The remarkable number of inscriptions that still survive in the most distant parts of the Empire bear witness that Julia was already regarded as an active Empress, not merely as the companion of Severus. Probably she comes next to Livia—some would place her before Livia—in the general recognition of her political existence. But on her return to Rome she found a bitter opponent in the person of Severus’s chief minister, and for a time she confined herself to personal concerns. This minister, Plautianus, was a fellow-townsman, possibly a relative, of the Emperor, and enjoyed and abused his entire confidence. He was promoted to the command of the Prætorian Guards, whom Severus, after punishing them for the murder of Pertinax, had reorganized and enormously increased. Finding himself at the head of fifty thousand picked men, and entrusted, during the long absence of the Emperor, with the supreme affairs of State, Plautianus indulged his vanity in the strangest excesses. When his superb chariot drove through Rome, runners were sent ahead to warn the common folk that they must turn away, and not gaze on his august person; and there were more statues of him in Rome than of the Emperor. He even had a hundred Romans, of all ages, including many of noble birth, emasculated, in order that his daughter might be attended with all the splendour and security of an Oriental harem. Severus begged the hand of this privileged maiden for his elder son. Bassianus was then (203) in his sixteenth year, and had just been nominated Cæsar by his father. Plautianus consented, and a princely wedding took place. People remarked, as the rich gifts were borne through the Forum to the palace, that the Prefect of the Guards had been able to give his daughter a dowry that would have sufficed for the daughters of fifty kings.
Two circumstances conspired to wreck this auspicious marriage. Bassianus disliked Plautilla, Julia hated her conceited and overbearing father. A third circumstance, in the opinion of Rome, was that Bassianus was already too intimate with a fiery little Syrian cousin, then living at the palace, of whom we shall see much in the next chapter. At length Plautianus brought a formal charge against the Empress, and there was agitation in the palace. The charge seems to have been one of adultery, and, though it was not established, some of the later historians declare that she owed her escape only to the fondness of Severus. Aurelius Victor (“De Cæsaribus,” xx) says that “his wife’s infamies robbed Severus of the height of his glory”; and he charges her with, to the Emperor’s knowledge, loose ways and treason. Lampridius (“Historia Augusta,” “Severus,” c. 18) affirms that she was “notorious for her adulteries and guilty of conspiracy.” Eutropius and Herodian join with them in bringing an even graver charge against her later. Dio, however, who was on the spot, brings no charge against her character, and many hold that his silence is more instructive than the chatter of later compilers. We may add that Severus was very eager to stamp out adultery, and, although his efforts were frustrated by the unwillingness of the citizens to use his law—Dio, when he was consul, found three thousand charges lying unheeded in the offices—his known temper must be taken into account. On the other hand, Dio wrote his history in the reign of a member of Julia’s family, and may have omitted much out of discretion.
The evidence is, as usual, perplexing, and there is no need to press for a verdict. The Oriental religion, to which Julia adhered, was not one to lay bonds upon the passion of love, and the removal from the guarded seclusion of the East to the free life of the West would not engender scruples. The charge, in fact, was not admitted by Severus to be proved, though noble dames were tortured to wring evidence from them. After this scorching ordeal, however, Julia moderated her open hostility to Plautianus, and sought consolation in a close application to letters and philosophy. Her sister, Julia Mæsa, had by this time come from Emesa to join her in the palace, and had brought two married daughters, of whom we shall hear more.[16] With these, and the literary men of Rome, she formed an intellectual circle, and withdrew from politics.
But there can be little doubt that Julia encouraged her son’s dislike of Plautilla. Herodian declares that the young wife was “a most shameless creature.” We may refuse to accept this description of the unhappy young princess, and see in it only an echo of the attack upon her. Bullied and threatened by Bassianus, she at last returned in tears to her father’s mansion, and the Prefect renewed his attacks with great warmth. Severus refused to hear complaints against him, until his brother Geta suggested to him, on his death-bed, that Plautianus was acquiring his enormous wealth with a view to seizing the throne. From that hour Severus behaved more coldly to his minister, and Julia’s party took courage. At length Bassianus persuaded his father that the minister was plotting. If we may believe the romantic version, Plautianus sent a man to assassinate Severus and his sons. The man betrayed him at the palace, and was directed by Bassianus to return and pretend to bring the Prefect to see the dead bodies. At all events, Plautianus came in haste to the palace, was alarmed to see the gates close behind him, and was led to the presence of the Emperor and Bassianus. Shortly afterwards, the head of Plautianus was tossed on to the street from the roof of the palace. Dio adds that a man plucked a handful of hair from the bleeding head, and rushed with it to Julia and Plautilla, crying: “Behold your Plautianus!” The unhappy girl was banished to Lipara, and was executed there by Bassianus after the death of his father.
It was perhaps inevitable that a series of executions should follow the fall of the favourite, but in a short time the life of the palace fell into a quiet routine. Severus, a big, powerful man, with a crown of grey hair above his venerable features, set an example of sobriety and industry. He was generally at work before dawn, and would return to work after a frugal midday-meal with his boys. They were years of peace and prosperity, and he made admirable use of the opportunity to restore the decaying buildings and institutions of the Empire, and to replenish the treasury. He regretted his lack of culture, and listened with deference to the learned discussions in which his wife and her relatives engaged. His one accomplishment in the way of science was a thorough command of the mysteries of astrology, as the golden stars with which he decorated the ceilings of his palace informed the visitor.
Julia joined with him in the work of restoration. We know that at Rome she rebuilt the temple of Vesta, and the numerous provincial inscriptions suggest a much wider interest. Under her lead the women of Rome were encouraged to look beyond their homes. Sabina had erected, or dedicated, a meeting-hall for women in the Forum of Trajan, but it had fallen into decay. Julia restored this early “women’s club,” and no doubt introduced into it the enthusiasm for letters and philosophy which she still had. Her “circle,” as Philostratus calls it, probably included the historian Dio, who was still at Rome, and the poet Appian, who had some years before described her as “the great Domna.” Philostratus himself, a Greek writer and rhetorician, one of the most learned men of the time, was closely associated with her. It was at her request that he wrote his famous “Life of Apollonius of Tyana.” In his “Lives of the Sophists” (Philiscus) he speaks of her as “Julia the Philosopher,” and in one of his letters (lxxiii) he refers with high appreciation to her learning.
Julia was then in the prime of her life, and in her happiest days. The bust of her that quickly catches the eye in the Vatican Museum—the largest surviving portrait-bust of the period—will hardly be deemed to possess the beauty with which the historians invest her. The thick lips and large nose, which betray her ancestry, do not compare well with the features of other Empresses. But the grave, strong, thoughtful face and large eyes, which we may imagine instinct with Syrian fire, are undeniably handsome. Her sister, Julia Mæsa, was with her—a woman of similar strength, moderation, and judgment. But the younger generation in the palace gave them concern. The young men, Bassianus and Geta, were loose and luxurious in their ways; and one of the daughters of Mæsa, Julia Soæmias, was a fit companion for Bassianus. Severus, noting the advance of his gout, looked with grave eyes on the soft habits and the constant quarrels of the sons whom he wished to leave partners in the Empire.
JULIA DOMNA
BUST IN THE VATICAN MUSEUM