly replied “passengers are never allowed on board until the hold is full”.       

Several confrontations between father and daughter were recorded over the issue of her rather ‘revealing’ dress and ‘unrefined’ deportment. Having admonished her on the extravagance of her dress and notoriety of her companions, Augustus was somewhat disappointed and offended when she visited him one day in a risqué costume. The next day, however, she came in a modest costume with a prim expression. Her father was indeed delighted at this display of proper decorum, and when confronted with a remark that this dress is “much more becoming in the daughter of Augustus”, she replied “for today, I dressed to meet my father’s eyes; yesterday it was for my husband’s”.

Tiberius, Livia's eldest son and Julia's third
husband; his marriage with Julia irretrievably
broke down after the birth of their stillborn son 

After the death of Agrippa in 12 BC, Julia once again found herself widowed. Knowing how she could cause him embarrassment and wishing to increase his options in the choice of succession, Augustus decided that it was now finally time to marry his daughter off to his wife Livia’s eldest son, Tiberius. Tiberius was at the time living in conjugal bliss with his wife, Vipsania, ironically the daughter of Agrippa from his previous marriage. He was enraged at the decision. He was devoted to Vipsania, the mother to his child, Drusus Minor. The arrangement was unhappy, and the sight of Vipsania in the street one day after their (forced) divorce was enough to drive Tiberius into tears.  Some sources suggested that their relationship deteriorated (especially after the birth of their stillborn son) to the point that Tiberius could endure Julia no longer, retiring from public life to the island of Rhodes, a decision much frowned upon by Augustus.

Julia became ever more uncontrollable each passing day. Augustus used to remark that “he had two spoiled daughters to put up with – Rome and Julia”. Indeed, Valleius Paterculus wrote:

“That her immediate family were so distinguished mattered not at all to…Julia. Everything she did was polluted by extravagance and lust, and there was nothing so disgraceful that she did not do it, or have it done to her. She was accustomed to judge the greatness of her fortune by the latitude is allowed for her wrongdoing, and she set no limits on the latitude she allowed herself.”

Julia’s dissipated lifestyle is starkly contrasted with her father’s moral crusade. When chastised about how she kept company with only dissipated young men, she impudently replied “These friends of mine will be old too when I’m old”. When urged to learn from the examples set by Livia, she repeatedly refused to conform to such austere way of living, retorting to a friend one day that “[my father] forgets he is Caesar, but I remember that I’m Caesar’s daughter”.

House of Augustus on the Palatine, from where he projected
the image of his family as a champion of virtue represented
by the Imperial women; sadly, this image would later be
irreparably tarnished after the scandal of Julia

After the last straw was finally spent, Julia’s fall from grace was truly spectacular.  The year was 2 BC, when Augustus was awarded with the title pater patriae (“Father of the Country”) by the Senate. Sumptuous celebrations were held. The mood was overall festive. But no one sensed the approaching storm. No sooner was the event over than Augustus issued a statement to be read to the Senate, disowning his daughter Julia. Words have indeed reached him that she was suspected of committing adultery with a series of men. This included the accusation that she even had sex on the Rostra, the very platform on which her father had proclaimed his laws on marriage and adultery in 18 BC!! Other charges include that Julia prostituted herself near the statue of the Satyr Marsyas in the forum, where she offered to take on all customers. Fortune could not be more cruel to Augustus. Indeed, such was his shame that when a freedwoman of Julia named Phoebe hanged herself in the wake of the scandal, he is said to have remarked that “I would rather have been Phoebe’s daughter”. The scandal dealt a devastating blow to Augustus’ moral campaign. If a man couldn’t keep his daughter under his rein and compel her obedience, how could he expect to rule his Empire? It was a reality check for Augustus that his family is no longer above suspicion in the moral purity stakes. In the end, he had to rest content with having his daughter banished to the island of Pandateria, where she met her end a few years later due to malnutrition (Tiberius had cut all his financial support) a few months after her father’s death.  After all, few could imagine the amount the betrayal Augustus must have felt at his daughter’s failure to live up to the standard he set for his family.

The case of Julia provides a cautionary tale to all other Julio-Claudian women following in her footsteps. Unfortunately, few others would heed this caution (history always repeats itself!). She was the first Julio-Claudian woman to suffer this fate, and unsurprisingly she won’t be the last. Indeed, the cracks in the seemingly impenetrable façade of Rome Imperial family have only begun.  

Julia the Elder – The Disgrace of the Roman Imperial Court (Part 1)

Julia Caesaris Filia (AKA Julia the Elder)

Arguably the first and greatest Roman Emperor, a clever politician, and a master propagandist, Octavian (later known as the Emperor Augustus), is the adoptive son of Julius Caesar (our famous dictator, assassinated on the Ides of March by the Senate including the famous Brutus). Picking up his adoptive father’s name after the latter’s death, he quickly  came to be in control of his adoptive father’s legions and rapidly ascended the ladder of the Roman political world. Mark Antony was later heard to remark that ‘You, boy, owe everything to a name’. The irony is that this is probably true…without the word ‘Caesar’ attached to his name, Octavian could never have access to his adoptive father’s invaluable legacy and bring Rome under his knee.

Octavian (later known as the Emperor Augustus),
the father of Julia

Nonetheless, this blog is not about Octavian! It’s about his daughter…his only biological child from his second marriage to Scribonia. Why? Women weren’t that important in the Roman society. They couldn’t vote. They couldn’t pursue careers in politics and military. They couldn’t step inside the Senate House. They weren’t even considered citizens, for god’s sake! Since politics and military are the only two career paths through which a person can actually achieve a real ‘Roman Glory’, the women are effectively barred from having their share in that glory. Instead, they are to be docile, obedient, submissive and busily producing the next generations. It is a natural consequence then that Julia Caesaris Filia (AKA Julia the Elder, to distinguish her from her daughter, Julia the Younger), Octavian’s daughter, is expected to be just like any other Roman women; obedient, submissive and virtuous.

Livia Drusilla, Augustus's third wife and his

Empress; their marriage was however childless

At the time of Octavian’s accession roughly in 27 BC and took the name of Augustus, the Roman world was undergoing a radical transformation. While people were still clinging to their beloved Republic, Augustus was playing on the feeling of the mass, giving them the false hope of restoring the former regime and social order while secretly amassing political influence and power behind the scene. It would be his first few policies which saw the rise of women (especially Imperial women of course) in the Roman power play and their increased prominence in the society over the next few centuries. This inevitably made Julia an extremely important and interesting character, having lived and played her part at this crucial historical juncture. However, as we have learnt throughout this blog, history always has a funny way of messing things up, and those expected to conform to a certain societal expectation and norm might end up being less malleable and even antagonistic to the cause.   

Julia was born in 39 BC. On the day of her birth, her father divorced her mother, Scribonia, to take a new wife, Livia Drusilla, a lady of noble lineage whose family connection would prove immeasurably beneficial to Octavian’s cause. By the time her father reached the pinnacle of power, she was already ten. Her life was molded by Octavian’s desire to promote the happy family tableau his family was meant to represent. She lived on the Palatine where she was frequently surrounded by playmates, cousins and step-siblings, as well as her aunt, Octavia, and step-mother, Livia, the latter two being a symbol of good Roman virtue a woman should strive to possess.

Octavia, Augustus' sister and mother of
Marcellus

Octavian’s (now, Augustus) political agenda started from ‘his home’. His aim was to promote his own image as ‘first among equals. For this he needed to maintain an austere living, free from extravagance and luxury. His home on the Palatine was modest, the furniture inexpensive, the mosaic ordinary. In effect, he was a model of virtue and restraint. To keep this image of himself and his family alive, the women also ought to act properly and behave decently in accordance with the examples set by virtuous women in ages past such as Lucretia (who was raped by King Tarquin’s son and later committed suicide to avoid bringing shame to her family). So set in motion another of Augustus‘ masterpiece propaganda where his female relatives were to set a domestic example to the nation through their prowess in performing the various household tasks such as loom and needle works. This naturally catapulted women into the forefront of politics, with Livia being in the limelight. She was so influential that she even received guests and held parties of her own. Nonetheless, her marriage with Augustus was childless, a single fatal weakness which would drive Augustus to pay much attention to his only daughter’s offspring as his potential successors.

Claudius Marcellus, Augustus' nephew and Julia's
first husband

Julia’s first husband was her cousin, Marcellus, the son of Augustus’ sister, Octavia (whose second husband was Mark Antony, a triumvir). Their marriage lasted for two years from 25 BC till 23 BC when Marcellus died suddenly of a mysterious illness. Some speculated foul play by Livia who was thought to have poisoned Marcellus who was seriously considered by Augustus as a potential successor. Livia indeed had two biological sons (the future Emperor Tiberius, and Drusus) from her previous marriage, and Roman mothers were known to nurse ambitions for their offspring. Whether the poison charge is true remains unknown, but some historians remain skeptical. Whatever the truth, the fact is that Julia now found herself widowed at the age of 16.

Augustus was now forced to rethink his plan, his potential heir having perished and his daughter widowed. His next choice of son-in-law was his most trusted friend and greatest general, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa, who gladly divorced Marcellus’ sister, Claudia Marcella, to marry Julia. The marriage proved to be fertile, and with the next few years, Augustus found his choice of potential heirs considerably widened. It seemed now that Augustus would have settled on Julia and Agrippa as the guardians of his dynastic legacy. Their union produced five offspring; three boys and two girls. However, Augustus’ plan was once again cruelly thwarted when two of Julia’s older sons died while on campaign, while third son was considered rather unfit to rule. How cruel and funny indeed Fortune could be!

In the next blog, we will see how Augustus will be forced to replan his dynastic ambitions, as well as discovering a shocking scandal which will forever affect Julia’s fate and create a far-reaching repercussion for the descendants of the Imperial family over the next few decades.

To be continued in the next blog