A History of Roman Classical Literature

Book III — Era of the Decline

Chapter I Decline of Roman Literature — It Became Declamatory — Biography of Phædrus — Genuineness of His Fables — Moral and Political Lessons Inculcated in Them — Specimens of Fables — Fables Suggested by Historical Events — Sejanus and Tiberius — Epoch Unfavourable to Literature — Ingenuity of Phædrus — Superiority of Æsop — The Style of Phædrus Classical

With the death of Augustus1011 commenced the decline of Roman literature, and only three illustrious names, Phædrus, Persius, and Lucan, rescue the first years of this period from the charge of a corrupt and vitiated taste. After awhile, indeed, political circumstances again became more favourable—the dangers which paralyzed genius and talent, and prevented their free exercise under Tiberius and his tyrannical successors, diminished, and a more liberal system of administration ensued under Vespasian and Titus. Juvenal and Tacitus then stood forth as the representatives of the old Roman independence; vigour of thought communicated itself to the language; a taste for the sublime and beautiful to a certain extent revived, although it did not attain to the perfection which shed a lustre over the Augustan age.

The characteristic of the first literature of this epoch was declamation and rhetoric. As liberty declined, true natural eloquence gradually decayed. When it is no longer necessary or even possible to persuade or convince the people, that eloquence which calms the passions, wins the affections, or appeals to common sense and the reasoning powers, has no opportunity for exercise. Its object is a new one—namely, to please and attract an audience who listen in a mere critical spirit: the weapons which it makes use of are novelty and ingenuity; novelty soon becomes strangeness, and strangeness exaggeration; whilst ingenuity implies unnatural study and a display of pedantic erudition—the aiming at startling and striking effects—and at length ends in affectation.

If this was the prevailing false taste under the immediate successors of Augustus, it is not surprising that it affected poetry as well as prose; and that the principal talent of the poet lay in florid and diffuse descriptions, whilst his chief fault was a style overladen with ornament. The tragedies ascribed to Seneca are theatrical declamations; the satires of Persius are philosophical declamations; whilst the poems of Lucan and Silius Italicus, though epic in form, are nothing more than descriptive poems, and their style is rather rhetorical than poetical.

Phædrus

Fable had been long known and popular amongst the Romans before the time of Phædrus. Livy could not have attributed the well-known one to Menenius Agrippa, unless it had been a familiar tradition of long standing. Fables amused the guests of Horace, and furnished subjects to those of Ovid. In this, as in other fields of literature, Rome was an imitator of Greece; but nevertheless the Roman fabulist struck out a new line for himself, and in his hands fable became, not only a moral instructor, but a severe political satirist. Phædrus, the originator and only author of Roman fable, flourished on the common confines of the golden and the silver age. His mode of thought, as well as the events which suggested both his original illustrations and his adaptations of the Æsopean stories, belong to that epoch of transition. His works are, as it were, isolated: he has no contemporaries. Although he was born in the reign of Augustus, he wrote when the Augustan age had passed away. Nevertheless his solitary voice was lifted up when those of the poet, the historian, and the philosopher were silenced.

Phædrus, like Horace, is his own biographer; and the only knowledge which we have respecting his life is furnished by his Fables. In the prologue to the third book he informs us that he was a native of Thrace: “I,” he says, “to whom my mother gave birth on the Pierian hill—

Ego quem Pierio mater enixa est jugo.”

And, again, he exclaims, “Why should I, who am nearer to lettered Greece, desert for slothful indolence the honour of my fatherland, when Thrace can reckon up her poets, and Apollo is the parent of Linus, the muse of Orpheus, who by his song endowed rocks with motion, tamed the wild beasts, and stopped the rapid Hebrus with welcome delay?—

Ego literatæ qui sum propior Græciæ,
Cur somno inerti deseram patriæ decus;
Threïssa cum gens numeret auctores suos,
Linoque Apollo sit parens, Musa Orpheo
Qui saxa cantu movit, et domuit feras,
Hebrique tenuit impetus dulci morâ?”

From the title, “Augusti Libertus,” prefixed to his fables, it is clear that he adds one more distinguished name to that list of freedmen, who were celebrated in the annals of literature. Although, in the preface to his work, he modestly terms himself only a translator of Æsop,

Æsopus auctor quam materiam repperit
Hanc ego polivi versibus senariis,1012

still, for many of his fables, he deserves the credit of originality. Probably he enlarged and extended his original plan; for he afterwards speaks of simply adopting the style and not the matter of the Æsopean fable.1013

He does not appear to have gained much fame or popularity; for he is only twice mentioned by ancient authorities, namely, by Martial1014 and Seneca.1015 The latter, writing to Polybius, a favourite freedman of Claudius, encourages him to enter upon the field which Phædrus already occupied, asserting that fables in the style of Æsop constituted a work hitherto unattempted by Roman genius (intentatum Romanis ingeniis opus.) Either, therefore, the fables of Phædrus were little known and appreciated, or Seneca purposely concealed from the Emperor’s favourite the fact of their existence, in order to flatter him with the hopes of his thus becoming the first Roman writer in his style. The persecution to which literary men were subject under the worst Emperors, of which Phædrus hints obscurely that he was a victim1016—the perils to which he would have been exposed by strictures upon persons in power, which, concealed under the veil of fiction, appear now dark and enigmatical, but which might have spoken plainly to the consciences of the actors themselves—probably rendered it a wise precaution to conceal his works during his lifetime; hence they would be little known, except to a chosen few, and the few copies made of them would account for the rarity of the extant manuscripts.

Owing to the deficiency of ancient testimony, the genuineness of the Fables has been disputed; but the purity of style, and the natural allusions to contemporary events render it almost certain that they belong to the age in which they were supposed to have been written. No one but a contemporary could have written the fable commencing—

Narrabo memoria quod factum est mea.1017

The prologue to the third book evidently speaks of the author’s own calamities; and the way in which the name of Sejanus is connected with the event, hints, although obscurely, that that prime minister of tyranny was the author of his sufferings. It is scarcely probable that he would have ventured to attack Sejanus during his lifetime. It may, therefore, be assumed that Phædrus lived beyond the eighteenth year of the reign of Tiberius, in which year Sejanus died.

The original manuscript followed in the early editions of Phædrus was discovered in the tenth century: it contained ninety-seven fables, divided into five books. But N. Perotto, an archbishop of Manfredonia, in the fifteenth century, published a miscellaneous collection of Latin fables, and amongst them were thirty-two new fables attributed to Phædrus, which were not found in the older editions. These were at first supposed to have been written by Perotto himself; but the manifest inferiority of some poems known to be the work of the archbishop, and the Augustan purity of style which marks the newly-discovered fables, leave little doubt of their genuineness. Consequently, they were published by Angelo Mai as supplementary to those which had already appeared.

The circumstances of the times in which he lived suggested the moral and prudential lessons which his fables inculcated. The bane of Rome, under the empire, was the public informer (delator,) as the sycophant had been the pest of Athens. Life and conduct, private as well as public, were exposed to a complete system of espionage: no one was safe from this formidable inquisition; a man’s familiar associate might be in secret his bitterest enemy. But the principal victims were the rich: they were marked out for destruction, in order that the confiscation of their property might glut the avarice of the Emperor and the informers. For this reason, Phædrus himself professes always to have seen the peril of acquiring wealth—

Periculosum semper reputavi lucrum.

And we cannot be surprised that the danger of riches, and the comparative safety of obscurity and poverty, should sometimes form the moral of his fables.

That of the Mules and the Thieves, which is entirely his own, teaches this lesson:—

Muli gravati sarcinis ibant duo;
Unus ferebat fiscos cum pecuniâ,
Alter tumentes multo saccos hordeo.
Ille, onere dives, celsâ cervice eminet,
Clarumque collo jactat tintinnabulum;
Comes quieto sequitur et placido gradu.
Subito latrones ex insidiis advolant,
Interque cædem ferro mulum sauciant,
Diripiunt nummos, negligunt vile hordeum.
Spoliatus igitur cum casus fleret suos,
Equidem, inquit alter, me contemptum gaudeo,
Nam nihil amisi nec sum læsus vulnere.
Hoc argumento tuta est hominum tenuitas;
Magnæ periclo sunt opes obnoxiæ.1018

“Two mules, laden with heavy burdens, were journeying together: one carried bags of money; the other, sacks filled with barley. The former, proud of his rich load, carried his head high, and made the bell on his neck sound merrily; his companion followed with quiet and gentle paces. On a sudden, some thieves rush from an ambuscade, wound the treasure-mule, strip him of his money-bags, but leave untouched the worthless barley. When, therefore, the sufferer bewailed his sad case—‘For my part,’ replied his companion, ‘I rejoice that I was treated with contempt; for I have no wounds, and have lost nothing.’ The subject of this fable proves that poverty is safe, whilst great wealth is exposed to peril.”

The fable of the Man and the Ass teaches a salutary lesson to another class of wealthy men, namely, those favourites of the emperor and his creatures, who owed their wealth to plunder and confiscation. Every day’s experience proved that those who battened on the spoils of the oppressed one day, became themselves the victims of the same tyrannical system the next. Like that of the prime minister, Sejanus himself, the sun of their prosperity was destined to set, and their ill-gotten spoil to enrich others as unworthy as themselves. Those fortunes were indeed built upon a rotten foundation, which the same system had power to raise up and to overthrow:—

Quidam immolasset verrem quum sancto Herculi,
Cui pro salute votum debebat sua,
Asello jussit reliquias poni hordei.
Quas aspernatus ille sic locutus est:
Tuum libenter prorsus appeterem cibum
Nisi, qui nutritus illo est, jugulatus foret.

---

Majorem turbam punitorum reperies;
Paucis temeritas est bono, multis malo.1019

“A man who had sacrificed a boar to Hercules, which he had vowed as a thank-offering for his recovery from sickness, ordered the remains of the barley to be given to his ass. The ass rejected it with scorn, and said, ‘I would gladly eat of the food you give me, had not he who was fattened on it had his throat cut.’

“You will find that the majority of those who grow rich by violence and rapine are punished; audacity succeeds with few, but ruins many.”

The continued succession of tyrannical emperors must have taught their oppressed subjects that they had nothing to hope for from a change of those who wore the purple. This truth is imbodied in the fable of the old Peasant and his Ass:——

In principatu commutando civium
Nil, præter domini nomen, mutant pauperes.
Id esse verum parva hæc fabula indicat.
Asellum in prato timidus pascebat senex.
Is, hostium clamore subito territus,
Suadebat asino fugere, ne possent capi.
At ille lentus; quæso, num binas mihi
Clitellas impositurum victorem putas?
Senex negavit. Ergo quid refert mea
Cui serviam, clitellas dum portem meas?1020

“In a change of princes the poor change nothing but the name of their master. The truth of this is shown by the following little fable. A timid old man was feeding his ass in a meadow. Alarmed by the shouts of an advancing enemy he urged the ass to fly for fear they should be taken prisoners. But the ass loitered, and said, ‘Pray, do you think that the conqueror will put two pack-saddles on my back?’ ‘No,’ replied the old man. ‘What, then, does it matter to me in whose service I am, so long as I have to carry my load?’”

The well known fable of the Wolf and the Lamb (i. 1) illustrates the unscrupulousness of the informers; and that of the Wolf and the House-dog (iii. 7) teaches how preferable is liberty, even under the greatest privations, to luxury and comfort purchased by submission to the caprices of a master.

Of such a kind were the moral and political lessons which Phædrus enforced in the attractive garb of fables. They were of a general character, suggested by the evils of the times in which he lived.

Another class were suggested by historical events: they were nevertheless severe satirical strictures on individuals. Two may be pointed out as examples which are evidently directed against Tiberius and Sejanus. These are—The Frogs demanding a King, (i. 2;) and the Frogs and the Sun, (i. 6.) Neither of the fables are original; they are apposite applications of two by Æsop.

The Romans,1021 like the frogs in the first of these fables, had exchanged their liberty for the slavery of the empire. In Tiberius, now an imbecile dotard, wholly given up to sensual indulgence in his retreat at Capreæ, they had a perfect King Log. He was utterly careless of the sufferings of his subjects and the administration of his kingdom.

To his odious minister, Sejanus, he intrusted the toils of government, to which his own indolence indisposed him. All tyranny and cruelty were ascribed to the ministers; whilst the effeminate debauchery of the Emperor rendered him, even in that demoralized age, an object of contempt and insult rather than of abhorrence and fear. L. Sejanus, a kinsman of Ælius,1022 employed bald-headed persons, and children with their heads shaved, in the procession of the Floral games, in order to hold up to scorn and derision the bald-headed Emperor, and he dared not take notice of the insult. The infamous Fulcinius Trio in his last will declared that Tiberius had become childish in his old age, and that his continued retirement was nothing else but exile.1023 Pacuvianus was the author of pasquinades against the Emperor. In the same way Phædrus describes the frogs as treating “King Log” with scorn, and as defiling him in the most offensive manner.

But after the death of Sejanus a change took place in the Emperor’s conduct, though not in his character. He left Capreæ for a time, and took up his abode in the Vatican, close to the very walls of Rome. He now gave vent to his savage disposition, and displayed the temper of the water-snake in the fable. His natural cruelty was equalled by his activity. “His sharp tooth seized his unresisting victims one after the other: in vain they fly from death; fear prevents them from uttering a word in defence or expostulation.” No longer a vast expanse of sea and land intervened between the tyrant and his victims. There was nothing to delay the pompous and verbose missives of his bloody purposes: his rescripts could reach the consuls the same day, or at least after the interval of a night: he could behold, as it were, with his own eyes, the reeking hands of the executioners, and the waves of blood which deluged every dwelling.1024 Vengeance not only fell on the guilty Sejanus and his unoffending family, the vilest and the noblest blood of Rome alike flowed at the tyrant’s command. The fable of the Frogs and the Sun was a covert attack upon the ambitious designs of Sejanus. It is sufficiently short to be quoted:

Uxorem quandam Sol quum vellet ducere,
Clamorem Ranæ sustulere ad sidera.
Convicio permotus, quærit Jupiter
Causam querelæ. Quædam tum stagni incola,
Nunc, inquit, omnes unus exurit lacus
Cogitque miseras arida sede emori;
Quidnam futurum est, si creârit liberos?1025

“Once upon a time the Sun determined to marry; and the Frogs raised a cry of alarm to Heaven. Jupiter, moved by their complaints, asked the cause of them. One of the denizens of the pond answered:—‘Now the Sun by himself dries up all the lakes, and causes us to die a miserable death in our parched-up dwellings. What then will become of us if he has children?’”

Now let us examine the application. The fawning yet ambitious Sejanus had always aspired to ally himself with the imperial family. The first attempt which he made to accomplish his design was procuring the betrothal of his daughter to Drusus, the son of Claudius, afterwards emperor. This prince died young, and consequently the marriage never took place;1026 but this first opened the eyes of the Romans to the audacious projects of the favourite. Later in his career,1027 he, by a similar step, endeavoured to pave his way to the imperial purple. He seduced Livilla, the sister of the amiable Germanicus, poisoned her husband, divorced his own wife, and asked the sanction of Tiberius to his marriage with the widow of the murdered man. The emperor, with his usual finesse and dissimulation, refused. The demand awoke the suspicions of the court, and was a commencement of that coolness between Sejanus and his patron which eventually ended in the fall of the latter. The influence of Sejanus alone was sufficiently baneful; what would it be if multiplied by a race of princes descended from him? The mere probability of such an event naturally filled Rome with alarm and consternation; and this Phædrus endeavoured to encourage by a fable, which, if it had not some such object as this, would scarcely be intelligible.

The quotations which have been given from the fables of Phædrus are sufficient, as examples of his ingenuity in imitation and adaptation, as well as of his original genius, whenever he trusts to his powers of invention. Some of his pieces, although, like the rest, they are entitled fables, are, in fact, narratives of real events, and show that he possessed a charming talent for telling anecdotes, besides skill as a fabulist in the proper sense of the term. His style has great merits: it combines the simple neatness and graceful elegance of the golden age with the vigour and terseness of the silver one. Phædrus has the facility of Ovid, and the brevity of Tacitus. Thus standing in the epoch between two literary periods, he, as far as the humble nature of his walk admits, unites the excellencies of both. Between the age of Horace and Juvenal, Cicero and Tacitus, there was a gap, and a long one, not less than half a century: it was a period in which Roman genius was slumbering. Phædrus proves that that sleep was not the sleep of death. Tacitus has partially accounted for this cold and dark interval. He tells us1028—“that although the affairs of the ancient Roman republic, whether in prosperity or in adversity, were related by illustrious writers—and even the times of Augustus were not deficient in historians of talent and genius—nevertheless the gradual growth of a spirit of adulation deterred all who were qualified for the task from attempting it. Fear, during the lifetime of Tiberius, Caius, Claudius, and Nero, and hatred, still fresh after their deaths, rendered all accounts of their reigns false.”

It was thus, according to him, fear and hatred, and a spirit of flattery, that silenced the voice of history. Doubtless what he says of history applies with equal force to poetry, and oratory likewise. The same cause which crushed political liberty rendered the truthfulness of the historian fraught with danger, and all poetry, except it spoke the language of adulation, treason; a crime which was no longer one against the majesty of the people, but was transferred to the person of the emperor. The very term παρρησια (boldness of speech) was a word, the utterance of which was as perilous as to speak of liberty.1029 The danger had scarcely passed away when Juvenal, notwithstanding his fearless spirit, wrote:—

          Unde illa priorum
Scribendi quodcunque animo flagrante liberet,
Simplicitas, cujus non audeo dicere nomen.
          Juv. i. 153.

Where the plain times, the simple, when our sires
Enjoyed a freedom which I dare not name,
And gave the public sin to public shame,
Heedless who smiled or frowned.
          Gifford.

But there was a negative as well as a positive cause, the withdrawal of patronage. Literature, in order to flourish, requires the genial sunshine of human sympathy: it needs either the patronage of the great or the favour of the people. In Greece it enjoyed the latter in the highest possible degree; in Rome, from the time of the Scipios to that of Augustus, it was fostered by the former. Immediately after his death patronage was withdrawn, and there was not public support to supply its place. Tiberius was first a soldier; then a dark and reserved politician; lastly, a blood-thirsty and superstitious sensualist. The enjoyments of Gaius Caligula were the extravagancies of a madman, although he was responsible for his moral insanity, because he had, by vicious indulgence, been the destroyer of his moral principle; and not only did he not encourage literature, but he even hated Homer and Virgil. Lastly, the stupid and dozing Claudius wrote books1030 as stupid as himself, and was at once the butt and tool of his courtiers. It was not, therefore, until the reign of Nero that literature revived; for, though the bloodiest of tyrants, he had an ambition to excel in refinement, and had a taste for art and poetry.

In the construction of his fables, Phædrus displays observation and ingenuity. Nothing escapes his watchful eye which can be turned to account in his little poems. A rude sketch in charcoal on the wall of a low tavern1031 suggested to him the idea of the Battle between the Rats and the Weasels. His animals are grouped, and put in attitudes, just as a painter would arrange them. His accurate eye has noted and registered the habits of the brute creation, and he has adapted them to the delivery of noble and wise sentiments with the utmost ingenuity. But there his genius stops. He is deficient in imagination. He makes his animals the vehicles of his wisdom; but he does not throw himself into them, or identify himself with them. The true poet is lost in his characters: carried away by the enthusiasm of an inspired imagination, his spirit is transfused into his heroes;—you forget his existence. The characters of Phædrus look and act like animals, but talk like human beings: the moralist and the philosopher can always be detected speaking under their mask and in their disguise.

In this consists the great superiority of Æsop to his Roman imitator. His brutes are a superior race, but they are still brutes. The reader could almost fancy that the fabulist had lived amongst them as one of themselves—had adopted their modes of life, and had conversed with them in their own language. In Phædrus we have human sentiments translated into the language of beasts—in Æsop we have beasts giving utterance to such sentiments as would be naturally theirs, if they were placed in the position of men. Skilful adaptation and happy delineation are the triumphs of ingenuity and observation: the creative power is that of the imagination.

The style of Phædrus, notwithstanding a few provincialisms,1032 is pure and classical. He does not often indulge in the use of metaphors, but the few which are met with are striking and appropriate. He is not entirely free from some of that far-fetched affectation which characterizes the decline of Roman literature. But his fault is exaggerated conciseness, and the concentration of many ideas within a brief space, rather than the rhetorical ornament which now began to be admired and popular. His endeavour after brevity led him to use abstract substantives far more profusely than is consistent with the practice of the best classical writers. These faults, however, do not interfere with that clearness and simplicity, which, quite as much as the subjects, have rendered the fables of Phædrus a popular book for the young student, and please even those who have the opportunity of comparing his iambics with the liveliness of Gay, the politeness of Florian, the philosophy of Lessing, the sweetness of Cowper, and the unequalled versatility of La Fontaine.

CHAPTER II.
DRAMATIC LITERATURE IN THE AUGUSTAN AGE—REVIVAL UNDER NERO—DEFECTS OF THE TRAGEDIES ATTRIBUTED TO SENECA—INTERNAL EVIDENCE OF THEIR AUTHORSHIP—SENECA THE PHILOSOPHER A STOIC—INCONSISTENT AND UNSTABLE—THE SENTIMENTS OF HIS PHILOSOPHICAL WORKS FOUND IN HIS TRAGEDIES—PARALLEL PASSAGES COMPARED—FRENCH SCHOOL OF TRAGIC POETS.

Of Roman tragedy in its earliest period, so far as the fragments of it which remain allow a judgment to be formed, an account has already been given; and if circumstances forbade it to flourish then, still less can it be expected that the boldness and independence of Greek tragedy would be found under the empire.

Nevertheless, there were not wanting some imitators of Greece in this noblest branch of Greek poetry, however unsuitable it was to the genius of the Roman people, and unlikely to be appreciated by them.

But their productions were rather literary than dramatic; they were intended to be read, not acted. They were poems composed in a dramatic form, because Athens had set the example of that form to her devoted imitators. Although, therefore, they contain noble philosophical sentiments, lively descriptions, vigorous conceptions and delineations of character, and passages full of tenderness and pathos, they are deficient in dramatic effect, and positively offend against those laws of good taste, which, not arbitrarily assumed, but founded on the principles of the human mind, regulated the Athenian stage.

We have seen that, in the Augustan age, a few writers attained some excellence in tragedy, at least in the opinion of ancient critics. Besides Ovid and Varius, whose tragedies have been already mentioned, Asinius Pollio acquired a high reputation as a tragic poet, and Virgil1033 declares that he is the only one worthy of being compared with Sophocles:—

Sola Sophocleo tua carmina digna cothurno.

On the revival of letters under that professor of a love of poetry,1034 the tyrant Nero, dramatic literature reappeared, and perfect specimens are extant in the ten tragedies attributed to Seneca. Various and opposite opinions have been entertained respecting their merits; but there can be no doubt that the genius of the author never can grasp in their wholeness the characters which he attempts to copy; they are distorted images of the Greek originals; the awful and shadowy grandeur of the god-like heroes of Æschylus stand forth in corporeal vastness, and appear childish and unnatural, like the giants of a story-book. The marvels of Greek tragedy and Greek mythology, though merely the unreal conceptions of the imagination, do not appear exaggerated, because the connexion between the theory and the result, the causes and the effects, is so skilfully maintained; but in these Roman tragedies the legends of Greece appear extravagant and absurd: they are as unreal, and therefore seem as affected, as the classical garb in which English poetry was arrayed in the age of Anne. The Greeks believed in the gods and heroes whose agency and exploits constituted the machinery of tragedy—the Romans did not; and thus we cannot sympathize with them, because we see that they are insincere. The style, moreover, of the tragedies, which bear the name of Seneca, is spoiled by that inflated language and redundancy of ornament, the constant effect of which is, as Aristotle observes, frigidity. They bear the visible marks of an age in which genius had given place to an artificial and scholastic rhetoric; and the author seems to have been striving not for tragic pathos so much as brilliant declamation. In the female characters, especially, the Roman tragic poet fails; for, although he can understand heroism, he is unable to accomplish that most difficult of all tasks, the combining it with feminine delicacy. Perhaps the best and noblest of his country-women did not furnish him with such ideals. The Roman matron was the counterpart of her warlike lord. The Lucretias, Porcias, Cornelias, Arrias, though devoted and affectionate, were of sterner mould than Antigone and Deianira.

The tragedies which bear the name of Seneca have been attributed to L. Annæus Seneca, the philosopher, as early as the time of Quintilian,1035 who quotes as Seneca’s a verse from the Medea. The improbability of this being the case is also diminished by the fact that both Tacitus1036 and Pliny the younger1037 speak of him as a poet. Nevertheless, their authorship has been considered a very doubtful question. A passage in an epigram of Martial, in which he speaks of Cordova as the birthplace of two Senecas and one Lucan—

Duosque Senecas unicumque Lucanum
  Facunda loquitur Corduba1038—

has been interpreted as implying that Seneca the philosopher was a different person from Seneca the tragedian. There can, however, be scarcely any doubt that he was speaking of M. Annæus Seneca the rhetorician, and his son Lucius the philosopher. Sidonius Apollinaris,1039 the son-in-law of the Emperor Flavius Avitus, and Bishop of Clermont,1040 in the last years of the Roman empire, unhesitatingly draws a distinction between them. He enumerates three members of the Cordovan family:—

Quorum unus colit hispidum Platonem,
Incassumque suum monet Neronem,
Orchestram quatit alter Euripidis
Pictum fæcibus Æschylum sequutus,
Aut plaustris solitum sonare Thespim
Pugnam tertius ille Gallicanam
Dixit Cæsaris.
          Carm. ix. 231.

But, notwithstanding the celebrity which Sidonius enjoyed as a poet at the imperial court, his opinion is of no authority when weighed against the internal evidence derived from the tragedies themselves. This renders it almost morally certain, that they are the work of no other writer than Seneca the philosopher.

Although the Romans, as being imitators of the Greeks, and not original thinkers, were eclectics in philosophy, their favourite doctrines were those of the Stoics. They suited the rigid sternness of their character: they imbodied that spirit of self-devotion and self-denial with which the Roman patriot, in the old times of simple republican virtue, threw himself into his public duties; and Seneca, with all his faults, was a real Roman: with all his finesse and artful policy, he retained, in the midst of a debased age and a profligate court, a large portion of the old Roman character. In life and in death his was a true specimen of the Stoic creed.

Still he was by no means a consistent man: his theory was perfect, but his practice often fell short of it. The lessons of morality contained in his philosophical works are excellent, and persuasively enforced, and wear an appearance of honesty and sincerity; but, nevertheless, in his philosophy, as well as in his life, we can discover that his moral principles were unstable and wavering. These two features can be traced in his tragedies: they abound in philosophical dogmas and moral sentiments, and they display the same Stoicism mingled with occasional habits of inconsistency. Suicide is painted in the most attractive colours: death is met not only with courage, but with the same indifference with which Seneca himself, together with other victims of imperial tyranny, met it in his own day. It is not welcomed, as in the Greek tragedians, as a relief from the burden of earthly sorrows; but there is a manifest departure from the Greek model: the natural beauty of that model is violated, and the features of the original character sacrificed to Stoical coldness and want of feeling.

But not only are these tragedies filled with philosophical reflections; even the sentiments enunciated in the acknowledged works of Seneca, in his Essays and Epistles, are transferred to them, and the peculiar turns of expression used by the philosopher are repeated by the poet. A brilliant French author1041 has ingeniously brought together and compared parallel passages, which illustrate this similarity of sentiment and style. A few of these are sufficient as examples. Two in the “Phœnissæ,” in which Œdipus insists on “the liberty of dying,” imbody the same doctrine as two others, one in the epistles to Lucilius, the other in the treatise on Providence.

He (says Œdipus) who compels one who is unwilling to die does the same as he who hinders one who is eager for death; nay, I consider the latter treats me the worse of the two. I had rather that death were forced upon me than that the privilege of dying should be torn from me.

  Qui cogit mori
Nolentem, in æquo est, quique properantem impedit.
Nec tamen in æquo est; alterum gravius reor,
Malo imperari quam eripi mortem mihi.
      Phœnis. 98.

And again the same favourite sentiment appears:—

I cannot be prevented from dying; of what availeth all that care of thine? Death is everywhere. Most wisely has God provided for this. There is no one who cannot rob a man of life, but no one can rob him of death; to this a thousand roads are open.

          Morte prohiberi haud queo.
Quid ista tandem cura proficit tua?
Ubique mors est. Optime hoc cavit Deus.
Eripere vitam nemo non homini potest;
At nemo mortem; mille ad hanc aditus patent.
          Phœnis. 146.

With these are compared the following sentences of the philosopher, in which not only the doctrines, but also the language in which they are expressed, are so strikingly parallel as scarcely to admit of a doubt that the authors are identical:—

To live under compulsion is an evil; but there is no compulsion to live under compulsion. Many roads to liberty lie open on all sides, short and easy. Let us thank God that no one can be retained in life.

And, again, Divine Providence is represented as declaring to mankind:—

Before all things I have provided that no one should detain you against your will—an exit is open to you.

Malum est in necessitate vivere, sed in necessitate vivere necessitas nulla est. Patent undique ad libertatem viæ multæ, breves, faciles. Agamus Deo gratias, quod nemo in vitâ teneri potest.—Ep. xii.

Ante omnia cavi, ne quis vos teneret invitos, patet exitus.
          De Provident. vi.

How exactly in accordance with these sentiments, whether expressed in poetry or prose, is the closing scene of Seneca’s life; the almost business-like way in which he entered upon the road which was appointed to lead him from the dominion of necessity to the enjoyment of liberty—the imperturbable coolness with which he could contemplate the death of his wife, whom he loved with the greatest affection!1042 How calculated, moreover, were they to engage the sympathies of his contemporaries! It was an age in which, amidst its various corruptions, the only virtue which survived was the knowing how to meet death with a courageous spirit, in which many of the best and the noblest willingly died by their own hands at the imperial mandate, in order to save their name from infamy, and the inheritance of their children from confiscation.

Again, an awful belief in destiny, and the hopeless, yet patient, struggle of a great and good man against this all-ruling power, is the mainspring of Greek tragedy. This is not transferred into the imitations of the Romans. Its place is supplied by the stern fatalism of the Stoics. The principle of destiny entertained by the Greek poets is a mythological, even a religious one: it is the irresistible will of God. God is at the commencement of the chain of causes and effects by which the event is brought about which God has ordained; his inspired prophets have power to foretell, and mortals cannot resist or avoid. It is rather predestination than destiny. The doctrine implies an intelligent agent, not a mere abstract principle.

The fatalism of the Stoics, on the other hand, is the doctrine of practical necessity. It ignores the almighty power of the Supreme Being, although it does not deny his existence. It strips him of his attributes as the moral Governor of the universe. These doctrines are found both in the philosopher and tragic poet. Translate the subjoined prose passage into the conventional language of poetry, adopt as a mere matter of embellishment the fables of Greek mythology, personify the Stoical principle of necessity by the Greek Fates, and it becomes the Chorus in the Latin tragedy Œdipus. Both these passages are quoted by Nisard:—

Nihil cogor nihil patior invitus; nec servio Deo, sed assentior; eo quidem magis, quod scio omnia certa et in æternum dicta lege decurrere. Fata nos ducunt, et quantum cuique restat, prima nascentium hora disposuit. Causa pendet ex causa; privata ac publica longus ordo rerum trahit. Ideo fortiter omne ferendum est; quia non, ut putamus, incidunt cuncta, sed veniunt. Olim constitutum est quid gaudeas, quid fleas; et quamvis magna videatur varietate singulorum vita distingui, summa in unum venit; accepimus peritura perituri.

De Provid. v.

I am neither compelled to do or to suffer anything against my will. I am not a slave to God, but I bow to his will. The more so because I know that all things are fixed and proceed according to an everlasting law. Destiny is our guide, and the hour of our birth has disposed all the remainder of our lives. Each cause depends upon a preceding one; a long chain of circumstances links together all things, both public and private. Therefore we must bear all things with fortitude, since all things come to pass, and do not, as we suppose, happen. Our joys or sorrows have been determined long ago; and although a great variety of items distinguishes the lives of individuals, the sum total is the same. Perishable creatures ourselves, that which we have received is perishable likewise.

A comparison of the above with the following passage exhibits a similarity which could only have proceeded from the same mind and the same pen; for it is to be remembered, that though the Romans were imitators of the Greeks, they did not copy one another; and throughout the whole field of Roman literature no example could be found of a poet transferring to his works the exact sentiments, tone of thought, and turn of expression of another Latin author:—

Fatis agimur, cedite fatis:
Non sollicitæ possunt curæ
Mutare rati stamina fusi.
Quicquid patimur, mortale genus,
Quicquid facimus, venit ex alto;
Servatque suæ decreta colus
Lachesis, dura revoluta manu.
Omnia certo tramite vadunt
Primusque dies dedit extremum.
Non illa Deo vertisse licet
Quæ nexa suis currunt causis.
It cuique ratus, prece non ulla
Mobilis, ordo.
          Œdip. 980.

We are led by destiny—yield then to its power. Anxious care cannot change the thread spun by the distaff of the Fates. Whatever we mortals do or suffer comes from on high; and Lachesis observes the decrees of the wheel which revolves beneath her pitiless hand. All things proceed in a fixed path, and the first day of life has determined the last. God has not power to change the chain of causes and effects. Each has its fixed order, which no prayers can alter.

Even the philosophical inconsistencies1043 traceable in the prose treatises are repeated in the tragedies. In one letter1044 he affirms his belief that the soul of Scipio Africanus has ascended into heaven as a reward of his virtue and piety; in another1045 he asserts the gloomy doctrine that death is annihilation: “Mors est non esse.” In like manner in the “Troades” the Chorus declares that the happy Priam wanders amongst pious souls in the “safe Elysian shades;”1046 and yet, with an inconsistency which the Letters of the philosopher alone account for, another passage in the same tragedy declares that the spirit vanishes like smoke, that after death is nothingness, and death itself is nothing.1047

On such internal evidence as this rests the probability, almost amounting to certainty, that Seneca the philosopher, and the author of the ten tragedies, are one and the same.1048

Notwithstanding their false rhetorical taste, and the absence of all ideal and creative genius, the tragedies of Seneca found many admirers and imitators in modern times. The French school of tragic poets took them for their model: Corneille evidently considered them the ideal of tragedy, and Racine servilely imitated them. Their philosophy captivated an age which thought that nothing was so sublime as heathen philosophy; and yet that same age derived its notions of ancient philosophy from the Romans instead of from the original Greek sources; and its poetical taste, as far as it was classical, was formed on a study of Roman dramatic literature, before the excellence of the Attic drama was sufficiently known to be appreciated.

CHAPTER III.
BIOGRAPHY OF PERSIUS—HIS SCHOOLBOY DAYS—HIS FRIENDS—HIS PURITY AND MODESTY—HIS DEFECTS AS A SATIRIST—SUBJECTS OF HIS SATIRES—OBSCURITY OF HIS STYLE—COMPARED WITH HORACE—BIOGRAPHY OF JUVENAL—CORRUPTION OF ROMAN MORALS—CRITICAL OBSERVATIONS OF THE SATIRES—THEIR HISTORICAL VALUE—STYLE OF JUVENAL—HE WAS THE LAST OF ROMAN SATIRISTS.

Aulus Persius Flaccus (Born A. D. 34.)

Roman satire subsequently to Horace is represented by Aulus Persius Flaccus and Decimus Junius Juvenalis. Persius was a member of an equestrian family, and was born, according to the Eusebian Chronicle, A. D. 34, at Volaterræ in Etruria. He was related to the best families in Italy, and numbered amongst his kindred Arria, the noble-minded wife of Pætus. His father died when he was six years old, and his mother, Fulvia Sisenna, married a second time a Roman knight named Fusius. In a few years she was again a widow. Persius received his elementary education at his native town; but at twelve years of age he was brought to Rome, and went through the usual course of grammar and rhetoric, under Remmius Palæmon1049 and Virginius Flavus.1050 The former of these was, like so many men of letters, a freedman, and the son of a slave. He was, according to Suetonius,1051 a man of profligate morals, but gifted with great fluency of speech, and a prodigious memory. He was rather a versifier than a poet, and, like so many modern Italians, possessed the talent of improvising. He was prosperous as a schoolmaster, considering the very small pittance which the members of that profession usually earned, for his school brought him in forty sestertia per annum (about 325l.1052) Virginius Flavus is only known as the author of a treatise on Rhetoric.

Persius himself gives1053 an amusing picture of his schoolboy idleness, his love of play, and his tricks to escape the hated declamation which, in Roman schools, formed a weekly exercise:1054—

Sæpe oculos, memini, tangebam parvus olivo,
Grandia si nollem morituri verba Catonis
Discere non sano multum laudanda magistro,
Quæ pater adductis sudans audiret amicis.
Jure; etenim id summum, quid dexter senio ferret,
Scire erat in voto; damnosa canicula quantum
Raderet; angustæ collo non fallier orcæ;
Neu quis callidior buxum torquere flagello.

Oft, I remember yet, my sight to spoil,
Oft, when a boy, I bleared my eyes with oil:
What time I wished my studies to decline,
Nor make great Cato’s dying speeches mine;
Speeches my master to the skies had raised,
Poor pedagogue! unknowing what he praised;
And which my sire, suspense ’twixt hope and fear,
With venial pride, had brought his friends to hear.

For then, alas! ’twas my supreme delight
To study chances, and compute aright
What sum the lucky dice would yield in play,
And what the fatal aces sweep away;
Anxious no rival candidate for fame
Should hit the long-necked jar with nicer aim;
Nor, while the whirling top beguiled the eye,
With happier skill the sounding scourge apply.
          Gifford.

At sixteen, Persius attached himself to the Stoic philosopher Annæus Cornutus, by whom he was imbued with the stern philosophical principles which occupy so prominent a place in his Satires. The friendship which he formed thus early in life continued until the day of his death. The young Lucan was also one of his intimate associates, whose philosophical and poetical tastes were similar to his own, and who had a profound admiration for his writings. He was acquainted with Seneca, but had no very great regard either for him or his works. Cæsius Bassus, to whom he addressed his sixth Satire, was also one of his intimates.1055 It redounds greatly to his honour that he enjoyed the friendship of Pætus Thrasea, one of the noblest examples of Roman virtue.1056 Persius died prematurely of a disease in the stomach, at the age of twenty-eight. He left a large fortune to his mother and sister; and his library, consisting of seven hundred volumes, together with a considerable pecuniary legacy, to his beloved tutor, Cornutus. The philosopher, however, disinterestedly gave up the money to the sister of his deceased friend.

Pure in mind and chaste in life, Persius was free from the corrupt taint of an immoral age. He exhibited all the self-denial, the control of the passions, and the stern uncompromising principles of the philosophy which he admired, but not its hypocrisy. Stoicism was not, in his case, as in that of so many others, a cloak for vice and profligacy.

Although Lucretius was, to a certain extent, his model, he does not attack vice with the biting severity of the old satirist. He rather adopts the caustic irony of the old Greek comedy, as more in accordance with that style of attack which he himself terms—

petulanti splene cachinno.1057

Nor do we find in his writings the fiery ardour, the enthusiastic indignation, which burn in the verses of Juvenal; but this resulted from the tenderness of his heart and the gentleness of his disposition, and not from any disqualification for the duties of a moral instructor, such as weak moral principle, or irresolute timidity.

Although he must have been conscious that the dangerous times during which his short life was passed rendered caution necessary, still it is far more probable that his purity of mind and kindliness of heart disinclined him to portray vice in its hideous and loathsome forms, and to indulge in bitterness of invective which prevalent enormities of his times deserved. It may be questioned whether obscenities like those of Juvenal, notwithstanding purity of intention, best promote the interests of virtue. It is to be feared that often the passions are excited and the human heart rendered more corrupt by descriptions of vice, whilst the moral lesson is disregarded.

Persius evidently believed that reserve and silence, or those abominations which make the pure-minded shudder with horror, and call up a blush upon the cheek of innocence, would more safely maintain the dignity and purity of virtue, than the divesting himself of that virgin modesty (virgineus ille pudor) which constituted the great charm of his character. His uprightness and love of virtue are shown by the uncompromising severity with which he rebukes sins of not so deep a die; and the heart which was capable of being moulded by his example, and influenced by his purity, would have shrunk from the fearful crimes which defile the pages of Juvenal.

The greatest defect in Persius, as a satirist, is, that the philosophy in which he was educated rendered him too indifferent to the affairs which were going on in the world around him. Politics had little interest for him: he lived within himself a meditative life; wealth and splendour he despised. His contemplative habits led him to criticise, as his favourite subjects, false taste in poetry and empty pretensions to philosophy. His modest and retiring nature found little sympathy with the passions, the tumults, the business, or the pleasures which agitated Rome. He was more a student of the closet than a man of the world. Horace mingled in the society of the profligate; he considered them as fools; and laughed their folly to scorn. Juvenal looked down upon the corruption of the age from an eminence, where, involved in his virtue, he was safe from moral pollution, and punished it like an avenging deity. Persius, pure in heart and passionless by education, whilst he lashes wickedness in the abstract, almost ignores its existence, and modestly shrinks from laying bare the secret pollutions of the human heart, and from probing its vileness to the bottom. The amiability, and above all the disinterestedness, which characterize his Satires, fully account for the popularity which they attained immediately on their publication by Cornutus, and the panegyrics of which he was the subject in later times. “Persius,” writes Quintilian,1058 “multum et veræ gloriæ, quamvis uno libro meruit.” Many of the early Christian writers thought that his merits fully compensated for the obscurity of his style; and Gifford1059 observes, “The virtue he recommends he practised in the fullest extent; and, at an age when few have acquired a determinate character, he left behind him an established reputation for genius, learning, and worth.”

The works of Persius are comprised within the compass of six Satires, containing, in all, about 650 lines. And from the expression of Quintilian, already cited, and supported by a passage of Martial, there is reason to suppose that all he wrote is now extant. To his Satires is prefixed a short but spirited introduction in choliambics, i. e. lame iambics, in which, for the iambus in the sixth place, there is substituted a spondee.

This proëmium bears but little relation to his work; but he was accustomed to similar irrelevancy in the parabases of the old Attic comedy, which he had studied. In his first Satire he exposes and accounts for the false and immoral taste which affected poetry and forensic eloquence, attacks the coxcombry of public recitation, and parodies the style of contemporary writers, in language which our ignorance of them prevents us from appreciating. In the second, which is a congratulatory address to his dear friend Macrinus on his birthday, he imbodies the subject-matter of the second Alcibiades of Plato;1060 a dialogue which Juvenal also had in view in the composition of his tenth Satire. In this poem, the degrading ideas which men have formed respecting the Deity, the consequent selfishness and even impiety of their prayers, are followed by sentiments on the true nature of prayer, which even a Christian can read with admiration:—

  Quin damus id superis, de magna quod dare lance
Non possit magni Messalæ lippa propago;
Compositum jus fasque animo sanctosque recessus
Mentis et incoctum generoso pectus honesto:
Hæc cedo, ut admoveam templis, et farre litabo.1061

No, let me bring the immortals what the race
Of great Messala, now depraved and base,
On their huge charger cannot,—bring a mind
Where legal and where moral sense are joined
With the pure essence; holy thoughts that dwell
In the soul’s most retired and sacred cell;
A bosom dyed in honour’s noblest grain—
Deep-dyed;—with these let me approach the fane,
And Heaven will hear the humble prayer I make,
Though all my offering be a barley-cake.

In the third, he endeavours to shame the ingenuous youth out of an idle aversion to the pursuit of wisdom, and contrasts the enjoyments of a well-regulated mind with ignorance and sensuality: the picture which he draws of the fate of the sensualist is very powerful:—

Turgidus hic epulis atque albo ventre lavatur,
Gutture sulfureas lente exhalante mephites;
Sed tremor inter vina subit, calidumque trientem
Excutit e manibus; dentes crepuere retecti;
Uncta cadunt laxis tunc pulmentaria labris.
Hinc tuba, candelæ; tandemque beatulus, alto
Compositus lecto, crassisque lutatus amomis,
In portam rigidos calces extendit; at illum
Hesterni capite induto subiere Quirites.1062

Now to the bath, full gorged with luscious fare,
See the pale wretch his bloated carcass bear;
While from his lungs, that faintly play by fits,
His gasping throat sulphureous steam emits!
Cold shiverings seize him, as for wine he calls,
His grasp betrays him, and the goblet falls!
From his loose teeth the lip, convulsed, withdraws,
And the rich cates drop through his listless jaws.
Then trumpets, torches come, in solemn state;
And my fine youth, so confident of late,
Stretched on a splendid bier and essenced o’er,
Lies, a stiff corpse, heels foremost at the door;
Romans of yesterday, with covered head,
Shoulder him to the pyre, and—all is said. Gifford.

One more quotation must be made from this noble Satire, which is alluded to by St. Augustine,1063 and in which Persius enunciates the sublime truth, that the most fearful punishment which can befall the profligate is the consciousness of what they have lost in rejecting virtue:—

Magne pater divûm, sævos punire tyrannos
Haud alia ratione velis, quum dira libido
Moverit ingenium ferventi tincta veneno;
Virtutem videant intabescantque relicta!1064

Dread sire of gods! when lust’s envenomed stings
Stir the fierce natures of tyrannic kings—
When storms of rage within their bosoms roll,
And call in thunder for thy just control—
O, then relax the bolt, suspend the blow,
And thus, and thus alone, thy vengeance show.
In all her charms, set Virtue in their eye,
And let them see their loss, despair, and—die. Gifford.

In the fourth Satire, Nero is represented in the character of Alcibiades; and Plato’s first Dialogue, which bears the name of the Athenian Libertine, furnished the foundation and many of the sentiments.

The fifth is the most elaborate of all the poet’s works. It is addressed to Cornutus, and is in the form of a dialogue between the philosopher and his pupil. The style is more finished than usual, and more adorned with the graces of poetry; his amiable nature beams forth in all the warmth of a grateful heart; and although he does not display any original philosophical research, he exhibits great learning, and an accurate acquaintance with the Stoic philosophy.

If the fifth Satire is the most elaborate, the sixth is, without doubt, the most delightful of the works of Persius. It is addressed to his dear friend Cæsius Bassus, and overflows with kindness of heart. The poet speaks of the duties of contentment, and of ministering to the distresses of others; the hatefulness of envy; the meanness of avarice, beneath whatever disguise it may be veiled; his own determination to use and not abuse his fortune; whilst there may be traced through the whole a foreboding, yet a cheerful one, that his weary course will soon be run, and that his heir will soon succeed to his possessions.1065

Such was the character of Persius as mirrored in his little volume. The gloomy sullenness of Stoicism was not able to destroy the natural amiability and placid cheerfulness of his temper. Its darkness affected his style, but not his disposition. The fault which has been universally found with the style of Persius, is difficulty and obscurity. This would be the natural consequence of his Stoical education. The Stoics were proverbially obscure and dark in their teaching; and Persius, who had not imbibed all the profoundness of their philosophy, had still caught their language and their manner of expression, and whilst he was infected by their faults he acquired also their picturesqueness and liveliness of illustration. Nor does it appear that his style was considered obscure enough by his contemporaries to interfere with its popularity. It is probable that his obscurity is not absolute, but only relative to the knowledge of the language possessed in modern times. His was the conversational Latin of the days in which he lived; and as a great change had taken place from the Latin of Cicero and Livy to that of Tacitus and Seneca, doubtless the conversational Latin of Horace, and even of Juvenal, would differ from that of Persius. If this be the case, the Satires of Persius constitute the only example of this Latin, and we have no other by a comparison of which we can explain and illustrate his modes of expression. Whatever, therefore, is unusual becomes at once a source of difficulty and obscurity.1066 The short description which Persius represents his preceptor as giving of his style, supports this assertion:—

Verba togæ sequeris junctura callidus acri
Ac teres modico, pallentes radere mores
Doctus et ingenuo culpam defigere ludo.1067

Confined to common life, thy numbers flow,
And neither soar too high, nor sink too low;
There strength and ease in graceful union meet,
Though polished, subtle, and though poignant, sweet;
Yet powerful to abash the front of crime,
And crimson error’s cheek with sportive rhyme.
          Gifford.

As the toga had, since the time of Augustus, been only worn by the higher orders, whilst the common people were content with the tunica, it is clear that the words verba togæ signify the language of polished society. One cause, therefore, of the difficulty of the style of Persius may be our want of familiarity with the conversational Latin used in his time by the superior classes. Excessive subtlety may have been mistaken for refinement; and an affectation of philosophy, and an enigmatical style, may cause obscurity to us which was quite intelligible to his contemporaries.

It is evident that Persius had carefully studied, and was quite well acquainted with, the Satires of Horace; but the influence which Horace produced upon his mind went no further than to impress upon his memory certain phrases which he reproduced in a more perplexed form, more in unison with the fashionable Latin of his day. The expression of Horace—

—— naso suspendis adunco
Ignotos,1068

becomes, in the Satires of Persius—

Excusso populum suspendere naso.1069

      Si vis me flere, dolendum est
Primum ipse tibi ——,1070

becomes, when paraphrased by his imitator—

Plorabit qui me volet incurvasse querela.1071

The simplicity of Horace in the words—

      Totus teres atque rotundus
Externi ne quid valeat per læve morari,1072

is exchanged for the more involved phrase—

      Ut per læve severos
Effundat junctura ungues.1073

He adopts Horace’s wish,1074 preserving every idea in the passage—

          —— O si
Sub rastro crepet argenti mihi seria dextro
Herculæ.1075

Horace’s acquirements in geometry—

Scilicet ut possem curvo dignoscere rectum,1076

are thus awkwardly rendered—

—— rectum discernis, ubi inter
Curva subit.1077

And, not to multiply examples which, whilst they show that Persius was an admirer of Horace, prove that what was pure, natural inspiration in the latter, required effort in the former. The idea of Horace—

      Clamant periisse pudorem
Cuncti pene patres,1078

is exchanged by Persius for the forced metaphor——

      Exclamet Melicerta perisse
Frontem de rebus.1079

Rhetorical affectation infected all the literature of this age; we can scarcely, therefore, be surprised to find that it is one of the characteristics of the Satires of Persius. The age of public recitation had already begun, of which Juvenal speaks some years later. When in one place he describes the ardour and enthusiasm which pervaded Rome, on the announcement of a new work by a popular author1080—

Curritur ad vocem jucundam et carmen amicæ
Thebaidos lætam fecit cum Statius urbem
Promisitque diem!

When Statius fixed a morning to recite
His Thebaid to the town with what delight
They flocked to him!

In another,1081 like Horace, he complains of the annoyance of these recitations; and in a third,1082 he considers it one of the causes which rendered the most desolate and solitary country-place preferable to Rome.

The style of writing, therefore, suitable to this practice, was a declamatory one, as the practice itself was in accordance with the oratorical tastes of the Roman people.

Juvenal

Decimus Junius Juvenalis, according to the few lines of biography generally attributed to Suetonius, was the son, or the adopted son, of a wealthy freedman. He amused himself with rhetoric and declamation until middle life; but having, on one occasion, written a short satire upon Paris, the pantomime, he was tempted to apply himself to this species of writing. After some time he recited his piece with such success to a large audience, that he inserted it in one of his later compositions.1083 He thus exposed himself to the enmity of the court, because his lines were supposed figuratively to apply to an actor who was a court favourite, and he was exiled to Egypt, under pretence of being appointed to the command of a cohort. There in a short time he died of grief at the age of eighty.

The time of his birth is unknown, but he must have flourished in the reign of Domitian, towards the close of the first century after Christ; and it is generally assumed that he was either born, or resided, at the Volscian town which subsequently gave birth to the eminent schoolman, Thomas Aquinas.1084 Thus the greater portion of the life of Juvenal was passed during a period of political horror and misery. The short reign of Vespasian was doubtless a blessing to Rome, but it was only a brief temporary respite: the dark period of the last ten Cæsars saw the utter moral degradation of the people, and the bloodiest tyranny and oppression on the part of their rulers. If, which is most probable, he lived to see the reigns of Nerva, Trajan, and Hadrian, the spirits of the noble-minded satirist must have revived at seeing again a promise of national glory and prosperity. In the period gone by, rich as it was in material for his pen, it was fatally perilous to give utterance to his burning indignation; but an opportunity, not to be lost, was then offered when emperors ruled, who were distinguished for ability and virtue, when justice and the laws were constitutionally administered, and the empire, wisely governed, enjoyed security and tranquillity.

The picture of Roman manners, as painted by the glowing pencil of Juvenal, is truly appalling. The fabric of society was in ruins. The popular religion was rejected with scorn, and its place was not occupied even by the creed of natural religion. Nothing remained but the empty pomp, pageant and ceremonial. The administration of the state was a mass of corruption: freedmen and foreigners, full of artful cunning, but destitute of principle, had the ear of the sovereign, and filled their coffers with bribes and confiscation. The grave and decent reserve which was characteristic of every Roman, in olden times, was thrown off even by the higher classes; and emperors took a public part in scenes of folly and profligacy, and exposed themselves as charioteers, as dancers, and as actors. Nothing was respected but wealth—nothing provoked contempt but poverty.1085 A vote was only valued for its worth in money; that people, whose power was once absolute, would now sell their souls for bread and the Circensian games.

Players and dancers had all honours and offices at their disposal. The city swarmed with informers who made the rich their prey: every man feared even his most intimate friend. To be noble, virtuous, innocent, was no protection: the only bond of friendship was to be an accomplice in crime. Philosophy was a cheat, and moral teaching an hypocrisy. The moralists “preached like Curii, but lived like bacchanals.”1086 The very teacher would do his best to corrupt his pupil: the guardian would defraud his ward. Luxury and extravagance brought men to ruin, which they sought to repair by flattering the childless, legacy-hunting, and gambling; and even patricians would cringe for a morsel of bread. The higher classes were selfish and cruel, grinding and insolent to their inferiors and dependants.1087 Gluttony was so disgusting that six thousand sesterces (50l.) would be given for a mullet; and the glutton would artificially relieve his stomach of its load, in order to prepare for another meal.1088 Crimes which cannot be named were common: men, for the worst of purposes, endeavoured to make themselves look like women; and even an emperor personated a female, and was given in marriage to one of his Greek favourites.1089 The streets of Rome were as dangerous as the Pomptine marshes or the Italian forests, from constant robbery, assault, and assassination.

The morals of the female sex were as depraved as those of men: ladies of noble and royal blood would have lovers in their pay, and when they had lost the attraction of personal charms, would supply their place by the temptation of gold. One empress publicly celebrated her nuptials with an adulterer in the absence of her lord; another gratified her wantonness by prostitution. Even those who were not so profligate aped the manners and habits of men, and would even meet in mock combat; and there was no public amusement so immoral or so cruel as not to be disgraced by the presence of the female sex. Licentiousness led to murder; and poisoning by women was as common as it was in France and Italy in the sixteenth century.1090

Times like these would even have shocked the urbane and gentle Horace. Had he then lived, he would probably have thought such vice beyond ridicule, and his tone might have approached more nearly to the thundering indignation of Juvenal. “Society in the age of Horace was becoming corrupt; in that of Juvenal it was in a state of putrefaction.”1091

In this period of moral dearth the fountains of genius and literature were dried up. The orator dared not impeach the corrupt politician, or defend the victim of tyranny, when every one thought the best way to secure his own safety was by trampling on the fallen favourite, now Cæsar’s enemy.1092 The historian dared not utter his real sentiments. Poetry grew cold without the genial, fostering encouragement of noble and affectionate hearts. There was criticism, grammar, declamation, panegyric and verse-writing, but not oratory, history, or poetry. Juvenal, though himself not free from the declamatory affectation of the day, attacked the false literary taste of his contemporaries as unsparingly as he did their depraved morality. From Sejanus to Cluvienus he allowed no one to escape.

But noble as Juvenal’s hatred of vice must be allowed to be, and fearless as are his denunciations, we look in vain throughout his poetry for indications of an amiable and kind-hearted disposition. He was not one to recall the lost and erring to a love of virtue, or to inspire a pure and enthusiastic taste for literature. His prejudices were violent; he could see nothing good in a Greek or a freedman: he hated the new aristocracy with as bitter a hatred as Sallust. As a critic he is ill-natured; as a moralist he is stern and misanthrophic. Mark, for example, the gloomy bitterness with which he speaks of old age,1093 and contrast it with the bright side of the picture, as drawn by the gentle Cicero in his incomparable treatise.

Deficient, however, as he was in the softer affections, his sixteen Satires exhibit an enlightened, truthful, and comprehensive view of Roman manners, and of the inevitable result of such corruption. Those whose moral taste was utterly destroyed would read and listen without profit, but they could not but tremble: his words are truth. The conclusion of the thirteenth Satire is almost Christian. It is unnecessary to quote from an author who is in every scholar’s memory: it would even occupy too much space to make a fair selection from so many fine passages. The eleventh Satire is the most pleasing, and most partaking of the playfulness of Horace. The seventh displays the greatest versatility and the richest fund of anecdote. The twelfth is the most amiable. The description of the origin of civil society in the conclusion of the fifteenth is full of sound sense and just sentiments; whilst the way in which he speaks of the insane bigotry of the Egyptians, exhibits his power of combining pleasantry with dignity. But the two finest Satires are those1094 which our own Johnson has thought worthy of imitation: one of which (the tenth) Bishop Burnet, in his Pastoral Charge, recommended to his clergy; and the noblest passage in them is that which describes the fall of the infamous Sejanus.1095 Few men could be so well adapted to transfer the spirit of Juvenal into English as Dr. Johnson. He had the same rude, plain-spoken, uncompromising hatred of vice; and, though not unamiable, did his best to conceal what amiability he possessed under a forbidding exterior. He was not without gayety and sprightliness; but he concealed it under that stateliness and declamatory grandeur which he attributes to Juvenal.

The historical value of Juvenal’s Satires must not be forgotten. Tacitus lived in the same perilous times as he did; and when they had come to an end, and it was not unsafe to speak, he wrote their public history. Juvenal illustrates that history by displaying the social inner life of the Romans.1096 Their works are parallel, and each forms a commentary upon the other. When such were the lives of individuals, one cannot wonder at the fate of the nation.

The style of Juvenal is, generally speaking, the reflex of his mind: his views were strong and clear: his style is vigorous and lucid also. His morals were pure in the midst of a debased age: his language shines forth in classic elegance in the midst of specimens of declining and degenerate taste. His style is declamatory, but it is not artificially rhetorical. He could not restrain himself from following the example of Lucilius: he could not dam up the torrent of his vehement and natural eloquence. Whether his subject is noble or disgusting, his word-painting is perfect: we feel his sublimity—we shudder at his fidelity. The nature of the subject causes his language to be frequently gross and offensive; but his object always is to lay bare the deformity of vice, and to render it loathsome. He never indulges in indecency, in order to pander to a corrupt taste or to gratify a prurient imagination. For this reason his pages are less dangerous than those of more elegant and less indecent writers, who throw a veil over indelicacy, whilst they leave those qualities which blind the moral vision and inflame the passions. It must be remembered, also, that neither the dress, manners, nor conversation of ancient Rome were so decent and modest as those of modern times; and, therefore, Roman taste would not be so shocked by plain speaking as would be the case in an age of greater social refinement. Juvenal closes the list of Roman satirists, properly speaking: the satirical spirit animates the piquant epigrams of his friend Martial; but their purpose is not moral or didactic: they sting the individual, and render him an object of scorn and disgust, but they do not hold up vice itself to ridicule and detestation.

CHAPTER IV.
BIOGRAPHY OF LUCAN—INSCRIPTION TO HIS MEMORY—SENTIMENTS EXPRESSED IN THE PHARSALIA—LUCAN AN UNEQUAL POET—FAULTS AND MERITS OF THE PHARSALIA—CHARACTERISTICS OF HIS AGE—DIFFICULTIES OF HISTORICAL POETRY—LUCAN A DESCRIPTIVE POET—SPECIMENS OF HIS POETRY—BIOGRAPHY OF SILIUS ITALICUS—HIS CHARACTER BY PLINY—HIS POEM DULL AND TEDIOUS—HIS DESCRIPTION OF THE ALPS.

M. Annæus Lucanus (Born A. D. 39.)

At the head of the epic poets who flourished during the silver age stands Lucan. He was a member of the same family as the Senecas, for the same rhetorician of that name was his grandfather, and the Stoic philosopher his uncle. Another of his uncles, also, L. Junius Gallio, is mentioned in the Eusebian Chronicle as a celebrated rhetorician. This Gallio derived his surname from being the adopted son of Jun. Gallio, who, by some, is supposed to have been the proconsul of Achaia, mentioned in the Acts of the Apostles.1097

The father of Lucan, M. Annæus Mela, was a Roman knight, who made a large fortune as a collector of the imperial revenue. He is supposed by some to have been identical with the geographer Pomponius Mela, who was the author of a brief description, in three books, of the coasts of Europe, Asia, and Africa. The style of this writer is concise, as is suitable to a mere sketch or abridgment; and his matter, although derived from other sources, and not from personal observation, is accurate and interesting. The poet was born at Corduba (Cordova,) on the beautiful banks of the Bætis (Guadalquiver.) His birthplace is thus elegantly alluded to by Statius, in a poem addressed to his widow, on the anniversary of his birth:—

Vatis Apollinei magno memorabilis ortu
  Lux redit, Aonidum turba favete sacris.
Hæc meruit, cum te terris Lucane dedisset
  Mixtus Castaliæ Bætis ut esset aquæ.
          Stat. Genethl.

Pliny tells us that on his infant lips, as on those of Hesiod, a swarm of bees settled, and thus gave presage of his poetical career; a tale which owes its origin entirely to the Greek tradition. Much which rests upon no foundation has been mixed up with the extant lives of Lucan; for example, the favour shown to him, whilst a child, by Nero; his consequent elevation in his boyhood to the rank of a senator; and his defeat of the emperor in a poetical contest at the quinquennial games, instituted by the latter, in which no one entered with any other view than that their royal antagonist might have the credit of a mock victory.1098 The enmity of the jealous emperor can be accounted for without having recourse to so insane a competition.

It is probable that Lucan was very young when he came to Rome; that his literary reputation was soon established; and that Nero, who could not bear the idea of a rival, forbade him to recite his poems, which was now the common mode of publication. Nor was he content with silencing him as a poet, but also would not allow him to plead as an advocate.1099 Smarting under this provocation he hastily joined a conspiracy against the emperor’s life, and signalized himself by the bitterness of his hatred against his powerful enemy. The ringleader of this plot was Piso,1100 a tragic poet of some talent, a skilful orator, and a munificent man. But he was deficient in decision and infirm of purpose: the plot therefore failed. When Lucan’s passion cooled he as quickly repented, and was pardoned on condition of pointing out his confederates. In the vain hope of saving himself from the monster’s vengeance, he actually impeached his mother. The upright historian contrasts this stain on the poet’s character with the courage which Epicharis displayed. This noble woman was incapable of treason. Tacitus describes the resolution with which she scorned the question.1101 “The scourge, the flames, the rage of the executioners, who tortured her the more savagely, lest they should be scorned by a woman, were powerless to extort a false confession.” Lucan never received the reward which he purchased by treachery. The warrant for his death was issued, and he caused his veins to be cut asunder. As the stream of his life’s blood flowed away, he repeated from his own poem the description of a soldier expiring from his wounds.1102 He died in the twenty-seventh year of his age; and the following inscription to his memory has been attributed to Nero:—

M. Annæo Lucano Cordubensi Poetæ
Beneficio Neronis. Fama servata.

The sentiments contained in the Pharsalia, so far as he dared express them, breathe a love of freedom, and an attachment to the old Roman republicanism. Although the imperial patronage which he at first enjoyed, and, perhaps, the better promise of the commencement of Nero’s reign, tempted him to indulge in courtly flattery; still, even at that time, his praises of liberty evidently came from the heart. As the poem proceeds his sentiments become more exalted; his virtuous indignation gradually rises, until it pours forth a torrent of burning satire on the inhuman tyrant. This poem, the only one of his works which survives, is an epic in ten books; its subject, the civil war between Cæsar and Pompey. It bears evident marks of having been left unfinished, and of not having received the last touches from the hand of the author. It was preceded by four other shorter poems—the first on the Death of Hector; the second on the Visit of Orpheus to the Infernal Regions; the third, on the Burning of Rome; the fourth addressed to his wife Polla Argentaria. He also wrote some prose works; and Martial attributes to him some poems on lighter subjects.1103

Lucan is an unequal poet: his Pharsalia is defaced with great faults and blemishes; but at the same time it possesses peculiar beauties. Its subject is a noble one and full of historic interest, and is treated with spirit, brilliance, and animation. Its arrangement is that of annals, and therefore it wants the unity of an epic poem: it has not the connectedness of history, because the poet naturally selected only the most striking and romantic incidents; and yet, notwithstanding these defects in the plan, the historical pictures themselves are beautifully drawn. The characters of Cæsar and Pompey, for example, are master-pieces. Again, some passages have neither the dignity of prose nor the melody of poetry; whilst others are scarcely inferior to any written by the best Latin poets. This inequality has caused the great diversity of opinions which have been held by critics respecting the merits of Lucan. Some have unjustly depreciated him; others, as groundlessly, have lauded him to the skies. Quintilian commended his ardent enthusiasm and lucidity of expression,1104 but qualified his praise by adding, that he would be admired by orators rather than by poets. Corneille preferred him to Virgil, of whom he was obviously a warm admirer. His poem furnishes materials and reason for this diversity of judgment; but it may safely be asserted that his faults are due to the age in which he lived, whilst his beauties were the fruits and developments of his own native genius. His principal merit is originality: although he was not great enough to lead the taste of the age, and to rise superior to its false principles, he did not condescend to be a servile imitator even of those poets whose reputation was firmly established. There are many parallelisms between his poetry and that of Virgil, but they are the parallelisms of a student, not of a plagiarist.

Without adopting the unauthorized assumptions, found in some of his biographies, that he was educated under the immediate superintendence of his uncle Seneca, that Remmius Palæmon taught him grammar, Virginius Flaccus rhetoric, and Cornutus philosophy, it is clear that his taste was formed and his talents drawn out in an age, the characteristics of which were pedantic erudition, inflated rhetoric, and dogmatic philosophy. It is clear, also, that even though Seneca was not his tutor, still the conceit and affectation which dimmed the transcendent abilities of the philosopher, exercised a baneful influence over the literary taste of his contemporaries. In the midst of these influences Lucan was educated, and for that reason his poem is disfigured by commonplace maxims, pompous diction, an affectation of learning, a rhetorical exuberance which outstripped its subjects, and therefore produces the effect of frigidity. In a poem, the characters and events of which are historical, the real is in too strong contrast to the ideal, hence the effect of both is marred. The fidelity expected of the historian circumscribes the creative power of the poet. To the poet who constructs his work out of the materials of epochs which are beyond the reach of history, the whole field of the past is open. The only limits within which he must restrain his genius are those of the probable: within these bounds he may conjure up the most magnificent ideal forms; he may use the most gorgeous imagery, the most supernatural machinery: the whole wears an air of historic truth; as there are no realities with which his ideal can be compared and tested, truth never appears to be violated.

But in history, almost contemporaneous with the age of the poet, every circumstance is recorded, every character well known and estimated. If an act of bravery is exaggerated into one of superhuman heroism, or one who is known to have been a man, although a great man, recast in the heroic mould, we are struck at once with the falsehood: and therefore the poet cannot venture on such efforts of genius. In a train of events, which the page of history enables us to trace from the beginning to the end, no difficulties can occur deserving of supernatural machinery, no dignus vindice nodus; and thus, in the place of the Olympian Pantheon of Homer and Virgil, Lucan can only deify the popular but unpoetical principle of chance, and personify Fortune.

This position may appear inconsistent with the charm which confessedly belongs to the modern historical romance; but then it is to be remembered, that the interest we take in the historical portions is purely historical, enlivened by the events grouping themselves round the hero: in fact, the interest of biography is united with that of history. The strictest accuracy, therefore, in matters which fall within the range of history is perfectly compatible. The romantic interest depends on the inner or social life of the characters—which forms no part of history—in which, as there is no standard of comparison, the imagination of the poet is quite free and unfettered. But this is totally different from the plan on which such a poem as the Pharsalia is constructed. The vision of the genius of Rome which appeared to Cæsar at the fatal Rubicon, those which haunt the slumbers of the Cæsareans in the plundered camp of Pompey, and the dream of Pompey, in which the secrets of the infernal regions are laid open by the shade of his departed wife Julia, are the nearest approaches to that invisible world which the imagination of Homer disclosed, and which Virgil reproduced;1105 but these are only isolated passages.

It is impossible to be at once an historian and a poet: in the one character the author must restrain the flights of his imagination; in the other, he must sacrifice truth. Nor is there any doubt of which character we demand the conservation, when matters of history are concerned. We desiderate truth: we wish moot points to be settled and doubts solved. All imaginative pictures we look upon as interruptions, and cast them aside as warping the judgment and giving prejudiced views. Hence, our admiration of Lucan is called forth, not by considering his poem as an epic, but for the sake of isolated scenes, such as the naval victory off Marseilles; splendid descriptions, such as that of the cruelties of Marius and Sulla; felicitous comparisons, that, for example, of Pompey to an aged oak; and the epigrammatic terseness which gives force, as well as beauty, to his sayings. In a single line, for instance—

Pauperiorque fuit tunc primum Cæsare Roma—

he describes the wealth and avarice of the conqueror, and in the well-known verse—

Victrix causa Diis placuit sed victa Catoni—

he depicts the disinterestedness of Cato. To this may be added, that the subject of the Pharsalia is, although a period of the deepest historical interest, ill adapted to poetry. Events so nearly contemporary were fitter for history and panegyric than for poetry; and although they give scope for descriptive power and bold imagery, they are deficient in that mysterious and romantic character which is required for an epic poem. His imagination was rich—his enthusiasm refused to be curbed. They were such as we might suppose would be nurtured by the warm and sunny climate of Spain. His sentiments often exhibit that chivalrous tone which distinguishes the Spanish poets of modern times. We may discern the nobleness, the liberality, the courage, which once marked the high-born Spanish gentleman; and the grave and thoughtful wisdom which makes Spanish literature so rich in proverbs, and which peeps out even from under the unreal conventionalisms of the contemporary Roman philosophy.

Description forms the principal feature in the poetry of Lucan; it occupies more than one half of the Pharsalia; so that it might almost as appropriately be termed a descriptive as an epic poem. Description, in fact, constitutes one of the characteristic features of Roman literature in its decline, because poetry had more than ever become an art, and the epoch one of erudition; and thus a treasure of imagery was stored up suitable for descriptive embellishment. The finest parts of Persius are descriptive: even Martial, brief though his pieces are, delights in it; and facility in this department is the strong point of Silius Italicus, and the sole merit of Valerius Flaccus. Owing to the enthusiasm with which Lucan throws himself into this kind of writing, he abounds in minute detail. He reminds one of the descriptive talent possessed in so eminent a degree by our own Thomson. Not a feature escapes his notice, whether it suggest ideas of the beautiful, the sublime, or the terrible. He is not content, as Virgil is, with a sketch—with broad lights and shadows; he delights in a finished picture; he possesses the power of placing his subject strongly before the eyes, leaving little or nothing for the imagination to supply. He omits no means of attaining descriptive truth;1106 the inward state of feeling, the character of each passion, is presented, not so much in its moral and psychical as in its physical developments; that which is internal is exhibited in its external symptoms, with the hand of a painter and the skill of the physiognomist. Virgil sketches, Lucan paints; the latter describes physically—the former philosophically. The following passages, which describe the passage of the Rubicon and the death of Pompey, are noble specimens of Lucan’s style:—

Jam gelidas Cæsar cursu superaverat Alpes,
Ingentesque animo motus, bellumque futurum
Ceperat. Ut ventum est parvi Rubiconis ad undas,
Ingens visa duci patriæ trepidantis imago,
Clara per obscuram vultu mœstissima noctem
Turrigero canos effundens vertice crines,
Cæsarie lacera, nudisque adstare lacertis,
Et gemitu permixta loqui! Quo tenditis ultra?
Quo fertis mea signa, viri? Si jure venitis,
Si cives, huc usque licet. Tunc perculit horror
Membra ducis, riguere comæ, gressumque coercens
Languor in extrema tenuit vestigia ripa.

---

Cæsar ut adversam superato gurgite ripam
Attigit, Hesperiæ vetitis et constitit arvis,
Hic, ait, hic, pacem, temerataque jura relinquo;
Te, Fortuna, sequor; procul hinc jam fœdera sunto.
Credidimus fatis, utendum est judice bello.

Now Cæsar, marching swift with winged haste,
The summits of the frozen Alps had past;
With vast events and enterprises fraught,
And future wars revolving in his thought.
Now near the banks of Rubicon he stood;
When lo! as he surveyed the narrow flood,
Amidst the dusky horrors of the night,
A wondrous vision stood confessed to sight.
Her awful head Rome’s reverend image reared,
Trembling and sad the matron form appeared;
A towering crown her hoary temples bound,
And her torn tresses rudely hung around;
Her naked arms uplifted ere she spoke,
Then, groaning, thus the mournful silence broke:
Presumptuous men! oh, whither do you run?
Oh, whither bear you these my ensigns on?
If friends to right, if citizens of Rome,
Here to your utmost barrier are you come.
She said; and sunk within the closing shade.
Astonishment and dread the chief invade;
Stiff rose his starting hair; he stood dismayed,
And on the bank his slackening steps were stayed.

---

The leader now had passed the torrent o’er,
And reached fair Italy’s forbidden shore;
Then rearing on the hostile bank his head,
Here farewell peace and injured laws! he said:
Since faith is broke, and leagues are set aside,
Henceforth thou, goddess Fortune, art my bride!
Let fate and war the great event decide. Rowe.

          Jam venerat horæ
Terminus extremæ, Phariamque ablatus in alnum
Perdiderat jam jura sui. Tum stringere ferrum
Regia monstra parant. Ut vidit cominus enses
Involvit vultus; atque indignatus apertum
Fortunæ præbere caput, tunc lumina pressit,
Continuitque animam, ne quas effundere voces
Posset et æternam fletu corrumpere famam.
At postquam mucrone latus funestus Achillas
Perfodit, nullo gemitu consensit ad ictum.

Now in the boat defenceless Pompey sat,
Surrounded and abandoned to his fate.
Nor long they hold him in their power aboard,
E’en every villain drew his ruthless sword:
The chief perceived their purpose soon, and spread
His Roman gown, with patience, o’er his head;
And when the cursed Achillas pierced his breast,
His rising indignation close repressed.
No signs, no groans, his dignity profaned,
No tear his still unsullied glory stained.
Unmoved and firm he fixed him on his seat,
And died, as when he lived and conquered, great.

C. Silius Italicus

C. Silius Italicus was born in the reign of Tiberius, A. D. 25. The place of his birth is unknown. His surname, Italicus, has led some to suppose that he was a native of Italica, in Spain. But it is not probable that, if this were the case, his friend and fellow-courtier Martial, when he compared his eloquence to that of Cicero, and his poetry to that of Virgil,1107 called him the glory of the Castalian sisters,1108 and felicitated him on his political honours, would have forgotten to claim him as a countryman. Others, with somewhat more show of reason, have imagined that his birthplace was the city of Corfinium, in Pelignia, which was called Italica,1109 because it was the head-quarters of the confederates in the social war; whilst Stephens mentions a little town in Sicily, of the same name, which might have been his native place.1110

Silius was celebrated as an advocate; but in that age of affected and rhetorical display, a high reputation does not prove that his eloquence, although it might have displayed a similar elegance of language, was more lively and stirring than his poetry. He was consul A. D. 68; an office which was also filled by his son,1111 and by another member of his family.1112 He was afterwards proconsul of Asia; the duties of which lucrative office he appears to have performed with credit to himself. He was very wealthy; and, as he grew old, retired from the perils of public life to enjoy his affluence, and the retirement of literary ease in his numerous villas. One cannot be surprised that an orator and a poet especially delighted in the house of Virgil, near Naples, and the Academy of Cicero, of both which he was the fortunate possessor. He lived to the age of seventy-five, and then starved himself to death, because he could not bear the pain of disease. “I have just been informed,” writes Pliny the Younger, to his friend Caninius,1113 “that Silius Italicus has put an end to his existence by starvation, at his Neapolitan villa. He had an incurable carbuncle, from the annoyance of which he took refuge in death, with a firm and irrevocable constancy. He enjoyed happiness and prosperity to his dying day, if we except the loss of the younger of his two sons; but the elder and superior one survived him in the enjoyment of prosperity, and even of consular rank. The belief that he had voluntarily come forward as a public accuser injured his reputation in the reign of Nero; but, as a friend of Vitellius, his conduct was wise and his behaviour courteous. His career in the proconsulate of Asia was an honourable one, for he washed out the stain of his former activity by a praiseworthy abstinence from public affairs. He had no influence with the great; but then he was safe from envy. All courted him, and were assiduous in paying their respects to him; and as ill health confined him to his bed, his chamber was thronged with visitors, beyond what might have been expected from his rank and station. Whenever he could spare time for writing, he passed it in learned conversation. His poems display elaborate care rather than genius: sometimes he invited criticism by recitations. Yielding to the suggestion of advancing years, he at length retired from Rome, and resided in Campania; nor had the accession of a new emperor (Trajan) power to entice him from his retirement. High praise to the monarch under whose rule he was free to act so!—high praise to him who had courage to use that freedom! His love of virtù caused in him a reprehensible passion for buying: he was the possessor of more than one villa in the same localities; and he so delighted in the newest purchase as to neglect that which he inhabited before. He had a vast collection of books, besides statues and busts, which he not only possessed, but almost worshipped. He kept Virgil’s birthday more religiously than his own, and had more busts of him than any one else, especially at Naples, where he was in the habit of visiting his tomb, as if it were a temple. In this tranquil retirement he exceeded his seventy-fifth year, his constitution being delicate rather than weakly. As he was the last consul made by Nero, so he died the last of those whom he had made. It is also worthy of remark that the consul, in whose year of office Nero died, died the last of Nero’s consuls. When I call this to mind, I feel compassion for human frailty: for what is so brief as the longest span of human life!”

Little interest attaches to the biography of one who owed a life of uninterrupted prosperity to his being the favourite and intimate of two emperors; the one, a blood-thirsty tyrant—the other, a gross sensualist.1114 His ponderous work survives—the dullest and most tedious poem in the Latin language. Its title is “Punica:” it consists of seventeen books, and contains a history in heroic verse of the second Punic war. The Æneid of Virgil was his model, and the narrative of Livy furnished his materials. Niebuhr states that he read through the whole of his works with great care, and that he was quite convinced that he had taken every thing from Livy, of whose work his is only a paraphrase.1115 The criticism of Pliny the Younger is, upon the whole, just: “Scribebat carmina majori cura quam ingenio;” for, although it is impossible to read his poem with pleasure as a whole, his versification is harmonious, and will often, in point of smoothness, bear comparison with that of Virgil. The following passage is quoted by C. Barthius as one of the most favourable specimens of his sentiments and style; and Cellarius, whose praise is extravagantly fulsome, gives it the epithet of “Aurea:”—

Ipsa quidem virtus sibimet pulcherrima merces;
Dulce tamen venit ad manes quem gloria vitæ
Durat apud superos, nec edunt oblivia laudem.

Some of his episodes, if considered as separate pieces, will repay the trouble of perusal; and the following passage, which Addison thought worthy of translation, may be taken as a fair specimen of his descriptive powers:—

THE ALPS.

Cuncta gelu canâque æternum grandine tecta,
Atque ævi glaciem cohibent: riget ardua montis
Ætherii facies, surgentique obvia Phœbo
Duratas nescit flammis mollire pruinas.
Quantum Tartareus regni pallentis hiatus
Ad manes imos atque atræ stagna paludis
A supera tellure patet; tam longa per auras
Erigitur tellus et cœlum intercipit umbrà.
Nullum ver usquam, nullique æstatis honores;
Sola jugis habitat diris sedesque tuetur
Perpetuas deformis hyems: illa undique nubes
Huc atras agit et mixtos cum grandine nimbos.
Nam cuncti flatus ventique furentia regna
Alpinâ posuere domo caligat in altis
Obtutus saxis, abeuntque in nubila montes.

Stiff with eternal ice, and hid in snow,
That fell a thousand centuries ago,
The mountain stands; nor can the rising sun
Unfix her frosts and teach them how to run:
Deep as the dark infernal waters lie
From the bright regions of the cheerful sky,
So far the proud ascending rocks invade
Heaven’s upper realms, and cast a dreadful shade.
No spring, no summer, on the mountain seen,
Smiles with gay fruits or with delightful green,
But hoary winter, unadorned and bare,
Dwells in the dire retreat and freezes there,
There she assembles all her blackest storms,
And the rude hail or rattling tempests forms;
Thither the loud tumultuous winds resort,
And on the mountain keep their boisterous court,
That in thick showers her rocky summit shrouds,
And darkens all the broken view with clouds. Addison.

Chapter V — C. Valerius Flaccus — Faults of the Argonautica — Papinius Statius — Beauty of His Minor Poems — Incapable of Epic Poetry — Domitian — Epigram — Martial — His Biography — Profligacy of the Age in Which He Lived — Impurity of His Writings — Favourable Specimens of His Poetry

C. Valerius Flaccus

C. Valerius Flaccus flourished in the reign of Vespasian; and, according to an epigram of Martial, in which the poet advises his friend to leave the Muses for the drier but more profitable profession of a pleader, he was born at Patavium1116 (Padua.) The frequent addition of the surnames Setinus Balbus have caused it to be supposed that he was a native of Setia, in Campania (Sezzo;) but it is impossible to form any satisfactory conjecture as to their signification, and the statement of Martial is too definite to admit of a doubt. Quintilian1117 asserts that, when he wrote, V. Flaccus had lately died: he was, therefore, probably cut off prematurely about A. D. 88.

His only poem which is extant is entitled “Argonautica,” and is an imitation, and, in some parts, a translation, of the Greek poem of Apollonius Rhodius on the same subject. It is addressed to the Emperor, and in the proëmium he pays a compliment to Domitian on his poetry, and to Titus on his victories over the Jews.

He evidently did not live to complete his original design: even the eighth book is unfinished; and, from the events still remaining to be related, he probably planned an epic poem of the same length as that of Virgil, whose style and versification he endeavoured to imitate. An Italian poet, John Baptista Pius, continued the subject, by an addition to the eighth book, and by subjoining two more, the incidents of which were partly borrowed from Apollonius.

Of his merits Quintilian speaks favourably in the passage already alluded to, and says, that in him literature had sustained a severe loss. The severer criticism of Scaliger is more precise and more judicious:—“Immaturâ morte præreptus acerbum item poëma suum nobis reliquit. Est autem omnino duriusculus, penitus vero nudus Gratiarum comitate.” The defects of the Argonautica are, in fact, rather of a negative than a positive character. There are no glaring faults or blemishes; none of the affectation or rhetorical artifices which belong to the period of the decline. There may be a little occasional hardness, and a few awkward expressions and paraphrases, but there is no bombast to outrage good taste, and no unmetrical cadences to offend the ear. But there is no genius, no inspiration, no thrilling fervour, no thoughts that breathe or words that burn. He never rises above a dead level. Every thing is in accordance with decent and direct propriety. He has some talent as a descriptive poet: his versification is harmonious, and he attains to those superficial excellencies which are found in the prize poem of a pains-taking, ingenious, and well-educated scholar. Virgil was an imitator: that is, his taste, like Roman taste, universally was formed and trained by imitation; but his spirit disdained these trammels, and soared to originality. V. Flaccus is scarcely ever original except when he is commonplace: he imitates Virgil successfully, as far as the outward graces of style are concerned; but in the charm of natural simplicity, he always falls short of his great original.

P. Papinius Statius (Born A. D. 61.)

Towards the middle of the first century of the Christian era,1118 there arrived at Rome, from Naples, a grammarian, named P. Papinius Statius. He opened a school, and soon became so celebrated as a public instructor, that he became tutor to the young Domitian, whose favour and affection continued after he became emperor. Some of his fame was also founded on gaining, in his boyhood, the prize in many public contests of poetry. Every year between the age of thirteen and nineteen, he is said to have been crowned. These contests were partly of an improvisatorial character; and in an age when public readings and recitations were in vogue, and were the means which poets had of gaining fame and patronage, success of this kind was highly valued. The subject of one of his poems is said to have been the conflagration of the Capitol, during the struggle between the Vitellians and the supporters of Vespasian.1119 Statius, however, seems to have possessed no higher degree of poetical power than a happy facility in versification, for he died1120 and left no works which have stood the test of time.

A son, however, inherited poetical talents of the same kind, but of a far higher order than those of his father, and although, for a long time, he was entirely dependent upon his works for the means of living, and, notwithstanding thunders of applause, must starve, unless he can sell his play to the manager Paris,1121 the sunshine of imperial favour, which his father had enjoyed, shone upon him.1122 He purchased patronage, however, at the expense of grossly flattering the tyrant. This son, who bore the same name as his father, was the author of the Silvæ, Thebaid, and Achilleid. He was born A. D. 61, and died in the prime of life, A. D. 95, at Naples, his native city. As no interesting particulars are recorded respecting his life, and as he is never mentioned by any classical author except Juvenal,1123 it is impossible to say how the opinion arose which was entertained by his admirer Dante, and others, that he was in secret a defender of the Christians, and also himself a believer.1124

He was a true Italian in the character of his genius. He had a thorough perception of the beauties of nature. His Silvæ are full of truthful pictures. He possessed ready facility in versification, which was surpassed by no poet of classic antiquity except Ovid, and that improvisatorial power for which his countrymen in the present day are so often celebrated. As long as he was content to be a poet on a small scale he was eminently successful. His Sylvæ contain many poetical incidents which might stand by themselves as perfect fugitive pieces,—brief effusions, suggested by statues1125 and buildings,1126 verses of compliment1127 and delicate flattery,1128 or condolence1129 or congratulation. It matters not how light or trifling the subject, he can raise it and adorn it. He writes with equal beauty on the tree of his friend Atedius;1130 the death of a parrot; of the emperor’s lion;1131 the locks of Flavius Earinus;1132 the rude freedom of the Saturnalia.1133 It is in these unpretending poems that we see his natural and unaffected elegance, his harmonious ear, and his truthfulness of perception. But the case is totally different when the subject is above him.1134 He had neither grasp of mind, nor vigour of imagination, to fit him for the task of an epic poet; and, hence, his great work, the Thebaid, and his other unfinished epic, the Achilleid, are complete failures.

In his minor poems he seems to trust to the natural powers of his genius; he never strains at producing effect, nor is he too solicitous about exact finish and laborious polish. Although not improvisatorial, they partake of that character, and have all its freshness combined with the advantage of written and corrected performances. His thoughts are inspired by his subject; and its reality, which he was capable of appreciating, gives a life to his compositions. But the principal fault in his Silvæ is too great a display of Greek learning. Every page is full of mythological allusions, which sometimes render his graceful verses dry and wearisome, and must have rendered them acceptable to those only who were well versed in Greek literature: they never could have been universally popular. The qualities which recommended his Silvæ do not adorn his epic poetry. His imaginary heroes do not inspire and warm his imagination: he is not affected by their personality in the same way in which he is by the lawns and groves, and sun, and forests, and skies of Italy.

For this deficiency he attempts to compensate by extravagant bombast, totally out of keeping with the action of the poem, and by an attention to the theoretical principles of art, and an elaborate finish which must have cost him many hours of toil. Yet this perseverance is thrown away, and the effect produced by the contrast between the action and essence of the poem, and the language in which it is externally clothed, produces an effect contrary to that which was intended.

He was a skilful draughtsman, a gorgeous colourist, a pleasing landscape-painter, and a diligent student of the rules of art; but his genius could not rise to the highest departments of art—he could not give the mind or the morale to those characters whose external features he was so apt in delineating. He owes the estimation in which he is held as an epic poet not to his absolute but his relative merit. He was the best of the heroic poets of his day. Statius, notwithstanding his defects, was evidently a profound student as well as an admirer of the Homeric poems; and there are two points in which he has proved himself a successful imitator. These are his battles and his similes. His descriptions of the former are stirring and dramatic, and some of his similes will bear comparison with the best Latin specimens of this kind of illustration. When it is remembered that no epic poet has approached more nearly to Homer in the use of the simile than Dante, and that he equals the Greek bard in sublime and picturesque description, it may easily be imagined that these were the qualities in the poems of Statius which especially called forth his admiration.

A few words only are necessary to describe the nature and subject-matter of the poems of Statius. The Silvæ consist of thirty-two separate pieces. They are all hexametrical, with the exception of four in hendecasyllabics,1135 one in Alcaic,1136 and one in Sapphic metre.1137 Each of the five books in which these poems are arranged has a prose dedication to some friend prefixed; the first being addressed to the poet Stella, the common friend of himself and Martial.1138 The title Silvæ was given to these poems, on account of the very quality which constitutes their especial charm. They are the rude materials of thought, springing up spontaneously in all their wild luxuriance from the rich natural soil of the poet’s imagination, unpruned, untrimmed, ignorant of that cultivated art which an affected and artificial age thought necessary to constitute a finished poem. “Such extemporaneous performances as these,” says Quintilian, “are called Silvæ: the author subsequently re-examines and corrects his effusions.”1139 The Thebaid is comprised in twelve books, and its subject is the ancient Greek legends respecting the war of the Seven against Thebes. The composition of this work preceded the publication of the Silvæ. Achilleid was intended, doubtless, to embrace all the exploits of Achilles, but only two books were completed.

Domitian

A paraphrase of the Phænomena of Aratus belongs to this age. It has been ascribed to Germanicus, but its real author was Domitian, who, as well as Nero, wrote verses.1140 As far as language and versification are concerned, it is not without merit; but the subject is unsuitable to poetry.1141 Domitian had taste, although his talents did not deserve the adulatory commendations of Quintilian;1142 but he encouraged learned men: and to his encouragement we owe those distinguished contemporary writers who, for one generation, arrested the downward progress of Roman literature.

Epigram

The Greek Epigram was originally, as the word implies, simply an inscription. It was therefore short and concise; its metre elegiac, as especially suited to the periodic structure of the sentiment, and its characteristic qualities, terseness and neatness. So long as it retained this character it was free from bitterness; and the principal element of success in this species of composition was tact rather than genius, and a cultivated taste rather than poetical inspiration. Not only were Catullus, Virgil, and Ovid epigrammatists, but some Roman literati, arrived at mediocrity, or even excellence, in epigram, who were not capable of becoming great poets. Julius Cæsar wrote one on Terence, and perhaps the following neatly-turned lines; although they have been ascribed to Augustus and Germanicus:—

Thrax puer astricto glacie dum ludit in Hebro
  Pondere concretas frigore rupit aquas;
Dumque imæ partes rapido traherentur ab amne,
  Abscidit tenerum lubrica testa caput.
Orba quod inventum mater dum conderet urna,
  Hoc peperi flammis, cetera, dixit, aquis.

Lutatius Catulus was the author of a quatrain on Roscius the comedian; and the Anthology, amongst numerous others, contains one by Augustus,1143 and four of no merit by Mæcenas,1144 together with those beautiful lines addressed by Hadrian to his soul, which Pope has imitated in his “Dying Christian:”—

Animula vagula blandula,
Hospes comesque corporis,
Quæ nunc abibis in loca?
Pallidula rigida nudula
Nec ut soles dabis jocos.

To the original characteristics of epigram the Romans added that which constitutes an epigram in the modern sense of the term, pointedness either in jest or earnest, and the bitterness of personal satire. Common sense, shrewdness, and an acute observation of human nature were thus superadded to Greek gracefulness and elegance; and the same nation which reduced the wild and unpremeditated sarcasms of the Greek stage into the symmetrical form of satire, produced also the epigram as written by the pen of Martial. The same characteristics of the Roman mind which mark satire are visible also in epigram. Epigram is the concentration of satire. The desultory vagueness which is allowable in the latter, the variety of subjects, which are touched upon with irregular and unrestrained freedom, are, in the former, limited and defined. One idea is selected, and to this all the powers of the writer’s acute mind are directed, and made to converge as to a point. It is not often that the harmless elements of Greek wit, such as the pun, or the pleasantry by surprise or unexpected turn (although these sometimes occur,1145) are found in the Roman epigram. Smartness is generally connected with severity. The same bitter spirit which dictated the Archilochian epodes of Horace, which breathes throughout the indignant lines of Juvenal, points the shafts of Martial. The blows, however, which he aimed at vice could not be deadly, because he had no faith in virtue, and because he delighted to grovel in the impurity which he described.

M. Valerius Martialis (Born A. D. 43.)

All that is known of the life of Martial is derived from his own works; and this is but little, for he says nothing of his early years, and did not begin to write until the reign of Domitian. Of his parents he undutifully tells us that they were fools for teaching him to read.1146 He was born at Bilbilis, a Spanish town in the province of Tarragon,1147 of the position of which nothing is known for certain, except that its site was an elevated one,1148 overlooking the river Salo, which flowed round its walls. It appears to have prided itself on its manufactures in gold and iron;1149 to have been particularly famous for its arms;1150 and to have been one of the Roman colonies dignified with the title of Augusta.1151 As Vespasian had conferred on the poet’s native town, in common with the rest of Spain, the jus Latii,1152 Martial was by birth a Roman citizen; and in the days of his popularity obtained this privilege for many of his friends.1153 His birthday was March 1,1154 A. D. 43, the third year of the reign of Claudius.

In the twenty-second year of his age, the twelfth year of the reign of Nero,1155 he migrated to Rome. He was a great favourite of Titus and Domitian, by whom the “jus trium liberorum” was conferred upon him,1156 together with the rank of a Roman knight,1157 and the honorary title of tribune.1158 In the reign of the latter he was appointed to the office of court poet, and received a pension from the imperial treasury.1159 Hence during the latter part of his residence in Rome it is almost certain that, although not rich, he enjoyed a competency. He had a house in the city, and a little villa at Nomentum given him by Domitian.1160 Nevertheless, he is constantly complaining of his poverty, and thinks that every one grows rich but himself. He laments that poets receive nothing but compliments for their verses, whilst lawyers, and even common criers, gain an ample maintenance:—that “Minerva was a better patron than Apollo; a fuller stream of wealth flowed through the Forum than from the fountain of Helicon, or the channel of Permessus.”1161 He complains that he spends all he has, and either borrows money from his friends, or takes to another the presents he has given him, and querulously asks him to purchase them back again.1162 The roof of his villa lets in the rain; and when his friend Stella sends him some tiles to mend it he reproaches him for not sending also a toga to protect the poor inmate.1163

All this may have proceeded from the discontented feelings which poets and literary men so often indulge at seeing genius unrewarded, and affluence attending talents which, although if not so high an order, are of more general utility. Perhaps, too, though not absolutely poor, he was straitened in his circumstances, considering his social position and the demands which this entailed upon him. During thirty-five years he lived at Rome the life of a flatterer, and a dependant,1164 and then returned to his native town.1165 As Horace, when in his quiet country retirement, sometimes regrets the enjoyments of the capital, although when at Rome he sighs for the pleasures of rural life, so Martial, when at Rome, longed for Bilbilis, and when he returned to Bilbilis regretted Rome. At this late period of his life he married a Spanish lady, named Marcella, whose property was amply sufficient to maintain him in affluence. Her estate he considers a little kingdom; her gardens he would not exchange for those of Alcinous; he praises her bowers, groves, fountains, streamlets, fish-ponds, and meadows; and tells us the climate is so genial that the olive-grounds are green in January, and the roses blow twice in the year, like those of Pæstum.1166 His wife he praises for her rare genius and sweet manners; he tells her that no one could discover her provincial origin; that her equal could not be found amongst the most elegant ladies in the capital; and when inclined to forget Rome she alone is all that Rome ever was to him:—

Tu desiderium dominæ mihi mitius urbis
  Esse jubes; Romam tu mihi sola facis.1167

But, notwithstanding the delicate compliment which he pays to his rich wife—a compliment dictated probably more by his habit of courtly flattery than by sincerity of affection—he evidently pined for Rome. He was fitted for crowds and not for solitude: his spirit was not pure enough to commune with itself. His delight had been so long to study the human heart in its worst developments, to drag forth to public view its blackest plague-spots, that he would miss the foul models which he had so long studied. Provincial life was therefore utter dulness to him; his only enjoyment was to reproduce the results of his observations on the life of the capital. Combining in himself the apparently inconsistent characters of the flatterer and the satirist, he needed great men to whom he might look up for patronage and approbation, as well as moral wounds to probe and subjects to anatomize. Rome alone supplied these; and when he lost them he lost the intellectual food necessary for his existence. The absence of his accustomed pursuits, and the irremediable void thus created, is evident in many of his epigrams.

The time of his death is uncertain, as the date of Pliny’s elegant epistle to Priscus, in which it is mentioned, cannot be determined.1168 But as it is probable that the eleventh book of his Epigrams was published in the year in which he left Rome for Bilbilis, and as he apologizes in the dedication of his twelfth book to Priscus for his obstinate indolence during a period of three years, his death cannot have taken place before A. D. 104. It is, however, generally supposed that his life was not prolonged much beyond this date. His death may have been hastened by his distaste for a provincial life, and by the malice and envy of his new neighbours.1169

According to his own account, in an epigram,1170 in which he contrasts himself with an effeminate fop, his appearance was rough and unpolished, his shaggy hair refused to curl, his cheeks were well-whiskered, and his voice was louder than the roar of a lioness.1171 It is impossible to believe the assertion which he makes respecting his own moral character, namely, that although his verses are licentious his life was virtuous,

Lasciva est nobis pagina, vita proba est.1172

—although, measured by the corrupt standard of morals which disgraced the age in which he lived, he was probably not worse than most of his contemporaries. The fearful profligacy which his powerful pen describes in such hideous terms spread through Rome its loathsome infection. As no language is strong enough to denounce the impurities of his age—impurities, in the description of which, the poet evidently revels with a cynical delight—so they were not merely creatures of a prurient imagination, but had a real existence.

It may be said in extenuation of his crime, that the prevalence of vice produced the obscenity of the poet; but no more can be said in defence of works in which the characters of vice are emblazoned in such shameless and unnatural deformity. Had he lived in better times, his talents, of which no doubt can be entertained, might have been devoted to a purer object; as it was, his moral taste must have been thoroughly depraved not to have turned with loathing and disgust from the contemplation of such subjects, instead of voluntarily seeking them; for “out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.” In Martial we observe that paradoxical but still not unusual combination of varied wit, poetical imagination, and a happy power of graceful expression, not only with strong sensual passions, but with a delight in vice in its most hateful forms and attributes.

Although the new feature which Martial added to the Greek epigram is such as has been described, and although his pages are polluted and defiled, not all his poems are spiteful or obscene. Amidst some obscurity of style and want of finish, many are redolent of Greek sweetness and elegance. Here and there are pleasing descriptions of the beauties of nature;1173 and, setting aside those which are evidently dictated by the spirit of flattery, many are kind-hearted, as well as complimentary. The few lines which were intended to accompany such trifling offerings of friendship as the poet could afford to give, and which, doubtless, rendered a flower or a toy doubly acceptable, are equal in neatness to many of the Greek Anthology. When he sends a rose to Apollinaris, it is accompanied by the following elegant lines:—

I felix rosa, mollibusque sertis
Nostri cinge comas Apollinaris;
Quas tu nectere candidas sed olim,
Sic te semper amet Venus, memento.1174

Go, happy rose, and with thy delicate garlands wreathe the locks of my Apollinaris; and remember, so may Venus ever love thee! to entwine them when gray: but may it be long ere that time comes.

The fourteenth book contains numerous ingenious couplets, sent, together with pencases, dice, tablets, toothpicks, and other little presents, at the Saturnalian festival.

In so vast a collection of pieces it is natural to expect that there would be great inequality, and that some of his wit would be commonplace and puerile. That such was the case, he himself confesses more than once;1175 and in one place he states that this inequality constitutes one of the merits of his work.1176

He knew that his works were appreciated, not only at Rome, but also throughout the empire:—

Toto notus in orbe Martialis
Argutis epigrammaton libellis;1177

and this consciousness is some excuse for the vanity which occasionally shows itself,1178 and which does not hesitate to account blemishes as beauties.

The following are favourable specimens of his poetry:—

Indignas premeret pestis cum tabida fauces,
  Inque ipsos vultus serperet atra lues;
Siccis ipse genis flentes hortatus amicos
  Decrevit Stygios Festus adire lacus.
Nec tamen obscuro pia polluit ora veneno,
  Aut torsit lenta tristia fata fame;
Sanctam Romana vitam sed morte peregit,
  Dimisitque animam nobiliore via.
Hanc mortem fatis magni præferre Catonis
  Fama potest; hujus Cæsar amicus erat.

When the dire quinsey choked his noble breath,
  And o’er his face the blackening venom stole,
Festus disdained to wait a lingering death,
  Cheered his sad friends, and freed his dauntless soul.
Nor meager famine’s slowly-wasting force,
  Nor hemlock’s gradual chillness he endured;
But closed his life a truly Roman course,
  And with one blow his liberty secured.
The Fates gave Cato a less glorious end,
  For Cæsar was his foe, Festus was Cæsar’s friend.1179
          Hodgson.

Casta suo gladium cum traderet Arria Pæto
  Quem de visceribus traxerat ipsa suis,
Si qua fides, vulnus, quod feci, non dolet, inquit;
  Sed quod tu facies, hoc mihi, Pæte, dolet.

When Arria to her Pætus gave the steel,
  Which from her bleeding side did newly part;
“From my own stroke,” she said, “no pain I feel,
  But, ah! thy wound will stab me to the heart.”

Dum nos blanda tenent jucundi stagna Lucrini
  Et quæ pumiceis fontibus antra calent,
Tu colis Argivi regnum Faustine coloni
  Quo te bis decimus ducit ab urbe lapis.
Horrida sed fervent Nemeæi pectora monstri
  Nec satis est Baias igne calere suo.
Ergo sacri fontes et littora sacra valete
  Nympharum pariter Nereidumque domus!
Herculeos colles gelida vos vincite bruma,
  Nunc Tiburtinis cedite frigoribus.

While near the Lucrine lake, consumed to death,
I draw the sultry air and gasp for breath,
Where streams of sulphur raise a stifling heat,
And thro’ the pores of the warm pumice sweat;
You taste the cooling breeze where, nearer home,
The twentieth pillar marks the mile from Rome.
And now the Sun to the bright Lion turns,
And Baia with redoubled fury burns;
Then briny seas and tasteful springs, farewell,
Where fountain Nymphs confused with Naiads dwell.
In winter you may all the world despise,
But now ’tis Tivoli that bears the prize.
          Addison.

Chapter VI — Aufidius Bassus and Cremutius Cordus — Velleius Paterculus — Character of His Works — Valerius Maximus — Cornelius Tacitus — Age of Trajan — Biography of Tacitus — His Extant Works Enumerated — Agricola — Germany — Histories — Traditions Respecting the Jews — Annals — Object of Tacitus — His Character — His Style

The earliest prose writers belonging to this epoch were Aufidius Bassus and Cremutius Cordus. The former wrote a history of the German and civil wars, which was continued by the elder Pliny; of the latter only a few fragments have been preserved by Seneca.1180 They were published in the reign of Tiberius; and it is evident that they contained a history of the civil wars, for his praise of Brutus and Cassius was made the pretext for his impeachment. It is also clear that he treated of contemporary events; for the real cause of the emperor’s hostility was an attack which he made upon the favourite Sejanus. In vain he tendered an apology; and seeing there was no hope of escape he starved himself to death.1181 His histories were publicly burned, but his daughter, to whom Seneca addressed his “Consolatio,” concealed some copies, and afterwards published them, with the approbation of Caligula.1182

M. Velleius Paterculus

Together with these flourished M. Velleius Paterculus. He was a soldier of equestrian family, served his first campaign in Asia, and subsequently, after passing through the various steps of promotion, acted as legatus to Tiberius in Germany. His services recommended him to the favour of the prince, on whose accession he was made prætor, and proved himself a stanch supporter of him and his favourite minister Sejanus. In the fall of that unworthy man,1183 Paterculus was involved, and was most probably put to death.

The short historical work by which he is known as an author is a history of Rome, and of the nations connected with the foundation of the imperial city, in two books. It is dedicated to M. Vinucius, consul; and as it carries on the history to the death of Livia, the mother of Tiberius, in the year of his consulate,1184 it must have been finished, perhaps almost entirely written within that year. Assuming that it was wise to undertake the task of comprising within such narrow limits events extending over so large a field, it is not unskilfully performed. The most striking events are selected and told in a lively and interesting manner; but he had one fault fatal to his character as an historian, who professed to treat of his own times. He is partial, prejudiced, and adulatory. He had not courage to be a Thucydides or a Sallust. The perilous nature of the times, and the personal obligations under which he was to the emperor, made him a courtier, and from this one-sided point of view he viewed contemporary history.

He was, however, a man of lively talents though of superficial education: his taste was formed after the model of the Augustan writers, especially Sallust, of whose style, so far as the outward form, he was an imitator. But although he was one of the earliest writers of the so called silver age, his language shows signs of degeneracy. It is, at times, overstrained and unnatural; there is the usual affectation of rhetorical effect, and an unnecessary use of uncommon words and constructions; still, whenever he keeps his model in view, he is scarcely inferior to him in conciseness and perspicuity. The first book of his history is in a very imperfect state; in fact, the commencement is entirely lost. Only one manuscript of it has been discovered, and even this is now nowhere to be found.

Valerius Maximus

Valerius Maximus can scarcely be termed an historian, although the subject of which he treated is historical. His work is neither one of original research, nor is it a connected abridgment of the investigation of his predecessors. It is a collection of anecdotes, entitled Dictorum Factorumque Memorabilium, Libri IX. His object is a moral one; namely, to illustrate, by examples, the beauty of virtue and the deformity of vice; but he is influenced in the selection less by historical truth than by the striking and interesting character of the narrative. The arrangement of the anecdotes resembles that of a commonplace book, rather than of history, the only principle observed being, that anecdotes of Romans and foreigners are kept distinct from one another.

Nothing is known, for certain, respecting his personal history. He himself states1185 that he accompanied Sextus Pompeius into Asia; and, from a comparison of different passages, it is probable that, like Velleius Paterculus, he flourished and wrote during the reign of Tiberius. His style is prolix and declamatory, and characterized by awkward affectation and involved obscurity.

C. Cornelius Tacitus

For the reasons already stated, Rome, for a long period, could boast of no historian; but, under the genial and fostering influence of the Emperor Trajan,1186 not only the fine arts, especially architecture, flourished, but also literature revived. The choice of Nerva could not have fallen on a better successor to his short reign. He was a Spaniard, but his native town was a flourishing Roman colony: the whole country round about it had experienced the effects of Roman civilization, and the language of all the towns in the south of Spain was Latin. The glories of war and the duties of peace divided his attention. By the former, he gave employment to his vast armies; by the latter he refined the tastes and improved the character of his people. No better testimony can be desired than the correspondence between him and Pliny to the mildness and wisdom of his domestic and foreign administration. The influence, also, of his empress, Plotina, and his sister, Marciana, exercised a beneficial influence upon Roman society; for they were the first ladies of the imperial court who by their example checked the shameless licentiousness which had long prevailed amongst women of the higher classes. The same taste and execution which are visible in the bas-reliefs on the column of Trajan adorn the literature of his age, as illustrated by its two great lights, Tacitus and the younger Pliny. There is not the rich, graceful ornament which invests with such a charm the writers of the golden age; but the absence of these qualities is amply compensated by dignity, gravity, honesty and truthfulness. There is a solidity in the style of Tacitus which makes amends for its difficulty, and justifies the intense admiration with which he was regarded by Pliny. Truthfulness beams throughout the writings of these two great contemporaries; and incorruptible virtue is as visible in the pages of Tacitus as benevolence is in the letters of Pliny. They mutually influenced each other’s character and principles: their tastes and pursuits were similar: they loved each other dearly; corresponded regularly, corrected each other’s works, and accepted patiently and gratefully each other’s criticisms. If, however, on all occasions, their observations were such as appear in the letters of Pliny, it is probable that their mutual regard, and the unbounded admiration which Pliny entertained for the superior genius of his friend caused them to be rather laudatory than severe.

The exact date of the birth of Tacitus is not known; but from one of the many letters extant, addressed to him by Pliny,1187 it may be inferred that the former was not more than one or two years senior to his friend. In it he reminds him that in years they are almost equals, and adds that he himself was a young man when Tacitus had already obtained a brilliant reputation. There is a tradition which assigns the birth of Tacitus to the year of Nero’s accession; but as Pliny the Younger was born A. D. 61, and Nero assumed the imperial purple A. D. 54, this date would make the difference in age between him and Pliny too great to be consistent with the expressions of the latter. Tacitus was of equestrian rank, and was procurator of Belgic Gaul in the reigns of Vespasian and Titus, from whom, as well as from Domitian, he received many marks of esteem. In A. D. 78, he married the daughter of C. Julius Agricola. He was one of the fifteen commissioners appointed for the celebration of the Ludi Seculares, A. D. 88, and was also prætor the same year. In A. D. 97, he served the office of consul. To this magistracy he was elected in order to supply the place of Virginius Rufus, who had died during his year of office, and over him Tacitus pronounced the funeral oration. In A. D. 99, he was associated by the Senate with Pliny1188 in the impeachment of Marius Priscus, proconsul of Africa, for maladministration of his province; and his friend Pliny praises his reply to the acute subtleties of Salvius Liberalis, the advocate of Marius, as distinguished, not only for oratorical power, but for that which he considers the most remarkable quality of his style, gravity. His words are, “Respondit Corn. Tacitus eloquentissime et quod eximie orationi ejus inest, σεμνως.”1189 It is not known when Tacitus died, nor whether he left any descendants; but there can be no doubt that he survived the accession of Hadrian.1190

The works of Tacitus which are extant, are:—(1.) A Life of his father-in-law, Agricola. (2.) A tract on the Manners and Nations of Germany. (3.) A small portion of a voluminous work, entitled Histories. (4.) About two-thirds of another historical work, entitled Annals. (5.) A dialogue on the Decline of Eloquence is also ascribed to him; and although doubts have been entertained of its genuineness, they do not rest upon any strong foundation. It is impossible to do more than approximate to the dates at which each work of Tacitus was composed. The imminent peril of writing or speaking plainly on events or individuals renders it almost certain that none of them could have been published before the accession of Trajan. Niebuhr1191 entertains no doubt that the first edition of the Life of Agricola was published towards the end of Domitian’s reign, and that, subsequently, it was revised and an introduction prefixed. But is it not more probable that, although the work was then written, it was not published until after revision?

Great as were the moral worth and the amiable gentleness of Agricola, his courage as a soldier, his skill and decision as a general, his prudence and caution as a politician, and, therefore, however deserving he may be of the pleasing light in which his character is portrayed, still the life of Tacitus is a panegyric rather than a biography. The near relation in which Tacitus stood to him, the affectionate admiration which Agricola must necessarily have commanded from one who knew him so well, unfitted him for the work of an impartial biographer. The fine points of Agricola’s character outshine all its other features; but we cannot suppose that he had no defects, no weaknesses. These, however, do not appear in the little work of Tacitus. His son-in-law either could not or would not see them. Still the brief sketch is a beautiful specimen of the vigour and force of expression with which this greatest painter of antiquity could throw off any portrait which he attempted. Even if the likeness be somewhat flattered, the qualities which the writer possessed, his insight into character, his pathetic power, and his affectionate heart, render this short piece one of the most attractive biographies extant.1192

With what simple pathos does he tell us of the obligation which Agricola, like so many other great men, owed to the educating care of his pure-minded, prudent, and indulgent mother, and the gratitude with which he was wont constantly to speak of that obligation! With what affection does he speak of one bound to him, not only by the ties of affinity, but by the stronger ties of a congenial temper and disposition! In his reflections on his death, there is no affected attempt at dramatic display. The few words devoted to so mournful a subject simply breathe the overwhelming sense of bereavement, unassuaged by the consolation of being present at his last moments. “Happy wert thou, Agricola, not only because thy life was glorious, but because thy death was well-timed! All who heard thy last words bear witness to the constancy with which thou didst welcome death as though thou wert determined manfully to acquit the emperor of being the cause. But the bitterness of thy daughter’s sorrow and mine for the loss of a parent is enhanced by the reflection, that it did not fall to our lot to watch over thy declining health, to solace thy failing strength, to enjoy thy last looks, thy last embraces. Faithfully would we have listened to thy parting words and wishes, and imprinted them deeply on our memories. This was our chief sorrow, our most painful wound. Owing to our long absence from Rome, thou hadst been lost to us four years before. Doubtless, O best of parents! enough, and more than enough, of honour was paid to thee by the assiduous attention of thy affectionate wife; still the last offices were paid thee amidst too few tears, and thine eyes were conscious that some loved object was absent just as their light was dimmed for ever.” To this tribute of dutiful affection, succeed sentiments of noble resignation, joined with an humble conviction of the transitory nature of human talents, and an earnest looking-for of immortality. To us, the biography of Agricola is especially interesting, because Britain was the scene of his glory as a military commander, and of his success in civil administration. His army first penetrated beyond the Friths of Forth and Clyde into the Highlands of Scotland, and his fleet first circumnavigated the northern extremities of the British island.

The treatise on the geography, manners and nations of Germany (De Situ Moribus et Populus Germaniæ) is but little longer than the Life of Agricola. The information contained in it is exactly of that character which might be expected, considering the sources from which it was derived. Tacitus was never in Germany, and therefore his knowledge was collected from those who had visited it for the purposes either of war or commerce. Hence his geographical descriptions are often vague and inaccurate; a mixture of the marvellous shows that some of his narratives consist in mere travellers’ tales, whilst the salient points and characteristic features of the national manners bear the impress of truth, and are supported by the well-known habits and institutions of Teutonic nations.

He tells of their bards, and explains the etymology of the term by the word Barditum, which signified the recitation of their songs.1193 He hints at wild legends and dark superstitions with which the German imagination still loves to people the dark recesses of their forests.1194 He describes their pure and unmixed race, and, consequently, the universal prevalence of the national features—blue eyes, red or sandy hair, and stalwart and gigantic frames.1195 According to his account, their political constitutions were elective monarchies, but the monarch was always of noble birth and his power limited;1196 and all matters of importance were debated by the estate of the people.1197 In the solemn permission accorded to a German youth to bear arms, and his investiture with lance and shield, is seen the origin of knighthood;1198 and in the sanctity of the marriage-tie, the chastity of the female sex, their social influence, and the respect paid to them—the rarity of adultery and its severe punishment, and the total absence of polygamy—we recognise the germ of the distinguishing characteristics of chivalry.1199 They were hospitable and constant to their hereditary friendships, but stern in perpetuating family feuds;1200 passionately fond of gambling, and strict in their regard for debts of honour;1201 inveterate drinkers, and their favourite potation was beer;1202 they could not consult on important matters without a convivial meeting;1203 if they quarrelled over their cups, they had recourse rarely to words, usually to blows.1204 Their slaves were in the condition of serfs or villains, and paid to the lord a fixed rent in corn, or cattle, or manufactures.1205 They reckoned their time by nights instead of days,1206 just as we are accustomed to use the expressions se’nnight and fortnight.

After having sketched the manners and customs of the nation as a whole he proceeds to treat of each tribe separately.1207 In speaking of our forefathers, the Angli, who inhabited part of the modern territory of Sleswick Holstein, and whose name is still retained in the district of Angeln, one word which he uses is an English one. The Angli, he says, together with the conterminous tribes, worship Herthus, i. e. Terra.1208 Even in these early times he mentions the naval superiority of the Suiones, who were the ancestors of the Normans and Sea-kings. With these he affirms that the continent of Europe terminates, and all beyond is a motionless and frozen ocean.1209 Truth in these distant climes mingles with fable. Daylight continues after the sun has set, but a hissing noise is heard as his blazing orb plunges into the sea, and the forms of the gods, and the radiant glories which surround their heads, are visible.1210 The list of marvels ends with fabulous beings, whose bodies and limbs are those of wild beasts, whilst their heads and faces are human.

The earliest historical work of Tacitus is his “Historiæ,” of which only four books and a portion of the fifth are extant. Their contents extend from the second consulship of Galba1211 to the commencement of the siege of Jerusalem. The original work concluded with the death of Domitian.1212 He purposed also, if his life had been spared, to add the reigns of Nerva and Trajan, as the employment of his old age. “The materials for which,” he says, “are more plentiful and trustworthy, because of the unusual felicity of an age in which men were allowed to think as they pleased, and to give utterance to what they thought.”1213 It is plain from the word Divus (the deified) being prefixed to the name of Nerva, and not to that of Trajan, in the passage above quoted, that this work was written after Trajan had put on the imperial purple.1214

According to St. Jerome it originally consisted of thirty books; and the minuteness with which each event is recorded in the portion extant renders it highly probable that the original work was as extensive as this assertion would imply. The object which he proposed to himself was worthy of his penetrating mind, from the searching gaze of which even the hypocrisy and dissimulation of a Tiberius were powerless to veil the foul darkness of his crafty nature. He intended “to investigate the political state of the commonwealth, the feelings of its armies, the sentiments of the provinces, the elements of its strength and weakness, the causes and reasons for each phænomenon.”1215 The principal fault which diminishes the value of his history as a record of events, is his too great readiness to accept evidence unhesitatingly, and to record popular rumours without taking sufficient pains to examine into their truth. Still these blots are but few, scattered over a vast field of faithful history. Perhaps the most lamentable instance is presented in his incorrect account of the history, constitution, and manners of the Jewish people. Wanting either the opportunity or the inclination to consult the sacred books of the nation, he mixes up vague traditions of their early history with the fables of Pagan mythology; and, like the Greeks and Romans, gives names to imaginary patriarchs, taken from localities connected with their history.

According to his account the Jews originally inhabited Crete,1216 and from Mount Ida, in that Island, received the name of Idæi, which afterwards became corrupted into Judæi. From Crete, when Saturn was expelled by Jove, they took refuge in Egypt; and thence under two leaders, Juda and Hierosolymus, again migrated to the neighbouring country of Palestine. A second tradition attributes to them an Assyrian origin; a third an Æthiopian; a fourth asserts that they were descended from the Solymi which Homer celebrated in his poems.1217

The next tradition which he mentions approaches nearer to the true one. Egypt being afflicted with a plague, the king Bocchoris, by the advice of the oracle of Ammon, purged his kingdom of them, and under the guidance of Moses they began their wanderings. When they were dying on their way for want of water, their leader followed a herd of wild asses, by which he was led to a copious well of water. Thus was their drought relieved; and, after journeying six days, they obtained possession of the land in which they built their capital and temple. Moses introduced new religious rites contrary to those of other nations. He set up the image of an ass in the Holy of Holies—a statement which afterwards Tacitus virtually contradicts by saying that they allow no images in their temples,1218 that they preferred taking up arms to admitting the statue of Caligula into the temple;1219 and that when Pompey took Jerusalem,1220 he found no image of any deity, and the sanctuary empty. He adds, that they sacrifice rams in order to show contempt to Jupiter Ammon, and oxen, because, under that form, Apis was worshipped by the Egyptians; that they abstain from pork in remembrance of their having been afflicted with leprosy, to which that animal is subject, and eat unleavened bread as a memorial of their once having stolen food. On the seventh day, which terminated their wanderings, they do no work, and in like manner the seventh year they devote to idleness. This Sabbath, some assert that they keep holy in honour of Saturn. They believe in the immortality of the soul, and in future rewards and punishments, and embalm their dead like the Egyptians. Such are the various traditions respecting the Jews which Tacitus incorporates in his Histories.

The Annals, which were written subsequently to the Histories, were so called, because each historical event is recorded in historical order under the year to which it belongs.1221 They consist of sixteen books; commence with the death of Augustus,1222 and conclude with that of Nero.1223 The only portions extant are—the first four books, part of the fifth, the sixth, part of the eleventh, the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, and the commencement of the sixteenth book. The Annals are rather histories of each successive emperor than of the Roman people; but this is the necessary condition of narrating the fortunes of a nation which now possessed only the bare name, and not the reality of constitutional government. The state was now the emperor; the end and object of the social system his security; and every political event must therefore be treated in relation to him.

But a history of this kind in the hands of one who had such skill in diving into the recesses of man’s heart, who could read so shrewdly and delineate so vigorously human character, who possessed as a writer such picturesque and dramatic power, becomes the more interesting from its biographical nature, and its philosophical importance as a moral rather than a political study. It is not, owing to circumstances over which the author had no control, the history of a great nation, for the Romans, as a whole, were no longer great. Neither does it paint the rise, progress and development of constitutional freedom, for it had reached its zenith, had declined, become paralyzed, and finally extinct. But still there existed bright examples of heroism, and courage, and self-devotion, truly Roman, and instances not less prominent of corruption and degradation. Individuals stand out in bold relief, eminent for the noblest virtues or blackened by the basest crimes. These appear either singly or in groups upon the stage: the emperor forms the principal figure; and the moral sense of the reader is awakened to admire instances of patient suffering and determined bravery, or abject slavery and remorseless despotism.

The object of Tacitus, therefore, was not, like that of the great philosophical historian of Greece, to describe the growth of political institutions, or the implacable animosities which raged between opposite political principles—the struggles for supremacy between a class and a whole people—but the influence which the establishment of tyranny on the ruins of liberty exercised for good or for evil in bringing out the character of the individual. Rome, the imperial city, was the all-engrossing subject of his predecessors; Romans were but subordinate and accessary. Tacitus delineated the lives and deaths of individuals, and showed the relation which they bore to the fortunes of their country.

It would have been impossible to have satisfied a people whose taste had become more than ever rhetorical, without the introduction of orations. Those of Tacitus are perfect specimens of art; and probably, with the exception of Galgacus,1224 far more true than those of other Roman historians. Still he made use of them, not only to imbody traditional accounts of what had really been said on each occasion, but to illustrate his own views of the character of the speaker, and to convey his own political opinions.

Full of sagacious observation and descriptive power, Tacitus engages the most serious attention of the reader by the gravity of his condensed and comprehensive style, as he does by the wisdom and dignity of his reflections. The purity and gravity of his sentiments remind the reader even of Christian authors.

Living amidst the influences of a corrupt age he was uncontaminated; and by his virtue and integrity, his chastened political liberality, commands our admiration as a man, whilst his love of truth is reflected in his character as an historian. Although he imitated, as well as approved, the cautious policy of his father-in-law, he was not destitute of moral firmness.

It derogates nothing from his courage that he was silent during the perilous times in which great part of his life was passed, and spoke with boldness only when the happy reign of Nerva had commenced, and the broken spirit of the nation had revived. Like the rest of his fellow-countrymen he exhibited a remarkable example of patient endurance, when the imperial jealousy made even the praise of those who were obnoxious to the tyrant treason; when it was considered a capital crime for Arulenus Rusticus to praise Pætus Thrasea, and Herennius Senecio to eulogize Priscus Helvidius.

In those fearful times he himself says, that “as old Rome had witnessed the greatest glories of liberty, so her descendants had been cast down to the lowest depths of slavery; and would have been deprived of the use of memory, as well as of language, if it were equally in man’s power to forget as to be silent.”1225 In such times prudence was a duty, and daring courage would have been unavailing rashness. In his praise of Agricola, and his blame of Pætus, he enunciates the principles which regulate his own conduct—that to endanger yourself without the slightest prospect of benefiting your country is mere ostentatious ambition. “Sciant,” he writes, “quibus moris illicita mirari, posse etiam sub malis principibus magnos viros esse; obsequiumque ac modestiam, si industria ac vigor adsint, eo laudis excedere quo plerique per abrupta, sed in nullum reipublicæ usum ambitiosa morte inclaruerunt.”1226 Again, “Thrasea Pætus sibi causam periculi fecit, cæteris libertatis initium non præbuit.”1227

In the style of Tacitus the form is always subordinate to the matter; the ideas maintain their due supremacy over the language in which they are conveyed. There is none of that striving after epigrammatic terseness which savours of affectation. His brevity, like that which characterizes the style of Thucydides, is the necessary condensation of a writer whose thoughts flow more quickly than his pen can express them. Hence his sentences are suggestive of far more than they express: they are enigmatical hints of deep and hidden meaning, which keep the mind active and the attention alive, and delight the reader with the pleasures of discovery and the consciousness of difficulties overcome. Nor is this natural and unintentional brevity unsuitable to the cautious reserve with which all were tutored to speak and think of political subjects in perilous times. It is extraordinary how often a similarity between his mind and that of Thucydides inadvertently discovers itself—not only in his mode of thinking, but also in his language, even in his grammatical constructions, especially in his frequent substitution of attraction for government, in instances of condensed construction, and in the connexion of clauses grammatically different, although they are metaphysically the same.

Nor is his brevity dry or harsh—it is enlivened by copiousness, variety, and poetry. He scarcely ever repeats the same idea in the same form. No author is richer in synonymous words, or arranges with more varied skill the position of words in a sentence. As for poetic genius, his language is highly figurative; no prose writer deals more largely in prosopopœia: his descriptions of scenery and incidents are eminently picturesque; his characters dramatic; the expression of his own sentiments and feelings as subjective as lyric poetry.

Chapter VII — C. Suetonius Tranquillus — His Biography — Sources of His History — His Great Fault — Q. Curtius Rufus — Time When He Flourished Doubtful — His Biography of Alexander — Epitomes of L. Annæus Florus — Sources Whence He Derived Them

C. Suetonius Tranquillus

C. Suetonius Tranquillus1228 was the son of Suetonius Lenis, who served as tribunus angusticlavus of the thirteenth legion at the battle of Bedriacum, in which the Emperor Otho was defeated by Vitellius. The time of his birth is uncertain; but from a passage at the end of his Life of Nero1229 it may be inferred that he was born very soon after the death of that emperor, which took place A. D. 68; for in it he mentions that, when twenty years subsequent to Nero’s death, a false Nero appeared, he was just arriving at manhood (adolescens.) The knowledge of language and rhetorical taste displayed in the remains of his works on these subjects prove that he was well instructed in these branches of a Roman liberal education: and a letter of the younger Pliny,1230 whose intimate friend he was, speaks of him as an advocate by profession. This letter represents him as unwilling to plead a cause, which he had undertaken, because he was frightened by a dream. It is probable that this anecdote is an authentic one, because so many examples occur in his memoirs of his superstitious belief in dreams, omens, ghosts, and prodigies.1231

The affectionate regard which Pliny entertained for his friend was very great, and led him to form too high an estimate of his talents as a writer and an historian. On one occasion he used his influence at court to get him a tribuneship; which, however, he did not accept.1232 On another he obtained for him, from Trajan,1233 the “jus trium liberorum,” although he had no children. But this privilege, as in the case of Martial, was sometimes granted under similar circumstances. In this letter, which he wrote to the Emperor, he speaks of Suetonius as a man of the greatest probity, integrity, and learning; and adds that, after the experience of a long acquaintance, the more he knows of him the more he loves him.

Subsequently Suetonius became private secretary (Magister Epistolarum) to Hadrian,1234 but was deprived of the situation. Owing to the only sources of information respecting Suetonius being his own works, and the few scattered notices in the letters of Plinius Secundus, nothing more is known respecting his life.

A catalogue of his numerous writings is given by Suidas:1235 but, with the exception of the Lives of the Twelve Cæsars, it does not contain his chief extant works. These are notices of illustrious grammarians and rhetoricians, and the lives of the poets Terence, Horace, Persius, Lucan, and Juvenal.

Niebuhr1236 believed that the history, or rather the biography of the Cæsars was written when Suetonius was still young, before he was secretary to Hadrian, and previous to the publication of the Histories of Tacitus. If so, he neither enjoyed the opportunities of consulting the imperial records which his situation at court would have given him, nor of profiting by the accurate guidance and profound reflection of Tacitus. Krause,1237 on the other hand, adduces many parallelisms between the language of Tacitus and Suetonius; and as Tacitus did not publish his earliest historical work before A. D. 117,1238 assumes that Suetonius did not write his biographies until after the accession of Hadrian.

It is very difficult to determine which of these theories is the correct one; but there can be no doubt that the sources from which he derived his information are quite independent of the authority of Tacitus; and that the Lives of the Twelve Cæsars would have contained all that we find in them, even if the Annals and Histories had never been written. He does not only trust to the works of the Roman historians, but his exact quotations from acts of the senate and people, edicts, fasti, and orations, and the use which he makes of annals and inscriptions, prove that he was a man of diligent research, and that he examined original documents for himself.

Again, as a writer of biographical memoirs rather than of regular history, and fond of anecdote and scandal, he availed himself largely of such private letters of Emperors and their dependants as fell in his way, of testamentary documents, and of the information he could collect in conversation. Many of the lives which he wrote were those of his contemporaries. Some of the events recorded were passing under the eyes of the public, and were matters of notoriety. He himself asserts in three several places1239 that he received some of the accounts which he gives from the testimony of eye-witnesses. The more secret habits of the Emperors, either truly told or exaggerated by an appetite for scandal, would ooze out. Anecdotes of the reigning Emperor’s private life would be eagerly sought for, and be the favourite topic of gossip in all circles of Roman society. Nor would he have any difficulty in procuring copious stores of information respecting those Emperors who reigned before he was born from those of his contemporaries who were a generation older than himself, and who were spectators of, or actors in, many of the scenes which he describes. As a biographer, there is no reason to doubt his honesty and veracity; he is industrious and careful; he indulges neither in ornament of style nor in romantic exaggeration; the picture which he draws is a terrible one, but it is fully supported by the contemporary authority of Juvenal and Tacitus. Nevertheless, his mind was not of that comprehensive and philosophical character which would qualify him for taking an enlarged view of political affairs, or for the work of an historian. He has no definite plan formed in his mind, without which an historian can never hope to make his work a complete whole; he wanders at will from one subject to another, just as the idea seizes him, and is by no means careful of committing offences against chronological order.

Niebuhr accuses him of inconsistency in the character which he draws and the praise which he bestows on Vespasian:1240 but adds what may, in some sort, be considered a defence, namely, that Vespasian was, negatively speaking, a good, upright, and just man, and that the dark side of his character must be considered in reference to the fearful times in which he reigned. He also mentions, as an example of his deficiencies as an historian, the bad accounts which he has left of his own times, especially of the anarchy which followed Nero’s death, and the commencement of the reign of Vespasian. But in his praise it may be said that Suetonius has formed a just estimate of his own powers in undertaking to be a biographer and not an historian; and it is scarcely fair to criticise severely his unfitness for a task to which he made no pretensions.

One great fault pollutes his pages. The dark pictures which he draws of the most profligate Emperors, the disgusting annals of their unheard-of crimes, are dwelt upon as though he took pleasure in the description, and loved to wallow in the mire of the foulest debauchery. Truth, perhaps, required that they should not have been passed over in silence, but they might have been lightly touched, and not painted in detail with revolting faithfulness. He is often brief, sometimes obscure: in such passages of his narrative we would have gladly welcomed both brevity and obscurity.

Q. Curtius Rufus

The doubts which have always been entertained respecting the time when the biographer of Alexander the Great flourished, and which no investigations have been sufficient to dissipate, render it impossible to pass him by unnoticed, although he may, perhaps, belong to an age beyond the chronological limits of this work. The purity of his style has, in the opinion of some critics, entitled him to a place among the writers of the silver age; whilst Niebuhr, judging by the internal evidence, thinks that he must have lived as late as the reign of Caracalla or Septimius Severus.

No valid argument, however, can be based upon his style, because it is evidently artificial: it is, indeed, infected with a love of declamatory ornament; it is sometimes more like poetry than prose; it abounds in metaphors, and therefore proves that he lived in a rhetorical age; but it is upon the whole an imitation of the Latinity of Livy. This rhetorical character of his style gives some value to the opinion of F. A. Wolf, that he was the Q. Curtius Rufus mentioned by Suetonius in his treatise on Illustrious Orators. If so, he was probably a contemporary.

With respect to internal evidence, reference has been made to two passages as containing allusions to his times. (1.) Multis ergo casibus defuncta (sc. Tyrus,) nunc tamen longa pace cuncta refovente, sub tutela Romanæ mansuetudinis acquiescit.1241 (2.) Proinde jure meritoque P. R. salutem se principi suo debere profitetur, qui noctis, quam pæne supremam habuimus, novum sidus illuxit, hujus hercule, non solis ortus, lucem caliganti reddidit mundo, cum sine suo capite discordia membra trepidarent.1242 The former has been considered descriptive of many periods in Roman history: although Niebuhr1243 makes the unqualified assertion, that it has no meaning, unless it alludes to the times of Septimius Severus and Caracalla. The latter is equally vague: Niebuhr thinks it might refer to Aurelian: Gibbon considers that it alluded to Gordian. But to how many Emperors might a spirit of eulogistic flattery make it applicable! Upon the whole, it is most probable that he lived towards the close of the first century.

The biography of Alexander is deeply interesting; for, although Curtius evidently disdains historic reality, his hero always seems to have a living existence: it is a romance rather than a history. He never loses an opportunity by the colouring which he gives to historical facts of elevating the Macedonian conqueror to a superhuman standard. He has no inclination to weigh the merits of conflicting historical testimonies: he selects that which supports his partial predilections; nor are his talents for story-telling checked by a profound knowledge of either tactics or geography, or other objective historical materials, for correct details in which he is too frequently negligent.1244 His florid and ornamented style is suitable to the imaginary orations which are introduced in the narrative, and which constitute the most striking portions of the work. The sources from which he derived his information are various, the principal one being the account of Alexander’s exploits by the Greek historian Clitarchus, who accompanied the Macedonian conqueror in his Asiatic expedition. He is, however, by no means a servile follower; for in one instance he does not hesitate to accuse him of inaccuracy. They were, however, kindred spirits: both would sacrifice truth to romantic interest; both indulged in the same tale-telling tendency. His work originally consisted of ten books. Two of these are lost, and their places have been supplied, in a very inferior manner, by Cellarius and Freinsheim. Even in the eight books which are extant, an hiatus of more or less extent occasionally occurs.

L. Annæus Florus

Brief as the epitomes are which bear the name of L. Annæus Florus, the style is characterized by the rhetorical spirit of the age to which they belong. They are diffuse and declamatory, and their author is rather the panegyrist of his countrymen than the grave and sober narrator of the most important events contained in their history. This short summary, entitled “Rerum Romanarum, Libri IV.,” or “Epitome de Gestis Romanorum,” is a well-arranged compilation from the authorities extant; but it is probable that, like all other Roman historians except Velleius Paterculus, he derived his materials principally from Livy. Such a dry skeleton of history, however, must be uninteresting. Who the author was is by no means certain. Some have supposed him to be the same with Annæus Florus, who wrote three trochaic verses to Hadrian. Titze1245 imagines that it is the work of two authors, one a contemporary of Horace,1246 the other belonging to a later literary period.

It is generally assumed that the author1247 of the Epitomes was either a Spaniard or a Gaul; and, if we may consider the introduction to the work as genuine, he lived in the reign of Trajan.

Chapter VIII — M. Annæus Seneca — His Controversy and Suasoriæ — L. Annæus Seneca — Tutor to Nero — His Enormous Fortune — His Death and Character — Inconsistencies in His Philosophy — A Favourite With Early Christian Writers — His Epistles — Work on Natural Phenomena — Apocolocyntosis — His Style

M. Annæus Seneca

The family of the Senecas exercised a remarkable influence over literature; they may, in fact, be said to have given the tone to the taste of their age.

M. Annæus Seneca was born at Corduba (Cordova.) The precise date of his birth is unknown; but Clinton places it about B. C. 61. This is not improbable, for he asserts1248 that he had heard all the eminent orators except Cicero, and that he might have enjoyed that privilege also if the civil wars had not compelled him to remain in his native country. After this hinderance was removed by the accession of Augustus he came to Rome, and, as a professional rhetorician, amassed a considerable fortune. Subsequently he returned to Cordova, and married Helvia, by whom he had three sons, of whom L. Annæus Seneca, the philosopher, was the eldest.

He left behind him two works, the composition of which was the employment of his old age. They are the results of his long and successful experience as a teacher of rhetoric, the gleanings of his commonplace book, the stores accumulated by his astonishing memory, which enabled him to repeat two thousand unconnected words after once hearing them, and to report literally any orations which he had heard delivered. They are valuable as showing how a hollow and artificial system, based upon the recollection of stock-passages and commonplaces, had supplanted the natural promptings of true eloquence. They explain the principles and practice of instruction in the popular schools of rhetoric, the means by which the absence of natural endowments could be compensated. They exhibit wit, learning, ingenuity, and taste to select and admire the best literary specimens of earlier periods; but it is plain that matter was now subordinate to form—that the orator was content to borrow the phraseology of his predecessors in which to clothe sentiments which he could neither feel nor understand. The ear still yearned for the language of sincerity, although the heart no longer throbbed with the ardour of patriotism. It is this want of conformity of ideas to words which causes the coldness of a declamatory and florid style. It is a mere representation of warmth: it disappoints like a mere painted fire.

The first work of M. Seneca was entitled Controversiæ: it was divided into ten books, of which, with the exception of fragments, only the first, second, seventh, eighth, and tenth are extant. It contains a series of exercises or declamations in judicial oratory on fictitious cases. The imaginary causes were probably sketched out by the professor. The students composed their speeches according to the rules of rhetoric: they were then corrected, committed to memory, and recited, partly with a view to practice, partly in order to amuse an admiring audience. The cases are frequently as puerile as a schoolboy’s theme, sometimes extravagant and absurd.

His other work, the Suasoriæ, contains exercises in deliberative oratory. The subjects of them are taken from the historians and poets: they are as harmless as tyranny could desire: there is no danger that languid patriotism should revive, or the empire be menaced, by such uninteresting discussions. Nor were they confined to mere students. Public recitations had, since the days of Juvenal, been one of the crying nuisances of the times. The poets began it, the rhetoricians followed, and the most absurd trash was listened to with patience, being ushered into popular notice by partial flatterers or hired claqueurs.

L. Annæus Seneca

L. Seneca was born at his father’s native town about the commencement of the Christian era. He was brought to Rome when very young, and there studied rhetoric and philosophy. He soon displayed great talents as a pleader; and by his success is said to have provoked the jealousy of Caligula. In the reign of Claudius he was accused by the infamous Messalina of improper intimacy with Julia, the emperor’s niece, and was accordingly banished to Corsica.1249 He solaced his exile with the study of the Stoic philosophy; and although its severe precepts exercised no moral influence over his conduct, he not only professed himself a Stoic, but sincerely imagined that he was one. Eight years afterwards Agrippina caused his recall,1250 in order to make him tutor to her son Nero.

His pupil was naturally vicious; and Seneca, though wise and prudent, was too unscrupulous a man of the world to attempt the correction of his propensities, or to instil into him high principles. After the accession of Nero,1251 Seneca endeavoured to arrest his depraved career; but it was too late: all he could do was to put into his mouth specious words of clemency and mercy. He saw how dangerous was the unprincipled ambition of Agrippina; and dreadful though it was to sanction parricide, there was scarcely any other course to be pursued, except the consenting to her death. When the deed was done, he had the pitiful meanness to screen the murderer by a falsehood. He wrote a letter, which Nero sent to the senate, accusing his mother of treason, and asserting that she had committed suicide.1252

Seneca had by usury and legacy-hunting, amassed one of those enormous fortunes, of which so many instances are met with in Roman history. This had already exposed him to envy,1253 and caused his temporary banishment to the Balearic isles.1254 But after that Burrus was dead, who shared his influence over the Emperor, he felt the dangers of wealth, and offered his property to Nero.1255 The Emperor refused; but Seneca retired from public life. Being now under the influence of new favourites, Nero wished to rid himself of Seneca; and although there was no evidence of his being privy to the conspiracy of Piso, it furnished a pretext for his destruction.1256 In adversity his character shone with brighter lustre. Though he had lived ill, he could die well. His firmness was the result, not of Stoical indifference, but of Roman courage. He met the messengers of death without trembling. His noble wife Paullina determined to die with him. The veins of both were opened at the same time. The little blood which remained in his emaciated and enfeebled frame refused to flow: he suffered excruciating agony: a warm bath was applied, but in vain; and a draught of poison was equally ineffectual. At last he was suffocated by the vapour of a stove, and expired.1257

Seneca lived in a perilous atmosphere. The philosophy in which he believed was hollow, and, being unsuited to his court life,1258 he thought it expedient to allow himself some relaxation from its severity. His rhetorical taste led him to overstate even his own real convictions; and hence the incongruity of his life appeared more glaring. He was not insincere; but he had not firmness to act up to the high moral standard which he proposed to himself. In his letters, and his treatise “De Consolatione,” addressed to Polybius, he even convicts himself of this defect. He had difficult questions to decide, and had not sufficient moral principle to lead him in the right course. He was avaricious; but it was the great sin of his times. Tacitus is not blind to his weaknesses;1259 but he estimates his character with more candour and fairness than Dio.1260 He is neither a panegyrist nor an accuser. The education of one who was a brute rather than a man was a task to the discharge of which no one would have been equal. He, therefore, retained the influence which he had not uprightness to command by miserable and sinful expedients. He had great abilities, and some of the noble qualities of the old Romans. Had he lived in the days of the Republic he would have been a great man.

Seneca was the author of twelve ethical treatises, the best of which are entitled “De Providentiâ,” “De Constantiâ Sapientis,” and “De Consolatione.” The latter was addressed to his mother Helvia, and written during his exile in Corsica. In the treatise on Providence he discusses the question why, since there is a Divine Providence, good men are liable to misfortunes. Although the difficulty is explained by the doctrine that the remedy, “suicide,” is always in man’s power, it asserts the omnipresence of the Deity, and the existence of a moral Governor of the universe.

Great as are the inconsistencies in his ethical philosophy (nor could it be otherwise, as his life was always doing despite to his moral sense of right and wrong,) his views are generally clear and practical. In this he was a true Roman; he cared little for abstract speculation; he did not value, except as subordinate aids, either mental or natural philosophy. He delighted to inculcate precepts rather than investigate principles. It is for this reason that his works are not satisfactory as a whole, whilst they furnish a rich mine for quotations. The fault which pervades all Roman philosophy exists in an exaggerated form in his works: they are ethical digests of didactic precepts; but there is no system, no developement of new truths. His studies taught him that general principles are the foundations of morals, and that casuistry is the application of those principles;1261 but the Romans were naturally inclined to be casuists rather than moralists; and in this preference Seneca went beyond all his countrymen. He writes like a teacher of youth rather than as a philosopher; he inculcates, without proof, maxims and instructions, and impresses them by repetition, as though they recommended themselves by their intrinsic truthfulness to the consciences of his hearers.

Seneca was always a favourite with Christian writers; he is in fact a better guide to others than he was to himself. Some of his sentiments are truly Christian; there is even a tradition that he was acquainted with St. Paul, and fourteen letters to that apostle have been, though without grounds, attributed to him. He may, however, unconsciously have imbibed some of the principles of Christianity. The gospel had already made great and rapid strides over the civilized world, and thoughtful minds may have been enlightened by some of the rays of divine truth dispersed through the moral atmosphere, just as we are benefited by the light of the sun, even when its disc is obscured by clouds.

His Epistles, of which there are one hundred and twenty-four, are moral essays in an epistolary form, and are the most delightful of his works. Although addressed to a disciple named Lucilius, they are evidently written for the public eye: they are rich in varied thought, and the reflections flow naturally and without effort. Letters were perhaps the most appropriate vehicle for his preceptive philosophy, because such a desultory style is best adapted to convey isolated and unconnected maxims. They contain a free and unconstrained picture of his mind. We see in them how he despised verbal subtleties,1262 the external badges of a sect or creed, and insisted that the great end of science is to learn how to live and how to die.

In his old age he wrote seven books on questions connected with natural phenomena (Quæstionum Naturalium, Libri vii.) Why he did so it is impossible to say, since he had so often argued against the utility of physical studies.1263 The declamatory praise which he bestows upon them in this work would lead us to suppose that it was a mere exercise for amusement and relaxation. But in this case he is not so inconsistent as might be supposed—he treats the subject like a moralist, and makes it the occasion of ethical reflections.1264

Once he indulged in the playfulness of satire. He had written a fulsome funeral oration on Claudius, which Nero delivered in the midst of laughter and derision; but for this abject flattery he afterwards made compensation by composing, as a parody on the apotheosis of the stupid Emperor, the Apocolocyntosis, or his metamorphosis into a pumpkin. The pun was good enough, but the execution miserable.

In the style of Seneca we see the result of that false declamatory taste of which the works of his father furnish specimens. Thought was subordinate to expression. The masters of rhetoric were all in all. His style is too elaborate to please; it is generally affected, often florid and bombastic: he seems always striving to produce striking effects, either by antithesis or ornament; of course he defeats his object, for there is no light and shade. There is too much sparkle and glitter, too little repose and simplicity.

CHAPTER IX.
PLINY THE ELDER—HIS HABITS DESCRIBED BY HIS NEPHEW—HIS INDUSTRY AND APPLICATION—HIS DEATH IN THE ERUPTION OF VESUVIUS—THE ERUPTION DESCRIBED IN TWO LETTERS OF PLINY THE YOUNGER—THE NATURAL HISTORY OF PLINY—ITS SUBJECTS DESCRIBED—PLINY THE YOUNGER—HIS AFFECTION FOR HIS GUARDIAN—HIS PANEGYRIC, LETTERS, AND DESPATCHES—THAT CONCERNING THE CHRISTIANS—THE ANSWER.

C. Plinius Secundus

Pliny the Elder was born A. D. 23, either at Verona1265 or Novo-Comum1266 (Como.) As he possessed estates at the latter town, and his nephew, the younger Pliny, whom he adopted, was undoubtedly born there, it was most probably the family residence and the place of the elder Pliny’s nativity. He was educated at Rome; and serving Claudius in Germany, employed the opportunities which this campaign afforded him in travelling. Afterwards he returned to Rome and practised at the bar; filled different civil offices, amongst them that of augur, and was subsequently appointed procurator in Spain.1267

Some interesting particulars respecting his life and habits are contained in a letter of the younger Pliny to his friend Macer,1268 illustrative of his studies, his temper, his thirst for knowledge, and his strict economy of time. The letter is also valuable for another reason—namely, as giving a catalogue of all the writings of his uncle. “It is a great satisfaction to me,” he writes, “that you so constantly and diligently read my uncle’s works, that you wish to possess them all, and ask me for a list of them. I will therefore perform the duty of an index; and will also tell you the order in which they were written.” He then subjoins the following titles:—(1.) The Art of using the Javelin on Horseback; composed when he was commander of cavalry in Germany. (2.) The Life of his friend Pomponius Secundus. (3.) A History of all the Wars, twenty in number, which the Romans had carried on with the Germans. This was commenced during his German campaign, in obedience to the suggestions of a dream:—“There appeared to him whilst sleeping the shade of Drusus; commended his memory to his care, and besought him to rescue it from undeserved oblivion.” In accordance with his superstitious and credulous temper, he obeyed the call of his supernatural visitant. (4.) A treatise on Eloquence, entitled “Studiosus,” in three books, but subdivided, on account of its length, into six volumes. In it he traces the education of an orator from the very cradle. (5.) Eight books on Grammatical Ambiguity, which he wrote during the reign of Nero, a period when imperial tyranny rendered studies of a freer kind too perilous. (6.) Thirty books in continuation of the History of Aufidius Bassus, dedicated to the Emperor Titus.1269 (7.) Thirty-seven books on Natural History—a work, not only, as Pliny the Younger describes it, as full of variety as Nature herself, but, as will be shown hereafter, a treasure-house of the arts, as well as of natural objects.

“You will wonder,” he continues, “how a man occupied with official business could have completed so many volumes filled with such minute information. You will be still more surprised to learn that he practised sometimes as a pleader; that he died in his fifty-sixth year; and that the intermediate time was distracted and interrupted by the friendship of princes and most important public affairs. But he was a man of vigorous intellect, incredible application, and unwearied activity. Immediately after the festival of the Vulcanalia (August 23d,) he used to begin to study in the dead of the night; in the winter at one o’clock in the morning, at the latest at two, often at midnight. No one ever slept so little—sometimes he would snatch a brief interval of sleep in the midst of his studies. Before dawn he would wait upon the Emperor, for he also used the night for transacting business. Thence he proceeded to the discharge of his official duties; and whatever time remained he devoted to study.

“After a light and frugal meal, which, according to the old fashion, he partook of by day, he would in summer, if he had any leisure time, recline in the sun whilst a book was read to him, from which he took notes and made extracts. In fact, he never read any book without making extracts; for he used to say that no book was so bad but that some profit could be derived from it. After sunset he generally took a cold bath, then a slight repast, and afterwards slept for a very short time. When he awoke, as if it were a new day, he studied till supper; during which a book was read, on which he made annotations as the reading proceeded. I remember that one of his friends interrupted the reader, because he had mispronounced a word, and compelled him to repeat it; upon which my uncle asked, ‘Did you understand him?’ and when he answered in the affirmative, he continued—‘Why did you interrupt him? we have lost more than ten lines;’—so frugal was he of his time. In summer he rose from the supper-table by daylight, in winter at nightfall; and this custom was a law to him.

“These were his habits amidst the toils and bustle of a town-life. In the retirement of the country the bath was the only interruption to his studies. But only the bath itself, for whilst he was rubbed and wiped dry, he either dictated to an amanuensis or had a book read to him. On journeys, as he was then relieved from all other cares, study was the only employment of his leisure. He had a precis-writer at his side, with books and tablets, who in the winter wore gloves, so that his master’s studies might not be interrupted by the severity of the cold. For the same reason, when at Rome, he always used a sedan. I remember once having been chid by him for walking: ‘You might,’ said he, ‘avoid wasting all this time.’ For he thought all time was lost which was not devoted to study. By this intense application he completed so many volumes, and bequeathed to me, besides, one hundred and sixty rolls of commentaries, written in the smallest possible hand and on both sides. He used to say that when he was procurator in Spain, he was offered for a portion of them 400,000 sesterces (about 3,200l.) by Lartius Licinius.... I cannot help laughing when people call me studious, for, compared with him, I am the idlest fellow in the world.”

Pliny perished a martyr to the cause of science, in the terrible eruption of Vesuvius, which took place in the first year of the reign of Titus.1270 Had he been as ardent an original observer in all other respects, instead of a mere plodding student, and collector, and transcriber of other men’s observations, his works would have been less voluminous, but more valuable. The eruption in which he perished was the first of which there is any record in history. It is probable that none of any consequence had occurred before; and that the lava had never before devastated the smiling slopes and green vineyards which Martial has described.1271 The circumstances of his death are thus described by his nephew1272 in two letters to Tacitus:—“He was at Misenum, in command of the fleet. On the 24th of August, about one o’clock P. M., my mother pointed out to him a cloud of unusual size and appearance. He had lain in the sunshine, bathed, and taken refreshment, and was now studying. He forthwith asked for his shoes; and ascended an eminence from which he could best see the phenomenon. The distance was too great to know for certain from what mountain the cloud arose, but it was afterwards ascertained to be Vesuvius. Its form resembled that of a pine tree more than anything else. It rose into the air in the form of a tall trunk, and then diffused itself like spreading branches. The reason of this I take to be that it was at first carried upwards by a fresh current of air, which as it grew older and weaker was unable to support it, or perhaps its own gravity caused it to vanish in a horizontal direction. Sometimes it was white, sometimes solid and spotted, according to the quantity of earth and ashes which it threw up.

“The phenomenon appeared to him, as a learned man, deserving of closer investigation. He ordered a light galley to be fitted out, and gave me permission to accompany him. I replied that I preferred studying, and as it chanced he himself had given me something to write. Just as he was leaving the house with his note-book in his hand, the troops stationed at Retina, a village at the foot of the mountain, from which there was no escape except by sea, alarmed by the imminent peril they were in, sent to entreat him to rescue them. Notwithstanding this circumstance his determination was unaltered; but the task which he had commenced with earnestness he went through with the greatest resolution.

“He launched some quadriremes, and embarked for the purpose of assisting, not Retina only, but others; for the beauty of the coast had attracted a large population. He hastened to the spot whence others were flying, and steered a direct course to the point of danger, so fearlessly that he observed all the phases and forms of that sad calamity, and dictated his remarks on them to his secretary. Soon ashes fell on the decks, and the nearer he approached the hotter and thicker they became. With them were mingled scorched and blackened pumice-stones, and stones split by fire. Now the sudden reflux of the sea, and the fragments of the volcano which covered the coast, presented an obstacle to his progress, and he hesitated for awhile whether he should not return. At length, when his sailing-master recommended him to do so, he exclaimed, ‘Fortune favours the brave—steer for the villa of Pomponianus.’

“This was situated at Stabiæ, and was divided from the coast near Vesuvius by an inlet or gulf formed by the sea. His friend, although danger was not yet imminent, yet, as it was within sight, and would be very near if it increased, had put his baggage on board of a ship, and had determined on flight if the wind, which was then contrary, should lull. A fair wind carried my uncle thither. He embraced his trembling friend, consoled and encouraged him. In order to assuage his fears by showing his own unconcern, he caused himself to be carried to a bath: after bathing, he sat down to supper with cheerfulness, or, what is almost the same thing, with the appearance of it. Meanwhile from many parts of the volcano broad flames burst forth: the blaze was reflected from the sky, and the glare and brightness were enhanced by the darkness of the night. He, to soothe the alarm of Pomponianus, endeavoured to persuade him that what he saw was only the burning villages which the country people had deserted in their consternation. He then retired to rest and slept soundly; for his snoring, which on account of his broad chest was deep and resonant, was heard by those who were watching at the door.

“Soon the court through which there was access to his apartment was so choked with cinders and pumice that longer delay would have rendered escape impossible. He was awakened; and went to Pomponianus and the rest, who had sat up all night. They then held a consultation whether they should remain in the house or go into the open fields. For repeated shocks of an earthquake made the houses rock to and fro, and seemed to move them from their foundations; whilst in the air the fall of half-burnt pumice, though light, menaced danger. After balancing the two dangers, he chose the latter course: with him, however, it was a comparison of reasons, with others of fears. They tied cushions over their heads with towels, to protect them from the falling stones. Although it was now day elsewhere, the darkness here was denser than the darkest night, broken only by torches and lights of different kinds. They next walked out to the coast to see whether the sea was calm enough to venture upon it, but it was still a waste of stormy waters. Then he spread a linen cloth and lay down upon it, asked for two or three draughts of cold water; and, afterwards, flames, and that sulphureous smell which is the forerunner of them, put his companions to flight and aroused him.

“He arose by the assistance of two slaves, and immediately fell down dead, suffocated as I imagine by the dense vapour, and the functions of his stomach being disordered, which were naturally weak, and liable to obstructions and difficulty of digestion. On the morning of the third day after his body was found entire, uninjured, and in the clothes in which he died: its appearance was rather that of sleep than death.”

Pliny the Younger was left with his mother at Misenum; and in another letter he gives an account of the appearance of the eruption at that place:1273—

“After my uncle’s departure, I spent some time in study (for that was my object in remaining behind:) I then bathed and supped, and had some broken and restless sleep. For many days previously shocks of an earthquake had been felt; but they caused less alarm because they are usual in Campania; but on that night they were so violent that it was thought they would not only shake but overturn everything. My mother burst into my bed-chamber—I was just rising in order to arouse her, in case she should be asleep. We sat down in the court which divided the house from the sea. I know not whether to call this courage or imprudence, for I was only in my eighteenth year. I asked for a volume of Livy, and began to read it leisurely and to make extracts.

“Well! a friend of my uncle came in who had lately arrived from Spain, and when he saw us sitting together, and me reading, he rebuked his patience and my ‘insouciance.’ Still I was not the less for that absorbed in my book. It was now seven o’clock, and the dawn broke faintly and languidly. The surrounding buildings were tottering; and the space in which we were, being limited in extent, there was great reason to fear their fall. We then resolved to leave town. The populace followed in alarm.

“When at a sufficient distance from the buildings we halted, and witnessed many a wonderful and alarming phenomenon. The carriages which we had ordered to be brought out, although the ground was very level, rolled in different directions, and even stones placed under the wheels could not stop them. The sea ebbed and seemed to be repelled by the earthquake. The coast certainly had advanced, and detained many marine animals on dry land. On the other side of the heavens hung a dark and awful cloud, riven by wreathed and quivering lines of fiery vapour, in long flashes resembling lightning, but larger. Then our friend from Spain exclaimed, with eagerness and vehemence, ‘If your relative lives, he doubtless wishes your safety; if he has perished, he wished you to survive him. Why then do you delay to escape?’ Our answer was, ‘We will not think of our own safety so long as we are uncertain of his.’ Without any more delay he hurried off, and was soon beyond the reach of danger. Soon the cloud descended to the earth, and brooded over the sea; it shrouded Capreæ, and hid from our eyes the promontory of Misenum. My mother besought, entreated, nay, commanded me to fly by all means; she felt that, weighed down by years and infirmity, she should die contented if she had not been the cause of my death. I, on the other hand, persisted that I would not seek safety except with her. I took her by the hand and forced her to go forward. She obeyed reluctantly, and blamed herself for delaying me. Ashes now began to fall, though as yet in small quantities. I looked back; behind us was thick darkness, which poured over the earth like a torrent. ‘Let us turn aside from the road,’ said I, ‘whilst we can see, for fear we should be thrown down and trampled under foot by the crowd in the darkness.’ We had scarce time to [think about it] [sit down] when we were enveloped in darkness, not like that of a moonless night, or clouds, but like that of a room shut up when the lights are extinguished. Then were heard the shrieks of women, the wailings of infants, the shouts of men; some were calling for their parents, others for their children, others for their wives, whom they could only recognise by their voices. Some bewailed their own misfortune, others that of their family; some even from the fear of death prayed for death. Many lifted up their hands to the gods; still more believed that there were no gods, and that the last eternal night had overwhelmed the world. There were not wanting some to increase the real danger by fictitious and imaginary terrors; and some brought word that the conflagration was at Misenum: the false intelligence met with credence. By degrees the light returned; but it seemed to us not the return of day, but the indication that the fire was approaching. Its progress, however, was arrested at some distance: again darkness succeeded with showers of ashes. Every now and then we got up and shook them off from us, otherwise we should have been overwhelmed and bruised by their weight. I might boast that not a groan or unmanly expression escaped me in the midst of my dangers, were it not that my firmness was founded on the consolatory belief that all mankind was involved, together with myself, in one common ruin. At length the darkness cleared up, and dispersed like smoke or mist. Real daylight succeeded; even the sun shone forth, but with a lurid light as when eclipsed. The aspect of everything which met our astonished eyes was changed: ashes covered the ground like a deep snow. We returned to Misenum, and refreshed ourselves, and passed an anxious night in alternate hopes and fears: the latter, however, predominated. The earthquake still continued; and many, in a state of frenzy, made a mockery of their own and their neighbours’ misfortunes by terrific prophecies.” The above letters, though long, have been quoted because they detail, in the most interesting manner, the circumstances of the elder Pliny’s death, and at the same time illustrate the simple and graphic power of the nephew’s pen.

The Natural Philosophy of Pliny is, to say the least, an unequalled monument of studious diligence and persevering industry. It consists of thirty-seven books, and contains, according to his own account,1274 20,000 facts (as he believed them to be) connected with nature and art: the result, not of original research, but, as he honestly confessed, culled from the labours of other men. It must, however, be allowed that the confused arrangement is owing partly to the indefinite state of science, and the consequent mingling together of branches which are separate and distinct.1275

Owing to the extent and variety of his reading, his credulous love of the marvellous, and his want of judgment in comparing and selecting, he does not present us with a correct view of the degree of truth to which science had attained in his own age. He does not show how one age had corrected the errors of a preceding one; but reproduces errors, evidently obsolete and inconsistent with facts and theories which had grown up afterwards and replaced them.

With him mythological traditions appear to have almost the same authority as modern discoveries. The earth teems with monsters, not miracles, or exceptions to the regular order of nature, but specimens of her ingenuity. In his theory of the universe he assumes such causes and principles as lead him to admit, without question, the existence of prodigies, however impossible they may be. They are wonderful because unusual; but they are effects which might result from the natural causes which he believed to be in operation. His theory, that Nature acted not only by regular laws but often by actual interferences, (for this was the character of his pantheism, ii. 5, 7,)—his belief that the various germs of created things were scattered in profusion throughout the universe, and accidentally mingling in confusion produced monstrous forms, (3)—prepared him to consider nothing incredible (xi. 3;) and his temper inclined him to go further, and to admit almost every thing which was credible as true.1276

Deficient as the work is in scientific value and philosophical arrangement, the author evidently wished to stamp it with a character of practical utility. It is an encyclopædia of the knowledge which could be brought together from different sources; and for such a work there are two important requisites—facility of reference, and the citation of authorities. With this view the whole is preceded by a summary, and to each book is added a table of contents, together with the names of authors to whom he is indebted.

The work commences with the theory of the universe;1277 the history and science of astronomy; meteorological phenomena; and the geological changes which have taken place on the earth by volcanic and aqueous action. Geography, both physical and political, occupy the four next books.1278 Here truth and error are mingled in dire confusion. Accounts which are based solely on the traditions of remote antiquity are given side by side with the results of modern investigation, and yet no distinction is drawn as to authenticity; and, owing to his confusing together such different accounts, measurements and distances are generally wrong.

But in the zoological division of the work, which next follows,1279 he gives unrestrained scope to his credulity and love of the marvellous. He tells of men whose feet were turned backwards; of others whose feet were so large as to shade them when they lay in the sun. He describes beings in whom both sexes were united; others in whom a change of sex had taken place; others without mouths, who fed on the fragrance of fruits and flowers.1280 Such are some of the marvels of the human race recorded by him. Amongst the lower animals he enumerates horned horses furnished with wings;1281 the Mantichora, with the face of a man, three rows of teeth, a lion’s body, and a scorpion’s tail;1282 the unicorn with a stag’s head, a horse’s body, the feet of an elephant, and the tail of a boar;1283 the basilisk, whose very glance is fatal. The seas are peopled not only with sea-goats and sea-elephants, but with real Nereids and Tritons.1284 Mice, according to his account, produce their young by licking each other; and fire produces an insect (pyralis) which cannot live except in the midst of the flames.

Sixteen books1285 are devoted to botany, both general and medical; and the medicinal properties of the human frame, and of other animal substances, as well as of different waters, are next discussed.1286 An account of minerals and metals concludes the work; and this portion embraces an account of their various uses in the fine arts, intermingled with interesting anecdotes and histories of art and artists. This is the most valuable as well as the most pleasing section of the work.

He was pre-eminently a collector of stories and anecdotes and supposed facts, and he was only accidentally a naturalist, because natural history furnished the most extensive variety of marvellous and curious materials. The naturalist, Cuvier,1287 observed his want of judgment, his credulity, his defective arrangement, and the inappropriate nature of his observations. Notwithstanding all these faults this elaborate work contains many valuable truths, much entertaining information, and the style in which it is written is, when not too florid, full of vigour and expression. The philosophical belief can scarcely be considered that of any particular school, although tinctured by the prevalent Stoicism of the day; but its pervading character is querulous and melancholy. Believing that nature is an all-powerful principle, and the world or universe itself, instinct with Deity, he saw more of evil than of good in the Divine dispensations; and the result was a gloomy and discontented pantheism.

Pliny the Younger (Born A. D. 61.)

C. Plinius Cæcilius Secundus was sister’s son to the elder Pliny. Most of the information which we possess respecting his life and character is derived from his letters. He was born at Novo-Comum, on the Lake Larius (Como;) and as he was in his eighteenth year1288 at the time of the eruption of Vesuvius, which took place A. D. 79, the date of his birth must have been A. D. 61.

On the death of his father, C. Cæcilius, he was adopted by his uncle, and therefore took the name of Plinius. He was educated under the guardianship of Virginius Rufus, who felt for him the affection of a parent. The regard was evidently mutual. “I loved him,” writes Pliny to Voconius,1289 with that tenderness which so frequently adorns his letters, especially those to his wife Calphurnia, “as much as I admired him;” and he thus concludes his letter: “I had wished to write to you on many other subjects, but my thoughts are fully occupied on this one subject of contemplation. I see, I think of no one but Virginius. In fancy I seem to hear his voice, to address him, to hold him in my arms. We may perhaps have, and shall continue to have, men equal to him in virtue, but no one equal to him in glory.” In belles-lettres and eloquence1290 he attended constantly the lectures of Quintilian and Nicetes Sacerdos, of whom favourable mention is made by Seneca.1291

Under the care of such tutors and such an uncle, his literary tastes were cultivated early, and before he had completed his fifteenth year he gave proof of his love of poetry, by writing what he modestly says was called a Greek tragedy. This taste for poetry remained to him in after life: once when weather-bound at the island of Icaria, he celebrated the event in an elegiac poem. He wrote hexameters, of which he gives a short specimen, and also a birth-day ode in hendecasyllables, and he tells us he wrote with quickness and facility.1292

He was called to the bar in his nineteenth year, and attained great celebrity as a pleader.1293 He stood high in favour with Trajan; and filled with distinction high offices, both military and civil. He was military tribune in Syria; and besides being prætor and consul at home, he served as procurator of the province of Bithynia abroad. He was gentle, liberal, refined, and benevolent; and his zeal for the interests of literature, and his wish that the youths of Como might not be forced to resort to Milan for education, but might owe that blessing to their native place,1294 led him to offer help in founding a school, in forming a public library, and in establishing exhibitions for ingenuous students.1295 He thought with justice, such acts of munificence nobler than gaudy spectacles and barbarous shows of gladiators.

His works consist of a Panegyric on Trajan and a collection of Letters in ten books. The Panegyric is a piece of courtly flattery, for the fulsomeness of which the only defence which can be made, is the cringing and fawning manners of his times. It was written and delivered in the year in which he was consul.1296 The Letters are very valuable, not only for the insight which they give into his own character, but also into the manners and modes of thought of his illustrious contemporaries, as well as the politics of the day. Many of them bear evident marks of having been expressly intended for publication. This of course detracts from their value as fresh and truthful exponents of the writer’s thoughts, which all letters ought to be; but they are most delightful to read, and for liveliness, descriptive power, elegance and simplicity of style, are scarcely inferior to those of Cicero, whom he evidently took for his model.

The tenth book, which consists of his despatches to Trajan, together with the Emperor’s rescripts, will be read with the greatest interest; and the notices of public affairs contained in them are most valuable to the historian. The despatch respecting the Christians, written from Bithynia, A. D. 104, and the Emperor’s answer,1297 are well worthy of transcription; both because reference is so often made to them, and because they throw light upon the marvellous and rapid propagation of the gospel; the manners of the early Christians; the treatment to which their constancy exposed them, even under favourable circumstances, and the severe jealousy with which even a governor of mild and gentle temper thought it his duty to regard them. “It is my constant practice, sire, to refer to you all subjects on which I entertain doubt. For who is better able to direct my hesitation or to instruct my ignorance? I have never been present at the trials of Christians, and therefore I do not know in what way, or to what extent, it is usual to question or to punish them. I have also felt no small difficulty in deciding whether age should make any difference, or whether those of the tenderest and those of mature years should be treated alike; whether pardon should be accorded to repentance, or whether, where a man has once been a Christian, recantation should profit him; whether, if the name of Christian does not imply criminality, still the crimes peculiarly belonging to the name should be punished. Meanwhile, in the case of those against whom informations have been laid before me, I have pursued the following line of conduct. I have put to them, personally, the question whether they were Christians. If they confessed, I interrogated them a second and third time, and threatened them with punishment. If they still persevered, I ordered their commitment; for I had no doubt whatever that, whatever they confessed, at any rate dogged and inflexible obstinacy deserved to be punished. There were others who displayed similar madness; but, as they were Roman citizens, I ordered them to be sent back to the city. Soon persecution itself, as is generally the case, caused the crime to spread, and it appeared in new forms. An anonymous information was laid against a large number of persons, but they deny that they are, or ever have been, Christians. As they invoked the gods, repeating the form after me, and offered prayers, together with incense and wine, to your image, which I had ordered to be brought, together with those of the deities, and besides cursed Christ, whilst those who are true Christians, it is said, cannot be compelled to do any one of these things, I thought it right to set them at liberty. Others, when accused by an informer, confessed that they were Christians, and soon after denied the fact; they said they had been, but had ceased to be, some three, some more, not a few even twenty years previously. All these worshipped your image and those of the gods, and cursed Christ. But they affirmed that the sum total of their fault or their error was, that they were accustomed to assemble on a fixed day before dawn, and sing an antiphonal hymn to Christ as God: that they bound themselves by an oath, not to the commission of any wickedness, but to abstain from theft, robbery, and adultery; never to break a promise, or to deny a deposit when it was demanded back. When these ceremonies were concluded, it was their custom to depart, and again assemble together to take food harmlessly and in common. That after my proclamation, in which, in obedience to your command, I had forbidden associations, they had desisted from this practice. For these reasons I the more thought it necessary to investigate the real truth, by putting to the torture two maidens, who were called deaconesses; but I discovered nothing but a perverse and excessive superstition. I have therefore deferred taking cognizance of the matter until I had consulted you. For it seemed to me a case requiring advice, especially on account of the number of those in peril. For many of every age, sex, and rank, are and will continue to be called in question. The infection, in fact, has spread not only through the cities, but also through the villages and open country; but it seems that its progress can be arrested. At any rate, it is clear that the temples which were almost deserted begin to be frequented; and solemn sacrifices, which had been long intermitted, are again performed, and victims are being sold everywhere, for which up to this time a purchaser could rarely be found. It is therefore easy to conceive that crowds might be reclaimed if an opportunity for repentance were given.”

Trajan to Pliny

“In sifting the cases of those who have been indicted on the charge of Christianity, you have adopted, my dear Secundus, the right course of proceeding; for no certain rule can be laid down which will meet all cases. They must not be sought after, but if they are informed against and convicted, they must be punished; with this proviso, however, that if any one denies that he is a Christian, and proves the point by offering prayers to our deities, notwithstanding the suspicions under which he has laboured, he shall be pardoned on his repentance. On no account should any anonymous charge be attended to, for it would be the worst possible precedent, and is inconsistent with the habits of our times.”

Pliny’s accurate and judicious mind, his political and administrative prudence, his taste for the beautiful, his power of description, his unrivalled neatness, his skill in investing with a peculiar interest every subject he takes in hand, may be amply proved by a perusal of his Letters. His touches are neither too many nor too few. A mere note of thanks for a present of thrushes1298 shows as much skill, in its way, as his numerous elaborate despatches to the Emperor.1299 His brief biographical notice of Silius Italicus contains, in a few short sentences, all that can be said favourably of the life and character of his correspondent. The sympathy which he felt for his friends, as well as the delicacy of his panegyric, are exhibited in the few lines which he penned to Germinius on the death of the wife of Macrinus;1300 his honesty in the case of the inheritance of Pomponia;1301 his legal skill in passages too numerous to specify; his descriptive power in the narrative of the eruption of Vesuvius,1302 in which his uncle perished; and in the full and minute description of his villa, its rooms, furniture, works of art, garden, and surrounding scenery.

Chapter X — M. Fabius Quintilianus — His Biography — His Institutiones Oratoriæ — His Views on Education — Division of His Subjects Into Five Parts — Review of Greek and Roman Literature — Completeness of His Great Work — His Other Works — His Disposition — Grief for the Loss of His Son

M. Fabius Quintilianus

In this peculiarly rhetorical age, the most distinguished teacher of rhetoric was M. Fabius Quintilianus. He attempted to restore a purer and more classical taste; and although to a certain extent he was successful, the effect which he produced was only temporary. He was, like Martial, a Spaniard, born1303 at Calagurris, the modern Calahorra.1304 At an early age he came to Rome, and had the advantage of hearing the celebrated orators Domitius Afer and Julius Africanus, whose eloquence he considered superior to that of their contemporaries.1305 How long he remained at Rome is uncertain; but he appears to have gone back to his native country, and then returned to the capital together with the Emperor Galba.

Although he practised as a pleader, he was far more eminent as an instructor. Domitian intrusted to him the education of his two great-nephews;1306 and the younger Pliny was also one of his pupils.1307 The Emperor’s favour conferred on him that reward to which Juvenal alludes in the following lines:—

Si Fortuna volet fies de rhetore consul;1308

and besides this he held one of the professorships which were endowed by Vespasian with 100,000 sestertia per annum (800l.1309) He thus formed an exception to the larger number of instructors and grammarians who swarmed in Rome, who, depending on the fees of their pupils, earned a precarious subsistence,1310 and was even able to purchase estates and accumulate property.

But though more fortunate than many deserving members of his profession, he was not esteemed a wealthy man by the rich and luxurious Romans of his day; for his grateful pupil, Pliny, when he presented him with 400l. towards his daughter’s portion, spoke of him as a man of moderate means.1311 His expressions are:—“Te porro, animo beatissimum, modicum facultatibus scio.” The probability is that he was twice married. His first wife died at the early age of nineteen, leaving two sons, of whom death bereaved him in a few years.1312 For the instruction of the elder of these, who survived his younger brother for but a short time, he wrote his great work. His second wife was the daughter of one Tutilius, and the fruit of this marriage was an only daughter who married Nonius Celer, and to whom the liberal present of Pliny was made. For twenty years he discharged the duties of his professorship, and then retired from active life; and died, as is generally supposed, about A. D. 118. His countryman, Martial,1313 speaks of him as the glory of the Roman bar, and the head of his profession as an instructor:—

Quintiliane, vagæ moderator summe juventæ,
  Gloria Romanæ, Quintiliane, togæ.1314

Quintilian’s great work is entitled Institutiones Oratoriæ, or a complete instruction in the art of oratory: and in it he shows himself far superior to Cicero as a teacher, although he was inferior to him as an orator. The rhetorical works of the great orator will not, in point of fulness and completeness, bear a comparison with the elaborate treatise of Quintilian. When engaged in its composition he had retired from the duties of a public professor, and was only occupied, as he himself states,1315 with his duties as tutor to the great-nephew of Domitian. He professes to have undertaken the task reluctantly, and at the earnest solicitations of his friends. He thought that the ground was already pre-occupied, both by Greek and Latin writers of eminence. But seeing how wide the field was, and that such a work must treat of all those qualifications without which no one can be an orator, he complied with their entreaties, and dedicated his book to his friend Marcellus Victorius, as a token of his regard, and a useful contribution towards the education of his son. Two rhetorical treatises had already appeared under his name, but not published by himself. One consisted of a lecture which occupied two days in delivery; the other a longer course: and both had been taken down in notes, and given to the public, as he says, by his excellent but too partial pupils: (boni juvenes, sed nimium amantes mei.1316)

On the Institutiones he professes to have expended the greatest pains and labour. He traces the progress of the orator from the very cradle until he arrives at perfection.1317 He speaks of the importance of earliest impressions, of the parental, especially the maternal care, and illustrates this by the example of Cornelia, to whom the Gracchi owed their eminence; and brings forward, as instances of female eloquence, the daughters of Lælius and Hortensius. He believes that education must commence, and the tastes be formed, and the moral character be impressed, even in infancy. The choice, therefore, of a nurse is, in his opinion, as important, as of early companions, pedagogues, and instructors.

Both on account of the positive good to be acquired, and the evil resulting from the corrupt state of Roman society which the boy would thus avoid, he prefers a school to a home education.1318 As we consider the classical languages the best preparation for the study of the vernacular tongue,1319 so he lays down as an axiom that education in Greek literature should precede Latin. Grammar1320 is to be the foundation of education, together with its subdivisions, declension, construction,1321 orthography,1322 the use of words,1323 rhythm, metre, the beauties and faults of style,1324 reading,1325 delivery, action;1326 and to these are to be added music and geometry.1327

Primary education being completed, the young student is to be transferred to the care of the rhetorician.1328 The choice of a proper instructor,1329 as well as his duties and character,1330 are described; the necessary exercises, the reading and study of orations and histories are recommended,1331 and the nature, principles, objects, and utility of oratory are accurately investigated. In the third book, after a short notice of the principal writers on rhetoric,1332 he divides his subject into five parts,1333 namely, invention, arrangement, style, memory, both natural and artificial, and delivery or action. Closely following Aristotle, he then discusses the three kinds of oratory, the demonstrative, deliberative, and judicial.1334 In the fourth, he treats of the physical divisions of all orations, namely, the exordium,1335 the narration,1336 excursions or digressions,1337 the question proposed,1338 the division of topics.1339 In that part of his treatise which discusses the next division, namely, proofs, Aristotle is his chief guide, as meeting, in his opinion, the universal assent of all mankind. The sixth book analyzes the peroration, and also discusses the passions,1340 moral habits,1341 ridicule,1342 and other topics, which complete the subject of invention. The seventh treats of arrangement and its kindred topics; the eighth and ninth of style and its essential qualities, such as perspicuity,1343 ornament1344 tropes,1345 amplification,1346 figures of speech.1347

Facility, or as we, in common with the Romans, frequently term it, “copia verborum,”1348 is the next division of the subject; and as original invention has already occupied so large a portion of his work, he now endeavours to guide the student in imitating the excellencies of the best Greek and Latin writers; and tells him that the next duty, in point of importance, is to profit by the inventions of others.1349 A wide field is thus opened before him, affording an opportunity for the display of his extensive learning, his critical taste, his penetrating discrimination, and his great power of illustration.1350

He passes over in rapid review the whole history of Greek and Roman literature. His remarks, though brief, are clear and decided, and are marked with an attractive beauty and sound judgment, which have stood the test of ages, and recommend themselves to all who have been distinguished for pure classical taste. So adroit is he in catching the leading features, that the portraits of great authors of antiquity, though only sketches and outlines, stand forth in bold and tangible shape, each exhibiting marked and distinct characteristics. There are few specimens of criticism so attractive, so suggestive, and which lay such hold on the memory, as this portion of the Institutions of Quintilian. Other subjects are also briefly handled in the tenth book, such as the necessity of pains and elaborate corrections, in order to form a polished style.1351 The choice of materials,1352 original thought,1353 the means of acquiring and perfecting a habit of extemporaneous speaking.1354

The eleventh book is devoted to the subjects of appropriateness, memory,1355 and delivery.1356

The twelfth opens with what the author designates1357 as the most grave and important portion of the whole work, well worthy of the dignified character of true Roman virtue. Its subject is the high moral qualifications necessary for a perfect orator.1358 Talent, wisdom, learning, eloquence are nothing, if the mind is distracted and torn asunder by vicious thoughts and depraved passions.1359 The orator, therefore, must learn studies by what his moral character can alone be formed;1360 he must possess that firmness of principle which will cause him fearlessly to practise what he knows. “Neque erit perfectus orator nisi qui honeste dicere et sciet et audebit.”

A knowledge of history1361 and the principles of jurisprudence,1362 he also considers indispensably necessary, notwithstanding the slighting way in which Cicero speaks of the antiquarian learning of the jurisconsults. Some practical rules1363 are also added as to the time of commencing practice in the courts, the rules to be observed in undertaking causes,1364 and the cautions to be attended to in preparing and pleading them.1365 He deprecates the undertaking such important duties early, although the call to the bar at Rome took place as soon as the manly gown was assumed: tradition spoke of boys clothed with the prætexta pleading. Cæsar Augustus, at twelve years old, publicly pronounced a eulogy on his grandmother, as did Tiberius at the early age of nine over the body of his deceased father.1366

Enough has been said to show the fulness and completeness with which Quintilian has exhausted his subject, and left, as a monument of his taste and genius, a text-book of the science and art of nations, as well as a masterly sketch of the eloquence of antiquity.

There have been attributed to Quintilian, besides his great work, nineteen declamations or judicial speeches relating to imaginary suits; also one hundred and forty-five sketches of orations, the remains of a larger collection, consisting of three hundred and eighty-eight. But there is no evidence in favour of their being his, and their style seems to show that they were the work of different authors and different ages. Neither is there any good reason for considering that the treatise on the Causes of Corrupt Eloquence is the same as that to which he alludes in the proëmium to the sixth and the conclusion of the eighth book1367 of the Institutions. Indeed, the almost unanimous opinion of scholars assigns it to Tacitus. His works were discovered by Poggius, together with those of Silius Italicus and L. Valerius Flaccus, in the monastery of St. Gall, twenty miles from Constance, during the sitting of the celebrated ecclesiastical council.

The disposition of Quintilian was as affectionate and tender as his genius was brilliant, and his taste pure. Few passages throughout the whole range of Latin literature can be compared to that in which he mourns the loss of his wife and children. It is the touching eloquence of one who could not write otherwise than gracefully; and if he murmurs at the divine decrees, it must be remembered that his dearest hopes were blighted, and that he had not the hopes, the consolation, or the teaching of a Christian. “I had a son,” he says, “whose eminent genius deserved a father’s anxious diligence. I thought that if—which I might fairly have expected and wished for—death had removed me from him, I could have left him, as the best inheritance, a father’s instructions. But by a second blow, a second bereavement, I have lost the object of my highest hopes, the only comfort of my declining years. What shall I do now? Of what use can I suppose myself to be, as the gods have cast me off? It happened that when I commenced my book on the Causes of Corrupt Eloquence, I was stricken by a similar blow. It would surely have been best then to have flung upon the funeral pile—which was destined prematurely to consume all that bound me to life—my unlucky work, and the ill-starred fruits of all my toils, and not to have wearied with new cares a life to which I so unnaturally clung. For what tender parent would pardon me if I were able to study any longer, and not hate my firmness of mind, if I, who survived all my dear ones, could find any employment for my tongue except to accuse the gods, and to protest that no Providence looks down upon the affairs of men? If I cannot say this in reference to my own case, to which no objection can be made except that I survive, at least I can with reference to theirs—condemned to an unmerited and untimely grave.

“Their mother had before been torn from me, who had given birth to two sons before she had completed her nineteenth year; and though her death was a cruel blow to me, to her it was a happy one. To me the affliction was so crushing, that fortune could no longer restore me to happiness. For not only did the exercise of every feminine virtue render her husband’s grief incurable, but, compared with my own age, she was but a girl, and therefore her loss may be accounted as that of a child. Still, my children survived, and were my joy and comfort, and she since I survived (a thing unnatural, although she wished it,) escaped by a precipitate flight the agonies of grief. In my younger son, who died at five years old, I lost one light of my eyes. I have no ambition to make much of my misfortunes, or to exaggerate the reasons which I have for sorrow; would that I had means of assuaging it! But how can I conceal his lovely countenance, his endearing talk, his sparkling wit, and (what I feel can scarcely be believed) his calm and deep solidity of mind? Had he been another’s child he would have won my love. But insidious fortune, in order to inflict on me severer anguish, made him more affectionate to me than to his nurses, his grandmother, who brought him up, and all who usually gain the attachment of children of that age.

“Thankful therefore do I feel for that sorrow in which but a few months before I was plunged by the loss of his matchless, his inestimable mother; for my lot was less a subject for tears than hers was for rejoicing. One only hope, support, and consolation, had remained in my Quintilian. He had not, like my younger son, just put forth his early blossoms, but entering on his tenth year had shown mature and well-set fruit. I swear by my misfortunes, by the consciousness of my unhappiness, by those departed spirits, the deities who preside over my grief, that in him I discerned such vigour of intellect, not only in the acquisition of learning (and yet in all my extensive experience I never saw it surpassed,) such a zeal for study, which, as his tutors can testify, never required pressing, but also such uprightness, filial affection, refinement, and generosity, as furnished grounds for apprehending the thunder-stroke which has fallen. For it is generally observed that a precocious maturity too quickly perishes; and there is I know not what envious power which deflowers our brightest hopes, lest we soar higher than human beings are permitted to soar. He possessed also those gifts which are accidental—a clear and melodious voice, a sweet pronunciation, a correct enunciation of every letter both in Greek and Latin. Such promise did he give of future excellence; but he possessed also the far higher qualities of constancy, earnestness, and firmness to bear sorrow and to resist fear. With what admiration did his physicians contemplate the patience with which he endured a malady of eight months’ duration! What consolation did he administer to me in his last moments! When life and intellect began to fail, his wandering mind dwelt on literature alone. O! dearest object of my disappointed hopes! could I behold thy glazing eyes, thy fleeting breath? Could I embrace thy cold and lifeless form, and live to drink again the common air? Well do I deserve these agonizing thoughts, these tortures which I endure!”

Chapter XI — A. Cornelius Celsus — His Merits — Cicero Medicorum — Scribonius Largus Designatianus — Pomponius Mela — L. Junius Moderatus Columella — S. Julius Frontinus — Decline of Taste in the Silver Age — Foreign Influence on Roman Literature — Conclusion

Such were the principal writers who adorned and illustrated the literature of the silver age: it remains only to speak briefly of those whose works, although of minor interest, must not be passed over without notice.

Aurelius Cornelius Celsus

Celsus was the author of many works on various subjects, of which one, in eight books, on Medicine, is now extant. The place of his birth and the age at which he flourished are unknown, but he probably lived in the reign of Tiberius. He was a man of comprehensive, almost encyclopædic knowledge, and wrote on philosophy, rhetoric, agriculture, and even strategy. It has been doubted whether he ever practised medicine, or was only theoretically acquainted with the subject; but the independence of his views, the practical as well as the scientific nature of his instructions, are inconsistent with any hypothesis except that he had himself patiently watched the phenomena of morbid action and experimented upon its treatment. Above all, his knowledge of surgery, and his clear exposition of surgical operations, necessarily imply that practical experience and reality of knowledge which never could have been acquired from books.

If we compare the masterly handling of the subject by Celsus with the history of medicine by Pliny,1368 it is easy to distinguish the man of practical and experimental science from the collector and transcriber of others’ views. His manual of medicine embraces the following subjects: Diet,1369 Pathology,1370 Therapeutics,1371 Surgery;1372 and without entering into its peculiar merits, a task which could only be performed satisfactorily by a professional writer, the highest testimony is borne to its merits by the fact of its being used as a text-book even in the present advanced state of medical science.

The study of medicine has a tendency to predispose the mind for general scientific investigations in other departments not immediately connected with it. Hence the medical profession has numbered amongst its members many men of general scientific attainments; and Celsus was an example of this versatility. The taste of the age in which he lived turned his attention also to polite literature; and to this may be ascribed the Augustan purity of his style, which gained for him the appellation of “Cicero Medicorum.”

Scribonius Largus Designatianus

The “Cicero of physicians” was followed by Scribonius, an obsequious court physician, in the reign of Claudius. He was the author of several works, one of which, a large collection of prescriptions, is extant. In the language of impious flattery, he calls the imbecile emperor a god. He is said to have accompanied him in his expedition to Britain.

Pomponius Mela

Pomponius Mela may be considered as the representative of the Roman geographers. He was a native of Tingentera, a town in Spain, and lived in the reign of Claudius. His treatise is entitled, “De Situ Orbis, Libri iii.” It is systematic and learned. The stores of information derived from the Greek geographers are interspersed with entertaining myths and lively descriptions. The knowledge, however, contained in it is all taken from books: it is an epitome of former treatises, and is not enriched by the discoveries of more recent travellers. The simplicity of the style, and the almost Augustan purity of the Latinity, prevent even so bare a skeleton and list of facts from being dry and uninteresting.

L. Junius Moderatus Columella

The didactic work of Columella gives, in smooth and fluent, though somewhat too diffuse, a style, the fullest and completest information on practical agriculture amongst the Romans, in the first century of the Christian era. Pliny is the only classical author who mentions him; but he refers to him as a competent authority. Columella himself informs us that he was born at Gades (Cadiz,1373) and resided at Rome,1374 but had travelled in Syria and Cilicia.1375 It is generally supposed that he died and was buried at Tarentum.

His work, “De Re Rusticâ,” is divided into twelve books. It treats of all subjects connected with the choice and management of a farm,1376 the arrangement of farm buildings,1377 the propagation and rearing of stock,1378 the cultivation of fruit trees,1379 and household economy.1380 A calendar is attached to the eleventh book, pointing out the cosmical risings and settings of the constellations, which marked the successive seasons for various labours and other practical points of rustic astronomy. The tenth book, the subject of which is horticulture, is in hexameters. It never rises quite to the height of poetry: it is rather metrical prose, characterized, like the rest of his work, by fluency, and also expressed in correct versification. The reason which he gives for this variation from his plan is, that it is intended as supplementary to the Georgics of Virgil, and that in so doing he is following the great poet’s own recommendations. In his preface to his friend Silvinus he thus expresses his intention:—“Postulatio tua pervicit ut poeticis numeris explerem Georgici carminis omissas partes, quas tamen et ipse Virgilius significaverat posteris se memorandas relinquere.”

Sextus Julius Frontinus

Sex. Jul. Frontinus deserves a place amongst Roman classical writers as the author of two works, both of which are still extant. The first, entitled, “Stratagematicon, Libri iv.,” was a treatise on military tactics. The form in which he has enunciated his doctrines is that of precepts and anecdotes of celebrated military commanders. In this way the necessary preparations for a battle, the stratagems resorted to in fighting, the rules for conducting sieges, and the means of maintaining discipline in an army, are explained and illustrated in a straight-forward and soldier-like style.

As the object which he had in view in adducing his anecdotes is scientific illustration rather than historic truth, he is not very particular as to the sources from which his examples are derived. It is interesting, however, to the antiquarian, if not of practical utility to the tactician, as displaying the theory and practice of ancient warfare. This subject had in early times been treated of by Cato and Cincius, and afterwards by Hyginus in a treatise on Field Fortification (de Castrametatione,) and also in the epitome of Vegetius.

His other work, which has descended to modern times in a perfect state, is a descriptive architectural treatise, in two books, on those wonderful monuments of Roman art, the aqueducts. But besides these, fragments remain of other works, which assign Frontinus an important place in the estimation of the student of Roman history. These are treatises on surveying, and the laws and customs relating to landed property. They were partly of a scientific, partly of a jurisprudential character, and are to be found amongst the works of the Agri-mensores, or Rei Agrariæ Scriptores. The difficulty and obscurity of everything connected with Roman agrarian institutions is well known; and every fragment relating to them is valuable, because of the probability of its throwing light upon so important a subject. Niebuhr1381 saw their value, and pronounced that “the fragments of Frontinus were the only work amongst the Agri-mensores which can be counted a part of classical literature, or which was composed with any legal knowledge.” These fragments, therefore, may be taken as a favourable specimen of this class of writers, amongst whom were Siculus Flaccus, Argenius Urbicus, and Hyginus (Grammaticus.)

Of the life of Frontinus himself very few facts are known. He was city prætor in the reign of Vespasian,1382 and succeeded Cerealis as governor of Britain. He made a successful campaign against the Silures1383 (S. Wales,) and was succeeded by Agricola, A. D. 78. He was subsequently curator aquarum,1384 an office which probably suggested the composition of his practical manual on aqueducts. He also had a seat in the college of augurs, in which, after his death,1385 he was succeeded by the younger Pliny.

With this third epoch a history of Roman classical literature comes to a close. In the silver age taste had gradually but surely declined; and although the Roman language and literature shone forth for a time with classic radiance in the writings of Persius, Juvenal, Quintilian, Tacitus, and the Plinies, nothing could arrest its fall. In vain emperors endeavoured to encourage learning by pecuniary rewards and salaried professorships: it languished together with the death of constitutional freedom, the extinction of patriotism, and the decay of the national spirit. Poetry had become declamation. History had degenerated either into fulsome panegyric, or the fleshless skeletons of epitomes; and at length Romans seemed to disdain the use of their native tongue—that tongue which laborious pains had brought to such a height of polish and perfection, and wrote in Greek, as they had in the infancy of the national literature, when Latin was too rude and imperfect to imbody the ideas which they had derived from their Greek instructors.

The Emperor Hadrian resided long at Athens, and became imbued with a taste and admiration for Greek; and thus the literature of Rome became Hellenized. From this epoch the term Classical can no longer be applied to it, for it did not retain its purity. To Greek influence succeeded the still more corrupting one of foreign nations. Even with the death of Nerva the uninterrupted succession of emperors of Roman or Italian birth ceased. Trajan himself was a Spaniard; and after him not only barbarians of every European race, but even Orientals and Africans were invested with the imperial purple. The empire also over which they ruled was an unwieldy mass of heterogeneous materials. The literary influence of the capital was not felt in the distant portions of the Roman dominions. Schools were established in the very heart of nations just emerging from barbarism—at Burdegala (Bourdeaux,) Lugdunum (Lyons,) and Augusta Trevirorum (Treves;) and, although the blessings of civilization and intellectual culture were thus distributed far and wide, still literary taste, as it filtered through the minds of foreigners, became corrupted, and the language of the imperial city, exposed to the infectious contact of barbarous idioms, lost its purity.1386

The Latin authors of this period were numerous, and many of them were Christians; but few had taste to appreciate and imitate the literature of the Augustan age. The brightest stars which illuminated the darkness were A. Gellius, L. Apuleius, T. Petronius Arbiter, the learned author of the Saturnalia; the Christian ethical philosopher, L. Cœlius Lactantius; and that poet, in whom the graceful imagination of classical antiquity seems to have revived, the flattering and courtly Claudian.