The Woman of Andros and The Ides of March (27 page)

[
Caesar’s answer:
Yes, and more than invite her: learn to know her. She is the daughter of a carter but there is no woman of the highest aristocracy who could not learn from her what dignity, charm, and deportment are.

You will soon discover all the reasons for my admiration of her. In addition I am indebted to her for a personal reason: her long association with my relative Marc Antony has given me, in him, a friend. We men are for the most part what you women make us – and women too; for men cannot remake a woman who is herself ill-made. Marc Antony was and always will be the best athlete and the best-liked athlete in a provincial school. Ten years ago a few moments of sober conversation exhausted him and he would be fretting to balance three tables on his chin. Wars themselves employed but a fraction of his thoughtless energy. Rome lived under the menace of practical jokes which did not stop short of setting fires to entire blocks, to loosing all the boats on the riverside, and to stealing the garments of a Senate. He had no malice; but he had no judgment. All this Cytheris has remade; she has taken nothing away, but has rearranged the elements in a different order. I am surrounded by and hate those reformers who can only establish an order by laws which repress the subject and drain him of his joy and aggression. The Cato and the Brutus envision a state of industrious mice; and in the poverty of their imaginations they charge me with the same thing. Happy would I be if it could be said of me that like Cytheris I could train the unbroken horse without robbing him of the fire in his eye and the delight in his speed. And has not Cytheris had a fair reward? He will go no place without her, and with reason, for he will find no better company.

But I must close. A deputation from Lusitania has been waiting this half hour to protest against my cruelty and injustice. Tell Charmian to put all in readiness for a visitor tonight. He will enter, dressed as a night guard, through the Alexandrian port. Tell Charmian that it will be nearer sunrise than sunset; but as soon as ardor at war with prudence can effect it. Let the great Queen of Egypt, the phoenix of women, sleep; she will be awakened by no ungentle hand. Yes, life is short; separation is insane.]

Cytheris, the actress, at Baiae, to Cicero, at his villa near Tusculum.

[
This letter, written the previous year, is appended here to illustrate further the subject treated in Question 4 of the preceding questionnaire
.]

The Lady Cytheris presents her profound respects to the greatest advocate and orator which the world has seen and to the savior of the Roman republic.

As you know, honoured sir, the Dictator has directed that a collection of your witticisms be prepared for publication. Word has reached me that the collection contains an account of the table conversation carried on at the dinner which Marc Antony gave in your honour some three years ago and includes some remarks of mine which now appear to be disrespectful of the Dictator.

I implore you, encouraged by the generous words which you have so frequently and graciously bestowed on me, to remove any such expressions as may be ascribed to me at that time.

It is true that during the Civil Wars I felt differently toward the Dictator. My two brothers and my husband fought against him and my husband lost his life. Since then the Dictator, however, has pardoned my brothers, with the clemency that distinguishes him; he has given them lands, he has introduced reforms into our troubled state; he has won our hearts and our loyalties.

Next year I am retiring from the stage. My retirement and my old age would be rendered a misery by the thought that these impatient words of mine were in circulation, and in the wide circulation destined for any work that bears your illustrious name.

This misery you alone could spare me. As a token of my gratitude and my admiration, kindly accept the manuscript which I enclose. It is the prologue which Menander wrote for his ‘The Shipwrecked Girl’ and is in his own hand.

Caesar to Clodia.

[
October 10
.]

It is with regret that I see that appeals will be lodged with me urging that you be excluded from a reunion which includes all the respected women in Rome. No reports have yet reached my attention that would justify your exclusion.

There is, however, another matter I must lay before you. I read many letters which were never intended for my eyes and whose writers and recipients are not aware of my knowledge.

No blame attaches to a woman who being loved is unable to love in return. In such a situation, however, a woman knows well the ways in which she may intensify or mitigate the sufferings of her suitor. I am referring to the poet Catullus, whose gifts to Rome are not of less consequence than those of her rulers and whose composure of mind I feel to be among my responsibilities.

Threats constitute a weapon all too easily placed at the hand of a man in power. I employ them seldom. Yet there arise cases when those in authority are aware that neither the persuasion of reason nor the appeal to mercy can alter the mistaken conduct of a child or of a wrong doer. When threats are of no avail, punishment must follow.

You may judge that the right action requires your retiring from the City for a time.

Clodia to Caesar.

The Lady Clodia Pulcher has received the letter of the Dictator, not without surprise. The Lady Clodia Pulcher requests permission of the Dictator to remain in Rome until the day following the reception of Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt; thereafter she will retire to her villa in the country until December.

Caesar to Cleopatra: From the daily letters.

[
Second half of October
.]

[
In Egyptian. Many of the words of this letter are unknown today and are here supplied by conjecture. They are probably in the argot of the Alexandrian waterfront taverns and were acquired by Caesar during the riotous excursions made into that underworld during Caesar’s stay there a few years before
.]

Tell Charmian to open this package carefully.

I stole it. I haven’t stolen anything since the age of nine and have been experiencing all the sensations of the housebreaker and the snatcher of purses. I see that I am now setting out upon that road of prevarication and play acting which is the criminal’s part. [
It has been suggested that Caesar may have robbed his wife’s dressing table of a bottle of perfume.
]

But what would I not do for the great Queen of Egypt? I have not only become a thief; I have become an idiot. I can think only of her. I blunder in my work. I forget names; I mislay papers. My secretaries are in a consternation; I can hear them whispering behind my back. I make visitors wait; I postpone tasks – all this that I may hold long conversations with the everliving Isis, with the Goddess, with the witch who has stolen my mind away. There is no drunkenness equal to that of remembering whispered words in the night. There is nothing in the world that can compare with the great Queen of Egypt.

[
In Latin.
]

Where is my wise
Deedja,
my good
Deedja,
my most intelligent
Deedja?
– Why is she so unwise, so obstinate, so cruel to herself and to me?

My pearl, my lotus, if our Roman wheat paste disagrees with you
why will you eat it?

It disagrees with all Easterners. It disagreed with your father. It disagreed with Queen Anes’ta. We Romans are brutish. We can eat anything. I pray of you, I implore you: be wise. I pray that you are not suffering; but I am, I am. My messenger will wait until Charmian sends me back some report about you. Oh, star and phoenix, take good care of yourself; be wise.

You turned my doctor away from your door. Could you not let him see you? Could you not talk to him for
one moment?
You tell me your Egyptian medical knowledge is ten thousand years old and that we Romans are children. Yes, yes, but – I must speak severely with you – your doctors are ten thousand years old in nonsense. Think, think for a moment about medicine. Doctors are mostly impostors. The older a doctor is and the more venerated he is, the more he must pretend to know everything. Of course, they grow worse with time. Always look for a doctor who is hated by the best doctors. Always seek out a bright young doctor before he comes down with nonsense.
Deedja,
tell me you will see my Sosthenes.

I am helpless. Take care of yourself. I love you.

Oh, yes. I obey the Queen of Egypt. I do everything she tells me to do.

The top of my head has been purple all day.

Visitor after visitor has looked at me with horror, but no one has asked me what was the matter with me. That is what it is to be a Dictator: no one asks him a question about himself. I could hop on one foot from here to Ostia and back and no one would mention it –
to me.

At last a cleaning woman came in to wash the floor.
She
said: ‘Oh, divine Caesar, what is the matter with your head?’

‘Little mother,’ I said, ‘the greatest woman in the world, the most beautiful woman in the world, the wisest woman in the world said that baldness is cured by rubbing the head with a salve made of honey, juniper berries, and wormwood. She ordered me to apply it and I obey her in everything.’

‘Divine Caesar,’ she replied, ‘I am not great nor beautiful nor wise, but this one thing I know: a man can have either hair or brains, but he can’t have both. You’re quite beautiful enough as you are, sir; and since the Immortal Gods gave you good sense, I think they didn’t mean for you to have curls.’

I am thinking of making that woman a Senator.

Never have I felt so helpless, great Queen. I would resign all my other powers in exchange for this one, but I cannot; I cannot control the weather. I rage at these cold rains as I have not raged at anything for many years. I am become a sort of farmer: my clerks glance at one another with raised eyebrows; they see me continually going to the door to examine the sky. During the night I rise and go to my balcony; I estimate the wind; I look for the stars. I send you herewith another blanket of fur; wrap yourself well. I am told that these cruel rains will last two days more. All through the winter we shall have occasional days of sunlight. A friend of mine has a villa at Salerno, shielded from the north. You will go there in January and I shall join you. Be patient; occupy yourself. Send me word.

Catullus to Clodia.

[
October 20.
]

Soul of my soul, when your word came this morning I wept.

You have forgiven us. You understand that we meant no offense, no offense, Claudilla. I ask myself what I said that could have made you so angry. But we will think of it no longer. You have forgiven us and it is forgotten.

But oh, great Claudilla, incomparable Claudilla, be ready to forgive us again. We do not know when we are about to stumble into your displeasure. Be assured now and forever that we never, oh never, intend to cause you pain. Let this declaration stand for all time. What meaning or offense could you have found in – but there! it is forgotten.

But Claudilla, I must add that you also must try not to wound me. When you said in front of
him
: ‘Valerius has never quite made a poem which is equally successful throughout.’ Claudilla, don’t you know that just that is the terror of a poet? A few verses come right; the rest he must contrive. What, have I never made an entire poem? And in front of
bim!

In the matter of the Queen’s reception, I shall, of course, obey you. I had no particular interest in going. Many members of our Club are going in a body and they have been urging me to write an Ode for it. I have a few strophes down; but it is not going very well and I shall be glad to give it up. All that I hear about her leads me to believe that she is insupportable – particularly, the immodesty of her dress.

No, I have not been ill.

Later.

I was about to send this letter off when I heard by chance that
you are going to the country for several months.
Why?
WHY
? Is it true? Immortal Gods, it cannot be true. You would have told me. WHY? You have never been away in the winter. What does it mean? I do not know what to think. You have never been away in the winter.

If it is true, Claudilla, Claudilla, you will send for me. We shall read. We shall walk by the sea. You will point out the stars to me. No one has ever talked about the stars as you talk about them. I worship you always, but then you are all Goddess. Yes, go to the country, my brightest star, my treasure, and let me join you there.

But the more I think of it, the more unhappy I become.

What does it mean?

I know that I must ask for nothing. I must make no claim. But a love like mine must speak; it must cry out a little. Great and terrible Claudia, listen to me this once. Do not go into the country – I mean: if you must go into the country,
GO ALONE
. I dare not ask again that it be with me; but, at least, alone.

Yes, I will say it: I have been ill. Since love first came among men, despised lovers have pretended they were ill; but this was no pretense. Do you wish to kill me? Is that your aim? I do not wish to die. I swear to you I shall fight it to my last breath. I do not know how much longer I can endure. Something that is stronger than I is lying in wait for me. It is in the corner of my room all night, watching me while I sleep. I awake suddenly and seem to feel it above my bed.

I tell you now that if you go into the country with him I shall surely die. You call me a weakling. I am not. I could hold your friend in the air for an hour and then hurl him against a wall, and remain untired. You know that I am not a weakling and that only a powerful force could kill me.

I do not mean these words to sound angry. If it is true that you are going to your villa, promise me that you will be alone. And then if you do not wish me to join you there, I will do what you have so often urged: I shall go to my home in the north until you return to the city.

Send me word about this. And oh, Claudia, Claudilla, ask me to do something – something that I can do. Do not ask me to forget you or to be indifferent to you. Do not ask me to have no interest in how you pass your time. But if we are separated, set me a task, something that will be a daily link with you. Great queen, greater than all the queens of Egypt, wise and good, learned and gracious, with one word you can make me well. With one smile, you can make me, make us, the happiest poet that ever praised the Immortal Gods.