And yet that first knowledge was like a dream, and for many years I did not believe it. It was at Ilium, and I was worshiped as a goddess. Even now, it is like a dream; but I remember that at first I thought it all an amusing foolishness, a barbaric and charming foolishness.
I came to see that it was not… That youth I chose that day in the sacred grove could not have been more than nineteen; he was virginal; and he was the most beautiful boy I have ever seen. I can close my eyes, and see his face, and almost feel the firm softness of his body. I believe that when I took him into the cave, I did not intend to fulfill the ritual. I did not have to; I was the Mother Goddess, and my power was absolute. But I did fulfill the ritual, and discovered the power of my body and the power of its needs. It was a power that I had been led to believe did not exist… He was a sweet boy. I wonder what became of him, after he had entered the goddess and lain with her.
I believe that I must have lived in a kind of dream until the death of Marcus Agrippa. I could not believe what I had discovered, and yet its presence was with me always. I was faithful to Marcus Agrippa-I could not feel that the goddess who took her lover then at Ilium was wife to Agrippa; I was not faithful to Tiberius Claudius Nero.
It was after the death of that good man, Marcus Agrippa, that Julia, daughter of Octavius Caesar, the August, discovered the power that had been hidden within her, and discovered the pleasure that she could take. And the pleasure she could take became her power, and it seemed to her that it was a power beyond that of her name and of her father. She became herself.
Yes, it has served me well, this body that is blurred by the water, that I can see as I lie supine in my pelagic bath. It has served me, while seeming to serve others. It has always served me. The hands that roamed upon these thighs roamed there for me, and the lover to whom I gave pleasure was a victim of my own desire.
Sometimes, bathing, I think of those who have given this body pleasure-Sempronius Gracchus, Demosthenes, Appius Pulcher, Cornelius Scipio-I cannot remember their names now, many of them. I think of them, and their faces and their bodies merge together, so that they are as one face and one body. It has been six years since I have known the touch of a man, six years since beneath my hand or my lips I have caressed the flesh of a man. I am forty-four years old; four years ago I entered my old age. And yet still at the thought ofthat flesh, I can feel my heartbeat quicken; I can almost feel myself to be alive, though I know that I am not.
For a while, I was the goddess to the mystery of all my pleasure; and then I became a priestess, and my lovers were the adepts. I served us well, I think.
And I think at last of the one from whom I had ultimate pleasure, one for whom all the others had been prelude, so that I might be prepared. I knew the taste and heft of his flesh more intimately than I have known anything else. I cannot believe that six years have gone. I think of Julius. The tide rises gently, and the water moves over my body. If I do not move, I may think of him. I think of Julius Antonius.
III Letter: Gnaeus Calpurnius Piso to Tiberius Claudius Nero, in Rhodes (3 B.C.)
I must say at the outset, my friend, that I am filled with apprehension; and I do not know whether it is justified or not. Let me give you a few causes, so that you may judge the soundness of my feeling.
Your wife, so far as I can determine, has been faithful to one man for more than a year. That man is, as you know, Julius Antonius. She is seen constantly in his company; indeed, the liaison has become so widely recognized that no longer does either of them try to dissemble it. Julia receives guests in his home, and directs the activities of his servants. Her father must know of the affair by now, and yet he remains on friendly terms with his daughter, and with Julius Antonius. Indeed, it is rumored that Julia intends to divorce you, and to take Julius as her husband. In this rumor, however, I think we can put very little credence. Octavius Caesar would never allow it. Such an official alliance would simply destroy the delicate balance of power that he maintains, and he knows it. I mention the rumor only to indicate to you the extent to which the affair has grown.
Despite the scandal of his relationship with the Emperor's daughter-or perhaps because of it, for who can know the mind of the people?-Julius Antonius ‘s popularity continues to grow. He is at the moment, I should imagine, the second or third most powerful man in Rome; he has a very large following in the Senate, a following which, I must say, he uses most discreetly. Yet despite this discretion, I do not trust him. He has made no move to court those senators who have some influence with the military; he smiles upon all; he even conciliates his enemies. Yet I suspect that like his father he has ambitions; and unlike his father, he is able successfully to hide them from the world.
And, alas, your popularity among the masses seems to be suffering. It is in part because of your necessary absence; but that is not all. Libels and lampoons about you are being circulated widely; this, of course, is usual. Any distinguished figure is at the mercy of versifiers and hacks. But the distribution of these libels is far greater than any that I can remember in years; and they are particularly vicious. It seems almost that there is a campaign of sorts under way to discredit you. It does not do so, of course; no one who was your friend will become your enemy because of these libels, but it does seem to me symptomatic of something.
And the Emperor, I am sad to say, does not unbend in his dislike of you, despite the entreaties of your mother and your friends. So we can expect no comfort from that quarter.
Despite all this, you are well advised to remain in Rhodes. Let the lampooners invent their salacious poems; so long as you remain abroad, you will not be forced to act. The memories of men are short.
Julius Antonius has gathered around him a band of poets- nothing so distinguished as those who were friends to the Emperor, of course; and I suspect that some of the libels and lampoons have been coming (anonymously, of course) from their pens. Some write poems in praise of Julius himself; and he has let it be known that his maternal grandmother was a Julian. The man is ambitious; I am sure ofthat.
Do not forget that you have friends in Rome; and the absence of your self does not mean that you are not present in all our minds. It is a depressing strategy, but a necessary one, this waiting; do not become too impatient. I shall, as I have done, keep you informed of all that is pertinent here in the city.
IV. The Journal of Julia, Pandateria (A.D. 4)
Before Julius Antonius and I became lovers, he used to tell me about his early years, and about his father, Marcus Antonius. Julius had not been a favorite of his father-that distinction had fallen to his elder brother, Antyllus-and he remembered him as if he were almost a stranger. In his early years, Julius had been raised by my Aunt Octavia, who, though a stepmother, was closer to him than had been his natural mother, Fulvia. Often, as I sat quieriy with Julius Antonius and Marcella and talked, it occurred to me that it was the most amazing thing that once, as small children, we had all played together at my Aunt Octavia's house. I could not then, and cannot now, recall those days with any precision; and when we tried to talk about childhoods and dredge up memories of them, it was as if we were inventing the characters and the events of a play, out of the conventions and necessities of an occasion in the past.
I remember one late evening, when the three of us lingered after the other few dinner guests had departed. It was a hot night, so we removed ourselves from the dining room and lounged in the courtyard. The stars glimmered through the soft air; the servants had gone; and our music was the mysterious chirp and whisper of the innumerable insects hidden in the darkness. We had been talking quietly, toward no particular end, of the accidents that befall us in our living.