My dearest Marcus,

I received word of your death six weeks ago, but not a day goes by when I wake up in denial. I

refuse to believe you’ve gone, my friend. Even thirty-five years after the day we first met, I

remember our childhood with fondness. And now, these thirty-five years later, my daughter has

given birth to the fifth child of your union. Julia named him Postumus in your honor.

You should know that at your funeral I held the most magnificent of celebrations1. Even Sulla

would have paled at the size of the games and processions!2 I delivered your eulogy myself and

brought you to rest in my very own mausoleum3, by the Via Flaminia. You would have loved the

expression on the faces of some of the patricians who attended. They could not stomach the idea

of a man of your humble origins gaining my friendship and inspiring my absolute respect4. How

we could have laughed together, my friend! How ironic it must have been to them that a man

lacking even an ounce of noble blood had the most noble heart in the world5.

Listen, I know that writing this letter is futile. I know you will never read it. But this was a draft

of a letter I had started the week before you passed. I could not leave it unfinished. In truth, I

should have written this letter long ago, when I knew that it would find you in good health. You

were away, off in the East, when the original subject of this letter, a most beautiful monument,

was commissioned by the Senate.

1
​Cassius Dio, ​Roman History,​ Book 54, Ch. 28-29
2
Plutarch’s ​Parallel Lives​ indicates that Lucius Cornelius Sulla (died in 78 B.C.) had an incredibly lavish funeral.
3
​Same Cassius Dio passage
4
​Jones pg. 66-67
5
​Coincidentally, “noble” is precisely the word Cassius Dio uses to describe Agrippa in that same passage
It is halfway finished now, this thing I call the ​Ara Pacis​. It is set by the Tiber6, in the Campus

Martius, where Romans may come to remember what it means to be ​Roman. I​ had hoped that

upon your safe return to Rome, I could have given you a tour, and perhaps you could have even

completed the construction yourself. So, in substitution, I will describe it to you as though you

were standing beside me, gazing at it with your own eyes.

The Senate, in a (quite frankly) rare moment of legitimate wisdom, asked for my input in the

altar’s construction. My architects were stunned when I insisted that they could not depict any of

my triumviral successes. No Lepidus, no Antony, no young Octavianus. No civil war, no Egypt,

no queen. I made that much clear -- this monument was to be a symbol of peace and paradise,

not war and slaughter.

Each of the doors, of course, has our history inscribed on them. On the western door, I’ve asked

the architects to sculpt Rome’s ancestors, Romulus and Remus, accompanied by their father,

Mars. Across from them sits ​my​ ancestor through my mother’s lineage, Aeneas -- son of Venus.

He will be performing a sacrifice with his son, Iulus7, the first of our great Julian clan. I want

people to remember their past, Marcus. That is why I’ve told the architects that all of us --

especially you and I, Marcus, must be veiled and sacrificing to the gods the same way Aeneas

did hundreds of years ago. Timeless tradition is what keeps Rome together. The hope of

returning to the past, to the ​Res Publica​ in its glory, is what prevents our hard work from

crumbling into dust.

6
All of the physical description of the ​Ara Pacis​ comes from Wallace-Hadrill (98-104) and Zanker (118-126,
156-161, 172). To avoid an excessive number of footnotes I’ve condensed the citations into one.
7
​Virgil’s ​Aeneid​ suggests that Aeneas and Iulus are Augustus’s ancestors and descendants of Venus.
But I am getting ahead of myself! The other doors! On the eastern side will be our beloved Roma

and Terra. Terra holds children in her arms, and sits in the company of water and wind nymphs,

animals, and the most fertile of land: all of the things that make our Rome so prosperous.

And now, for my favorite part: our family. This I’ve asked to be done last, so the marble has not

been carved yet. But here is my vision: along the south side of the altar, there will be a

near-life-size procession. Of course, I will stand amongst the priests as ​Pontifex Maximus​, the

position I took up last year upon the death of Lepidus. Behind me will follow the rest. Octavia

and Livia Drusilla and Julia and all the rest, with their children. And you, Marcus! You will

stand centered and veiled, tall and proud, with little Lucius at your side. I hope that when

Romans see this procession, they will not just see ​our​ family, but ​the​ family -- the perfect family,

the one every Roman should aspire to have. And it is our family that connects our past to the

present -- our success, our failures, and most importantly, our resilience.

In short, I envision people entering the building through the door of our ancestors, Aeneas and

Romulus, the men who founded Rome. Then, as they walk through, they see scenes of their own

life in us and our family. And finally, they leave, and their final view of the altar is our legacy:

the power of Roma and the prosperity of Terra. So you see, the ​Ara Pacis​ is not just a tribute to

my​ contribution to Rome but a symbol of what Rome could become for everybody.

Knowing you and your distaste for extravagance, I must explain why this altar means so much to

me. In the last few months, I have been reflecting on my career. As you knew well, watching

over Rome never guaranteed me an easy life. It is not always a pretty one and a pleasing one, and

at every corner I have to fight my way from death or defamation. I spend day after day
wondering if I’m going to make it to the next, and even when I do, I spend the hours of the night

wondering if I deserved another breath at all. But oddly enough, it is in these situations – the

moments where I am a hairline from failure – that I remember how incredible it is to live in the

first place. Rome is a beautiful city, Marcus. And I would rather spend my life reminded of this

fortune -- measured in my legacy, this monument I’ve made -- than decaying in on the Palatine,

counting it in coin.

You reminded me of those things, my dear friend. I will do everything in my power to never

forget your advice. Now, before I put this letter down, I need to thank you: you won for me most

of my battles, you rebuilt our city of brick into one of marble, and most importantly, you were

there for me when quite literally no one else was. If all goes as planned, I will see you in Elysium

very soon. Wait for me there. The world will remember us, Marcus. If nothing else, our ​Ara

Pacis​ will preserve our legacy. Vale.

Your brother,

Gaius Octavius8

8
Since Augustus knew Agrippa since his childhood, Agrippa would have first known him as simply “Gaius
Octavius” and nothing fancier. I’d like to think they were close enough to occasionally call each other by their given
names.